The Residents

Harry Beecher. Because the man don’t live. And what’s the point of lettin' a man who don't live go on taking up air?

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Mrs. Eldright, who as you all know, just turned ninety-six, which if you ask me, is more than enough time.

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Beecher. Cause like Bob was saying when he had the floor, why get to live if you ain’t gonna live.

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My vote is for Mrs. Sharon Elaine Hamilton of 11282 Oak Lane who three times now has had a car in her drive with Illinois plates and always when her husband is gone.

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The Delaney Twins. You’d be doing the mother a favor. Plus them even being born is an abomination. I know for a fact their momma woulda ended them before they started if it didn’t mean time behind bars. Plus like what Derrick said about all them hospital bills piling up from being born handicapped disabled.

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John Gifford, because what he done to his daughter is an abomination.

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Delaneys. I saw their momma crying in the window while she was doing dishes. I would say the momma herself but if you feed the mom a bullet you may as well give two to them kids because just who do you think is gonna be left to take care of them—Grandpa Gifford—that’s who.

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Denver added the last strip to the pile on the table and Dinah came around with a pot of coffee and another tray of eclairs.

“Goddamn, Dinah,” Marv said between swallows. “You make these yourself?”

Dinah topped off all the mugs then was back behind the counter, putting a row of peanut butter cookies next to the chocolate chip in the display case. Her voice came muted through the plexiglass. “I got a friend in Charlevoix drives 'em down.”

Marv shook his head. “All that way…”

Outside, a blue Ford sputtered up a cloud of exhaust as it rolled through the stop sign, and one of the eggs from the robin’s nest that had been balancing on the strut all winter fell to the concrete.

Denver lifted his pencil from the paper where he'd been keeping tally. “So that’s one for Mrs. Eldright. One vote Sharon Hamilton. The vote for John don’t count ‘cause he lives in Hickory Hills and not Green Oak. Two votes Beech—”

“But I thought you said he lives with—” the new guy started.

“I said he stays there,” Denver filled in.

Bob coughed. “When he needs something," and nudged elbows with Derrick. Charlotte put her eyebrows together and threw them each of them a look. Sidney rolled her eyes. Denver held up a finger, and when the room went quiet, turned slowly back to New Guy. “You gotta be a resident. Understand?”

New Guy nodded. Denver licked the tip of his pencil and put it back to the paper. “That’s two votes Beecher. Two votes for the twins.” He set the pencil on the table and reached a hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Have to flip for it, I guess.” He held his fist over the table and balanced the coin on the bed of his thumbnail.

New Guy looked to Charlotte, to Sidney, then stood, the heels of his chair scraping against the linoleum. “I won’t do it. I won’t put them babies to death.” He tore the napkin from under his plate, scribbled on it furiously, then tossed it into the mixing bowl we’d borrowed from Dinah.

Denver fished the paper out from the bottom, floated it onto the pile, and made the tick mark next to Harry Beecher’s name.

Bob’s eyes went giddy and he pounded his fist on the table and looked up at the clock. “Hot dog, I believe that’s a new record.”