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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
1
11
13
25
29
33
37
51
53
63
69
81
83
99
105
129
131
145
149
151
153
157
173
from the plumber's helper, Billy, a husky youth in his first week on the job.
The lucky apprentice was fetching parts from the truck when he first heard gunshots, then screams. He hesitated for a
long instant, torn between helping his boss and saving his own ass. A second volley of gunshots and screams sent him
racing across the road to the neighbor's.
Mrs. B___ was watching "Matlock" and was oblivious to the carnage across the road. She nearly jumped out of her
house dress when Billy pounded on the door screaming bloody murder. Living across the way from Mc___ for 30
years taught her he was an ill-tempered sonofabitch. For the love of God, he even shot her dogs for trespassing. What
with Billy's gasping and pointing over his shoulder like that, she know the twisted old fart was up to no good again.
Fortunately for the plumber, a Sheriff's deputy was patrolling nearby. Within minutes three units had surrounded the
house, and the plumber crawled out of the front door under the blare of a bullhorn. From a stretcher he told the
deputies Mc___was holed up in the back of the house with a gun. He wasn't sure, but he thought the old man's family
might be dead.
Authorities reached Mc___ within the hour, a suicide victim in the corner of the back bedroom. Had he not kept the
police at bay with rantings and potshots, his son might have survived.
A thorough investigation by the Sheriff concluded there was no wrongdoing on the plumber's part. The old man just
snapped.
away -- a busted toilet, leaking water heater, or, worst case scenario, fix something started by the homeowner. Maybe
the plumber was compelled to bring the old plumbing up to code. He is distinguished by his ability to turn a $200 visit
into an invoice of $2,000.
Because of the emergency nature of the call, he may have showed up after hours -- a euphemism for time and a half.
Perhaps the Mississippi Man's water pressure was zilch, the switch in his pump went out for the hundredth time, out-of
town company was on the way, and his water pipes were hopelessly constricted with rust. From his bedside he called
a plumber, water feebly coursing through his house like the blood of a heart attack patient on life support.
If the house was old enough, the piping would be as brittle as a widow's bones. One bad pipe after another, the
threads rusted in their fittings, would crumble beneath the steel teeth of the plumber's wrench. A one hour job was
dragging on into the middle of the night. And although the plumber was now charging upwards of $100 per hour, there
was "no way" he could predict when he'd be done.. Or, the final cost.
Holes were appearing in the ceiling at the rate of three or four per hour as the plumber searched for fitting after fitting,
plunging his saw into the lathe and plaster. Patches would cost $50 each, and there were nearly a dozen -- not to
mention repainting. A flimsy plastic tarp, full of holes, was spread over the new carpet for "protection." Plaster dust
filled the air and pea-sized chunks of the stuff collected in the gap between the baseboard and the tarp.
"When will you find the leak?" Mississippi Man kept asking.
"There's no way to tell. We're doin' the very best we can. That's all I can say."
"You've been here for hours!"
"I can't help it!" the plumber argued. "When the water starts to goin', it just runs all over the place." He pointed from
one corner of the room to the other. "Just 'cause it's drippin' here don't mean it ain't leakin' there, sir!"
Maybe the plumber had the audacity to take umbrage at the constant questioning. Water still trickled through the
pipes, mixing with the plaster dust and congealing on the carpet.
"How much more pipe do you have to tear out?" Mississippi Man wheezed. If he had his health, he would have yelled.
The plumber looked him in the eye and jabbed a stubby finger in his face. "I could shut this thing down tonight and
re-pipe the whole house next week. Is that what you want? You just say the word."
The smell of age-old rodent droppings spread through the air, poisoning the house. A fine layer of dust covered the
dresser and nightstands. The bedding would have to be washed and changed before they slept there again. Mississippi
Man's emphysema was bad before -- now it was worse.
His breathing came in short raspy gasps. The vein on his forehead bulged. "How are we going to clean this up?" he
demanded.
Company was due tomorrow.
Perhaps his wife began nagging him to take control of a situation he had no control over. Powerlessness and frustration
beget violence. It's possible the plumber was tired too, and ill-timed words were exchanged.
Maybe that handgun by the bedside should have been kept locked up.
Maybe Mississippi Man should have known what he was getting into.
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