Kenny had
taken swift action when a thunder-bolt shook the building, turning his knees to
jelly and knocked the power out. He put the cash from the register in the safe,
barred the backdoor and went outside to watch what was taking place on the
street.
A crowd had
gathered around the body of a dead-boy in front of the Round-up; none of the
gawkers seemed to be bothered by the downpour. Traffic was still coming down Lake
Street in both directions, headlights cut through the sheets of water,
taillights flashing red in the rain splatter, rolling east and west along the
strip.
The
citizens of St. Anthony have an endless appetite for the carnal delights, Kenny
thought as he watched the flashy sedans pull-up to the side of the street where
they exchanged dollars with the dealers from brown bags filled with dope, or to
give a girl the opportunity to jump in the vehicle with them, or a boy or even
all three.
What
happens in the dark stays in the dark, was the saying on Lake Street. The hard working
Lutherans of Minnesota could pass six nights a week in a delirious stupor six, then
show up to church on Sunday morning for the ritual of confession and
forgiveness of sins.
Tonight all
the car lights were magnified by trillions of tiny drops water, filling the
sky, falling hard and gathering into streams and puddles.
The storm started early and it had
been a long night already. The baseball game had been cancelled and there was nothing
on the radio to listen to; Now that the power was out, Kenny would stay at the
store to ensure that no-one would break in.
An hour after
the power went out, the rain began to lighten…though it never stopped.
Eventually
a couple of squad car from the fifth precinct pulled up across the street to
control the crowd, and the police got out to take statements. Soon after, the Medical
Examiner’s wagon arrived.
There was
nothing unusual about seeing that on Lake Street.
One of the
streetwalkers, a sickly looking blonde girl fresh off the boat, told him that
the boy who worked behind the bar had been struck by lightning after a brawl
with Karl Thorrson.
That didn’t
make any sense to Kenny.
Karl
Thorrson was the new crime boss on Lake Street and over the whole city. He was a
massive hulk of a man; no one would step into a fight with him unless they
had a death wish…even if they didn’t know who he was, Kenny thought as he
tried to recall the exact moment when the lightning struck across the street.
At that instant
there was a drunk standing in the doorway blocking his view: a tall, broad-shouldered-young-drunk,
who he had just sold a fifth of Rye to, obscured his line of sight and then suddenly
ran off a few seconds after the kid dropped dead across the street.
Several
minutes after that, the lightning struck once again…this time it the thunder shook
everything, and the power went out as far down the strip as Kenny could see.
Kenny stood
on his stop watching the water stream down the sidewalk. As the deluge began to
lighten, the gutters began to drain and the overflow from the storm cleared the
sidewalk in front of his store.
It was
August in St. Anthony
Apart from
the fact that the Karl Thorrson had been personally involved in a dust-up, and
he was unhappy to have missed it, as far as Kenny Babineau was concerned it
was just another stormy night on East Lake.
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