the tale of the mouse, the weasel, the macaw, and the dingo

"'So, she ends up at this guy's front door.'
'Which guy?'
'This guy I'm telling you about. He opens the door, but he doesn't say anything. Not one word. But, she says, he was real. . . she just had a feeling about him. Anyway, she goes in, and she gets to talkin', and it's hours later before she realizes she's been there for a couple hours, right?'
'Who's this "she"?'
'Jeez, Mickey, am I talkin' to myself here? This is Kelli. Y'know, Laurie's oldest?'
'Oh, your niece, Kelli?'
'Yeah.'
'Sweet girl.'
'Exactly. So, she makes a regualr habit of visiting this guy, but he don't say a word, right. He's like a mute, but. . . but he's not. So Kelli says he's always real polite, calm, and he makes her feel real comfortable. He makes tea, she talks, they play board games, y'know, simple stuff. She says he always looked so happy to see her, and always paid such close attention that it made her happy to spend time there.'
'What'd she talk about?'
'I don't really know. Lord knows that after everything that poor girl would've had a lot to say, so I guess goin' and seein' this guy was like a kind of therapy, right? Like, she just gets it all off her chest. So this goes on for months. She goes over, talks. . . I don't think anything ever, y'know. . . happened, but who knows? Anyway, it starts to bother her how this guy always listens, and how he knows so much about her whereas she's got no idea who this guy is.'
'I'll say.'
'Yeah, you will. So, as I hear it, she goes over one day and kinda lays into the guy; starts asking him a whole lotta questions about himself, and, of course, he don't say anything. Mute by choice. So he still won't talk, and she gets really upset, and she's about to leave, and, outta nowhere, this guy just says, "Don't go."'
'What?'
'Yeah. He says, "Don't go," just like that. He ain't said a word in months. God knows how long before that, and she just breaks down--storms out the door.'
'Son of a bitch.'
'I know. Pretty crazy, right? I mean, what the hell is goin' through someone like that's head?'
'Crazy.'
'I'll say.'
A few silent minutes later the door of the bar swings open, and a rather shaken looking young man walks in. He sits up next to the two older gentlemen and orders a beer. Eventually, one of them turns to him and says, 'Are you alright, son? You look troubled.'
'No. . . I. . . I think I just killed this guy.'
'You what!?'
'This guy in a suped-up Futura was following me up old highway 41, and . ..'
'The Executionator!'
'What?'
'The Executionator. Nobody knows who he is, but he drives around that old Toyota and chases people off the end of old highway 41 into Jagger's ravine. Word is he's killed seven people this year. Not that I believe it, but some say he's actually a ghost. Either way I don't ever go up 41 late at night.'
'Well, sir, he's no ghost. I just pulled off the road once he started chasin' me, and that was that. I waited with a tire iron in my hand, and he pulls over and gets out. Small guy, really. Tiny, little spindly fists. So, he raised 'em at me like he meant some business, so I beat him to death.'
'Whoa.'
'Yeah. Simple, really. I can't believe he's killed, what, seven people this year? Y'all can't just pull over? Kinda sad I guess.'
'Well, you know what that means,' asked Mickey, sobering.
'No, what's that?'
'Well. . the Curse. ..of the Executionator. You're the new Executionator.'
'What? Really?'
'Yeah, it's in the town charter.'
'Well, that's silly. Let me see that.'
'Here. I only wish it weren't so, son. You seem like a good kid.'
The young man, reading to himself, 'Wow. Huh. Okay, well, I guess a curse is a curse, right? Okay, then. I suppose I'll see y'all in hell, right?' and the young man stood up and walked straight back out the door.'"
"Just like that?"
"Yup. Whatcha think?"
"Well. . .hey, dig this guy."
"Ick! Has he been there long?"
"The whole time you were talking."
"And you didn't say anything?"
"Didn't want to interrupt."
"What's he doing?"
"Well, it looks like he's just sorta staring at us through the window there, doesn't it?"
"I can't eat with him there."
"Me either. This is weird."
"Do you think he knows we're talking about him?"
"No. I don't know. Do you think so?"
"Yeah."
"I don't think he can hear us through the window."
"No, he probably can't, but. . . I get the feeling that, if someone is studying something, ourselves in this case, so intently, then there's, like, I don't know, like a bond or heightened awareness or something. Furthermore, if any sane person were standing there like him and looking at us the way he is, they'd probably be surprised if we didn't take notice of them and start talking."
"I think we have an answer."
"Really?"
"Not the 'heightened awareness' bullshit, no offense, but he's not 'any sane person'."
"Still, I think he must know."
"I think I'm finished. You wanna go?"
"Yes, very much so."
"Ok. I'll get the check."
"What if he follows us?"
"He looks harmless enough."
"Still. . ."
"I'm not sitting in this cafe all afternoon."
"I know. . . it's just weird."
"Then we're in agreement. Let's go."
The young couple got up and walked away from their table, leaving their meals half eaten.
"That story about 'Kelli'?"
"Yeah, what?"
"Was that about you?"
"No."
"'Don't go.'"
"Shut up."
The old, dishevelled man that had been regarding the young couple watched them get up, leaving their half-eaten meals behind. He took that cue to leave the window and walk around to the back of the restaurant and wait patiently next to the dumpster.