The Second Hand Man
July 22nd, 1969

My mother wason the phone all morning. The terrible news has the community all abuzz!

The mainheadline of the Sedgefield Oracle read:

Local BakerDies!

Beneath thatin smaller type was:

Communitymorns the passing of a gastronomic great.

The shock tomy mother’s system has been great. She needed to have some sugar to calm andstabilize her nerves.

I was kindenough to offer her some specially imported candy from Belgium.

Yesterday I took a bicycle ride out to the Ol’ Bradley plot to see whatwas developing out there. The large red and black ‘For Sale’ sign had beenpainted over with a shabby ‘Sold’ in white paint

I leaned my bike against one of the two supporting poles of the sign andsat with my back against the other, resting up for a while.

After the short respite I took a walk into the large field beyond thesign. It was a beautiful field carpeted in an abundance of white daisies withlarge yellow centers.

It was a shame to think that this would soon be replaced with theconcrete and asphalt used in the construction of a large, greasy gas stationand repair workshop.

I decided to make a last use of the plot’s natural resources. Besides itswonderful aesthetic value, it would prove most useful to me in doing a littleinsect hunting for a private little project I had been mulling about in my headfor a couple of days.

Luckily I had had the forethought to bring along a couple of containersfor just such a purpose. The first was a box of matches, and the second a largecan of baking powder.

I emptied out the contents of both in order to complete the task.

It took me a long time to gather what I considered to be a sufficientamount to complete the project in a proper and thorough manner (This particularassignment could not be approached in a half-hearted manner.). For motivation,I kept reminding myself of the marks I had witnessed on an innocent child’sbruised and battered body on the night of July 12th.

I had worked up a reasonable appetite by the time I reached town. Idecided to treat myself once more to that gastronomic great’s great custardslices.

There was absolute terror in the man’s eyes as he spied one of the threewinged creatures buzzing angrily about his head.

I had taken the liberty to annoy the little buggers by giving thematchbox a vicious shake, while he had been retrieving my treat from therefrigerated display, before releasing them.

He disappeared swiftly through the doorway that led to the area where Iexpected the baking and food preparation took place. He shouted frantically,“Hannah! Marta! Come quickly! Another one of those damned insects is inside theshop again. Get in there and kill it. Quickly!”

Marta and Hannah had been quick – but I had been quicker. By the timethey appeared through the doorway, wielding rolled-up newspapers, I had alreadymade the swop.

Hannah killed one of the deadly pests with the sports section of theSedgefield Oracle.

I was then kind enough to point out a second one crawling on the floor.Marta squashed it beneath her shoe.

I have no idea what happened to the third, but as for the other twenty orso – I knew exactly where they were hiding; they were waiting for a sweet toothfor foreign candy to release them, and their canned-up frustration.

I hope Marnie’s immediate family also possesses the skill to make thosecustard slices that I’m so partial to?

If not, I may just end up missing the bastard myself!!!