The Summer Job by Cesare Adam

Author:Cesare, Adam
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2017-01-25T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Roy loved cooking with dog meat, but getting the meat off smaller dogs was frustrating.

This wasn’t something that he could have Claire help him with, either, so it would be the first time he’d be filleting without a fingertip.

All his life, the world around Roy had made him aware of his shortcomings. When he was a boy, girls had shied away from his rough looks. In elementary school he’d struggled and he never finished high school.

Roy was dumb and ugly, but—up until last week—he could cook. He could cook well.

Before that fucker had shot his right pointer finger off.

He would kill Tobin. That much was certain—that much Ms. Brant had promised him. It was only a matter of when.

He was going to kill him and eat him. That was one kind of meat he’d never prepared. Whatever Roy was, he wasn’t a cannibal, but when he thought of killing Tobin, all his mind could focus on was what to do after. He decided that he would hollow out his chest cavity like a deer and then cook his heart.

Death was too good for the man that had taken his finger, that had left him unable to hold a knife properly.

Over the years he’d honed his skill with a knife to an art form. His hand felt complete with a blade. He could debone any fish, work with any cut of beef, dice and chop any fruit or vegetable. The important thing, he’d learned, was that all your control came from applying pressure with that first knuckle, the one that he didn’t have anymore.

He tried working with his left hand, but that didn’t work.

In order to hold the knife in his right hand, he had to press harder against the shattered stump of his knuckle. Even through the oxy he’d had Dwyer prescribe (small town general store and pharmacy, no doctor required), pressing the knife handle against his knuckle caused him great pain.

To reduce the pain, he piled gauze on top of his wound. The problem then becoming the thicker he wrapped the dressing on his wound, the more dexterity he lost.

He pressed harder now, trying to separate a lower leg from an elbow. The knife slipped and he ended up cutting a deep gash in his left thumb.

“Damnit!” Roy yelled and tossed the knife across the kitchen. He imagined it sailing through the air like a laser and sticking to the opposite wall with a satisfying thunk. The throw had been clumsy, though, so the knife slapped against the wall with the flat of the blade, clattering to the floor and leaving a faint splotch of dog blood.

If Roy hadn’t been so comforted by what really awaited him in the afterlife, he would consider this new deformity as his own private hell. Tobin had taken away the one thing he was proud of. The boy had done it so clinically, yet so nonchalantly. Had he known what he was doing when he pulled the trigger?

It seemed unlikely, but something inside Roy told him that he had done it on purpose.

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