Thoughts from the road

Joe Lon eyed Wilma cautiously. Her bright eyes darted back and forth- never in the same place for long, darting to and fro like criminals on the run. Oh how Joe Lon longed to chase criminals again! Were his instincts rusty, or was she actually cheating?



Joe Lon's knuckles whitened as he gripped the revolver on the table before him. He thought about the revolver- the perfect mechanism that he spent countless hours disassembling, oiling, calibrating, and maintaining. Ol' life changer, as he'd lovingly named her, never strayed far from his mind. Some might say Joe Lon was obsessed.



It was the clicking sound that titillated Joe Lon. He craved to hear that revolver clicking, to feel the power that came with his post. Sometimes, alone in his study, Joe Lon would give it a good spin and watch it turn around and around. Other times, he'd close his eyes and imagine Ol' life changer was going to work her magic on his own life. He knew it was an eventuality- he'd made up his mind long ago that he deserved it as much as anybody.



Wilma's nervous cackle jerked Joe Lon back to reality. He reached up to lower the volume on his hearing aid. Sons-o-bitches, he thought, remembering how the audiologist assured him these models would reduce painful feedback. Even after he'd turned his ears down to zero the shrill outburst bombarded his ears. Wilma isn't usually this loud, Joe Lon realized.



And he made up his mind right then and there: Wilma had to go. He gripped the revolver so tight his fingers looked like rigid elongated raisins. He planned his confrontation- the time and place when at last he could pour out his observations and reveal his case against Wilma. There was no other way, Joe Lon reasoned.


And then, from across the room, an unexpected voice rang out: "Bingo!"

It wasn't Wilma. Joe Lon was instantly stricken with guilt. Pale, ghost-faced, Joe Lon released the revolver and rose from his seat. He limped back to his table. His turn as the caller was over.