The last CD had ended some time ago, but Kyle hadn’t put on any more music. Sometimes he enjoyed the silence, though he knew that drove Gary crazy. Gary would rather listen to country music than work in silence—and he hated country music. Gary was going home for lunch, however, and for the next hour Kyle would have the place to himself.

“You want me to bring you anything?” Gary asked before he left.

Kyle shook his head. “I’m good. Got a sandwich and an apple in the fridge.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine.”

“See you in a while.”

Gary walked back through the store and out the back door to where he’d parked his car.

Behind the register, Kyle sat down in the used office chair he’d bought at auction when Mandy Clegg’s travel agency had gone out of business two years ago. He stared out at the street, saw few cars and fewer pedestrians—no pedestrians, in fact—and wondered how much longer he was going to be able to last, how much longer any of the old downtown businesses were going to last. All of the action was at the other end of town by Wal-Mart and Safeway. If Brave New World were located in the Safeway center, he might have a chance at survival, but the rent was so high for those spaces that half of them were empty.

He picked up the Charles Williams book he’d been reading. One of the advantages of owning your own store. Hopefully, the lunch hour would bring in a few customers, but until then…

The quiet was conducive to concentration, and within minutes he was completely enveloped in Williams’ world of small town crime.

The stillness of the store was shattered not only by the ringing of the bell above the door but by the muttering of the man who stepped through it. Dirty, heavily bearded, wearing what looked like Aqualung’s coat and smelling of long-layered sweat, the man parked himself in front of the counter and stared unblinkingly at Kyle. “Did you eat it?” he asked in a gruff rumble.

Montgomery didn’t really have a homeless problem, and the few displaced individuals who resided in the area were generally well-known to local residents and, in a weird way, part of the community. But Kyle had dealt with this guy before, and he was no quirky eccentric. He was mentally ill and genuinely menacing.

“You need to leave,” Kyle said, politely but firmly.

The man grinned, his remaining teeth stained brown. “You need to eat it.”

He wasn’t about to get sucked into a conversation by asking, “Eat what?” He’d made that mistake last time, engaging in a dialog with the man, who had proceeded to start yelling before throwing a shelf full of books to the floor and running out.

“If you don’t leave,” Kyle said, “I’m calling the sheriff.”

“I’m the sheriff!” the man shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “The other police are pansies!”

Kyle picked up the phone, dialed 911.