A black SUV and white van entered the headlands adjoining Parker's place and pulled up beside the granite outcropping called Angus Rock.
A fellow in brown pinstripes stuck in the ground a pole topped by a red flag marked with a black "BS" inside a white circle. He posed like a rum-peddling pirate as another man took photos. The suits left and workmen got busy with strings, stakes and theodolite.
Parker's buddy, Duncan, showed up with whiskey, coffee and donuts.
“What a nasty flag,” said Duncan. ”Heard downtown the big noise, Bertram Steele, and his mouthpiece, Jacob Wheeler, are sweet talking the Board of Selectmen about that prime piece of waterfront.”
“Angus MacMaster will be pissed,” said Parker. “Gave those acres to the Town over a hundred years ago to leave as is.”
“Steele said it could be improved with asphalt walkways, picnic tables and porta-potties. Betting he's scheming to build a McMansion.”
“Good luck with that,” said Parker.
The old friends played chess on the porch, drank and laughed until late afternoon when a big yellow backhoe arrived. Workmen checked survey markers and drove off leaving the backhoe parked by Angus Rock.
Dark clouds soon rolled in and birds stopped singing. Parker and Duncan put down their drinks and picked up their binoculars.
Angus Rock shuddered as the ground moaned, heaved, tore itself open. The backhoe tilted precariously over the edge then slid sideways into a massive black hole. The opening burped and snapped shut.
“That never gets old,” said Parker.
The men raised glasses of Scottish whiskey and shouted, “Slainte, Laird Angus!”
Next morning workmen returned and called the police. A cruiser and the black SUV came immediately.
Parker called Duncan. “Get over here. Sgt. Bristol's questioned the workers and sent them off. Steele's raging and pushed Wheeler up against the Rock. Now shouting at the sergeant and pointing this way.”
Duncan and Sgt. Bristol arrived at the same time.
”Gentlemen. You see anything, hear anything, know anything about a missing backhoe?”
The two men slowly shook their heads.
The sergeant scanned the wide ocean view, sighed and headed back toward the headlands.
Suddenly the sky darkened and the birds went silent.
Duncan exclaimed, “No! Not now!”
Parker stood and shouted, “Bristol!”
Angus Rock shuddered violently knocking Steele and Wheeler off their feet. The ground growled, heaved, tore itself open. The screaming men, their black SUV and nasty flag tumbled into the abyss. The hole snapped shut with a loud belch before Sgt. Bristol could get there.
“Good God. That was unexpected,” said Duncan, staring at the murder scene.
“Ayuh,” said Parker. “It's going to be one hell of an incident report.”
A fellow in brown pinstripes stuck in the ground a pole topped by a red flag marked with a black "BS" inside a white circle. He posed like a rum-peddling pirate as another man took photos. The suits left and workmen got busy with strings, stakes and theodolite.
Parker's buddy, Duncan, showed up with whiskey, coffee and donuts.
“What a nasty flag,” said Duncan. ”Heard downtown the big noise, Bertram Steele, and his mouthpiece, Jacob Wheeler, are sweet talking the Board of Selectmen about that prime piece of waterfront.”
“Angus MacMaster will be pissed,” said Parker. “Gave those acres to the Town over a hundred years ago to leave as is.”
“Steele said it could be improved with asphalt walkways, picnic tables and porta-potties. Betting he's scheming to build a McMansion.”
“Good luck with that,” said Parker.
The old friends played chess on the porch, drank and laughed until late afternoon when a big yellow backhoe arrived. Workmen checked survey markers and drove off leaving the backhoe parked by Angus Rock.
Dark clouds soon rolled in and birds stopped singing. Parker and Duncan put down their drinks and picked up their binoculars.
Angus Rock shuddered as the ground moaned, heaved, tore itself open. The backhoe tilted precariously over the edge then slid sideways into a massive black hole. The opening burped and snapped shut.
“That never gets old,” said Parker.
The men raised glasses of Scottish whiskey and shouted, “Slainte, Laird Angus!”
Next morning workmen returned and called the police. A cruiser and the black SUV came immediately.
Parker called Duncan. “Get over here. Sgt. Bristol's questioned the workers and sent them off. Steele's raging and pushed Wheeler up against the Rock. Now shouting at the sergeant and pointing this way.”
Duncan and Sgt. Bristol arrived at the same time.
”Gentlemen. You see anything, hear anything, know anything about a missing backhoe?”
The two men slowly shook their heads.
The sergeant scanned the wide ocean view, sighed and headed back toward the headlands.
Suddenly the sky darkened and the birds went silent.
Duncan exclaimed, “No! Not now!”
Parker stood and shouted, “Bristol!”
Angus Rock shuddered violently knocking Steele and Wheeler off their feet. The ground growled, heaved, tore itself open. The screaming men, their black SUV and nasty flag tumbled into the abyss. The hole snapped shut with a loud belch before Sgt. Bristol could get there.
“Good God. That was unexpected,” said Duncan, staring at the murder scene.
“Ayuh,” said Parker. “It's going to be one hell of an incident report.”
