About the Author: Kevin Egan is the author of eight novels, including Midnight, a Kirkus Reviews Best Book of 2013. In addition to his prior appearance in Mystery Magazine, his short stories have appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Mystery Tribune, Rosebud, and The Westchester Review.
Junior could not remember exactly when he installed the deadbolts on the front and back doors. They were his sister Annie’s idea, so it must have been before she got sick. Dave at the donut shop said they were dangerous, especially if the house caught fire. But Junior slept better at night knowing the deadbolts protected him from burglars.
He opened the front door, dug into the mailbox, and tumbled handfuls of envelopes into the plastic basket of things he carried around the house. So many bills came every day, and not just from Annie’s hospital. Native American children sent bills. Veterans groups sent bills too. And so did people fighting disease, hunger, drunk driving, child abuse. He wrote the checks the same day the bills arrived, scratching his pen until his hand ached. He did not want any bill collectors chasing after him.
After he finished with the bills, he sponged his armpits and limped to the bank. Luckily, Gary was working the customer service desk because Gary was his friend. Gary was nice to him, not like the Asian teller who always frowned when he withdrew his own money or the Latino teller who seemed annoyed when he needed to repeat himself.
“What’ll it be today?” Gary said when Junior sat down at his desk.
“One hundred fifty,” said Junior.
“You withdrew a hundred fifty on Monday and a hundred fifty last Friday.” Gary stared at Junior and waited for a response that never came. “And you can’t keep writing those five dollar checks.”
“They’re bills.”