Free The October Light of August by Robert John Jenson Page A

astonishingly loud man-made noise I had heard in some time, and it startled me. Then, a sharp whistle.
    “Jesse! Hey man! You in there?” a voice called from the street. Then another sharp whistle. “Yo dude! Jesse! ”
    The voices down below chuckled quietly, then I heard distinctly, “I'm telling you man, she's a MILF.”
    The semi-truck horn blared long and loud, and I used that noise to move quickly to the window and look out. A battered pick-up sat in the street, not an eighteen wheeler. The stump of a telephone pole projected from the bed, resting on what looked like a reinforced tailgate. I couldn't see exactly how it was anchored down. Oddly, my first thought was that they should have a red flag hanging off that pole, like they give you at lumber yards. That thing was a hazard.
    A quick whistle issued from below me, and a voice called, “Yo Jesse! Jackie? You guys home? Come on bro, we're haulin' outta here!”
    Silence.
    “What's so important about this guy?” a different voice asked.
    “Nothing important ,” said the first voice. “He's just a cool guy. Has some firepower, I can tell you that. And his wife is pretty hot.”
    The second said skeptically, “You think anything with a pussy is hot. I seen you eying dead bitches, thinking you might like some of that shit.”
    “Fuck you,” said the first guy, sounding disgusted. “The only action you ever had was fapping it to the internet. You probably pulled out the little guy to wave him at people on – what was that site? Chat something ...”
    The second guy snorted and said, “Oh, don't pretend you don't know! You -” He was interrupted by another blast of the horn, and this time the truck's engine revved loudly.
    A voiced called from the truck again.
    “Did you guys check the back? See if his truck or bike is in the garage?”
    “Gate's locked,” replied the first guy below me.
    “So fucking climb it!”
    Low arguing ensued between the houses, which intensified with the sound of blows being landed and several, “Fuck yous ” being sworn before I finally heard wood rattling and grunts as someone heaved himself over the fence.
    The morning was quiet again for awhile, except for the sound of crows cawing in the distance and the truck idling.
    “Hey! Mike – on your six, dude,” called the guy in the truck.
    “Aw shit,” the second guy muttered – apparently “Mike” and the winner in the fight not to go over the fence.
    I hugged the wall next to the window and looked down to see a dead man moving steadily towards Mike, who had stepped into view aiming a pistol at its head. The dead guy had a beer belly that hung over his tighty-whities and looked like the embodiment of momentum and mass in the flesh. Mike put a bullet through the dead guy's head, and then gave a yell as the corpse's forward progress continued to propel it along for several steps before it crashed into the side of Jackie's house and slid down the vinyl siding. Mike pumped a few more rounds into the body and then kicked it for good measure.
    The sound of the gate rattling and shaking made him whirl and fire off a shot at the fence, and then I heard the sound of a heavy thump and loud swearing.
    “What in the hell is wrong with you, fucktard?” yelled the first guy. “You almost shot me!”
    “Jesus, Nick, give a warning before you - ”
    If Nick had lost the first fight, fury and adrenaline gave him an edge this time as he launched himself into Mike who went down under a flurry of punches and kicks. The pistol fired and Nick straightened abruptly.
    “You get the fuck off me!” yelled Mike, wiping blood out of his blond mustache.
    Nick stood utterly still as Mike shakily aimed the pistol in his direction.
    “Put the gun down, Mike. Now.”
    Ah, the alpha dog . He stood with his arms folded, biceps bulging as they strained the fabric of the black Pink Floyd t-shirt – that faux-vintage look: crossed hammers looking faded and scabby on fresh, jet black fabric. Ball