Into the Twilight, Endlessly Grousing by Patrick F. McManus Page A

Delmar’s satisfaction.
    â€œYep, stole it right out of his garage,” Delmar said, recapping the news.
    â€œWhat did the deputy do?”
    â€œNothin’. He just looked in the garage and said, ‘You’re right, ain’t no chain saw in here. Guess it got stole.’ Didn’t dust for fingerprints or talk to nobody what might’ve been an eyewitness to the crime or check for tracks or nothin’. Can’t tell but what the deputy might have turned up some of that DNA stuff if he’d investigated a little more careful.”
    â€œClearly a breakdown in law enforcement,” I said. “Chain saws are practically loaded with DNA.”
    â€œDarn tootin’! Now, here’s the peculiar thing.” Delmar took the lid off his snuff can and loaded up his lower lip.
    I was getting a little irritated with Delmar’s teasers. “So, what’s the peculiar thing?”
    â€œWell, it’s just this. Old Sly had a brand-new five-horseoutboard motor settin’ right there in plain sight in his garage, and the thief didn’t take that. He took an old wore-out chain saw instead.”
    â€œIf I was a thief, I’d have taken the motor,” I said.
    â€œMe, too!” said Delmar. “Ain’t no heavier than a chain saw—and a lot more fun!”
    â€œYou’re right about that,” I said. “From my vast experience with criminals, I know they’d rather steal things that are fun rather than things that are work. Back when I was in college, I actually shared an apartment for a while with a professional thief, and his specialty was sporting goods.”
    â€œWow! That’s weird!”
    â€œYes, indeed, he was a real criminal and—”
    â€œNo, I mean—you went to college?”
    â€œYes, Delmar, I did. I hope it doesn’t show.”
    â€œDon’t worry, Pat, it don’t.”
    â€œGood. Anyway, about my roommate …”
    I had moved out of the university dorm and into a small hovel off campus. The dorm had gotten much too rowdy, with horseplay going on all hours of the night and endless practical jokes being played on serious students trying to get an education. The dorm supervisor narrowed down the problem to two instigators of the mischief, as is often the case, and to solve the problem, suggested that Duke and I find an apartment off campus. Well, we were both relieved, because it had become almost impossible for us to get any studying done with all that ruckus going on.
    I didn’t know much about Duke, except that he could short-sheet a bed in thirty seconds flat. And he was terrified of snakes, even the harmless garden variety. The mere mention of snakes would cause him to shudder. He would even check his shoes each morning to make sure a snake wasn’t curled up in one, as if snakes commonly hung outin a college dorm. Other than that bit of absurdity, he seemed okay, although something less than a serious student like myself.
    â€œWhat’s in that box?” he asked suspiciously as we were moving into the hovel.
    â€œBooks,” I said.
    â€œOh,” he said. “I thought it might be a snake.”
    â€œGeez, Duke,” I said. “You’ve got to get over this abnormal fear of snakes. Besides, if it will make you feel any better, I sold the snake to Artie Feldman. Artie said he could put it to good use.”
    For the first few weeks, Duke and I got along fine, even though he had quite a few irritating habits and wasn’t all that keen on personal hygiene. But he had a car and I didn’t, and a roommate with a car can be excused quite a few shortcomings. Duke was several years older than I, even though we were both freshmen. I wasn’t sure whether he had been in the service or had just lingered a few years longer than normal in high school. I suspected the latter.
    Shortly after our move into the hovel, Duke disappeared for a couple of days. Upon his return, he