Climbing through the window brought Kre into Cooter’s small den, where the older man kept his few books on a low shelf alongside a small desk. Kre wasn’t sure why Cooter even had a desk since he never seemed to write any letters to anyone and he always read his books in the sitting area where they played their games.
Ignoring the thoughts in his head and focusing on the task at hand, Kre slid across the window sill on his belly and pulled himself across the desk. To his ears, it sounded as if he were slamming the desk against the wall repeatedly, but he was hopeful that the sound was imperceptible to anyone else in the house.
Halfway down from the table, with his hands outstretched to the floor and his body wobbling unsteadily on the table, Kre realized that his method of entry was not quiet feasible from a stability standpoint. The fact that his feet were hooked to the sides of the window was probably the only thing keeping him from falling face-first onto the floor. Groping blindly around himself, Kre felt the chair nearby and carefully, almost gingerly, lifted it up and placed it in front of himself.
Now that he had the chair as support, he was able to bring his legs in. With his feet firmly on the floor, Kre brought himself back upright and took a look around.
The room was a complete mess. The books were on the floor, their pages ripped from their spines. Papers were scattered around among a few other odds and ends. Kre was sure that he didn’t cause this mess just by sneaking in through the window. ‘Someone has ransacked this place,’ he thought to himself.
He paused at the doorway, tried to slow his breathing, and listened as carefully as he could. The sound of his heartbeat thundered above every other sound, but he thought he could still make out the sound of heavy labored breathing. It was only then that he noticed the chickens had stopped their angry yelling after having been woken up so rudely. Peeking around the frame, he saw more carnage. It was as if a massive windstorm had settled inside of Cooter’s house and made itself at home. Though the fact that the chairs had huge gashes cut across their upholstered parts told the story that it was a human hand that did this damage and not a force of nature.
‘What is that old man involved in?’ The best that Kre could guess is that he owed someone a decent amount of money and they were here looking to collect. It wouldn’t be unheard of, even in a town as small as Mintas. They had their share of travelers and not a few of those travelers told stories when they had their fill of beer and distilled spirits. In at least two cases that Kre could recall, a handful of rough-looking gentlemen, if that word could rightly be used, showed up shortly after the travelers had departed. In both cases, they described the travelers to a perfect likeness and departed shortly after finding out which town they were headed to next.
Kre was unaware of Cooter ever joining in the dice or card games held at the Lodge. The games started long after the townsfolk left their evening meal, when only the travelers remained behind drinking for any troubles, or sorrows, or joys that they have.
Still, it wouldn’t be unheard of, and it would certainly explain things. ‘What it doesn’t explain though,’ Kre pondered to himself, ‘is where Cooter is and why he’s just letting someone trash his place.’