The Stories of the Wild One (continued)

“You’re late.”

Saxon Reade glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and then back at his son. His son looked tired. He pulled off his dark uniform cap and run a hand across his closely trimmed scalp.

“I got stuck up on the Hill,” he said, casually snatching a slice of toast from his father’s plate.

Saxon felt a sudden hollow lump at the pit of his stomach. “What were you doing up there?”

“Gate guard called in sick,” he replied around a mouthful of toast. “They needed someone, so I took the extra shift.”

He swallowed the last bite of toast and reached for another slice. Saxon tried to pull the plate away, but his son was fast and, at six-foot-two, had a much longer reach then he did. John gave him a cock smile and Saxon resisted the urge to playfully dump the crumbs on his son’s head.

“Some guy died,” Josh said, munching a bit more slowly on the second slide. “And then they got all weird about it.”

“What do you mean?” Saxon asked, dropping two fresh slices of bread into the toaster. He paused a moment and then added two more.

“I don’t know,” John shrugged, clearly puzzled. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

He leaned against the refrigerator, wiping the crumbs from his hands, and then crossed his arms.

“I mean,” he went on. “I knew the guy was dead,” he explained. “But then they started bagging and tagging the bottle, the container, the empty box—even the gym bag!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” John said, responding to a question that Saxon had not realized he had asked aloud. “It was just like the one in the car of that lady from a few days ago who got off’ed by that snake.”

John toyed with his hat, stalling until the next batch of toast was ready.

“Not the same color,” he amended casually. “But the same type.”

Saxon nodded his understanding. “Were they both killed by snakes?”

John shook his head. “The sergeant said ‘No’”, he replied. “He said there were no puncture wounds or something.”