the avengers

by fred flynn

the crabgrass was particularly virulent that spring, and bill johnson was doing what he could with his lawn when a black buick pulled up and two men got out. the two men were dressed identically in black suits with white shirts and blue ties, and they wore white straw fedoras with red bands. one man was a little bigger than the other and was named paul smith. his partner was pete jones. “are you bill johnson?” paul smith asked bill johnson. “i’m a bill johnson,” bill johnson smiled. “lots of bill johnsons in the wprld.” “we think you are the bill johnson we want,” pete jones told him. “on a long ago summer day,” paul smith said, “you and tony carter were playing in the old graveyard. an hour earlier mrs joyce walters had placed some fresh flowers on her husband’s grave. you and tony carter thought it would be great fun to take the flowers and throw them around and let tony’s dog, rudy, chase after them.” “we were just little kids. full of mischief,” bill johnson protested. “so you admit it,” pete jones said. “you know that mrs walters’s husband, phil, was a veteran, a man who had served his country?” before bill could reply, pete continued. “later that year, your grandmother came to visit. she was as nice an old lady as ever walked the earth and she thought you might like some of her special molasses cookies. so she spent all day baking them and when you bit into one you said ‘ bleeah - this is the worst thing i ever tasted!’” “what a miserable little shit,” paul added. “i think we have heard enough.” “i couldn’’t agree more,” pete said. pete and paul reached into their suits and pulled out black pistols the exact make and model of which bill did not recognize, and they filled bill full of lead and left him on the lawn with his life dribbling away into the crabgrass. pete and paul got back into the black buick, with pete behind the wheel. “where to now?” pete asked paul. “a fellow named don waterby, over in thomasville. one day a few years back, when don was in junior high, stanley mcgregor told a joke about michael jackson and stevie wonder, and don laughed, laughed harder than anyone else there.” pete’s face tightened. “he did, did he?” paul looked out the window, at the white houses and green lawns flashing past. “you know, we could stop at the motel 6 in centerville tonight, push on to thomasville tomorrow.” “no,” pete replied. “f don’t think this waterby varmint deserves to live anther day on this earth. i say we nail his ass to the wall before the sun goes down.”