A Taste for Pie

"Think I'll be getting me a piece of pie," Horace Billson declared. "I have a taste for a nice slice a peach, mebbe apple, but I'd sure go for a hunk of Mable Meple's homemade peach pie."

"Oh, honey, please stay home. The last time you got some pie you almost started a war."

"Can't, baby. Have a hankerin' for pie. You know how that is, least ways with me. Besides, last time it was worth it all, ya know? I got me a nice ole big slice a cherry pie just drippin' with sweetness, and warm as all get out, and redder than ganger's blood. Man that was good." He shook his head, smiling with the memory.

"I got some pie here. You don't have to go out."

"And what kinda pie you got, Dorothy?" He glanced down at her skeptically.

She smoothed her apron and tried to smile up at her husband. The smile didn't quite reach her worried eyes. "I've got a nice rhubarb pie. It's in the freezer. I can heat you up a big slice. Would you like a scoop of vanilla ice cream with it?" She made to go to the freezer.

"Hell no! Hold on little lady. I hate rhubarb. It's stringy and bitter and they say it's poison too. That crap from the food mart, it don't cut it. The crust tastes like cardboard and the fillin's like bad preserves, enough to give a man a bellyache. I need a slice a real pie like the kind Mable Meple's got."

As he argued with his wife he slipped on the thick vest that protected him from shotgun blasts and small caliber firearms. He tugged the lightweight titanium helmet on and then strapped on his heavy munitions belt. It held three different calibers of bullets and sported two fast draw holsters. His favorite snap shot Beretta and Glock 18C were snugly tucked into them like babes in a cradle.

"Hand me my Mengler auto shotgun, honey. It's the new one with the stainless steel drum holding thirty rounds. I may be a-needin' that little darlin'."

She passed the deadly weapon over to him saying, "This is crazy, Horace. I heard on the news the gangers are out in force tonight. That stupid pie can get you killed."

Horace made a face. He snapped, "A man can't let his life be run by a bunch a punks, now can he? I've got to protect what little freedom's left, don't you see? Now, you want me to bring you back a piece a Mable's pie?"

"No. I'll cut me a piece of rhubarb."

He shrugged, which wasn't easy with all the hardware slung about his large frame. "Suit yourself, babe. I'll be back in awhile, happy as a lark with Mable's pie in my belly."

"As long as it's pie filling

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