Fiction
by Brendan DuBois
by Brendan DuBoisIt was a late spring day when my landscaper—Hiram Grant—took a mid-morning break and came up on my porch, where I was sitting in one of the two wooden rocking chairs with my cane held between my legs. Hiram was solid, built wide, wearing soiled khaki pants tucked into muddy Wellington boots and a gray hoodie on top.
The sleeves of the hoodie were pushed back, revealing long beefy forearms and dark tattoos. He had a thick full beard and the top of his head was razored tight, leaving just a faint stubble. One of his upper canine teeth was missing, leaving a dark gap.
Out in front, along the shoreline of my small man-made pond, Hiram’s assistant Cray Lister was raking out dead leaves from the pond’s bottom. Cray had been working for Hiram since g
