Melvin Cruddy hoped his bald tires would hold together to get him all the way to Meanville. It was below freezing and starting to snow. Finally, there was the turnoff. He found Jackson Street easily enough, but the houses were poorly marked--he pitied the UPS driver who had this route. Then, there it was--a two story job. He killed the lights and coasted into the driveway.
He couldn't believe his luck. The side door was unlocked. These people in small towns never locked their doors. Try that in Detroit. There was only one light on, coming from a study at the back of the house. He readied the revolver, then charged into the room. There was no one there.
He heard the unmistakable sound of somebody feeding closed the action on a shotgun. "Drop the gun," the voice instructed.
Melvin did as instructed.
"Turn around slowly," the voice ordered.
Melvin turned and looked into the face of Amos P. Jackass III.
"Melvin Cruddy, welcome to New Hampshire."
"How'd you know who I am?" Melvin asked.
"From your blog picture. All you damned writers have blog pictures," Jackass said.
"That rejection letter you sent me was mean, vicious," Melvin said.
"I'm an editor. I was born to be mean. You think you're the first writer who came crawling in here wanting to kill me?" Jackass asked.
"I guess not," Melvin replied. "What are you going to do with me?"
"The others made excellent fertilizer for my cedar trees," Jackass said. "Take off your clothes."
"What for?" Melvin asked.
"For the butt sex," Jackass said.
"Oh, about that. My car, there's a bomb in it with enough explosive to take out this whole block. Just in case I didn't make. Set to go off about now," Melvin warned.
"Sometimes you writers are rather clever. I'll give you that." The explosion tore through the wall, killing both of them instantly.