Guiding the old Ford like it was a part of him, Dennis Yunker idled out of the parking lot and on to Main Street. It might as well have been a part of him after 40 years of grocery runs and Sunday church. Make that 39 years of church. Dennis hadn’t been since Maude’s death.

Excepting Maude, the only thing that’d been with Dennis longer than the truck was the double-barrel shotgun in the rack behind his head. It was a trusted, faithful companion, not that he’d named it. He always said only narcissists and sociopaths name weapons. The truck’s name was Sue, not that he admitted that to anyone.

Dennis and his truck both coughed and sputtered up Main. The gun stayed silent. There’s a time and a place. Now was a time for watching and waiting. Close as he was to death, Dennis had no trouble being patient. His course was slow but determined. He would achieve his ends as surely as water flows downhill.

For the time being, there was a lunch buffet at Sizzler calling his name. And he hated to be rude.