Not Dead Enough by Warren C Easley

and I had spent hours playing one on one, and I couldn’t bear to throw it out. It was dusty and low on air but still bounced reasonably well. I snapped Santos a crisp chest pass. “Let’s see what you got.”
    He stood holding the ball for a moment, trying to figure out if I was serious or not. Wasn’t he here to work? Finally he shrugged, dribbled tentatively a couple of times, and put up a soft shot that caromed out of the basket.
    I think he missed one other shot that day. When I backed away from him, he put the ball in the bottom of the net with the prettiest jump shot you’ve ever seen. If I came out to block it, he slipped around and laid it in like I was planted in the ground.
    Gasping for breath after an hour, I said, “Okay, Santos, I’ve taken enough punishment for one day. We’ve got to get some work done around here.” Then I pointed at him and said, “But next week I’m going to kick your butt.” He suppressed a smile and remained silent. I thought of my laconic friend, Philip.
    I helped him load the wheelbarrow with tools, took him out to the garden, and introduced him to the weeds. I was walking back down to the house to make another cup of coffee when the idea hit me. I veered off into the garage, grabbed a screwdriver, and headed up my long driveway toward the front gate. I unscrewed the bracket holding the cheap motion sensor I’d mounted on a fence post. It was concealed in a big rhododendron next to the gate, placed high to avoid being triggered by coyotes and skunks. Deer hadn’t been a problem, since they avoided my property because of Archie, who liked nothing better than to try herding them.
    I unscrewed the cap and checked the batteries. They were operable but badly corroded, so I went back to the house and replaced them. I called Santos down from the garden, poured him a glass of orange juice, and showed him the motion sensor. I then walked him down the hall and pointed out the wireless receiver in the laundry room, explaining in simple terms how the whole thing worked. “I’m going to mount this motion sensor in those trees over there,” I said, pointing out at the quarry. I put my hand in front of the aperture and wagged it back and forth. “When something blocks the beam out there like this, it’ll cause the receiver to buzz.”
    He nodded, but his face registered confusion.
    â€œIt’ll tell me when animals are over there, you know, like a deer or a fox. I like to watch them,” I said, answering the question I figured he wanted to ask. I saw a flicker of interest in his eyes, but he remained silent.
    â€œWhen I get over there, I’ll call the house phone on my cell. I want to know if the signal carries far enough to trigger the alarm. Okay?”
    â€œOkay.”
    I left Archie with Santos, loaded a backpack with some tools, and walked out to a trail that ran along the quarry property, parallel to the main road. A quarter of a mile down I turned into a narrow, rutted access road that was fenced on either side and led into the quarry. I scaled a locked gate blocking the entrance and picked my way through a field littered with rotting timbers and parts of an old rock-crusher to the edge of the pit and the twisted stand of trees I was interested in.
    I worked my way through the tangle of tree trunks, rocks, and dead branches. When I reached the edge of the cliff, my house burst into view, standing maybe a hundred unobstructed yards away. I looked down and instinctively stepped back. Fifty feet below me lay the putrid lake. Its bottom wasn’t visible and its steep, rocky sides had probably trapped its share of unwary animals.
    Crouching at the edge, I dialed my land line. “I’m going to test it now,” I told Santos. “Let me know if you hear the alarm.” I waited, then put my hand in front of the beam. I didn’t need him to tell me. I heard the high-pitched buzz over my