Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

A Day at the Lake by Ed Poole

Billy Joe was walking down Cedar Lake Road carrying his fishing rod over his shoulder and his tackle and bait in a burlap sack. The spring sun warmed his back through his T-shirt and his brogans made dusty little clouds as he walked down the dirt road. Woods bordered the narrow road so closely that two cars could pass each other only if both drove with their right wheels in the shallow ditches.

Billy Joe was daydreaming about what he would like to do tomorrow to celebrate his eighteenth birthday when he heard a siren in the distance. Daydream was about all he could do because Pa sure wasn’t about to turn loose of any of his money. Ever since Ma died, Pa had been spending his money on hard liquor and the fancy ladies at Lonzo’s Bar and Girl. Actually, it was Lonzo’s Bar and Grill, but everyone called it Lonzo’s Bar and Girl. Mostly just to aggravate Lonzo.

The siren was getting louder. Billy wondered why the sheriff would be coming down Cedar Lake Road with his siren on. The road dead-ended into Cedar Lake. Maybe someone drowned. Yeah, that was probably it. Billy stepped down in the ditch to get out of the way just in the nick of time.

A black BMW came hurtling over a small hill in the road, becoming airborne for an instant before slamming back to earth. As it shot past Billy Joe, someone threw a large brown paper sack out of the passenger side window. The sack ricocheted off a pine tree and fell into a big briar patch.

Before Billy Joe could move, the sheriff came roaring past with his blue lights and siren going. Billy Joe watched until the two cars disappeared over the hill overlooking the lake.

Billy Joe used a long stick to retrieve the sack from the briar patch. It felt pretty heavy. He unrolled the top and opened it. Inside was a large plastic storage bag of white powder. It must’ve weighed close to four pounds. Now Billy Joe knew where the money to celebrate his birthday would come from. In fact, he would probably be able to celebrate quite a few birthdays to come.

Billy Joe took the bag about three hundred yards farther into the woods and shoved it up inside a hollow at the base of a big oak tree. Once one of Billy Joe’s hounds had chased a coon into that hollow. That didn’t sit too well with Billy Joe because the dog was supposed to be trailing a deer Billy Joe had wounded. Billy Joe wedged the bag up in the hollow with pieces of dead limbs that were lying around under the big oak. It was a shame to see such a magnificent tree dying, but whatever was causing the insides of the oak to rot would eventually kill the rest of it.

With visions of visiting one of the fancy ladies at Lonzo’s spinning in his head, Billy Joe took a shortcut through the woods to the lake. When he got there Sheriff Hamilton had his pistol trained on two men who were leaning against the side of the BMW while his deputy, Arthur Monroe, frisked them. One of them was tall and thin with long greasy hair and a pockmarked face. The other one had reddish-blond hair and the build of a fireplug.

“They’re clean, sheriff,” the deputy said as he stepped back from the men.

Sheriff Hamilton swore, and then he noticed Billy Joe. “Come on over here, Billy Joe. I want to talk to you.”

Billy Joe sauntered over while taking another look at the two men. One of them turned his head to look at Billy Joe.

“Boy! You keep that head down like I told you or I’ll tear it off,” screamed Sheriff Hamilton. The man looked down quickly.

“Billy Joe, did you see these guys throw anything out of that car when they came past you?”

“No sir, sheriff. I didn’t see nothing.”

“Hmmm. I was thinking they might have popped over that little hill and thrown something out before they realized you were there. That was the only time they were out of my sight long enough to get rid of anything. Are you sure you didn’t see them throw anything out of that car? Anything at all?” Sheriff Hamilton asked, squinting his eyes and looking down his nose at Billy Joe.

“I’m sure, sheriff. What did they throw out?”

“Never you mind. Get along with your fishing. And I better not find out you lied to me.”

It was a fact that Sheriff Hamilton didn’t feel the need to be nice to you if you couldn’t vote. He’d have probably been a little nicer to Billy Joe if he had known Billy Joe turned eighteen tomorrow.

Billy Joe went down to the edge of the lake and started casting for large-mouth bass. While he fished, he kept looking back up the hill to see what Sheriff Hamilton was going to do with the two men. Billy Joe’s plan depended on their paying him a finder’s fee for returning their property, and they couldn’t do that if they were locked up.

Billy Joe could see but not hear Sheriff Hamilton raising hell with the men. He figured the sheriff didn’t have anything to hold them on or they would already be on their way to jail. Deputy Monroe started walking back up to Cedar Lake Road, looking along both ditches as he walked.

Two large-mouth bass and an hour later the deputy returned empty-handed. The sheriff spat a glob of tobacco and stomped around screaming at the men. He finally stopped ranting and wrote the tall one a ticket. The man signed the ticket; then they got in their car and drove away with the deputy following closely.

Billy Joe settled down to do some serious fishing. If his plan worked, it would be a couple of hours before the men would be able to shake the sheriff and return.

It was closer to three hours before Billy Joe saw the BMW come over the hill. By then he had enough bass to last a month. He reeled his line in, put the fish and his tackle in the burlap bag, and waited in the shade of a pine tree for the men to walk down to him.

The tall one wasted no time. “Where’s our stuff, hayseed?” he asked. The short one just scowled and opened and closed his hands. Trying to look menacing, Billy Joe supposed.

Billy Joe shrugged his shoulders and played the country bumpkin. “I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about. If you lost something, I’ll be happy to help you look for it. Is there a finder’s fee for the person who finds it for you?”

“Don’t be stupid, kid,” the short one said, rolling his shoulders and moving forward zigzag like a boxer. “I’ll knock your ass out, and you’ll wake up on the bottom of that lake.”

Billy Joe held up his right hand to stop him. “Before you do anything rash, I think you ought to take a look behind you.”

The short one kept his eyes on Billy Joe while the tall one looked. Sheriff Hamilton’s car was sitting at the top of the hill.

“Okay, kid. We play it your way,” the tall one said. “How much of a finder’s fee do you want? Five thousand enough?”

Billy Joe thought for a minute. If he was willing to offer five thousand, he’d probably be willing to go higher. “No, I want ten thousand dollars to help you find what you’re looking for.”

The two men looked at each other. Then the tall one said, “All right, but it’ll take us a couple of hours to get the money together. How about we meet back here at midnight?”

“Fine,” Billy Joe said. “You have the money; I’ll have your stuff.”

They went back to their car and drove slowly back up the hill past Sheriff Hamilton. While the sheriff was watching them, Billy Joe slipped into the woods that bordered the lake and started making his way back to where he’d left the bag. He didn’t want to run into the sheriff again.

The sun hid behind a cloud, and a spring shower soaked Billy Joe as he ran through the woods. He rushed up to the hollow tree only to have his dreams come crashing down around him. The plastic bag and the paper sack it had been in were lying on the ground at the base of the tree, ripped to shreds. The rain had already washed away most of the powder, and what was left wasn’t worth trying to save.

“Damn!” Billy Joe said. He must’ve trapped the coon in the tree, and the coon tore the bag to pieces getting out.

Billy Joe was not one to cry over spilt milk, but he knew those two guys were going to be mighty upset when he told them what happened to their powder. Come to think of it, they might not even believe him. Billy Joe thought for a few minutes and came up with what he figured was a pretty good plan to get himself out of this jam.

He set out for home at a jog. There was no time to waste. It was twilight and he was covered with sweat by the time he jogged into the yard. A few of the hounds barked halfheartedly at him. As he approached the house, he heard a low rumbling growl coming from under the front porch and he came to an abrupt halt.

“It’s me, Boss. Good dog, good dog.” Ignoring the hounds was one thing, but ignoring Boss was something nobody in his right mind did. Boss was Pa’s catch dog, and Billy Joe along with half the surrounding county was scared spitless of him. Boss came out from under the porch and shook the dust from his short brindle coat. A massive brute, Boss was mean as a snake and feared neither man nor beast. A fact attested to by his tattered ears and the scars that decorated his muscular body. All the hounds gave Boss a wide berth.

Billy Joe stood without moving and let Boss sniff him to his heart’s content. Boss had walked into the front yard two years ago, and while he acknowledged no owner, he showed no inclination to leave either. Visitors had to stand and be sniffed the same as Billy Joe. The only exception to this rule was Pa. And the only time Boss and Pa acknowledged each other’s presence was when they hunted wild hogs together.

When Boss went back under the porch Billy Joe darted into the house and plundered through the cupboard until he found a brown paper bag like the one the coon had tom apart. But try as he might he couldn’t find any of the large plastic storage bags.

He ran back outside, dragged his rusty old bicycle from behind the barn, and started pedaling down the road to town. Pa usually stopped off at Lonzo’s for a drink after work or he could’ve probably borrowed his truck. It was just as well, Pa would’ve given him the third degree about why he wanted to borrow it. And if Billy Joe told Pa he needed to go into town to buy a box of gallon size storage bags, Pa would quite naturally want to know what he needed them for. It was not a discussion Billy Joe wanted to have.

Twenty minutes later and out of breath, Billy Joe dropped his bicycle outside Cutter’s IGA Foodliner and rushed inside just as Mr. Cutter was getting ready to lock up. Fortunately, Mr. Cutter was in a hurry to get home to his supper and didn’t bend Billy Joe’s ear with stories of his youth as he normally did.

Billy Joe fidgeted while Mr. Cutter counted out his change and then, after what seemed like an eternity, he rushed back outside. With the storage bags clutched under his arm, he pedaled home by the light of the full moon. As he pulled up into the yard and stood for Boss’s inspection, it dawned on him that he had forgotten to buy anything to replace the powder with.

Billy Joe tore through the house looking for something, anything, white and powdery, silently thanking God that Pa still wasn’t home. Finally he found an unopened sack of flour in a cabinet and filled one of the plastic bags with it. The weight felt right. Maybe in the darkness, the two men wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

Pa still wasn’t back at eleven when Billy Joe headed for Cedar Lake. Much to his dismay, Boss came out from under the porch and decided to tag along. Billy Joe didn’t want to chance angering Boss by trying to shoo him back.

Billy Joe got to the lake about eleven thirty and got out of sight in the shadow of a large oak tree. The moon illuminated the clearing where the men would park their car, and from where he stood, Billy Joe had a good view of everything. Boss wandered off down by the lake sniffing the ground.

While he was waiting, Billy Joe had a disturbing thought. What was to keep the men from killing him and just taking the powder back? He racked his brain. How could he switch the powder for the money without getting himself killed?

The car topped the hill and pulled into the clearing. God! What could he do? Billy Joe could feel sweat trickling down his side. The two men got out and looked around for him. The tall one had a white cloth bag in one hand. Seeing the bag, Billy Joe decided to take his chances and stepped out of the shadows.

“Give me the stuff,” said the tall one, pointing to the bag under Billy Joe’s arm.

“The money first,” said Billy Joe, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

“Guess again, kid,” the short one said and pulled out a pistol. “Don’t screw around with us if you know what’s good for you.”

“I’m-m-m not alone,” said Billy Joe. “My friend is in the shadows. He’s got a gun too!” Both men grinned and Billy Joe knew he hadn’t fooled anyone.

The short one pointed the gun at Billy Joe. Billy Joe cursed himself for being such a fool and started praying.

Then from the shadows came a familiar low rumbling growl. Billy Joe stiffened. The two men turned toward the sound and the tall one said, “What the hell—”

Boss came out of the shadows running full speed, his hackles raised, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. He left the ground from ten feet away and hit the short man in the chest, knocking him into the tall one. Both men tumbled to the ground, and the cloth bag flew out of the tall man’s hands.

Seizing the moment, Billy Joe dropped his brown paper bag, grabbed the cloth bag, and started running. He ran into the woods with the men’s screams and Boss’s snarls ringing in his ears. Billy Joe had no idea why Boss decided to attack and at that point he didn’t care.

Billy Joe didn’t stop running until he got home. Pa still wasn’t there. He must really be tying one on at Lonzo’s. In the security of his bedroom, Billy Joe opened the bag and breathed a sigh of relief. It was full of money. Ten thousand dollars just like they’d promised and all in brand new twenty dollar bills. They must have just drawn it out of the bank. Billy Joe hid the money under his mattress and fell asleep thinking about a certain redheaded fancy lady he knew who worked at Lonzo’s.

The sun shining in his bedroom window awakened Billy Joe the next morning. He had a leisurely breakfast and took his second cup of coffee out on the front porch. Pa’s truck was parked out front. Billy Joe hadn’t heard him come in, but that wasn’t unusual. Billy Joe was a sound sleeper.

About fifteen minutes later Boss came walking into the yard, no worse for the wear and tear. Ignoring Billy Joe, he went to his customary place under the porch to lie down.

Billy Joe got dressed and puttered around the house most of the day trying to figure out how to explain his new-found wealth. He knew Pa would want to know where he got the money when Billy Joe walked into Lonzo’s that night. Billy Joe finally decided that since he turned eighteen today, and was legally an adult, he didn’t have to explain anything to anybody.

About four that afternoon, Billy Joe showered, dressed, and put some of the money in his wallet. He had hoped to get a ride to town with Pa, but Pa was still asleep. He figured that now that he was an adult it wouldn’t look just right if he rode his bicycle into town. He decided he would hitchhike and was walking down the road when Sheriff Hamilton pulled off on the shoulder in front of him and stopped. The sheriff got out, the deputy stayed put. “Afternoon, Billy Joe,” said Sheriff Hamilton, smiling.

The sheriff had never been nice to him before, and it made Billy Joe nervous. “Hello, sheriff.”

“Got some news you might be interested in. You remember those two guys I stopped down by the lake yesterday, don’t you? Well, it turns out they got killed by some drug dealers over in New Orleans. Seems they tried to sell them some flour. Imagine them trying something that stupid. Funny thing is, they were both covered with bite marks from a large animal. Isn’t that odd?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Billy Joe, wondering how much the sheriff knew.

“You know what else those guys were into? Counterfeiting. They made counterfeit twenties. Not very good ones. Not good enough to fool anyone who was paying attention.”

Billy Joe’s heart sank. Damn! All that money was counterfeit. There went his birthday celebration.

“Get in, Billy Joe,” the sheriff said, smiling again and opening the car door.

“W-W-Why? What’d I do?” Billy Joe asked, trying to keep from panicking.

“Nothing. At least nothing I can prove. I saw you all dressed up and I just figured you were going to town to register to vote and needed a ride. I’m always available to assist my constituency, you know.”