The fat lady looked at Bill and Chaplin in their masks. She said, “Boys, it’s the Fourth, not Halloween.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bill said. “We just think we look good in ’em.”

“Well, you don’t.”

“Yeah, and you’re fat as a fuckin’ whale too,” Chaplin said.

“Well, I never,” she said, and got her bag of goods and waddled off to her car and wedged herself inside with a grunt and drove off. Now only Bill and his comrades and the firecracker stand worker were on the site.

The stand worker said, “I ever got that fat, I’d want someone to shoot me, skin me, and tack me on the side of a barn for target practice.”

“Uh huh,” Bill said. “Give me some of them Roman candles there. And a bunch of them Black Cats.”

“How many’s a bunch?” asked the stand worker.

“Two of them long packs,” Bill said.

“Y’all come from some kind of party?” asked the stand worker.

“Somethin’ like that,” Bill said.

The stand worker went at gathering Bill’s order. When he finished, he placed them on the counter. Bill pulled out a pistol and pointed it at him. “While you’re at it, why don’t you just put all your money on the counter too. I’d prefer it in a bag.”

“Why you piece of shit,” said the stand worker.

“Watch your mouth,” said Chaplin, taking out his revolver, “or you’ll find it on the other side of your head.”

“Easy,” Bill said.

“This here is my firecracker stand. What I make here is all I get, ’cept for some little farm jobs I take now and then. I ain’t got a steady job. And you didn’t come from no party neither.”

“We crawled out of that fat lady’s ass when she wasn’t looking,” Chaplin said.

“Pieces of shit,” the stand worker said. “Pieces of shit. That’s what y’all are. You’re robbin’ a man needs all he can get and you don’t even care. There’s niggers wouldn’t do this to me.”