Local Hero Read Free

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    Along with no first day on the new job, Hester thought, indulging in some wishful thinking of her own for a moment. No new pressures, new responsibilities. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” As she washed out glasses, she looked over her shoulder. “Are you really worried about it, Rad?”
    â€œSort of.” He shrugged his shoulders. Monday was still a day away. A lot could happen. Earthquakes, blizzards, an attack from outer space. He concentrated on the last.
    He, Captain Radley Wallace of Earth’s Special Forces, would protect and shield, would fight to the death, would—
    â€œI could go in with you if you’d like.”
    â€œAw, Mom, the kids would make fun of me.” He bit into his sandwich. Grape jelly oozed out the sides. “It won’t be so bad. At least that dumb Angela Wiseberry won’t be at this school.”
    She didn’t have the heart to tell him there was a dumb Angela Wiseberry at every school. “Tell you what. We’ll both go to our new jobs Monday, then convene back here at 1600 for a full report.”
    His face brightened instantly. There was nothing Radley liked better than a military operation. “Aye, aye, sir.”
    â€œGood. Now I’ll order the pizza, and while we’re waiting, we’ll put the rest of the dishes away.”
    â€œLet the prisoners do it.”
    â€œEscaped. All of them.”
    â€œHeads will roll,” Radley mumbled as he stuffed the last of the sandwich into his mouth.
    ***
    Mitchell Dempsey II sat at his drawing board without an idea in his head. He sipped cold coffee, hoping it would stimulate his imagination, but his mind remained as blank as the paper in front of him. Blocks happened, he knew, but they rarely happened to him. And not on deadline. Of course, he was going about it backward. Mitch cracked another peanut, then tossed the shell in the direction of the bowl. It hit the side and fell on the floor to join several others. Normally the story line would have come first, then the illustrations. Since he’d been having no luck that way, Mitch had switched in the hope that the change in routine would jog something loose.
    It wasn’t working, and neither was he.
    Closing his eyes, Mitch tried for an out-of-body experience. The old Slim Whitman song on the radio cruised on, but he didn’t hear it. He was traveling light-years away; a century was passing. The second millennium, he thought with a smile. He’d been born too soon. Though he didn’t think he could blame his parents for having him a hundred years too early.
    Nothing came. No solutions, no inspiration. Mitch opened his eyes again and stared at the blank white paper. With an editor like Rich Skinner, he couldn’t afford to claim artistic temperament. Famine or plague would barely get you by. Disgusted, Mitch reached for another peanut.
    What he needed was a change of scene, a distraction. His life was becoming too settled, too ordinary and, despite the temporary block, too easy. He needed challenge. Pitching the shells, he rose to pace.
    He had a long, limber body made solid by the hours he spent each week with weights. As a boy he’d been preposterously skinny, though he’d always eaten like a horse. He hadn’t minded the teasing too much until he’d discovered girls. Then, with the quiet determination he’d been born with, Mitch had changed what could be changed. It had taken him a couple of years and a lot of sweat to build himself, but he had. He still didn’t take his body for granted and exercised it as regularly as he did his mind.
    His office was littered with books, all read and reread. He was tempted to pull one out now and bury himself in it. But he was on deadline. The big brown mutt on the floor rolled over on his stomach and watched.
    Mitch had named him Taz, after the Tasmanian Devil from the old Warner Brothers cartoons, but Taz was hardly a