“Good morning, Sheriff.” Samson said.

                Peter placed his coffee and soft donut on the counter, already grabbing a five dollar bill from his wallet. “Samson,” he said by way of greeting, “How we doin’ today?”

                Beep. “Oh you know Sheriff, I could complain but who would listen?” Beep. “Four twenty-seven, Sheriff.”

                “Ain’t that the truth,” Peter said as he tossed the five dollar bill on the counter, “Throw the rest of the shit in your penny jar.”

                “You got it, boss. Don’t normally see ya here in the valley, anythin’ going on?”

                “Well,” Peter said between sips of coffee, “you know anythin’ about the boys who went missing three or four days ago?”

                “Oh, yeah, Paquette’s boys right? Timmy and James?”

                “Yeah,” Peter said, shaking his head, “young kids, actually,” he stopped looking at Samson. What could this kid be? Twenty-two? Three? Maybe he knew these kids. “you know them?”

                Samson nodded, “Yeah, went to school with them and everything. They were five or six grades below me, but in schools this small that don’t really matter. Little shitheads from what I remember. Always causing trouble, in and out of the principle’s office, stuff like that.”

                Peter nodded. The more he thought about it the more he thought he might learn from Samson. He was a good kid; his foster parents were pillars of the community until they died. Come to think of it, he thought he’d heard that Samson’s real parents had died when he was kid. Something about a car crash. It had been pretty horrific from what he remembered. Peter also seemed to recall that Samson had an older sister. Sexy little thing she was. “Yeah, Harold swears up and down they were gettin’ their act together.”

                “What were they doin’ when they went missin’?”

                Peter sighed, “Paintin’ barns,” he said. Y’know going around essentially cold calling in rural Vermont.”

                “Yeah, that don’t strike me as too smart. Most folks ‘round here are here cause they wanna be left alone.”

                “Don’t mean they gotta go missin’.” Peter said, “Anyway, you seen ‘em? Or know any barns nearby they mighta gone an’ visited?”

                Samson frowned, “Eh,” he said, “I only really know of one, but ain’t no one goin’ up there, ain’t that right Moose?”

                Peter turned around to see who Samson was addressing. Chills ran through his spine. Peter would recognize Moose anywhere. One night, twenty or so years ago Moose had kicked the shit out of three or four deputies responding to a domestic dispute. Moose wasn’t involved but the dispute spilled onto his property and he didn’t take kindly to folks trespassing. Three fractured ribs, two broken arms, and six bloody noses later, the Judge was kind to Moose. She said he was put into extraordinary circumstances and was forced to respond. Peter thought the animal should have been put into jail for the rest of his days. He’d never seen anything like it.

Fights weren’t like the movies. They were dirty affairs with limbs and bloody fluids spilling everywhere. The deputies weren’t injured because Moose attacked them, they were injured because they tried to stop him from tearing another man’s jaw off. One arm was wrapped around the man’s neck, the other was dug into his mouth, ready to wrench and pull teeth and jaw and all.

“What’s right, Sam?” Moose said, flashing his abnormally albescent teeth.

“Ain’t no one goin’ up to your barn to ask ya if they can paint your stuff, that gate of yours is always closed.”

Moose placed a pint of coffee milk and a twelve pack of PBR on the gas station counter. “Kids got a green ford ranger wit’ a wooden bumper?” He said as he turned his head and locked eyes with Peter. Peter tried to hold that gaze, to search deep within Moose’s bizarrely blue eyes, but those azure pools were unyielding.

“Uh, yeah, how you know that?” Peter asked. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt three sizes larger.

“Cuz I found the truck abandoned out by the point.” He smiled at Peter, “You wanna come see?”

There was a second when Peter saw a shadow over Moose’s shoulder. “Uh, yeah,” Peter found himself saying, “I can be there in an hour?”

“See ya then, Pete.”