Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 6 - Saved By The Beau

“Saved By The Beau.” By Roseyone

Chapter Six

     If not for the stench that emanated off his filthy body and heralded his presence I would have slammed into Mr. Abel upon turning the corner of Main Street and Barca Lane. Fortunately, the heat of the day, the unspeakable state of Mr. Abel’s orifices and a rare gust of desert wind had all conspired to reach out to my olfactory sense and warn me of Mr. Abel’s approach from Barca. I paused on Main just short of the tavern building’s corner, counted to three then stood tranfixed as Mr. Abel swung around from the Barca side with his eyes trained on mine. A smile, devoid of anything good, tore across the bottom third of his stubbled sweaty face to reveal the amber hued moire pattern on his tall narrow teeth. He paused less than two feet from me and made a gutteral sound that approximated a chuckle. Mr. Abel had clearly contrived our seemingly chance encounter. Very slowly, his long fingers crept up to the top of his dark tie then Mr. Abel thrust the entire thumb of one hand beneath the windsor knot at his throat with one quick forceful motion.

“You work for me now.” Mr. Abel’s cold stare straifed across my lips for a moment then perhaps because he recalled that we were in public, he took a single step backward. The street around us was empty partially because it was getting late but mostly because there was little to Assumption to begin with.

“Welcome aboard.” Mr. Abel used his public voice and tilted his head at an angle that Mrs. Parrish sometimes derided as the aint-I-so-cute-nod-of-the-devil. I’d heard through Mrs. Parrish that Otto Abel had once been a strapping college athlete and the most eligible bachelor in Muncie County. Freddy, she’d said, was his father’s spitting image at the same age but I couldn’t see a clear line of succession. While Freddy’s good looks were decidedly Abel, judging from a couple of his paternal uncles who lived in Muncie; those looks were well laid out on the best of the McKee’s tall broad-shouldered substrate while Mr. Abel’s tall head seemed like just a trifle too much for his somewhat narrow shoulders. Additionally, Freddy Abel was self-conciously fastidious and kind just two of many facets that were in direct opposition to his father’s whole presentation. It seemed unlikely to me that fate would ever play such a disgusting joke on Freddy. 

I coughed when a gust of wind filled my nostrils with another dose of Mr. Abel. His hard gaze grew more avid, Mr. Abel seemed capable of extracting something appetizing from any motion, any gesture and any expression that I made. Too late, I clapped a hand over my mouth but it was an impotent gesture, there was nothing short of a lobotomy that could ever make Mr. Abel forget my lips.

“Thank you Mr. Abel. I have to go, it’s almost dinner time.“ I glanced at my watch for show and took a step to Mr. Abel’s left. This time there was an empty street to escape into instead of a narrow and cluttered market aisle. Mr. Abel moved with me, he sucked in his breath audibly and shifted his gaze around the street to be sure that if seen he would not be heard.

“Stop. We must-” he began.

“-Melia!” Freddy called as he darted out of the alleyway on Barca Lane and strode toward where I stood at the corner with his father. A startled Mr. Abel rounded, spotted his son and took two very wide steps aside as Freddy barreled past him and approached me.

“Congratulations Melia.” Freddy held something wrapped in a napkin up to my face and as a wave of relief washed over me, I inhaled the sweet aroma of fresh chocolate cake.

“She…you can’t…you know the rules….” Mr. Abel sputtered somewhere behind Freddy in a tone bereft of any authority. Freddy smiled down at me, opened the napkin that was now in my hands with his index fingers and thumbs then gave me an encouraging nod.

“Your favorite.” Freddy said. He pinched off a small piece of cake and carefully fed it to me, right there on Barca and Main. Don’t be so common! I heard my father’s warning voice pipe-up in  my head but Freddy knew me well, the delicate, sweet taste of chocolate melting onto my palate easily trumped propriety. I stared up at Freddy, aware that Mr. Abel, with his mouth agape, was craning his neck from behind his son’s back to watch me chew.