Boys Life

know, so you could set your watch.”
    “Set my watch? Are you-” He stopped. “Oh. Yeah. Okay, I’ll do that.” He grinned, his face sweating as he looked up at the sheriff. “Gerald and me are supposed to help a friend clean out his garage day after Christmas. That’s why he’s tellin’ me what time he’ll be back.”
    “Is that so?” the sheriff asked. “What friend might that be, Dick?”
    “Oh… fella lives in Union Town. You wouldn’t know him.”
    “I know a lot of people in Union Town. What’s your friend’s name?”
    “Joe,” Mr. Hargison said, at the exact second Mr. Moultry said, “Sam.”
    “Joe Sam,” Mr. Moultry explained, still sweatily grinning. “Joe Sam Jones.”
    “I don’t think you’re gonna be helping any Joe Sam Jones clean out his garage the day after Christmas, Dick. I think you’ll be in a nice secure hospital room, don’t you?”
    “Hey, Dick, I’m headin’ off!” Mr. Hargison announced. “Don’t you worry, you’re gonna be just fine.” And with that last word the toe of his left shoe nudged the silver Christmas tree star that lay balanced on the hole’s ragged edge. Dad watched the little star fall as if in graceful slow motion, like a magnified snowflake drifting down.
    It hit one of the bomb’s iron-gray tail fins, and exploded in a shower of painted glass.
    In the seconds of silence that followed, all four of the men heard it.
    The bomb made a hissing sound, like a serpent that had been awakened in its nest. The hissing faded, and from the bomb’s guts there came a slow, ominous ticking: not like the ticking of an alarm clock, but rather the ticking of a hot engine building up to a boil.
    “Oh… shit,” Sheriff Marchette whispered.
    “Jesus save me!” Mr. Moultry gasped. His face, which had been flushed crimson a few moments before, now became as white as a wax dummy.
    “The thing’s switched on,” Dad said, his voice choked.
    Mr. Hargison’s speech was by far the most eloquent. He spoke with his legs, which propelled him across the warped floor, out onto the crooked porch and to his car at the curb as if he’d been boomed from a cannon. The car sped away like the Road Runner: one second there, the next not.
    “Oh God, oh God!” Tears had sprung to Mr. Moultry’s eyes. “Don’t let me die!”
    “Tom? I believe it’s time.” Sheriff Marchette was speaking softly, as if the weight of words passing through the air might be enough to cause concussion. “To vamoose, don’t you?”
    “You can’t leave me! You can’t! You’re the sheriff!”
    “I can’t do anythin’ more for you, Dick. I swear I wish I could, but I can’t. Seems to me you need magic or a miracle right about now, and I think the well’s run dry.”
    “Don’t leave me! Get me out of this, Jack! I’ll pay you whatever you want!”
    “I’m sorry. Climb on up, Tom.”
    Dad didn’t have to be told a second time. He scaled that ladder like Lucifer up a tree. At the top, he said, “I’ll steady the ladder for you, Jack! Come on!”
    The bomb ticked. And ticked. And ticked.
    “I can’t help you, Dick,” Sheriff Marchette said, and he climbed the ladder.
    “No! Listen! I’ll do anythin’! Get me out, okay? I won’t mind if it hurts! Okay?”
    Dad and Sheriff Marchette were on their way to the door.
    “Please!” Mr. Moultry shouted. His voice cracked, and a sob came out. He fought against his trap, but the pain made him cry harder. “ You can’t leave me to die! It’s not human!”
    He was still shouting and sobbing as Dad and the sheriff left the house. Both their faces were drawn and tight. “Great job this turned out to be,” Sheriff Marchette said. “Jesus.” They reached the sheriff’s car. “You need a ride somewhere, Tom?”
    “Yeah.” He frowned. “No.” And he leaned against the car. “I don’t know.”
    “Now, don’t look like that! There’s not a thing can be done for him, and you know it!”
    “Maybe somebody ought to wait around, in case the bomb squad shows up.”
    “Fine.” The sheriff glanced up and down the deserted street. “Are you volunteerin’?”
    “No.”
    “Me, neither! And they’re not gonna show up anytime soon, Tom. I think that bomb’s gonna explode and we’ll lose this whole block, and I don’t know about you, but I’m gettin’ out while I’ve still got my skin.” He walked around to the driver’s door.
    “Jack, wait a minute,” Dad said.
    “Ain’t got a minute. Come on, if you’re