Dark of the Moon

people noticing, and worse, knowing who you were, and wondering why you were hanging out. Walk down the street, and you could see the drapes moving, the eyes pressing out of the houses, following behind you; the dogs watching from behind fences, witnessing your intrusion.
    There was an old joke about a small town: a real small town meant that you didn’t have to use the turn signals on your car, because anybody behind you already knew where you were going…
     
    F LOWERS.
    Flowers could be taken at the motel. Watch for the light in his room, wait for it to go out, throw some gravel against the sliding glass door, and when he looked out, hit him with a shotgun.
    The problem then, would be getting away. Okay—run across the parking lot, behind the Dairy Queen, which would be closed at that time of night, up the alley behind the downtown businesses, out of sight in the dark.
    Maybe…there was that one streetlight. Take it out ahead of time with a .22? That could be done. But if anybody saw you, even just a glimpse, there was a chance that they’d recognize the build, the stride, the way of running…People here knew everything about you.
    Perhaps Flowers could be lured out somewhere: it’d have to be indirect. He’d have to think he was sneaking up on somebody, and then, when he stepped in the trap, boom. And then, and then…there’d be a cop frenzy. The BCA would flood the town with investigators.
    Have to think about it.
     
    J OHNSTONE and Roman were different.
    If they weren’t done, Moonie would never get any rest. Their deaths were a basic requirement of life. Johnstone wouldn’t be any harder than it was with Judd: Johnstone was an old man, with an old man’s neck. A rope would be enough to do it. A knife. A hammer. Wouldn’t actually have to shoot out his eyes—a knife would take them out, though he enjoyed the resonance of the gun. Go over to Johnstone’s place after dark, knock quietly on the side door. He’d open it. But would he turn on the porch light first? Maybe unscrew the bulb.
    Johnstone lived near the Gleasons’ house. Sneaking was easy with the Gleasons, but now, in the changed atmosphere, it might not be so easy. Anybody caught sneaking anywhere in Bluestem would be put under a microscope. And if Moonie were put under a microscope, there wouldn’t be a single person in town who could provide an alibi, who would say, “Yup, we were out together looking at the fire,” or whatever.
    If you didn’t have an alibi, they’d pick you apart.
    Schmidt would be easier in some ways, harder in others. He lived outside of town, for one thing. Make sure the Schmidts were home, pull into the yard, past the yard light, park by the kitchen garden. Take Roman out, then the wife; she was old and slow.
    But Roman carried a gun and he was tough, even at his age, and he had to be killed quickly, without suspecting what was coming.
    Though it’d be nice to chat with him for a few minutes, when he knew he was dying, when he knew his wife was already dead, to see the hate in his fading eyes.
    And then…
     
    I F HE HIT S CHMIDT, then Johnstone, who was already a tough target, would get tougher. Everybody would be on edge. But Johnstone had to go; there were only two weeks left before the moon rolled around again.
     
    T HEN IT ’ D BE possible, bearable, after Johnstone and Schmidt, to lie low for a while, and do the business killings, one at a time…even let some time pass. Maybe come up with something complicated, so they’d seem like accidental deaths.
    When all the necessary killings were done, would it be possible to stop? Maybe not: but if it were necessary to feed the hunger, purely for recreational reasons and psychological comfort, that could be done in other places, as time allowed. Minneapolis, Des Moines, Omaha. Kill and go…
     
    H HU.
     
    T HE MARIJUANA wasn’t helping the thought process, though it was a wonderful thing in its own right: mellowed out the experience, gave life to the stars.
    Had to focus. Tactics. Strategy.
    Blew a little smoke into the sky and watched the Big Dipper rolling by, watched the lightning bugs blinking out their passions, and Moonie thought, and thought, and finally plucked a flower out of the overgrown jumble of the backyard, and in the shaft of light that came out the bedroom window onto the lawn, plucked the petals one by one, letting God decide.
    Johnstone, Flowers, Roman; Johnstone, Flowers, Roman…
    The flower had quite a few petals, but offered