The Arrangement

NottsuoAgent Delfino leaves the car at the end of the driveway, right in front of the rusted gate and its corroded “DANGER - NO TRESPASSING” sign. He steps out of the car, opens the trunk, and hoists the lifeless body of Agent Wallace over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.The overgrown gravel path is dimly lit by Delfino’s red-filtered flashlight. Twin rows of pine trees block out all but a thin strip black sky. It can’t take more than a minute, minute and a half, to reach the house. The adrenaline cedes ground to hazy, sluggish exhaustion.It would have been a nice house, eighty years ago when the mill in town was still open and the GI Bill meant you could own a home on a single income. Economic entropy bears down on its shoulders with decades of repair jobs put off till money’s less tight; what’s left of the overgrown lawn fights a losing battle against encroaching undergrowth. There’s no porch light, no light at all from inside. All the windows are boarded up, blackout curtains…