Snatch turned the sledgehammer around in his grip and glanced at the dark brown weighted head. On the end of the sledgehammer’s head, a stain turned the brown metal a sick mixture of purple, crimson and rust-red. Snatch licked his teeth behind his pursed lips and chewed the inside of his mouth.
“Rat,” Snatch said. “I killed a rat.”
Laura exhaled. “Maybe you should try to kill that snake I saw?” She forced a laugh in an attempt to ease out of the tense situation.
Snatch looked at Laura and dropped the sledgehammer with a loud thud against the kitchen floor. He released the rough wood handle and let the hammer flop to its side to rest prone against the cheap, cracked linoleum.
Snatch looked out through the kitchen window, into the farmhouse’s front yard. Sunlight filtered through the grime on the window and made Snatch question how long he’d been standing there in the kitchen.
Blocks of time disappeared from his mind, he realized, and he looked back to Laura as he shoved his hands down into his coverall pockets.
Laura leaned cautiously against the kitchen counter and rested her hand on her revolver. “Can I speak with your Mother?”
Snatch glared at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but Laura corrected her own mistake.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “May I speak to Mother?”
Snatch smiled. He pointed down the short hall that led into the den. By this time of day, Mother likely had her mouth wrapped around a bottle of gin or Vodka. She was probably attached to the couch, lounging in a drunken stupor.
Laura nodded and stepped through the short hall and out into the den.
“Edgar?” she called out.
Snatch walked down the hall behind her and stepped into the den. He did not see Mother.
“Where is she?” Laura asked. Her hand slipped back to her revolver and her shoulders shook.
The couch was empty. Snatch stared at it in disbelief and looked to the wall to see the grimy, dust-covered clock dutifully tick-tocking away the seconds. Mother should be on the couch by this time.
“She must still be asleep,” he said. He knew it wasn’t true. He had a deep dread seated in his stomach; nausea rolled over him and a sudden pang of pain reminded him of his headache, pounding in his temples with each slam of his heart in his chest.
“I need to speak with her, Edgar. The Sheriff told everyone he was coming out to speak with the two of you.”
“So?” Snatch asked.
“The Sheriff hasn’t come back yet. He’s missing and the last place he said he was coming was out here.” Laura glanced past Snatch at the short hall that led into the kitchen, the way out. Snatch stood in the way.
“The Sheriff never spoke to Mother. He left because she was sleeping.” He took a step closer to Laura and tightened his fists in his pockets.
“I still need to speak to her, Edgar.”
“Don’t wake her,” Snatch insisted. “She needs her sleep.” The fat slug.
Laura stepped toward the two bedrooms at the end of the farmhouse. One, she knew was Edgar’s. The other, she guessed, must belong to Mother. She grabbed the doorknob of the closed door and twisted it in her hand.
“No,” Snatch said. He stepped closer to her.
Laura opened the door.
Snatch stepped behind Laura and looked over her shoulder into the empty bedroom. Mother was not in the farmhouse.
Laura turned around and gasped when she saw Snatch standing so close. Her face nearly bumped into his bulky chest.
“I told you not to bother her!” Snatch slapped Laura across her face and grabbed a fist full of her hair.
Laura grabbed for her gun, but Snatch gripped her wrist with his free hand and shoved her against the doorframe.
“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He smashed her head against the doorframe and let her go.
Laura fell to the bedroom floor and scrambled away from Snatch’s towering silhouette in the doorframe. He planted a heavy workboot against her chest and pushed her flat against the floor.
“Where is your Mother?” Laura asked from the floor. She gripped Snatch’s boot with both hands. She struggled to keep Snatch’s weight off of her midsection.
“What did you do with her?” Snatch replied. He stared down at Laura and pressed his boot down against her hands and chest.
“Nothing, I swear to God, nothing!”
“Then where is she?” He leaned down and gripped her face in his rough palm.
“I don’t know!”
His anger subsided as quickly as it started. He stepped back from her and pulled his hand away from her face.
“Where is Mother?” he asked. His voice growled in his chest and the words struggled past his lips like the last spastic movements of a dying dog.
Laura stood up and smoothed her messy hair. “I don’t know,” she answered again, this time unclouded by her panic.
Snatch turned around and stepped out of Mother’s bedroom. He stopped in the doorframe and stood there. He said nothing.
Laura waited. Her hand moved back to her revolver and her thumb unclipped the strap that held the gun in place.
“So what are you going to do about the Sheriff?” Snatch asked after several seconds that stretched far too long.
“I’m going to arrest you,” Laura said.
The cold touch of Laura’s revolver barrel against Snatch’s neck made him shiver. He slowly lifted his hands and held them out to the side.
“What for?” Snatch asked. Because you killed the Sheriff, he was sure she would say.
“Assaulting an officer,” she answered. “That should give us enough time to figure out what’s going on here.”
“What?” Snatch asked. Sweat rolled down his back as Laura guided his hands behind him. He heard the sound of handcuffs coming out. Two pairs, and he heard her clasp them together.
“First the Sheriff goes missing after coming out here? Now your mother is gone? Something’s up with you, Edgar.” She handcuffed his hands behind his back with the two pairs of handcuffs.
“You slept with me,” Snatch said. “I’ll tell on you.”
Laura’s breath caught in her throat. She shook it off and forced a laugh. “Tell on me?”
Snatch strained against the handcuffs and blinked to see through the sweat that dripped off of his brow and into his eyes.
“Laura,” Snatch rumbled, “you have no idea what’s coming next.”
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