Boomtown by Nowen N. Particular Read Free Book Online Page B

that poor young feller’s head had fallen out.
    â€œWalt figured it was another sign from heaven. He closed up the butcher shop and put in a barber chair. He’s been cutting hair ever since.”
    â€œWow! Isn’t that something?” Jonny exclaimed.
    I had listened quietly to the tall tale, not believing most of it. But I was concerned about Walt’s temper. “That’s a very interesting story—rather hard to believe, if you ask me—but here’s what I’m wondering about.”
    â€œWhat’s that, preacher?”
    â€œWalt’s temper . The man’s a hothead; he might even be dangerous.”
    â€œDangerous? Walt? Nah, he’d never hurt a fly.”
    â€œHe killed a bear!”
    â€œNot on purpose. It was mostly the bear’s fault.”
    â€œBut what about all of you? You haven’t done anything wrong. Why do you all put up with him? I don’t understand.”
    The three men stared at me like I had two heads. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œI mean, why keep getting haircuts from a man who’s so hard to deal with? Why not go someplace else?”
    The mailman answered, “We can’t turn our backs on Walter. He’s one of us! He’s part of the town—like the fire-works factory. You think we should get rid of the fireworks? Just because they’re loud and every now and then some-thing burns down? Is that what you think—get rid of any-thing that’s difficult? We can’t live without fireworks! Why would we want to live without Walt?”
    Before I could answer, we suddenly had something more urgent to deal with. We overheard the man in the barber chair make some sort of offhanded comment about the haircut he was getting.
    â€œOh no!” hissed the mailman.
    Everyone in the room stopped breathing. Walt’s face turned white and then bright red. His beady eyes swelled up as big as two silver dollars and change. His hands began to shake. The tiger tattooed on his arm started pacing back and forth. The top button of Walt’s shirt popped off and put a hole in the wall. His body began to shake like a train coming into the station. I could almost see steam coming out of his ears.
    Ed jumped up and shouted, “It’s quittin’ time! Everybody out! Right now! Walt’s about to blow! ”
    We all made a mad dash for the door. The man from the barber chair pushed past us and ran down the street with the cape flapping from his neck like a flag in a storm. Jonny and I dashed across the street and watched the rest of the men scatter left and right and duck behind telephone poles and mailboxes. Everyone else who was outside realized what was happening. They ran inside and slammed the doors and pulled down the shades. It only took another few seconds before we heard the explosion.
    An earth-shattering scream split the air, followed by the unique sound of a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound barber chair flying through the roof of the butcher shop. It sailed up and up and up—at least forty feet in the air—high enough to clear the entire street. Not something you see every day, a barber chair passing over the sun like an eclipse, the chrome handles of the arm rests glinting in the afternoon light, the soft brown leather seat and headrest casting a shadow onto the ground. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the flying chair as it reached its peak and headed back down. I could hear someone yelling something—it was hard to say who it was. My ears were still ringing from Walter’s scream.
    â€œDad! Dad! Look out! ”
    At the very last second, Jonny pushed me to the side and then jumped out of the way. The chair buried itself two feet deep in the sidewalk—exactly in front of the entrance to the Red Bird General Store. It landed in the precise spot where I had been standing only a second before. If it weren’t for Jonny, I wouldn’t have needed a haircut. I would