The Hog's Tooth

1950 Palmyra, IN

The letter said to be in Palmyra by 12:30. Wait at the Jones Filling Station it told him. Here he stood. The sun was high and the heat was rising. Jack could feel the sweat fill the pits of his white T-shirt. That was also in the letter. Not the sweat part, although he’s sure there’ll be a little of that. Wear a white T-shirt and slacks it told him. Yes sir, letter sir, he told it. Jack didn’t have to meet them to start receiving orders. He followed them. He figured he better start now. He put on his Sunday slacks and white T-shirt just as they said.

The sun was hot on his already burnt neck. He kicked a pebble around to pass the time. The dust swirled under his boot. It was near drought level. It didn't help the crops any. A couple trucks rolled by and Jack gave them a nod.

“How you doing, Jack?” he heard from behind him.

“Alright I suppose,” said Jack, turning.

It was Old Man Jones himself. Covered head to toe in grease, you would have thought him a Negro if you were anywhere but Palmyra, Indiana. There weren’t any of those around here. And Jack didn’t suppose there ever would be.