The officer in charge asked me about Carter Kincaid, the bearded, broad-shouldered man who shot the tires of fifty parked cars that were blocking his exit before shooting himself in the head. Long before he was able to grow a beard and several months before his shoulders broadened, Carter Kincaid had been my brother. “He was a cadre of contradictions,” I said. “Cranky but cool, cantankerous but calm. And he was conniving enough to coax a kid out of a candy bar.”
“Do you know that his past was peppered with pandering, perjury, bribery, battery, burglary, embezzlement, and ice cream theft?” the officer inquired.
“No,” I stated, “but it doesn’t surprise me. Carter could eat a dozen chocolate cones with his eyes alone, and a half dozen with his hands tied behind his broad back. And that doesn’t even include strawberry.”