The Gift of Illusion

Chapter Six





1





He made sure to lock the doors.

From inside the gas station, behind the barred glass windows, he could see it all. It was a world he had not seen in a very long time, and though everything had changed, slowly, he began to feel more like himself again.

He studied and waited for the arrival of a stronger, more significant being. Many had stopped by since the two detectives left hours ago. Some just passed through, a few knocked, and many tried to step inside. Though most were undeserving, and all did not warrant the respect of the special gift, a gift that only he could give.

The gift of illusion.

And then—

Deputy Howers finished pumping forty-five dollars worth of cheap gasoline into his squad car then walked toward the front of the store. He slung open the door and smiled at the clerk behind the cash register. The clerk smiled back. He removed his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and set it down on the counter.

“Forty-five on pump two,” said the young deputy. His voice had a touch of backwoods to it. “And a case of Copenhagen.”

Eddie smiled again and gazed up at the deputy’s finely brushed cowboy hat. “That’s a nice hat you have there.”

“Hey, thanks,” said the deputy. “Got it at the flea market.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I tried it on, would you?”

“I don’t know. I’m kinda in a hurry if you know what I mean?”

“I understand."

“How much?”

“Well, that all depends,” Eddie said, turning away from the deputy for a second, only to return with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands. “How much do you think your life is worth?”

Deputy Howers jumped back from the counter. “Jesus! What the hell are you doing?”

“How much?” Eddie yelled.

The deputy remained tongue-tied and became more frigid as the seconds waned on, like a well-carved statue of fear.

“Is it worth the hat on your head?”

Deputy Howers only moved to toss the black cowboy hat over to the psychotic store clerk. “Here, t-t-take it,” he squealed, locking his body back into the frozen pictorial of before.

Eddie picked up the hat with his free hand and rested it on top of his head. “How does it look?” he asked.

The nervous deputy nodded an obvious approval.

Then Eddie cocked the shotgun, laughing.

A frightened Christopher closed his eyes.

A moment later the shotgun hit the counter.

The laughing stopped.

Chris opened his eyes with great relief to see the shotgun no longer pointed at him and the psychotic clerk wearing his hat stepping away from the counter.

“What? Can’t take a joke?”

The deputy chose not to respond in words but in actions. He removed his pistol from its holster and pointed it at the mental store clerk.

“I guess not,” Eddie said, answering his own question.

The deputy reached around the side of his belt looking for his radio and then remembered he had left it in the squad car outside. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He inched toward the counter. “Don’t move!”

When he reached the counter, he grabbed the shotgun and unloaded the shells on to the floor. Then he grabbed his wallet and placed it back into the back pocket of his navy blue pants. “Now put your hands over your head and slowly walk around the counter,” he ordered. “Slowly!”

When the clerk was free of the counter, Chris removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Okay, stop! Now turn around and put your hands behind your back!”

Eddie smiled. “Whatever you say, officer.”