Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

2001’s EQMM Readers Award winner, Peter Sellers, is back with his first short story since the award-winning “Avenging Miriam” (12/01). This one was inspired, he tells us, by his experience building decks. Mr. Sellers lives in Toronto, Canada, where he makes his living in the advertising business as a creative director. He is also the editor of several mystery short story anthologies.

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Thomas had just finished a job laying asphalt with two guys called Pig Eye and Larry. They had resurfaced the parking lot of a tiny strip mall that hardly anyone used. Thomas thought that the owner would have been better off tearing the place down. He kept that to himself, however. Money was money, and he was in a bit of a hole at the moment, so any job was a good job.

Neither Thomas nor Larry actually knew anything at all about how to do the work required. They figured that was not a problem since Pig Eye claimed to have laid more asphalt than whores. They let him be the boss and did what he said.

Thomas could not figure out how Pig Eye had come to that name. Pigs, as far as Thomas knew, had tiny hard eyes. Pig Eye’s were wide and slightly bulging, as if he were in a constant state of surprise. When no better reason came to him, Thomas figured whoever had named Pig Eye was being sarcastic.

The job took three hot, hard days, and when they were finished Thomas looked at the patchy, uneven surface and reckoned that if Pig Eye had done as much laying as he claimed, most of those women must have been left highly unsatisfied.

The man who owned the plaza thought so, too, because after yelling at them for some time about what lousy excuses for pavers they were, he said he would pay half what he owed.

“Well, we never claimed to be any damn pavers,” Thomas pointed out. “You asked us to do the job and we did. We never said we were competent.”

That cut no ice with the owner and they walked away with precious little to show for aching muscles, dozens of smarting burns, and shoulders peeling from the sun. They conferred briefly about whether or not they should get a lawyer and sue for the rest of their wages. Pig Eye claimed that he could handle the case himself, come to that. After all, he had been inside more courtrooms than courtesans. That settled it right there. They kissed the money goodbye and went to a tavern.

They found an old-fashioned place with only Molson Ex on tap, served in ten-ounce glasses at a price ripped-off asphalt spreaders could afford. They took turns calling for rounds, holding up fingers to show the waiter how many to drop.

The more they drank, the more Pig Eye talked about his life. He had done that pretty much nonstop for the three days they had worked. He kept yacking away no matter how hot it got. At the same time, Larry never opened his mouth. He didn’t even seem to do that to drink. It was as if the beer were absorbed through his upper lip.

Thomas had met Pig Eye and Larry in a beer hall such as this one. Pig Eye had been proclaiming, in a loud voice, the merits of Canadian football. As he extolled names like Cookie Gilchrist, Royal Copeland, and Sam Etcheverry, a horde of NFL fans booed and threw French fries, salt shakers, and the odd ashtray at him. Thomas admired his courage if not his wisdom. Larry was right there, too, saying nothing, but keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings. He tried to protect Pig Eye by knocking away the most harmful projectiles.

When at last Pig Eye had given up and sat down with a cry of “Philistines!” Thomas went over to talk with him about it. He, too, was an admirer of the Canadian game, having played it in high school and for two years at college before leaving to seek the greener pastures that had eluded him ever since.

Pig Eye must have been sixty, his face pruned up by life and hard work in the sunshine. Larry was maybe half that, strong, tireless, and seemingly willing to do whatever Pig Eye told him. The three of them ended up doing a few small jobs, with the asphalting being the biggest. Thomas was hard-pressed to think of a time when Larry was ever far from Pig Eye. Certainly he was never out of earshot.

After about an hour, the smell of hot asphalt was starting to fade. Thomas got up to go to the men’s room as much to get away from Pig Eye’s blather for a few moments as out of necessity. When he came back, there was something radically different about the bar. It was quiet. Pig Eye had stopped talking, and not just long enough to draw breath, either. Nobody in the bar was saying anything. When Thomas looked where everyone else was looking, he understood why.