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STORYBOARD % while his daughter was addressing the people of Darby, Constable Elman limp-jogged to the pt Cruiser, slid behind the driver’s seat, and opened the glove compartment. He grabbed the pistol, enjoying its heft in his hand; he slipped in the bullets, rolled the cylinder, put the pistol on the seat beside him, and drove off. When Howard arrived at the Manse, he spotted an open window where no doubt Critter had let himself in. This struck Howard as funny, since the front door was unlocked, a fact that Critter must have known. He just likes to sneak around. The insight warmed Howard to Critter. In the end, he was just a guy with yearnings and faults like any other guy. Your enemy is like your brother, Howie. I don’t have a brother. Gun drawn, Howard entered. Birch and the minions talked often about “sustainable” living, water conservation, climate change, energy crisis, dependence on foreign oil, solar collectors, windmills, clean coal, nuclear (did a nuclear freeze bring on a nuclear winter?), and, yes, conservation, but in their daily lives they left the lights on. Howard was wondering just what he was going to do when he found Critter when, entering the library through the wide entry from the hall, gun in hand, he found Critter sitting in Raphael Salmon’s special leather chair, peering through his reading glasses at one of the Squire’s green journals. Beside him on the floor was the gas can. Howard smelled it before he saw it. Critter didn’t even look up from his reading material when he spoke. “You’re not very stealthy, Constable,” Critter said. “You wouldn’t pass a class in burglar school—you make too much noise.” 246 “How’d you know it was me? The limp?” Howard was impressed. Critter gently closed the journal and put it down on the end table as he spoke, but he still avoided looking at Howard. “Yeah, the limp, plus I heard you drive up in your retro shitbox.” “I keep meaning to get a new muffler, but it’s only a pin hole, and I can barely hear it even with my hearing aid.” “Old age has degraded you, Constable,” Critter chuckled, though he didn’t sound happy. “I’ve watched your every move since you started to hassle me.” “Let me inform you that I am armed.” “Yes, you’re a walking argument for gun control laws, Howie.” Critter still hadn’t turned around and could not have known for sure that Howard had a gun pointed at him. “I don’t believe that old men and little children should be allowed to carry firearms. They’re dangers to themselves and to the public.” “You’re mighty calm for a fugitive at large and a burglar caught in the act,” Howard said. “I don’t feel calm; I feel justified, I feel ready for the great event of my life.” Critter suddenly rose to his feet and wheeled in Howard’s direction. The movement—so quick—sent a wave of fear through Howard. Shoot him, Howie, shoot him. I can’t. You got too many of those female hormones. Critter advanced toward Howard as he talked, then did an aboutface when he came too close. With his back to Howard, Critter spoke, “Your son and grandson have been playing with my mind, and they are going to be the first ones I get.” He turned slowly around to face Howard . Critter had a far away look in his eye. “Freddy and Birch never did anything to you. Freddy doesn’t even live in Darby anymore.” “What a laugh, you don’t even know what they’re up to, do you?” Critter sounded maniacal now. “They think they can negotiate with me. I played along, but I was just biding my time.” Critter advanced, stopped not three feet from Howard, leaned forward, and rotated his head and shoulders like a cobra mesmerizing his prey before striking. [3.239.59.193] Project MUSE (2024-03-19 04:00 GMT) 247 Howie, you better shoot him now, because he’s going to take advantage of your advanced age—you’re 87 years old. No, I’m only 86. Well, actually you might be 88. Or a mere 85. Doesn’t matter. I’m going to be a hero. Yes, now, do it. Shoot him. Shoot him dead. Hero and zero sound like a connection—it’s not. Why does “it’s...