Scat Fewmits Pursues the Dirty Trickster
Fiction by Sam Aurelius Milam III
I own a bar and grill on Highway 90, in south Texas.  I call it the Barn Grill.¹  Since it's built in an old barn, my regular customers call it the Barn.  I run the place, so I spend a lot of time doing odds and ends, especially when things are slow.
I was polishing glasses one slow afternoon when a man walked in who looked like he was right out of some old low-budget gangster movie with a manic director.  He was wearing a grey, double-breasted pin-striped suit, a wide-brimmed black fedora, and black-and-white oxfords.  He had a black shirt, a white tie, and a pink hankie in his coat pocket.  The fedora had a little white feather in a white hat band.  He was a beefy guy and, the way he walked, it looked like his feet were glued to the floor every time he took a step.  I had the impression that you couldn't have knocked him over with a baseball bat.  He had a wide face, a neatly trimmed mustache, and very serious eyes.
I stopped polishing the glass that I'd been polishing and stood there watching the guy walk toward me.  He didn't turn his head but he gave the entire place a real going-over with his eyes.
When he arrived at the bar, he looked at me and said, "Fewmits".
I gave him a blank stare.
"Scat Fewmits," he elaborated.
"Beg your pardon?"
He looked a trifle impatient, reached into his coat, and brought out a wallet.  He flipped it open and, with practiced skill, pointed to it and said, "Scat Fewmits".
I looked where he was pointing.  The wallet had a badge on one side and an ID card on the other.  He was pointing to the ID card.
"Oh!", I exclaimed, "It's your name!"
"Special Agent Scat Fewmits", he confirmed.
"So, you work for the FBI."
"BFD", he commented.
I drew my head back just a little, wondering how to take that.  He squinted his eyes and said, "Baltimore Forensics Department".
"Oh."
He leaned forward at the hips, looking intently at me.  "Think it stands for something else," he explained, "wrong.  Doesn't.  Baltimore Forensics Department. BFD"
"Well, of course," I hastened to agree, since it seemed important to him.  "What else could it possible stand for?"
"Looking for a man," he explained.
"There's nobody here but us," I replied, shrugging my shoulders.
"Few months back.  Spent some time here.  Worked for local contractor.  Penny a day.  Two pennies the next day.  So forth."²
"Oh, him!" I exclaimed.  "Yeah, I remember the guy!"
"Name?" he asked.
"Michael,"I said.
"Michael what?"  he asked.
"That's the only name he used," I replied. "Why do you want him?"
He looked suspicious, considered my question, and decided to answer it.
"Government research lab.  Blew it up.  Idaho.  About six years ago. Killed Employees.  Both of them.  Killed lab animals.  Rotweillers.  Three of them.  Think it's the same guy."³
"He didn't seem like the violent sort," I objected.
"Fingerprints match.  Prints from his glass.  Here."
"How'd you get his finger prints from

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Stray Thoughts
Sam Aurelius Milam III
Duh — A watched stitch in time never saves nine boiled pots of pennies earned.

Request for Help
Sam Aurelius Milam III
A Summary of My Situation — As of this writing, I'm still living in temporary borrowed quarters.  I'm still using the end of their dining room table for an office.  My files and books are still in boxes.  I've begun to gradually move my possessions to a more secure temporary location, a few boxes at a time.  I've been afraid that, in the location where I've been storing them, James might sneak into the yard and steal them or damage them.  The neighbor gave me permission to post "No Trespassing" signs near the property boundary.  I posted such a sign twice.  Both times, James snuck onto the property and removed the sign.  Thus, he's shown his willingness to enter the property and steal something.  So far, he hasn't bothered any of my stuff.  Maybe I can get it all moved to a more secure location before he steals or damages anything.
A Summary of My Needs — I need someplace else to live.  I previously had an offer from a concerned family member to buy a house for me in this vicinity.  That offer has been withdrawn.  The cost of a small mobile home on a small lot in this area begins at about $60,000 and goes up from there.  I'm hereby requesting contributions toward the acquisition of such property or the actual acquisition of the property for me.
I'll need at least 700 sq. ft. of floor space plus kitchen, laundry, and bathroom facilities.  That's about what's available in a 14x60 single-wide mobile home.  I'll need access to the U.S. mail, a telephone line, and the internet.  Due to my undocumented status, I'll need for someone else to legally own the place.  That being the case, I'll need some kind of an arrangement, such as a trust or a will, whereby I'll be authorized to stay in the place for the rest of my life if the owner dies before I do.  I'll need for the authorization to be effective without the need for me to show government ID, which I lack.  Sharing space with another person has always caused problems.  Therefore, I don't want to share the space.  I want to live alone.
Please contact me if you can provide such an arrangement or if you can provide contributions toward such an arrangement.