Otto and The Howards

It wasn't because they were rich, though they were wealthy indeed. It wasn't because of their political positions, though they had their hands in every aspect of Claire View life. It wasn't even because they were attractive, as while everyone admitted that by all metrics every member of the family should have been conventionally attractive for their age and gender, something was just…off…about their eyes and their voices and the way they looked and spoke and…were…

No, the Howards held as much power as they did for a different reason entirely. But people from Claire View didn't like to talk about it much. The mansion stood at the top of a hill, a constant reminder of the all-seeing eye and the powerful hands within. Outsiders, however, did not understand the full weight of the Howard mansion's presence. Outsiders like Otto.

"So, tell me about this Roger Howards Senior," said Otto, as he took a sip from his drink, droplets of beer catching onto his bristly mustache. He wore a fashionable black hat and coat, his ornate cane next to him, leaning on the table. "Heard he's really into, what, miniature model villages?"

The bartender grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, he is, but you know…it's somewhat rude to gossip about people's personal lives…"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist! It's just his hobby, right? Nothing to be ashamed of." Otto grinned. "If what I've heard is true, it's something to be proud of."

"...what have you heard?"

"Well, I've heard he has a one-to-one replica of this very town we're sitting in! Well, you're standing, but…down to the inch…could you imagine how much time and effort that would take?"

The bartender kept idly wiping the glass he'd been wiping for the past half hour. "...I don't know about any replicas of Claire View. I think you should talk to someone else about this."

"Of course, of course. I get ahead of myself. Perhaps I should ask you questions that a bartender could answer."

"...like what?"

"Local politics, of course. Who's the mayor right now?"

"...Mayor Leon Cole?"

"Well, I've heard about that guy. Heard he was married to a woman named Hannah. 'Hanna Cole.' Terrible cadence for a name, if you ask me. "

"...yeah.” grumbled the bartender. “I guess so."

"Lets us know who changed their name, and who didn't!" Otto laughed. "Wonder what Hannah's last name was…isn't she Leon's second wife? Third?"

The bartender gave Otto a harsh glare. "It's rude to gossip."

"Well, surely it's public knowledge what happened."

"What are you implying?"

Otto took a long sip. "Not implying anything, sir. Just trying to make conversation. You'd think you'd be used to that, considering your profession."

"I'm used to drunks, widows, and football fans. Not nosy outsiders with no notion of privacy. Mind your damn business, that's all I can tell you."

Otto paused, and fiddled with his drink. "You just gotta wonder how a man goes through so many wives…"

"Don't slander our Mayor, boy. He led us through the famine."

"Ah yes!" Otto slapped his knees. "I forgot about that. The Claire View famine! I read about that in the newspapers!"

"Yeah, I'm sure you di-"

"How'd this town pull out of that again?"

"Under the leadership of-"

"Leadership can't fill bellies! Who fed the people, Harry? Tell me"

The bartender went silent. Otto took another sip.

"The Howard family," the bartender said after a long pause. "Soon after the marriage, they started to sell bread and meat. It was at a high price, but…it was abundant. All their competition was out of stock. How do "

"I'm asking the questions here. And did they ever say where they found all of this food?"

The bartender sighed. "Look, sir, I'm doing this for your own good."

"Clutching your pearls at my 'gossip' is for my own good? Clearly you've forgotten who you're dealing with here.”

“I’m not answering your questions for a reason. They’re questions better left unasked.”

“What? Or I end up like Chief Wilbur, who began an investigation on the Howards for undeclared income…”

The bartender’s jaw was on the floor. “How the HELL do you know about that?”

“And then he died in a car crash? Two days before he was able to compile enough evidence to send to the IRS?”

The bartender pointed at Otto with a long pale finger. “See, and that’s why you have no idea what you’re talking about! Wilbur DID contact the IRS, but they couldn’t come into town because…” He trailed off.

Otto was no longer smiling. “Finish it, Harry. Finish the sentence.”

"Whatever. I’m done with you. You clearly know what I’m going to say..”

“But I’m not done with you. Or the Howards. Or this town.” Otto put his hand on his cane and pulled himself up to his full height, five inches over the Harry. “Now, you can answer what stopped the IRS from coming into town - or you can answer how you knew the chief contacted the IRS in the first place.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what I want to hear.”

“The truth, Harry. The truth everyone here knows, and nobody is willing to say out loud. As if acknowledging it directly will somehow doom the speaker?” Otto leaned forward. “Will it, Harry? Will it?”

“....who the hell are you?”

“A teacher, here to discipline his unruly students. And he who asks, not he who answers.” Otto glowered at Harry, and Harry shrank back against his will. "Do you know how many people were on the bridge, Harry?"

"No, I…I don't. I'm sorry-"

"YOU ARE NOT SORRY!" Otto caught the attention of the other patrons, so he lowered his voice. "Guess."

"Uh…three?"

"Higher."

"Seven?"

"Higher still! And add that up with the mayor's ex-wives, and the chief, and who knows how many other gravestones filled?! You don't know, do you? You don't know anything. Except that this is wrong - you KNOW this is wrong! The power to build a utopia in the hands of such selfish and egotistical people…and you enable it. Not just by doing nothing, but by doing something, saying something…"

"Sir, please, I'm just a bartender…"

"Tut-tut-tut. A bartender and a gossip. Don't try to lie to me, Harry. I may be an outsider, but I'm not a fool. This is not my first time in this town, but it will be my last. And when I'm done with the Howards, I will come back to continue this conversation." Otto's demeanor brightened without warning, and he put down a couple bills on the table. "That's for the drink, and also for a bit of bread - I want something to eat on the way."

Without taking his eyes off of Otto, the bartender picked up a loaf of bread, cut off a chunk, and handed it to the outsider. Otto picked up his cane, tipped his hat, and walked out the door.

Five seconds after, the bartender dialed a number and made a frantic call.

Otto took his time crossing the street. He heard a loud sound from the east. He turned, and saw a huge hunk of metal hurtling towards him at breakneck speed. A car, Otto thought, but no license plate. There does seem to be a driver - perhaps his brakes were cut? If they were, I certainly know who cut them.

The car drew closer. Otto stood in the road, making no move to dodge. This seemingly suicidal behavior caught the attention of countless passersby, and the bartender, who watched from a window while sweating bullets. Otto took a big bite from his piece of bread, and chewed it methodically, as his coat billowed in the wind and the car grew closer and closer…

Otto held on to his hat as the car went through him. Straight through him. Like he wasn't even there.

Audible gasps were heard around him, but Otto paid them no mind. He was completely unharmed. There wasn't even a scratch on him or his clothes - though he now only held his cane. He looked around for the bread, and found it strewn across the road, reduced to a trail of crumbs. Shame, he thought as he watched the speeding car disappear into the distance. It was some damn good bread.

But he knew it would be the last casualty of the Howard family.

He continued on his slow and steady march towards the mansion on the hill, as the sun began to set on a town that would soon see a new dawn. First, there was a caning to be had.