The Firebug of Balrog County Read Online Free PDF Page B

fine and upstanding about being a man, a soldier, and an American.
    To the coward (or cowards) who burned down Teddy’s boathouse, I can only say shame on you and ask you to look deep inside your soul, which may need to be washed out with soap.
    To everyone else, I ask for continued vigilance until this perpetrator is caught and dealt with appropriately. If you see anything, do not hesitate to call the police. As with any form of terrorism, we are in this together.
    Sincerely,
    Mayor George Hedley

The Firebug’s
Legend Begins
    T hroughout my pyromaniacal history I’d sought to keep my doings well below the notice of the citizens of Balrog County. I didn’t need popular acclaim, or outrage, to soothe my ego and make me feel like a big big man. My work—the controlled fires, medium and small, that I’d ignited throughout the area—was its own glorious reward, the charred ashes of various flammable objects an end in of itself.
    I wasn’t in it for the money, the glory, or the chattering of the townsfolk.
    I was in it for the burn.
    Still, celebrity often comes to those of us who seek it not. As I read my grandfather’s column in the Hickson Herald , o ur town newspaper, I cou ld not help but feel the trappings of vanity slip comfortably around my shoulders, as snug and reassuring as a king’s ermine coat. Poor Teddy — how could anyone burn down his precious boathouse? How could such a terrible thing befall such a fine, outstanding gentleman?
    Ha!
    Because this was life, bitches!
    Yes. This was life. Apparently neither my grandfather nor anyone else in Hickson had stopped to consider the idea that the arsonist involved had actually no freaking idea who owned that shack out in the middle of fuckwhere. They could not, or would not, account for the chaotic randomness of chance in the selection process . T o acknowledge that Gile s’ boathouse was burned to cinders not because he was Teddy Giles, big - time hero, but simply because it was there, unprotected and tempting, would have been the same thing as acknowledging the fact that the universe didn’t give a goddamn who you were and could turn on you in a second, which was absolutely true and terrifying and best not considered too closely, lest one go insane staring into the abyss of time and space etcetera etcetera.
    And this willful blindness, I must say, got me plenty stoked up.

    Th e following Wednesday , Sam Chervenik ambled into the hardware store right before closing. Sam was in my grade and basically the only dude from school I liked hanging out with or could really tolerate for more than five minutes. Like me, he was a big reader, mostly science fiction and fantasy with some Nazi Germany shit thrown in. He also didn’t plan on going to college, which he considered a racket fit for mindless drones, and worked at a comic book store in Thorndale for ten cents above minimum wage. He lived with his chain-smoking grandma on the north side of Hickson, where he could stay rent - free as long he took out the garbage and mowed the lawn and did other man-around-the-house stuff. Round - faced, broad - shouldered, and intense, Sam looked like a young Orson Welles, which he took as a compliment in his own weird Sam way.
    I lowered the book I was reading. Sam came up and drummed on the front counter, glancing around furtively like he was about to hold the place up.
    â€œHey man , ” he said.
    â€œHey.”
    Sam looked me in the eye. He was always looking you in the eye with mad intensity, but that only meant he was paying attention. Otherwise, he was off in his own private dream world, thinking about dragons and shit.
    â€œHow’s work?”
    â€œExhilarating as always.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œ But we close in ten minutes, so I think I’m going to make it. Another week as an employed member of the American econom y.”
    â€œThat’s go od,” Sam said, nodding. “Hey, what are you doing