Snakeford Cadd strode smugly down the derry. Well, it might’ve been the derry… no one in town knew exactly what a “derry” was. Snakeford Cadd was the first to admit that he was a vaingloreous, bigheaded, conceited, egotistical self-satisfied monster of a man. Most wanted to slap that smug expression off of his face, pick the expression off of the sidewalk and kick it in the balls. If you weren’t a woman, you instantly hated the man. If you were a woman, you eventually hated the man. The only reason he wasn’t pure evil was because he had an artificial hip.
He moved forcefully down the sidewalk, shoving as he felt like it, cane in hand, laughing to himself about all the nastiness he’d accomplished just that week. “Good week”, he said to the head of his cane, which was a sterling silver likeness of himself.
First, he’d bilked Edna Adams Poundfoolish by convincing her to buy a Beanie Baby that looked like Ben Affleck for 1.6 billion dollars. She’d foolishly paid him in cash… nice crisp million dollar bills with pictures of Ross Perot on them. That money was safely in a storage locker that was in a warehouse that was in an airplane hanger. She cried at his betrayal, which only made him laugh all the more, then stop laughing because he’d inhaled an ice chip.
Cadd took an apple from a fruit stand and pocketed it… then a banana, then a pineapple. No one was the wiser. It seemed that the world was his oyster in that is was dank, cold and unappetizing. But, HE was finally on top… This town was too small for him as evidenced by the fact that when he slept there his feet stuck over the city limits.
He’d romanced the daughter of Dr. Henrick Horsefaucher; then, he jilted her at the altar, again a few feet from the altar and once more in the parking lot. He knew she was serious because of the wedding plans and the purchase of their home, but all he wanted was a good time, a lark, a folly, a simple tryst, two dozen eggs and a quart of orange juice.
Snakeford gave a small dog a violent kick. He liked kicking dogs and always carried a couple in his coat pocket in case none were about when he was walking. He kicked the dog again… this time into the street. Fortunately, the cobblestones made the street so unmanageable that the cars were driving everywhere but the street.
He blackmailed Lady Nancikins Estuary for years; but, only this weekend he’d released photographs of her in her underwear, dancing with a polar bear. He kept the negatives because he never knew when he might meet a completely black version of her and could blackmail that woman with a negative of a woman in a dark bikini, dancing with a black bear.
“Shut up!” he told random passersby. Some weren’t even talking. One was a street sign. Cadd didn’t care. After a full weekend of evil, there was only one way to unwind: The thousand foot cliff just outside of town. Staring into that yawning abyss with no handrail between himself and certain death relaxed him. What could possibly be the harm in that?
He’d ruined the Reverend Quincy Laughbucket by convincing him that the resurrection was coming on Thursday causing him to spend all the church’s money on caterers. He’d convinced the mayor to declare the eleventh of the month “Pizza Day”, knowing full well that the governor had just passed legislation making the eleventh “Everything But Pizza Day”. Many of the town’s most conscientious citizens starved to death.
Cadd hadn’t a care in the world; but, if he’d felt malevolent eyes on the back of his neck he might’ve shuddered. Someone wanted Cadd dead, or at least cryogenically-frozen until the end of time. And, that someone was intent on doing it. And, it was a murderous intention that was also deadly… as deadly as a murderer…