Fred's demise

So Fred called the four of us (me, Pete, Josh and Justin) up, asked for our help to clean up some messy mess. We were innocently unsuspecting enough. I was just preoccupied by those serious dents he made on the cargo bed of my red Tundra I loaned him last week.

Sure enough, there was this big sheet of tin sandwiched between two pieces of ply wood propped up against the fridge. That's what he borrowed my truck to haul. The blood splatter on the board could have been a masterpiece in some fancy gallery I thought for a moment. You've got to give it to him, the dude knew his physics - the wood absorbs the kinetic energy and prevents the bullet from ricocheting while the metal sheet shields his beloved Westinghouse appliance from piercing - cheapo.

He did it kneeling down. Towels on the vinyl floor soaked up most of the blood. Plenty of red dots on those cut up shower curtains taped to the oak cabinets. The gore filled hole on his temple reminded me of that camp night boar head roasting. He did all the roasting while the rest of us got drunk. Good times, but the dude had problems and I didn't notice.

While Justin sat sighing at the dining table and Pete stood debating himself whether to wipe the floor or call the police first, I looked around. "What's the hurry, why today I wondered." Judy's due in a month, dude didn't want his kid to lose its father - better to never have one than to lose - I figured, he was twisted.

The staircase was lined with fading photos. The five of us were in most of them; the rest were Judy's. I never knew he cared enough to hang us on his wall; I can't be blamed, the dude was private and kept to himself.

I hesitated to the bedroom door. I thought I'd find some answers there. But nah, he wanted to hide it from Judy he stowed it in the garage. Besides, I was afraid I'd find his shirt draped upon my Gap turtleneck I lost at a camping trip. I made it my policy not to peer into another dude's closet after that cowboy movie.

So me and Josh like two detectives headed for the garage for inspection. I was examining a rubber hose and a few printouts that read "Beware - Poison Gas" in bold, when Josh hollered me over to check out a waist high gas tank.

"He was going to poison himself." Josh pointed at the CO tag hanging off the knob. I noticed the red paint at the bottom matched those rubbed off my truck.

"Would have been less painful and less messy. Why didn't he do this instead?" I was puzzled, so was Josh, until we heard his calico kitty meowed at the door.

We miss Fred, he was a thoughtful guy.