* * * *
Small American flags hung from Juanita’s porch posts and red, white and blue banners were draped the length of the porch. Twilight had set in, and the deep purple mountain ridges were starkly outlined against the darkening sky.
Dixie and Sylvia dragged small tree branches and kindling toward a large fire pit. “This here is a Chet Monroe fire,” Dixie said as she threw wood onto the flames. “That asshole is gonna get a hot reception down at Regional Jail. I let my cousin Jake know to expect him soon.” Dixie threw a large log on the fire and the two girls headed over to the picnic table. “Jake’ll pass the word to the other cons that the ‘Candy Man’ is on his way.”
“I been waiting on you two,” Juanita said as she turned on the radio and country music blasted into the yard. “Let’s get this party started. It’s the fourth of July for God’s sake.” She handed the girls glasses of iced champagne.
“Where’s Charlene at?” Dixie asked.
Juanita nodded toward the porch where Skeeter and Charlene leaned close together and seemed to be whispering. Charlene flipped her hair back and giggled.
“Guess Charlene ain’t listening to your lectures ’bout tight buns and bedroom eyes,” Dixie said.
“You surprised?”
“Hell no,” Dixie said, “but that girl needs a wakeup call. I’ve got a plan, so Sylvia, could you take her boyfriend over a drink?” Sylvia nodded and headed to the porch.
“Thought I’d serve our guest a little bubbly.” Sylvia handed a glass to Skeeter. Grinning, he took the glass and topped it off from his pint of Jim Beam.
Suddenly Dixie appeared at his side. She moved closer and spoke softly, “Remember how we spent last fourth of July? Jus’ the two of us.”
Skeeter grinned. “That place on the river? Oh, yeah.”
“C’mon, let’s dance, for old time’s sake.” Dixie grabbed his hand and dragged him out into the yard. He barely had time to set his drink on the porch railing. Dixie draped her arms around his neck and moved with the throbbing guitar beat, plastering her body against his. “Oh, yeah. That’s the way, baby,” she purred.
Charlene couldn’t take her eyes off the dancers. She was surprised at their grace and the fluidness of their paired bodies. She watched as Dixie parted her lips and ran her tongue around the outline. Then she dragged her fingernails slowly down Skeeter’s backbone. “My God, Dixie,” she yelled. “You’re shaking everything at once—just like a bitch in heat.” But no one heard her.
Belting out the words to the song, Juanita and Sylvia started a wild two-step around the fire. Their performance managed to push Skeeter and Dixie even closer together. There was no moon, but the dancer’s bodies threw sensual shadows from the firelight.
Charlene’s face flushed hot, and suddenly she wanted Dixie’s hands off him! Stomping over to the couple, she grabbed Skeeter’s arm. Dixie hung on to his other arm.
“C’mon girls, no need to get greedy,” Skeeter said, still smiling.
“Get your hands off him, bitch!” Charlene yelled.
“I had him first!” Dixie clung to her partner’s arm.
Realizing that the fun was over, Skeeter’s tone became coaxing. “C’mon Charlene, it was just a little dancing.”
“Like the good ol’ days, eh babe?” Dixie braced her feet and hung on.
“Ladies, calm down.” A note of desperation crept into Skeeter’s voice. “Charlene, honey, hey! Let go, both of ya.”
Juanita was just about to intervene, when she heard the phone ringing insistently in the kitchen and headed inside.
“You whore,” Charlene shrieked. “Get off him.”
“Oh, shut up. Look who’s talking ’bout whores.” Dixie started to lose her grip and Skeeter finally shook himself free.
“That’s it. Now, the both of ya, calm down,” he shouted, but turned at the sound of Juanita’s screams.
* * * *
The women gathered around the kitchen table where Juanita sat sobbing. Skeeter stood behind her chair. Finally, she looked up at them. “The emergency room doctor said Jan was holding her own, but Joe really worked her over this time,” she said in a choked voice. “Thank God she took the boy with her. I gotta get there.”
Skeeter touched her shoulder. “C’mon, babe. I’ll run you in to the hospital when you’re ready. Stay with you.”
“Juanita,” Charlene called as they were leaving, “send your grandson back with Skeeter. We’ll look after him.”
The women stood at the door quietly and watched the car head down the driveway, then straggled back to the kitchen table. “Has anyone ever met Jan and the little boy?” Charlene asked.
“I ain’t seen them for a while. He don’t let them come here,” Dixie said. “There’s been bad blood between Juanita and Joe for years.”
“Why haven’t some of the men in the family tried to straighten him out?” Sylvia looked puzzled.
“Oh, they have. Juanita’s ol’ man and Skeeter worked Joe over a couple a times. Made threats. Then he started boozing again and took it out worse on his wife and kid.” The Champagne had gone flat, but Dixie divided it among them. “Let’s drink to that sunnuvabitch. Joe’s too dumb to know it, but the Devil’s breathing down his neck.”
* * * *
The next morning the four women sat silently in Juanita’s kitchen. No one had slept. Juanita, her eyes red and swollen, finally spoke, “Last night, my grandson cried in his sleep. He saw it all. What kinda man does this?”
“The bad kind,” Dixie said flatly. “We got two days before Jan will get outta the hospital. The games are over, girls. This one’s for keeps.”
“This is the final retribution,” Charlene said.
“You know what my vote is, but I wouldn’t expect none of you to help.” Juanita’s tone was firm. “It’s for me to do.”
“We’re in this together. I say let’s do it!” Sylvia said.
Dixie grinned. “I still got that old handgun.”
None of them heard Skeeter climb the back steps. He stood listening at the screen door. “Damn, crazy women,” he muttered. He studied the faces of the four women. Juanita’s dark eyes were glowing hot. Sylvia’s green eyes glittered coldly. Dixie’s eyes were narrowed into slits. Charlene looked down at the table. He understood. They really meant to do it. Men would talk a lot, then usually have the damn good sense to leave it at that. But these women would cook up some wild scheme and they would go through with it! God help them all. He looked again at Charlene.
Entering the kitchen, Skeeter knew he was the intruder. They didn’t want him there. Well, that was too damn bad. Jan and the little boy were his kin, too. He’d vowed the sonnuvabitch would pay and had his own plans.
“Ladies, he said, “if you want my opinion, what y’all have in mind is too shit good for Joe. He should be got rid of—yeah—but don’t ya want him to suffer none? Don’t ya want to nail him up? The man is one mean asshole and needs some grief.
Finally, Juanita looked at Skeeter. “What you got in mind?”
Skeeter breathed easier when he saw the flicker of interest in the upturned faces. “I got some friends in Baltimore,” he said. “They owe me big. So, I’ll head down there and set things up.”
Later, after they’d worked out the details, Skeeter had to stand firm on one crucial point. “Juanita, you got to stay behind, got to be seen by a lot of people here.”
Grudgingly, she agreed. She would take her grandson and Charlene’s boys to the Fireman’s Carnival that night.
“I gotta leave,” Skeeter said and grabbed Charlene’s hand. “C’mon, walk me out.” At the truck, he bent down and kissed her. “I sure as hell wish you’d stay home with Juanita and the kids,” he said. “This could go wrong.”
“They’ll need three people, Skeeter. You know that.”
“Yeah, well just be careful.” He held her lightly at the waist. “When this is over, we’re gonna celebrate alone, just the two of us.” His br
eath was warm on her cheek.
Charlene found the women standing by the picnic table. “C’mon,” Juanita called. “There’s something we gotta do. Here, girls, take a hold of my hand and make a ring.” She held the big jar up, swirled the sand and placed it in the center of the ring.
“Joe, this is payback time,” Juanita shouted. “We’re paying you back, you bastard!”
The women circled to the right, then to the left, shouting, “We’re paying you back, you bastard! We’re paying you back, you bastard! You’re on your way to hell!”
* * * *
The TV picture was rolling and out of focus, so Joe got up and banged on the top of the set. “Shit!” He bellowed as he lowered himself into his shabby recliner, “Can’t even watch the game without some damn problem!”
He reached for his drink, but the glass was empty. He was ready to tell Jan to bring him another whiskey when he remembered that the bitch was gone. She’d grabbed the boy and taken off last night. Hell, he hadn’t messed her up that bad. She’d been able to drive away, hadn’t she? And in the car he’d bought and paid for. She had it too damn good. Right now she was probably sniveling around over at her mother’s—complaining about him, no doubt, to the super bitch.
Joe was lumbering into the kitchen to get another drink when he heard a knock at the door. Opening it cautiously, he was amazed to find Dixie, dressed to kill, standing on the porch. She smiled and walked into the house. It was like his birthday and Christmas rolled into one. He grinned back at her.
“Hey, Joe, you in a party mood? I brought a bottle of peach brandy.”
“Peach brandy. Damn. Don’t know whether you or the brandy will be sweeter.”
“Well, let’s find out.” Dixie started dancing around the room to music blasting from the half-time show on TV. Joe tried to grab her, but she stayed just out of his reach.
“I need a drink, baby,” Dixie crooned.
“Sure, right away.”
Joe smiled broadly as he handed his guest a drink. “You know, I ain’t never believed in luck, or shit like that, but you showing up tonight is the best damn thing that’s happened to me in weeks.”
“You’re right, your luck has changed, Joe. Let’s drink to that.”
Joe held up his glass, “To Dixie, the hottest little girl in Morgan County.”
Joe’s cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. “Hang on a minute, honey. I gotta take this.” He walked into the kitchen.
Dixie took a packet of white powder from her bag and slipped it into Joe’s drink. Then she moved quietly to the kitchen doorway and listened. “Hello, hello,” Joe said. “Hell, no. This ain’t Brownie’s Pizza, you idiot.”
“Damn wrong number,” Joe explained as he returned to the living room. “Now, where were we?”
“We were drinking.” Dixie raised her glass and took a sip. Joe swigged down half of his brandy. “We were drinking to you, Joe—to the sexiest wife-beater in the county. Ain’t we a pair?”
“Lay off that ‘wife-beater’ shit. That bitch had it coming.” Joe finished his drink and moved around the room after Dixie. “All you damn women are the same.” His speech was becoming slurred. “You showed up here and now you’re playing coy.” Joe lurched and the glass slipped from his grasp. He hit the floor hard and his powerful body was still.
Dixie ran to open the door. “The crate’s ready,” Charlene said as she and Sylvia came inside. With effort, they dragged Joe out and hauled him into the back of the black Bronco.
* * * *
Two and a half hours later, the Bronco moved slowly along dockside at Baltimore harbor. His abductors dragged Joe up the gangplank to the waiting freighter. Skeeter and two Latino crewmen materialized out of the darkness and hauled Joe below deck.
When Skeeter reappeared, he flashed a grin. “Got Joe’s seaman’s papers. He’s done signed on for three years. At midnight, the Yucatan Queen will sail for South America.”
“That trip should be enough time for an attitude adjustment,” Sylvia said.
“Yeah, if he ever gets back here, he’ll be bitching in Spanish,” Dixie drawled.
“Wait a minute.” Charlene looked worried. “What if he jumps ship at the first port and heads straight back home?”
“He won’t do that.” Skeeter sounded confident. “It’s all set up.”
“I hope to hell it’s foolproof,” Dixie said.
“You girls worry too much. Tomorrow when Joe wakes up in his seaman’s bunk, the First Mate’ll bust him. I planted a few packets on Joe and passed the First Mate a “C” note. Joe’ll be too damn scared to even leave the ship.”
Dixie looked concerned for the first time. “I hear there isn’t much that scares Joe.”
“The threat of being handed over to the Mexican Federales for smuggling drugs should do it.” Skeeter grinned.
“Yeah, “Dixie agreed, “Joe ain’t fool enough to wanta do time in a foreign jail.”
“He ought to be spending time in a West Virginia jail,” Sylvia said, “but that will never happen.”
“Don’t worry, girls. Joe’s on his way to hell.”
* * * *
The drive back to Morgan County seemed to take forever. The women followed Skeeter’s truck. They were triumphant, but tired, and there was little conversation. When they crossed the Potomac River Bridge into West Virginia, they were alarmed to see a road block ahead. A deputy pulled over Skeeter’s truck, but waved the Bronco on to a checkpoint.
“Evening, Ladies,” the State Trooper smiled appreciatively at the three women. “Y’all out late.”
“Yes, sir. We had car trouble, but we’re on our way home.”
“Y’all better be careful now,” he drawled. “We done had two convicts escape from Regional Jail this evening. May be around here.” He smiled again, trying to catch Dixie’s eye. “You ladies may need some protection. Ain’t safe for sweet, young things like you all alone. Be sure to let me know if you have any problems.” He waved them on.
Watching the deputy, Skeeter caught the glint of suspicion in his eyes. Dumbass cop thinks I might have something to do with them escapees, Skeeter thought. But that state boy is sure them women are sweet as pie.
“Where you been tonight and where you headed to?” the deputy asked.
“It ain’t none of your business, but I been visiting my grandma McCabe. I gotta warn ya, she don’t hear too good and she sure don’t like strangers.”
The officer frowned and made notes.
“Look, deputy, if ya ain’t got no more questions, I’m in a hurry,” Skeeter said.
As he followed the Bronco down the road toward Peach Tree Hollow, Skeeter muttered, “Hope them poor jailbirds don’t stumble into Juanita’s holler. Them women’ll hang ’em outta dry and feed ’em to the hound dogs for supper.”
Grinning, he wondered why he wasn’t smart enough to take his own advice. He knew for sure he’d end up worse off than ol’ Lloyd, or Bert, or even Joe if he messed up with Charlene. Them wicked women would see to it!
* * * *
It was late by the time the black Bronco reached Juanita’s. She had a roaring blaze going in the fire pit and was waiting for them. “Did it go smooth?” she asked.
“Like we planned.” Dixie nodded. “You called his house at just the right time.”
“Listen!” Charlene raised a warning hand. “It’s the news on WCST.”
A police report just in from southern Morgan County: Joe McCaffrey is reported missing. His mother visited the home when he could not be reached by phone. McCaffrey’s pickup truck was found in the driveway. Mrs. McCaffrey describes her son as a loving husband and father who would not willingly leave his home. McCaffrey, 32, is a white male weighing 240 pounds, 6 feet, 1 inch tall. He was awaiting trial on a domestic dispute charge. Anyone with information regarding this case is asked to call the sheriff’s Office. And now we’ll check the weather…
“That’s the first and last time that no-good bastard
will ever be famous,” Dixie said.
“Yeah.” Juanita smiled. “You say he was sleeping like a baby?”
Charlene nodded. “The last time we saw him, he was dead to the world.”
“Too bad it ain’t permanent.” Juanita’s expression was grim. “My girl will come home from the hospital tomorrow.”
“Does she know?” Charlene asked.
“Jan knows. It was the first time she smiled,” Juanita said.
“We done the right thing.” Dixie pounded her fist down on the picnic table.
“It was the only thing to do,” Charlene agreed. “She’d be dead if we’d waited on the law.”
“Domestic violence!” Dixie laughed. “Those worthless shits file it under fiction and forget it.”
Charlene looked at Juanita. “The news report doesn’t worry you?”
“Hell, no.” The big woman raised a dismissive hand. “Joe got a better deal than he ever deserved.”
“Well, I say this calls for a celebration!” Sylvia popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.
“Wait!” Juanita said. “Where’s Skeeter? He oughta be part of this. We couldn’t have done it without him.”
“I never thought I’d say this, but Skeeter ain’t so bad.” Dixie poured out the champagne.
“Men in general ain’t so bad, once you weed out the bastards,” Juanita said.
Dixie jumped up on the picnic table and held up the champagne bottle. “That’s what we done, girls. We weeded out the bastards!” She waved the bottle.
Juanita stood up. “Girls, put your right hand on the jar and raise your cup,” she shouted, “We weeded out the bastards!”
The women called back in unison, “We weeded out the bastards!”
Amid the cheering and whooping, a new voice shouted, “Wait. I want in.” Molly Finch, sporting a black eye, joined them.
Juanita looked shocked. “My God, Molly! What the hell you doing here?”
“You got a damn nerve.” Dixie stepped forward.
“Let’s hear her out,” Juanita said calmly.
Molly ran over and threw her arms around Juanita. “I’ve come to apologize. I was dead wrong. You were the best friend I ever had.”
Wicked Women and Other Stories Page 4
