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Growling in frustration, Dwight dropped the wrench on the garage floor.

“I’m never gonna get that stupid drain plug off!”

Scratching his greasy hair, Dwight gave the plug another yank.

The engine of a pickup truck sounded behind him, and Dwight looked up to see a phone repairman get out. From his tow truck, he pulled a blue plastic toolbox. The driver was a big guy, middle-aged, with a shaved head.

“Hey,” he greeted Dwight.

Dwight wiped his hands on a rag. “Hey. You the phone guy?”

“Yep.”

Dwight held out his hand. “Name’s Dwight.”

The repairman shook his hand. “Jerome.”

“Nice to meet you. I knew you were coming,” Dwight said, “but I completely forgot. Sorry, man.”

“No problem. I won’t take but a half hour of your time. I can have your line working again very quickly.”

Dwight gestured at the house. “You know where the phone is?”

“Yep.”

“What’s it gonna cost?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry. It’s a hundred dollar gift card from your local supermarket.”

“A hundred?”

“Yep. I’ll pop back and get it later.”

“Oh, wait. I already gave you one. I didn’t have much money.”

“Not to worry,” Jerome said. “It’s my job to keep the lines going, even in the middle of nowhere. You’re lucky you’re not in the mountains in winter. I’d have to put chains on my tires.”

He laughed at the joke, and Dwight reached down to grasp the wrench with both hands. He pulled, and this time, the plug came loose.

A pause. “Here…I’ll give you a second one just in case,” Jerome said.

He reached into the truck, pulled out a second hundred-dollar gift card, and handed it to Dwight.

“Thanks,” Dwight said. “Tell me…you ever heard of a mob killing up here? It supposedly happened years and years ago.”

Sherriff and doctor.

Jerome nodded in response. “Yeah. Lived in this area awhile back. Years ago, a mob guy got shot down in the canyon.”

“What did it say?”

“Just a sentence in a note. Murder two,” he said. “But it was somehow brought to light, and a warrant was issued for the guy who had the note. I think he was some kind of witness against the mob. They couldn’t get him, though. I think he hid out somewhere in the mountains and eventually gave up.”

Dwight thought for a minute. “Could I be that guy?” he finally asked.

Jerome laughed. “Well, you do fit the description.”

Dwight felt an adrenaline rush. “Yeah. I remember it. It said he was a farmer with brown hair. And he was living in a small house.”

Jerome laughed at him. “Yeah, right. Like you could ever be a farmer.”

He laughed again, but Dwight saw him raise an eyebrow.

“How do you know it was a hoax?” he asked.

Jerome opened the toolbox and pulled out a screwdriver. “I don’t know. It was just a rumor. Like everyone else, I just accepted it.”

Dwight felt the top of his scalp rise with the sensation of his hair standing up.

“But I can’t prove it?” he asked, letting his voice quiver just a little.

Jerome shook his head. “No, you can’t. I don’t…” he hesitated.

“You don’t think I’m the farmer?” Dwight asked.

“I don’t think you’re him. I don’t think any normal person would have written a note,” he said.

Dwight smiled and nodded, but he felt himself weaken, felt his arms start to buckle.

“What do I do?” he asked.

Jerome reached over to help him up. “Just call me when your phone’s working.”

“Thanks,” he gave him a nod.

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