Bobby the Butcher's Arc

Chapter 9 of 10

Bobby slept badly and opened the shop at dawn. He needed to know who Desmond had chosen. Until he knew, he couldn't protect anyone — he'd be watching every door in town at once. He set the dark knife on the counter and waited for the bell. Mrs. Smith came in before eight. She was an older woman in a trench coat and glasses, the closest thing the town had to a newspaper. If someone had been struck, she'd know before the milk was delivered. She set her handbag on the counter and studied Bobby's face the way she studied everything — carefully, and without permission. "You look like you haven't slept," she said. "Busy week." Bobby wiped his hands on his apron. "Anything happening around town? Anyone taken sick?" Mrs. Smith's eyes brightened. She loved being asked. "The dentist," she said. "Dr. Stevens. His clinic flooded overnight. Pipe burst in the wall. He was there past midnight pulling up carpet. And his car wouldn't start this morning. Two things in one night. Poor man." Bobby's stomach dropped. Dr. Stevens had fixed a molar for him last spring and refused to charge full price. Bobby had brought him a rack of ribs to settle it. That was the whole of their friendship — one favor, one gift. Enough for Desmond to notice. Enough to count as someone Bobby cared about. "When did the pipe go?" Bobby asked. "Sometime after ten, he said." After Desmond had left the shop. The timing fit. Bobby thanked her and cut her a pound of stew beef on the house. She left pleased, already carrying the story to her next stop. Bobby locked the door and turned the sign. He drove to the dental clinic. Water stains climbed the baseboards. Dr. Stevens was on his knees with a bucket, gentle as always, apologizing to nobody in particular. Bobby stood in the doorway and made himself look at the ceiling, the corners, the light fixtures. High on the window frame, tucked behind the blind, a small dark stone sat wedged into the wood. It did not belong there. He didn't touch it. He'd learned that lesson. Bobby walked back to his truck and sat with his hands on the wheel. He had his answer. Desmond had already struck. The dentist was the target, and the strike had landed the same night the threat was made. Not a warning. A done thing. He drove to Jessica's house. She opened the door a crack, dark dress, hair loose, face closed. "Dr. Stevens," Bobby said. "He put something in the clinic. I need to know how to lift it without setting off another one." Jessica looked at him a long moment. "You can't," she said. "Once it's placed and the person is hit, lifting it does nothing. The damage is already spent." "Then how do I stop the next one?" "You don't." She began to close the door. "You take his ring off me. That's all you need to know." The door shut. Bobby stood on the step. He knew who Desmond had struck. He knew he couldn't undo it. And he knew the only way forward now ran straight through the binding on Jessica's hand.