Duncan Blood’s Journal: 1939


They were antiquing and found themselves in a spot of trouble.

I saw the car parked out in front of Andy Kirk’s house and knew there shouldn’t be one there. Andy trusted machines about as far as he could throw them, which meant not at all. He had an especial distrust of automobiles, and in the past, I had seen him take a shotgun to a particularly offensive Ford.

The car at his home was a Packard, and it had Maine plates. We had few visitors from Maine, and I knew for a fact that Andy didn’t have any living relatives.

As I walked up toward his porch, an older couple walked out of his house, cheerfully chatting and carrying some of the family silver. Andy had held onto his heirlooms, even when it would have been beneficial for him to sell them.

When the couple saw me, they smiled, waved, and continued toward their vehicle.

I stepped in front of them, and they came to a stop. When I inquired why they were in Cross and, more importantly, why they were coming out of Andy’s home, they informed me that they were antiquing. I asked them if they had gotten a good deal from Andy regarding his silver, they answered in the affirmative, and they mentioned that they really had to be traveling.

I disagreed.

They protested as I forced them back into the house, encouraging their haste with one of my Colts. When we went inside, Andy wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He was, they assured me, out and about, and that he had left them to pack up the silver on their own.

In my life, I have learned many important lessons, one of those is that the female is always more difficult to break.

I blew out both the woman’s knees and then asked her husband where Andy was.

Andy, I discovered, was dead and crammed into his own hall closet. He had died while refusing them entry to the house.

It was, the husband told me, an unfortunate event.

I agreed, and I put a round into his groin, dropping him to the floor beside his wife.

While they begged for help, I took the carving knife from the silver they had tried to steal, and I showed them how sharp Andy had kept the blade.


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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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