Old Man Jacobs (Flash Fiction)

Old Man Jacobs

         Old man Jacobs has always had a way with words. None were wasted, none were kind and none were spoken in an effort to please others. It was his way. In the ten years I have known him, I grew to know that this would never, ever change.
         This aspect of Jacobs’ style was not limited to words. It could be seen in his front yard. Nothing wasted, nothing pleasing as, from one end of the yard to the other, car parts, old bikes, broken lawnmowers, tires, boards, bottles and stuff I couldn’t begin to name laid around in disorganized heaps. Even a lawn gnome would be hard pressed to fit in with all the trash.
         Which brings me to my reason for being there. I had to do something. The mess was bleeding into my yard and playing havoc with my property value.
         Three knocks on the door and it creaked open just a few inches. I peered in expecting to see his weathered, unsmiling face. I didn’t see it. However, a moment later I did see two shiny metal tubes poke out. I guessed a 12 gauge. I could have been wearing the twin muzzles of the double barrel shotgun like a pair of glasses at that point.
         “What did I tell you?”
         I quoted his earlier statement flawlessly. “Don’t let me catch you around here again.”
         The gun backed off and the door closed.
         Yep. That was old man Jacobs for you. He was a man of few words, but he made each and every one of them count.
         As I walk away I was immensely grateful he didn’t punctuate his words with an exclamation point.