Fire Trap by Bob Kroll

Author:Bob Kroll
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2019-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Later that afternoon, Ziggy sat outside his tin can home in an outdoor rocker looking out at the Fairview Container Terminal and beyond that to the Bedford Basin. Halifax Harbour was like a long-handled spoon, and the Basin was its bowl.

Peterson descended the same gravel path as he had a few nights before. Ziggy turned to his footsteps and cried out, “Woe to you within the grip of evil, for the fire will devour your flesh openly.”

Peterson drew close and stood over him.

Ziggy’s eyes flashed with fun. “You shall reap tombs of darkness, Peterson, and the fruit off the tree of evil.”

“Stuff it, Ziggy. Tell me what you have or I’m out of here.”

Ziggy had the bong in his lap and he now took a hit from it. He exhaled and spoke through his smoky breath, “You do for me; I do for you.”

“Only if you have something more than Bible thumping.”

Ziggy took another hit off the bong.

“First thing this morning, I mean we’re talking early, Peterson. No sun in the sky, and this guy is banging on the side of my box. I stuck my gun in his face and sat him down right here, where I’m sitting now. He had a gift for you. Package wrapped. No bow.”

“Where’s the gift?”

Ziggy shook his head then opened his hands and stretched them forward in a gesture of benediction. “Give unto others as you would have them give unto you.”

“What do you want?”

“It costs me twenty, sometimes fifty, to stay high all day.”

Peterson reached for his wallet and laid three tens in Ziggy’s open hand.

“Fifty would’ve been better,” Ziggy said.

Peterson breathed a laugh. “Country of compromises, Zig.” He held out his hand for the gift.

Ziggy got up with a great deal of effort and entered the metal container. He returned holding a blue Birks jewellery box in one hand and the brown paper wrapping in the other.

“You opened it,” Peterson challenged.

“Sometimes the mailman needs to know what he’s delivering.” He handed box and paper to Peterson. “You do not realize that you dwell in darkness and in death.”

On the front side of the paper was Peterson’s name composed with capital letters from various printed sources. He handed that back to Ziggy and removed the lid on the box. Inside was a bloody finger with an emerald green–painted fingernail.

There was a note crammed inside the lid. Peterson unfolded it. It too had been composed in capital letters from various sources: “DO YOU THINK GOD HEARD THE SOUND OF HER SCREAMING?”

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