"Hungry this morning?" Debee asked, dribbling the lukewarm, pale fluid that passed for coffee at the Waffle Wagon into his cup.

    "Yes I am," grinned Huey. "I am hungry today." He smelled the coffee, the dead bodies floating in it, then smiled up at Debee again. Huey knew it was her last day.

    Huey loved Debee. It wasn’t real love, of course, but it felt like it to Huey. It felt as real as the diesel fumes that filtered through the cracks in the windowsill, as real as the lead-based paint cracking off the ceiling onto the tables below. It felt like real love, so Huey ordered the special with an extra side of bacon.

    "Extra side of bacon," Debee repeated.

    "You only live once," he joked.

    Debee was young, twenty-five or twenty-six Huey knew, and, as far as he could tell, golden. She had short blond hair and pale, shiny skin. Her cute nose turned up at the end and had the faint suggestion of a cleft. Her body seemed custom-made for the angelic white waitress uniform she wore.

    Huey watched Debee’s rump for a few seconds. It wasn’t real love, but Huey was having a tough time telling the difference.

    "WHERE THE HELL IS THE POT OF DECAF?" bellowed a voice from the kitchen.

    "Hold your horses, Ed," Debee snarled under her breath as she hustled away.

    Working hard on her last day, Huey thought. He listened to the corpses gurgling in his coffee as he thought about Jean’s last day. With Jean there was no question it had been real love. Most definitely real love. He remembered that last day in Salida with Jean.

    He remembered walking through the aspens, her arm around him, her voice visible in the chilly air as she laughed, her short blond hair the golden color of the October leaves, her pale skin, her nose turned up at the end with the faint suggestion of a cleft. He remembered the loose stone on the trail and the way she quietly called "whoops!" before tumbling forty feet. He remembered chasing after Jean, unintentionally kicking loose more rocks, some of them big, that one-by-one pummeled her. He remembered screaming frantically all alone on the trail, Jean’s blood painting the mountainside, and hours later, the ambulance wailing, the tensely chattering doctors and nurses. Then silence. He remembered watching the sunset all alone, the sun a big, lifeless blob settling out of sight, golden, pale with short blond hair and a nose that turned up at the end with the faint suggestion of a....

    Since then his life had been strewn with dead bodies. Sometimes, like today, they bobbed pitifully in the coffee at the Waffle Wagon. They all looked alike. Golden.

    Huey set his cup on the table in disgust. The coffee tasted terrible and Huey glanced toward the kitchen where Ed was chewing out Debee for something. Fortunately, it was her last day, Huey thought to himself.

    Outside the diner a semi full of meat pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway allowing a ray of sunshine to slice across Huey’s table, across his hand, across his gold wedding ring, glinting into his eye.

    He shuffled his feet and made up his mind. He would not tell Debee that this was her last day. It was better that way. Not knowing. That’s the way it was with Jean.

    "Here you are, Huey," said Debee, sliding a plate of cold, burnt bacon in front of him and sloshing a little more coffee into his cup. "Anything else?" she asked.

    Huey smiled up at her. "Thank-you, darlin’," he said. He didn’t mention the special he had also ordered, which the side of bacon was supposed to go beside.

    Debee hustled back to the coffee maker and grabbed a fresh pot before refilling other coffee cups at other tables. Ed grunted orders at her from the bowels of the kitchen. Huey’s gaze followed her longingly. He forced the straining voices to the bottom of the cup, until he could barely hear them above the clatter of the dishes and the roar of Ed. Debee seemed to grow more and more beautiful and it felt more and more like love.

    Before he finally left the Waffle Wagon Huey slid a hundred dollar bill, tip for a seven-dollar meal that he never received, under his empty coffee cup. He checked the inside pocket of his jacket to be certain his gun was still there, then stepped outside the door into the gravel parking lot to make the final preparations for Debee’s last day.

* * *

    An ex-Marine can buy a truck stop in a pea-sized town on a highway leading to nowhere but he’ll soon get bored. Ed bought the Waffle Wagon thinking that he wanted peace and quiet, but he didn’t want that at all. Within weeks he grew itchy for something to do other than burn sausages and pinch waitresses’ behinds. Ed was bored. He stepped out the back door of the kitchen to smoke an unfiltered Camel.

    While Ed was outside, Debee and Britta rested their aching feet in a corner booth. They kept one ear alert for the sound of their boss returning through the back door.

    Debee sighed and plopped her head into her hands. Britta punched her playfully. "Okay," Britta said. "I been watching those tips of yours long enough. Spill it."

    "Oh. You mean Huey?" Debee asked.

    "He done it again today. I been watching." Britta held up the hundred-dollar bill she’d stolen from Huey’s table. She dangled it by the corner as if it had cooties. "Huey gives me the creeps," she said.

    Debee snatched the money away from Britta. "He’s just a lonely guy," she said. Debee pretended to examine the bill with a casual smile, but Britta saw through Debee’s mask.

    "How much is it now?" Britta asked.

    "He’s only done it a couple times."

    "Liar," Britta burbled. "It’s almost two thousand dollars."

    "It isn’t two thousand dollars."

    "The hell it isn’t," Britta snapped. "Huey scares the bejeesus out me. You got to do something about that guy."

    "Not so loud," Debee whispered. "I don’t want Ed to find out. What the hell am I supposed to do? All he’s doing is leaving me money. There’s no law against that."

    "He’s flipped out. I can see it in his eye."

    "Chill out," said Debee. "He’s just lonely."

    "He’s a couple eggs short of an omelet, is what he is," Britta snapped. "One of these days he’s going to come in here with a shotgun and make the nine o’clock news. If you don’t tell Ed, I will."

    "Are you nuts?" Debee blurted. "Ed’s crazier than Huey. He’d probably fire me for not sharing, the son-of-a...."

    Britta huffed disgustedly. "You’re right about that one, girl. Ed thinks he has a right to everything in here. If he grabs my butt one more time I’m going to slug him." She rubbed her temples and sighed. "Still, crazy or not, Ed is just the guy to solve a problem like Huey."

    Debee shook her head adamantly. "No way. I can take care of myself."

    "Ed don’t have to know about the money, honey," Britta suggested. "You don’t have to tell him everything, you know."

    "I said I can take care of myself," Debee snapped. But Britta could tell that Debee didn’t believe her own words.

    Britta laughed uneasily. She looked around her at the crumbling old truck stop. "Wouldn’t it be great if we had this place all to ourselves? No Huey. No Ed."

    For a moment the two waitresses sat silently, dreaming and fretting. Then they heard the back door slam shut. Ed was finished with his Camel.

    Debee and Britta scrambled quickly to the counter and began jostling dishes. Their boss liked the sound of noisy work. Debee clattered her way over to Britta. "Promise me you won’t tell Ed about the money," she whispered. Britta assured Debee with an uneasy nod of her head.

    But it was too late. Ed already knew all about it. And he had a plan. First he would take care of Huey. Then he would deal with Debee. It was something to do.

    "Quit your yapping and get to work!" Ed growled at his employees.

* * *

    Huey named his gun Little Huey but, at first, he had no idea what he wanted to do with it. All he knew was that after Jean left, things grew gradually hollow inside. Huey felt like he was on the verge of implosion and powerless to do anything about it. So he bought Little Huey at a pawnshop in Denver and the sense of vulnerability disappeared. He still felt empty inside but at least he had a suit of armor.

    Huey treated Little Huey to many drives in the mountains, where they would find a secluded meadow or hillside and demolish empty aluminum cans. He and Little Huey worked extremely well together and when cans proved to no longer be a challenge they turned their attention to crooked fence posts and "No Trespassing" signs. Then they focused on moving objects like cans tossed into the air, birds, squirrels. They even practiced the quick-draw together. Huey, it turned out, was a naturally good shot. After two years of practice, well....

    The only things Huey could not seem to destroy with Little Huey were those damn corpses.

    When he left the Waffle Wagon that morning, Huey drove to his favorite secluded meadow, away from everything. Instead of practicing with Little Huey, however, Huey dug an oblong hole in the ground. It was about a foot and a half deep and just long enough that his knees bent when Huey slouched down inside it.

    Huey remained motionless in the hole, motionless like a rock, motionless like those dead bodies. Little Huey rested on his owner’s belly. But Huey didn’t fall asleep. In fact, he became intensely awake to everything around him. He strained to feel the tiniest motion of air, hear the faintest whisper in the dead grass, see the thinnest wisp of a cloud. He cherished the earth growing colder and colder on his bones.

    He refused to move after an hour when the rocks poked sharply against his back and sides. He refused to budge after two hours when frost glazed his shirt and hair. He didn’t move even though he had been battling the flu for days. He fought fiercely against the pounding headache and aching gut, refusing to give in. It was all part of the preparation for Debee’s last day.

    After four hours in the hole Huey was ready. He hoisted himself out, stretched his stiff legs, tossed the shovel into the back of his pickup. Before he drove back to town Huey grabbed some aspirin from the glove compartment.

    The flu continued bouncing around in the dilapidated labyrinth of Huey’s head, like flubber, gathering energy and growing stronger and stronger. But Huey wouldn’t let it win. Not yet.

* * *

    Ed’s huge paw yanked at the knob on the back door of Huey’s cabin. It was locked. Huey’s pickup truck was gone but there was no way to know when it would be back. Ed decided that this was no time for pussy-footing, so he fetched the ax from the back of his own pickup and glanced around to be certain no one was watching. Ten seconds later Huey’s back door lay in a pile of splinters on the ground.

    Ed stepped into Huey’s living room and blinked. At first Ed thought the photograph was of Debee. But on closer inspection it was a different woman. The resemblance was remarkable, though. The photograph was a snapshot, probably taken by Huey, with an Instamatic. The woman was trotting out the door of a shop or restaurant on a sunny day in a white uniform — just like the uniform he made Debee and Britta wear — swinging her purse ahead of her. Judging from the long wisps of gold flowing from her head, the picture must have been taken on a windy day. The woman waved gaily from the photograph out at Ed.

    Huey had had the picture reprinted hundreds of times in all different sizes. They were plastered everywhere, even on the floor and ceiling. The living room was bursting with this Debee look-alike. All the exact same photograph, hundreds of the same hair, same swinging purse, same tilted head, same flying knees. The only other objects in the room were a worn out lounge chair, an end table, and on the end table, the original photograph framed in gold. Written across the photograph was the word, "Jean".

    Ed’s heart raced. He would have been disappointed to find a nice used sofa and television with a couple of lamps. That would have been a complete waste. But this was Ed’s lucky day. The guy was a freak. Thank God! Ed felt like he had hit the jackpot.

    With a satisfied smile, Ed eased himself into the recliner. He set the ax within easy reach of his left hand and lay his rifle across his lap. Then, with a flick of his wrist, Ed popped up the footrest on the chair and laced his fingers behind his enormous head, waiting for Huey.

* * *

    Huey recognized the pickup truck parked behind his house. It belonged to Ed, the guy who bought the Waffle Wagon last year. Huey had never really talked to Ed, other than to say "hey" when he arrived at the café every morning. He tried to guess why Ed would be visiting him, but came up empty.

    Huey hopped out of his own truck and listened carefully before slamming the truck door loudly. He listened again and glanced carefully around. There was no sign of Ed outside. Ed must be in the cabin.

    Huey tried the front door but it was still locked. Instead of using his key, Huey walked around his cabin to the back and found the pile of splinters that once had been the back door.

    He shouted loudly. "What the hell is going on here?"

    "Come on in, Huey!" called Ed from inside.

    "What the hell did you do my door?"

    "Don’t stand out there. Come on in here where I can talk to you, you freak!"

    Cautiously, Huey kicked aside the bits of the shredded threshold and entered his home. He found Ed on the chair in the living room, pointing a rifle at him. Without taking his eyes off the weapon, Huey opened his mouth to speak.

    "Don’t say a word, freak," sneered Ed softly. "I’ll do the talking."

    Huey’s lips closed.

    "I’m giving you five minutes to get your shit together and get out of here."

    "Would you tell me what the hell you’re doing?" Huey asked.

    Ed’s rifle remained pointed at Huey’s head. "It’s just a little house cleaning," Ed replied. "I’m throwing out the trash." Ed paused. When Huey said nothing, Ed added, "That’s you, freak, in case you didn’t get it."

    "I get it," Huey stammered. "I just don’t understand what I ever did to you."

    "You are wasting time. You only got four minutes left, freak."

    Deciding that the rifle gave him no choice, Huey backed a few steps down the hall to his bedroom door, and slowly stepped inside. Ed followed, brandishing the rifle. Huey began stuffing clothes into his duffel bag tentatively, keeping one eye on Ed and the long gun. As he did so, Ed gave orders.

    "You’re going to get in your truck, freak, and you’re going to drive. I don’t care which way you drive, just so you don’t ever set foot in this town again. I see your freaky ass here again, I’m going to blow it off. You won’t know what hit you. Do I make myself clear?"

    Huey zipped the duffel bag shut and stood up straight. "Could you just tell me what I did to you?"

    "You only got one minute left."

    Ed prodded Huey down the hall with the barrel of the rifle and followed him through the photo-littered living room into the kitchen.

    The timing was critical. Exactly as Huey stepped outside the back door, but while Ed was still inside the cabin, Huey dropped his duffel bag in the doorway and fell directly to the side, out of Ed’s line of sight. At the moment he dropped to the ground, Huey’s hand dove into his jacket pocket and snatched out Little Huey. It was a move he’d practiced a hundred times and it took less than half a second. As Ed stumbled over the duffel bag he turned and fired, but the bullet whizzed over Huey’s head.

    Huey’s first bullet dropped Ed to the ground as it ripped through his huge stomach. Huey’s second bullet bounced around inside Ed’s skull, scrambling his brain, not unlike the way events of the past two years had decimated Huey’s own brain.

* * *

    Huey left Ed to the flies. Since this was an obvious case of self-defense, Huey thought it was best to not move the giant corpse from where it fell. Even if he had had the inclination to move the body, the flu, which had suddenly taken a turn for the worse, would have discouraged him.

    With Little Huey tucked safely inside his jacket pocket again, Huey opened the door to his truck. His head was pounding and his stomach was heaving. Before he climbed inside, Huey doubled over and vomited violently on the ground, dispensing a puddle of blood and puke at his feet. He suddenly regretted not getting a flu shot the last time he was in Denver.

    Chewing a half-dozen aspirin from the glove compartment of his pickup, Huey drove slowly down the hill to the highway. The lunch rush would soon be over and Debee would go home. Huey would be there first.

    He used a putty knife to work open the latch of Debee’s door and slipped inside. In spite of the aspirin, Huey’s head was throbbing, but he refused to let it spoil Debee’s last day.

    Huey slid low into the pink bathtub with Little Huey resting comfortingly on his belly. The tub was a little smaller than the hole in the meadow, but it was smoother and more comfortable.

    He figured that Debee’s first stop, once she got home, would be the potty. He’d wait until he heard the tinkle because then he knew her underwear would be around her knees, preventing a fast escape. She’d be a sitting target, literally. Then he’d yank aside the shower curtain and Debee’s last day would be over. Just like Jean’s. And then there would be one less golden corpse. And Huey could watch the golden sunset all alone.

    While he waited, he tried to concentrate through the phenomenal headache, through the fire in his guts. He felt the need to vomit again but fought against it, fearing that the strong odor would warn Debee away, spoil his plan.

* * *

    Debee got home about twenty minutes later than usual because she had to drive Britta home. Ed had promised to give Britta a ride but he never returned from his lunch break. Without Ed it had been a hellish lunch rush for the two waitresses.

    Debee had to pee something fierce so she dropped her purse on the couch and headed straight to the bathroom. But once inside, a foul smell compelled her to pull open the shower curtains. After a second of confusion she screamed at the top of her lungs and bolted in terror out of the bathroom, tripped over the end table in the living room and dashed out to the middle of the street. Her full bladder emptied itself involuntarily and the calm mountain air shuddered with the sound of her screaming and screaming and screaming.

    Within minutes, police, ambulance and fire trucks roared up to Debee’s home. But it was nearly two hours before they hauled the blood and vomit soaked body of Huey out of her bathtub.

* * *

    Deputy Marvin Clark chose the booth farthest from the entrance of the Waffle Wagon. He tossed his khaki colored cap onto the table and slid onto the cracked, vinyl seat. Debee waved at him immediately.

    "Britta, I’m taking a break," she called to the kitchen. Sounds of cursing dribbled from the grill where Britta was sweating profusely. Debee snatched two coffee cups and a pot of coffee then hurried to the deputy’s booth.

    "So what’s the news?" she asked as she filled their cups. Debee slid into the booth opposite Deputy Clark and leaned toward him eagerly, both elbows on the table, waiting for his report.

    Before he spoke, Clark nudged the coffee cup aside then produced his own thermos from which he poured his own cup of coffee. Debee frowned at this rude gesture. After a long pause Clark chuckled.

    "Okay, I’ll get to it," he said. "I already told you about the pictures in his house, of course. But that’s all we found. No diary or video confessions or anything like that."

    "What about my hairbrush that I lost?" Debee asked.

    Clark shook his head. "If Huey took it we didn’t find it," he drawled. "The bullet that killed Ed matched Huey’s gun. We figured that, of course."

    The deputy paused again, not sure how to broach the next subject. "As far as the coroner’s report on Huey," he said at last, "well, he was poisoned. It was rat poison."

    "Poisoned?" Debee asked, wide-eyed.

    "Now, Debee, don’t be that way," Deputy Clark sighed. "This is hard enough on me without you going all pie-eyed." He took a noisy sip of his own coffee, keeping her pinned with one eye. "There wasn’t no rat poison within a mile of Huey’s cabin or truck. The only place he ate for the past year and a half was at that table over there. And the only person waiting on him was you."

    While he waited for her reaction, Clark sweetened his coffee with a packet of sugar, which he produced from his own shirt pocket.

    After a moment Debee realized his implication. Her mouth dropped open. "What are you saying, Marvin?"

    "He must have scared you pretty bad."

    "Are you saying that I...?" Debee placed her hand on her chest incredulously.

    "Now Debee stop it!" Clark scolded. "I’ve known you since you were a kid. I don’t like having to do this...."

    "I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re up to, Marvin Clark, but you better stop it right now because it’s not funny!"

    Clark sighed, disappointed. "Have it your way," he said. "Are you going to give me permission to search this place? Or are you going to make me get a warrant?"

    "You can do what you want. I don’t care what you do, Marvin." Furiously, Debee stomped away, sloshing coffee and staining her brand new angel-white uniform as she angrily snatched the cups.

    Debee pretended to seethe as Deputy Clark searched the café thoroughly. He found nothing, of course. The rat poison, which she’d replaced in the back storage room where she’d found it, was common enough in the county that Clark couldn’t use it to incriminate her. She’d wiped her fingerprints off of the container. Debee had destroyed the cup and coffee pot she’d used to send Huey back to Jean. She had destroyed everything she could think of, in fact, that might have come in contact with the poison or connect her to the crime.

    Huey had scared her. She had tried to get rid of him a number of ways: rudeness, terrible service, ruining his food, pawning him off on Britta. But Huey always insisted on being waited on by Debee herself — no matter how awful the food or service. In the end Debee decided to take his money and take control.

    She was surprised at how much poison she could put into his coffee without Huey complaining about the taste. It only took two weeks of daily doses of Debee’s "special blend" to do the job.

    She had intended to poison Ed too, but fortunately she didn’t have to. Huey had seen to that. With a little flirting at the bank, she and Britta were allowed to assume Ed’s loan on the Waffle Wagon. She had taken care of herself. She had no regrets.

    "WHERE THE HELL IS THE POT OF DECAF?" shouted Britta from across the room.

    "Hold your horses," Debee snarled under her breath. "I got it right here." Suddenly Debee wondered what it would be like to run the Waffle Wagon by herself.