Kettle’s on the Boil

Room in the City #7 / Mixed media on paper / Russell C. Smith

Kettle’s on the boil. News of the world turned low on the radio. And there’s a dead body in the spare bedroom. She could be thinking, why does this always happen to me. But what would be the point. Pretty much every day the sun’s shining like crazy in Tampa. Dolphins are frolicking out in the Gulf. A tall bald guy with neck tattoos who stomped through her back yard in the dark and stepped on her ripening tomatoes, then broke in with a claw hammer and getting two in the heart isn’t going to cloud her day. On the outer fringes of legality, one can begin believing things like this won’t occur. Then one night, a midnight break-in changes all that. Years ago, she knew a guy who knew the guy who made the best street silencers you could get in Central Florida. Introductions were strictly word of mouth. Pick-up locations were changed every drop. Needless to say, she stocked up. At that point, late 1970s, a thousand bucks brought her a lifetime supply. She put a bag of Earl Gray in the teapot and poured the heated water on top, then lit up a Lucky Strike. Halfway through the hot cup of tea, she threw it at the wall and watched it smash. Shrugged and worked up half a grin. Got up, opened a bottle of Pinot Noir, poured herself a glass, made a phone call.