Jazz Cat's Mind Spill

Tear Collector

Chapter One
The autumn day showed orange and yellow as is typical for this part of the year, in this part of the country. The leaves that covered the road swirled behind Barrett’s brown 1970 Coupe Deville, a monster of a machine whose fine lines of chrome sparkled under the afternoon sun. The black plushed interior seemed to stagnate the hot Indian summer air swirling in from the half opened windows. Gazing far down the road, as if in meditation, Barrett made no notice of the heat. In fact his body showed no signs of perspiration. He down-shifted his modified 6 on the floor configuration and slid the rear of the vehicle around a tight curve as if this massive road hog had the soul of Porsche. He thought about the day’s accomplishment and the night work that it would soon entail. A smile began to crack the corner of his mouth which he quickly righted and returned to his more familiar stern expression. He really did enjoy his job and all its fruits. A quick glance to the back seat reassured him of his success, at least in part. Though much preparation and skillful workmanship remained, the part that he enjoyed the least was already done.
The caddy floated through the brown dead foliage at great speed before easing left past a red “Do Not Enter” sign. Just to the right read another sign “No Trespassing: Trespassers will be shot.” He had never owned a gun and never planned to. Without slowing Barrett approached a vine covered steel gate which opened automatically. Even thicker vines all but enveloped the fence which seemed to melt into the forest in both directions. Continuing at full pace the coupe topped the hill past the gate bringing his eyes in direct contact with the dull orange sun hanging just millimeters above the horizon. The caddy was traveling at such speed that it nearly launched the iron sled into the air. In the air, Barrett thought, he would have no traction and would not be able to avoid a collision with the sun. This would undoubtedly hinder or slow his ability to finish his work. This of course was not acceptable so he slowed the vehicle to a more manageable level of speed.
As the road curved towards the right a simple white house began to emerge from the left side of the sun as if it had been hiding behind it. Its architecture was a meld of colonial styling with Frank Lloyd Wright crispness. The largely windowed sun bleached two story wooden home was surrounded on all sides by a wide porch cornered and bisected by huge square wooden columns. Glass sparked from every facet of the home. Clear from the woods and pasted on to the lush brown grasses it stood alone as a reminder of the solitude Barrett felt in this world. Not to be confused with loneliness by any means his solitary life was mainly by choice, if not for greed. Barrett had secrets. Secrets he never wanted to share.
He rounded the final curve of the driveway which landed the caddy just below the steps that led up to the double front doors, engaged the parking gear and sat. He watched the sun settle heavily onto the convex horizon until it had tucked itself conveniently behind the hills. As the light faded so did the heat. Barrett rose tall and thin above the car and opened the rear suicide door. He stared at the green cedar case strapped and edged by riveted brass. Shaped much like a cello or double bass case, its warm tones matched beautifully to the autumn colors. With a grunt he slid it’s thinner half towards the...to be continued (like so many other thing)