for it. They shoveled shit and called it gold.
Jeremiah peered through the peephole now, watching as the fat twit preened what little hair he had on his head.
Jeremiah reached for his gun, and then hesitated. The last thing he needed was for them, or, more importantly, the courts, to think he was a raving gun-wielding lunatic whenever someone came to the door. He’d had a bad experience of that with the Bible bashers. But at least everyone secretly knew the Bible bashers had to be crazier than him to be doing that they were doing.
Jeremiah opened the door, getting an eyeful of the fat fool and his two cronies, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, at either shoulder.
“Good afternoon,” Fatty said. “My name is Mr. Pearson, from Righteous Brothers. That’s the property development company, not the singers.”
He chuckled to himself as if this was the first time he’d ever uttered the incredibly feeble joke.
“I’m here to make sure you got our notifications about the opportunity to develop your property,” Fatty said.
Jeremiah didn’t let him get any further. He unleashed a tirade on the hapless fools, opening the floodgates, letting rip and shouting at them as loud as his old voice would allow. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, except that he made sure to slip plenty of offensive words in there. People were always surprised when an old person swore. Well, these fools wouldn’t be after this afternoon.
After what Jeremiah deemed an appropriate length of time, he quietened down. The three men stood there, blinking, like they couldn’t believe what they’d just seen.
Fatty straightened his clothes.
“Did you receive our letters?” he said calmly.
“Yes, I got your stinking letters,” Jeremiah said. “And I took great pleasure in burning them.”
There was a flicker behind one of the stooge’s eyes. As quickly as it came, it was gone.
Fatty calmly took an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and offered it to him. Jeremiah backed away from the letter like it contained the plague, turned, and slammed the door in Fatty’s face. It came so close to his nose he rocked slightly back on his heels.
“We’re going to get your property, Mr. Witness,” Fatty said on the other side of the door. “It’s only a matter of time. You’re better served accepting our proposal or risk losing out on the offer of a lifetime.”
The envelope slid under the door. Jeremiah ignored it.
“We tried,” Fatty said. “Let’s get back to town. I’m going to need a tetanus shot.”
Chapter Three
The sight of the old man had made Graham start. At first he thought they must have gotten the wrong address, or Jeremiah had moved without informing them. This man could clearly not have been the Jeremiah he knew from childhood. And yet, there was a likeness there, a familiarity with the shape of the face and eyes. The features had fallen, become soft and haggard, his ears had doubled in size, and though he could never have been described as a handsome man, now Jeremiah looked like an extra from a Lord of the Rings film.
And when he opened his mouth, curved and round like a creature from a horror story, his eyes wide, bloodshot and yellowed, a spring of profanity escaped the likes of which Graham had never heard. He screamed and shouted at them in heavily nuanced words that even Graham, with a background in this area, couldn’t understand. And once he was finished, Mr. Pearson had smiled as if Mr. Witness hadn’t spoken at all, and dealt the deciding blow.
Graham would have shaken his head if he’d had the nerve. When Jeremiah admitted he’d indeed received their letters, the old man had unknowingly signed his death warrant. That was the greatest weapon in the property developer’s arsenal: ignorance.
It wasn’t even really their fault. People tended to concentrate on learning what affected them in their daily lives rather than things they found boring or tedious. The law was something people generally
Jeremiah peered through the peephole now, watching as the fat twit preened what little hair he had on his head.
Jeremiah reached for his gun, and then hesitated. The last thing he needed was for them, or, more importantly, the courts, to think he was a raving gun-wielding lunatic whenever someone came to the door. He’d had a bad experience of that with the Bible bashers. But at least everyone secretly knew the Bible bashers had to be crazier than him to be doing that they were doing.
Jeremiah opened the door, getting an eyeful of the fat fool and his two cronies, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, at either shoulder.
“Good afternoon,” Fatty said. “My name is Mr. Pearson, from Righteous Brothers. That’s the property development company, not the singers.”
He chuckled to himself as if this was the first time he’d ever uttered the incredibly feeble joke.
“I’m here to make sure you got our notifications about the opportunity to develop your property,” Fatty said.
Jeremiah didn’t let him get any further. He unleashed a tirade on the hapless fools, opening the floodgates, letting rip and shouting at them as loud as his old voice would allow. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, except that he made sure to slip plenty of offensive words in there. People were always surprised when an old person swore. Well, these fools wouldn’t be after this afternoon.
After what Jeremiah deemed an appropriate length of time, he quietened down. The three men stood there, blinking, like they couldn’t believe what they’d just seen.
Fatty straightened his clothes.
“Did you receive our letters?” he said calmly.
“Yes, I got your stinking letters,” Jeremiah said. “And I took great pleasure in burning them.”
There was a flicker behind one of the stooge’s eyes. As quickly as it came, it was gone.
Fatty calmly took an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and offered it to him. Jeremiah backed away from the letter like it contained the plague, turned, and slammed the door in Fatty’s face. It came so close to his nose he rocked slightly back on his heels.
“We’re going to get your property, Mr. Witness,” Fatty said on the other side of the door. “It’s only a matter of time. You’re better served accepting our proposal or risk losing out on the offer of a lifetime.”
The envelope slid under the door. Jeremiah ignored it.
“We tried,” Fatty said. “Let’s get back to town. I’m going to need a tetanus shot.”
Chapter Three
The sight of the old man had made Graham start. At first he thought they must have gotten the wrong address, or Jeremiah had moved without informing them. This man could clearly not have been the Jeremiah he knew from childhood. And yet, there was a likeness there, a familiarity with the shape of the face and eyes. The features had fallen, become soft and haggard, his ears had doubled in size, and though he could never have been described as a handsome man, now Jeremiah looked like an extra from a Lord of the Rings film.
And when he opened his mouth, curved and round like a creature from a horror story, his eyes wide, bloodshot and yellowed, a spring of profanity escaped the likes of which Graham had never heard. He screamed and shouted at them in heavily nuanced words that even Graham, with a background in this area, couldn’t understand. And once he was finished, Mr. Pearson had smiled as if Mr. Witness hadn’t spoken at all, and dealt the deciding blow.
Graham would have shaken his head if he’d had the nerve. When Jeremiah admitted he’d indeed received their letters, the old man had unknowingly signed his death warrant. That was the greatest weapon in the property developer’s arsenal: ignorance.
It wasn’t even really their fault. People tended to concentrate on learning what affected them in their daily lives rather than things they found boring or tedious. The law was something people generally