“What?” the waitress stopped writing on her little pad to ask.
“The sausage special,” Bubba said slowly. “Beans, and ‘tato salad. Co-cola, ifin you have one cold in a bottle. No dessert for me.”
Willodean sighed gustily.
“Or I could order the red velvet cake and share?” Bubba half asked.
“Shore nuff,” the waitress said. “I’m Mamie and I’ll be your waitress. We always make you an offer you cain’t refuse and—”
Willodean looked at Mamie again. Mamie fled for the kitchen. After all, Willodean did have a loaded gun on her person. And a full container of mace. No one could forget the mace.
Bubba was no coward. “The only way this could be better is ifin Ma showed up,” he said with a halfhearted chuckle.
Willodean gestured at the window. Bubba saw his mother’s Cadillac pull into a space four cars down from the DEA’s van. She got out of the car. Then Alfonzo and Pilar got out of the car, too. They extracted babies from the car seats that had been transferred to Miz Demetrice’s driving boat.
“I suppose that Mary Lou Treadwell spread the word when you called in your break,” Bubba said.
“Mary Lou does have a big mouth,” Willodean said agreeably.
Bubba looked around. He thought it might be cold inside the restaurant but it also might be the cloud of icy air surrounding Willodean. He wanted to say, “What’d I do?” but that was a tried and true method of self-immolation.
“Something wrong?” Bubba asked. It was all he could come up with.
“It’s fine,” Willodean said and his heart sank.
There was one thing he knew about women. One who answered with “fine” could mean three things. A). It really is fine. (Very unlikely.), B). I’m right. You’re wrong. (Significantly more common.), or C). If you continue along this present discourse, the world will end as we know it and you will be a puddle of nonexistence Bubba goo. (This was something that happened more than Bubba liked to admit. He had had an ex-fiancée and had lived with her for a number of months.)
“It ain’t fine,” he said. It was an expected answer. “I cain’t do anything about it ifin I don’t know what the problem is. Is it because of what I said about kids?”
Mamie brought the bread, butter, and drinks and Bubba’s mouth snapped shut. She scuttled off as soon as Willodean cast her green eyes upon her again. Behind Willodean Bubba could see everyone in the restaurant leaning forward incrementally in order to hear better. He would have glowered at them but he didn’t want Willodean to think that he was glowering at her.
The door opened and his mother came in, followed by the Garcias and their children. Bubba pretended not to notice. Willodean smiled wanly and waved.
It was to his mother’s credit that Miz Demetrice headed for the opposite side of the restaurant. Bubba looked around the restaurant, pulling at his shirt collar. First it was cold in the place, then it was blazing hot. He thought he might be going through menopause except there was an integral problem with that theory. (He was way too young, and oh, yes, more importantly not a woman.)
The door opened again and the pair of DEA agents crossed the threshold. They sat at the counter on the far side probably so they could order and watch Bubba at the same time. They must have been happy that his mother and the Garcias had come into the same restaurant at the same time. Or perhaps they were thinking that it was a big conspiracy and The Hogfather’s was the in place to smuggle…what? Pigs feet? Pork ribs? The secret recipe to The Hogfather’s prize winning barbeque sauce and rub?
“No,” she said.
Now what does that mean? Bubba asked himself. It could mean “No.” Or it could mean “Yes, but I’m not telling you.” Or it could mean “You couldn’t be more wrong and I hate you.”
Using a bread knife, Willodean slathered butter on a roll and began to eat. Bubba watched with fascination. Typically Willodean didn’t eat half of what he ate. But if she was really angry with him she wouldn’t be eating with him at all. That had to be something good, right?
“Herb butter,” she said around a mouthful.
Bubba took a slug from the bottle. It was icy cold and just what the doctor ordered. He was hungry but he wasn’t sure he could eat. His stomach was in knots. Relationships were hard.
Willodean buttered another roll and handed it to him.
She seemed to be waiting for him to do something.
Bubba thought about something he could do. But there was the huge, looming, lurking “but” hanging out in the corner like a mutated, irradiated albino elephant. It was the wrong place. It was even worse than in the cemetery with a swathe of zombies lurking about them. They sat in a barbeque joint called The Hogfather’s with thirty people staring at them and he didn’t have a clean shirt on. There was no way in hell he would be saying something to her now. Furthermore, he could still be in danger and he didn’t want to put her in the way. In fact, he shouldn’t even be eating out with her in public.
“It’s not bad,” Willodean said as she watched his face go through a series of expressions. It took him a moment to realize she was talking about the bread and butter.
“It’s good,” Bubba said and swallowed a lump of half-chewed roll. It could have been a mouthful of dirt for all he noticed. “Kin we talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Willodean asked and her eyes slid away.
“Something’s bothering you,” Bubba said. “I want to help.”
The plates arrived. Mamie set them down in various available locations on the table. It was difficult to find room because the ribs and chicken each had their own plate as did the sausage and each of the sides. The table filled up quickly. Bubba looked up because it seemed as though Mamie was pulling the plates out of thin air. Somehow she had managed to carry seven plates, napkins, and a bottle of Tabasco without dropping anything. There was a woman who deserved a tip or possibly a job in a circus show.
Willodean murmured appreciatively and dug into her chicken. Bubba poked his sausage. He sniffed. It smelled good. He looked to one side. Precious had managed to get out of the truck and was leaning against the window nearest to Bubba, front paws on the glass. She also pressed her nose against the glass. Her tongue resembled a transmogrified alien slug intent on consuming the pane by disintegrating it with her transmuted, extraterrestrial mollusk slobber.
Bubba looked up again and saw that a few people had lost interest. There was a bit of whispering and poking, but some folks had gone back to their conversations and their supper as if the big excitement had been called off. The DEA agents still stared at Bubba, although it was a little difficult to tell because they still wore their matching sunglasses. Mamie brought the agents a glass of milk and a glass of iced tea. Might be sweet tea or not.
Bubba heard the door open again and saw his mother exiting the restaurant. She whistled for Precious and Precious went like a shot, ever hopeful. Bubba poked his sausage again. Think, stupid, he told himself. Say something wonderful. Say something meaningful. Say anything.
“You have the most perty lips,” he said.
Willodean had a piece of chicken in her hand. She had tucked a napkin into her collar to protect her work shirt from accidental hits and a dollop of sauce immediately fell there. “And I think your eyes are the nicest shade of blue,” she said wryly. She pointed with her chicken. “Your mother just put your dog into her Caddy.”
Bubba glanced at Miz Demetrice. The woman petted Precious and then took something out of her car. She shut the door while making sure to leave the window open for the dog, and Bubba could almost hear her promising to bring Precious some sausage if she was a good dog and stayed there. He blinked. “Yeah, I should have done that,” he admitted, but he had been lost in thought. Too much was happening at once as tended to be the case.
A Smart car pulled up and he saw that it still wore the Jolly Roger wraps. It probably was a pain to get those decals off a car like that and put on something that denoted normality. David Beathard climbed out and wa
ved at Miz Demetrice. David was still dressed like Mr. Rogers and Bubba supposed that was a good thing. Then Bam Bam Jones clambered out of the other side of the car. Bam Bam was not dressed like Mr. Rogers. In fact, he was the polar opposite of what Mr. Rogers would dress like.
Bubba would have groaned if he thought it would have helped. The loony from the Dogley Institute of Mental Well-Being and the street pimp from Dallas together and ready to find out who really did the wretched deed to Kristoph Thaddeus, famous movie director.
“Oh, the fried okra is divine,” Willodean said, inhaling some of the cut up and deep-fried vegetables as if she was a Hoover.
Miz Demetrice passed the window near their booth, and it had occurred to him that she had taken something over to his truck, opened the passenger door, and put it inside. Now why dint she put my dog back in my truck?
Then his mother paused in front of the restaurant to pull her cellphone out of her purse. She glanced at the window and caught Bubba’s eyes. Then she shrugged apologetically. He wasn’t sure what she was being apologetic about.
Why hadn’t the two DEA agents sitting at the counter seen what she had done? Why, because they’re eating bread and staring at Bam Bam and David.
“And the slaw. Yum,” Willodean said, holding a fork in her hand. “I wish I could eat with both hands.”
Bubba frowned. Ma began to punch digits on the phone. She deliberately turned her back on the window as she made her call.
“More bread,” Willodean said. “Are you going to eat that sausage?”
Bubba wasn’t normally disinterested in food but it wasn’t really calling his name at the moment. Willodean simply pulled his plate over to hers and stabbed one of the sausages. “Go ahead,” he said a little late.
Bubba transferred his attention back to the window.
The door opened again and David Beathard entered, accompanied by Bam Bam. Bubba glanced at them but hoped they wouldn’t join them. David grinned and waved and tugged Bam Bam toward a table that had just opened up. “You’ve got to try to the Don Vito,” David said as he pulled.
“The Don Vito?” Bam Bam repeated.
“It’s the ultimate sandwich. Pork, chicken, sausage. Killer,” David said.
“Oh, The Hogfather’s,” Bam Bam said understandingly. “I done got it. It’s like that movie, right? Except with food. They don’t serve horse meat here, do they?”
“No horse meat. They have the Sonny Soup and the Fredo Surprise, too,” David said. “You’ll like this table better.”
“But Bubba be over there,” Bam Bam protested, “and I gots to speak with him.”
“You can talk to him after lunch,” David said. He lowered his voice, but Bubba could hear it anyway, “He’s with his irlfriendgay.”
Bam Bam stopped to stare. “That mama’s so fine it hurts to look at her.”
“Come on,” David said with one more pull.
“They got lemonade here?” Bam Bam asked.
Bubba looked at his mother again. She had finished her conversation and was putting her cellphone back into her purse. She glanced at him before she turned back to the door. She wasn’t going to look at him anymore. It was a big warning flag. She reentered the restaurant without saying anything to her only son.
“Somethin’ goin’ on with Ma, today?” Bubba asked Willodean once Miz Demetrice was out of earshot.
Willodean swallowed a bite of sausage and said, “Um. There’s just a little thing.” Her eyes came up and caught Bubba’s. “Are you sure you don’t walk to talk about what’s bothering me instead of what’s bothering your mother?”
Sighing, Bubba wanted to bang his head on the table. It sounded better than it would actually feel. “Is what Ma’s doin’ the thing that’s bothering you?”
“No,” Willodean said.
Mebe I should be asking open-ended questions instead of yes-no questions.
“I love you,” he said instead.
Willodean dropped her fork. Slowly her head came up.
“I want to make things right,” he added. “Ain’t a mind reader, though. I’d buy you flowers but I just bought you flowers and you thought I’d swiped them from the cemetery.”
Willodean grimaced. “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
This ain’t the right place, Bubba told himself. Don’t do it, dumbass.
His mouth opened and outside the window, a black SUV suddenly pulled up and screeched to a halt behind his green truck. Its wheels squealed to a halt in the gravel parking area. Half the occupants of the restaurant turned to look. Special Agent Warley Smith got out of the SUV and went to the truck. He peered into the open window of the passenger side. He tilted his head and turned it this way and that.
After a long moment, he called another agent over.
Then the two agents inside the restaurant sighed loudly and got up. One tossed two twenty dollar bills on the counter and looked longingly at the remainder of his meal. They trudged past Bubba and went outside to confer with the rest of their brethren.
Willodean turned her head to watch. “DEA again,” she said. “What the goat cheese, Bubba?”
Agent Smith put on plastic disposable gloves, opened the truck’s door, and extracted a package the size of a ten pound bag of flour from the interior. It looked like a white substance that had been enclosed in clear wrap and packing tape. Another agent held a large plastic baggie, into which the item was deposited. Agent Smith used a black Sharpie to write something on the large baggie. The other agent took the baggie and went to the SUV.
Agent Smith turned toward the restaurant and grinned at all of the observers. He saw Bubba and Bubba wanted to turn to stare at his mother, but he didn’t want to give her away.
Bam Bam said loudly, “There be a back way to this place?”
“Bubba,” Willodean said, “what did you do?”
“Who me?” Bubba asked innocently. The Agent Smith came into The Hogfather’s and arrested him.
Chapter 20
Bubba and the
Contumacious Constabulary
Wednesday, March 13th
Agent Smith handcuffed a nonresistant Bubba and led him out to the official DEA SUV. Bubba apologized to Willodean for interrupting their lunch and glared at his mother as he went out. Miz Demetrice looked innocently at the ceiling fan above her. Smith got Bubba into the back seat and slid in beside him. Another agent got into the driver’s seat and started the vehicle up.
They left The Hogfather’s immediately. It became apparent that they were headed into Pegramville and Bubba wasn’t surprised when they pulled up in front of the Pegramville Police Department. Big Joe had been very happy to loan the DEA a room while they did their interrogational thing.
By the time Bubba got to Big Joe’s lair, he was seething. He sat in an interrogation room, waiting for Agent Smith to get his ducks in a row while he thought about why it was that he was, in fact, sitting there. Bubba’s mother, his very own flesh and blood, had systematically and deliberately set him up. She had put his dog in her Caddy. She had taken the package out of the Caddy. She had put the package into Bubba’s truck. Then, she had probably called the police department with an anonymous tip. (That was Bubba’s best guess of who she had called on the cellphone. Wait until they trace your cellphone, Ma. Mebe you should have taken a class in technology instead of that quilting course last semester, huh?)
While Bubba was sitting there, one of his handcuffs attached to the table which was, in turn, attached to the floor, he just knew his mother was making her getaway. She was probably taking the Garcias. How had his mother known where he was located? Well, he could probably thank Mary Lou Treadwell for that little tidbit.
It hadn’t been Willodean because Bubba had seen the look of amazement on her face. She’d been surprised. Miz Demetrice had not been. His mother had been measured and insidious. Sometimes Bubba wished he had inherited that gene but it had passed him by. He especially wished he had it at the moment where he was planning his revenge.<
br />
Oh Bubba had an idea of what had really happened. His mother had thrown him to the wolves so she could do something in relative obscurity. While the DEA was focused on Bubba and a packing tape-wrapped package of something white and fluffy, she was likely doing the thing that she didn’t want to get caught doing. At Bubba’s expense and with great glee and afore malice in her heart.
Bubba could be investigating Kristoph’s death or getting to the bottom of the Willodean problem, but instead he was handcuffed to a table, looking at a mirror that he knew was one-way. He thought about picking his nose and flicking a booger at the mirror, but that really wasn’t his style.
Ma is goin’ to have to do some fancy footwork to get out of this one, he thought.
Agent Smith came into the room holding a clipboard and an expensive pen. He paused beside the table, probably for effect. Bubba leaned his head down so he could reach his fingers that were limited by the handcuffed wrists. He scratched the side of his nose and then his head.
“So Bubba Nathanial Snoddy,” Agent Smith said, “I think you would like to make a deal. You know what they say about people who make the deals first?”
Bubba did not know what they said about people who made the deals first. Agent Smith was willing to fill the blank without waiting for Bubba’s answer.
“They get the best deals and only deals,” Agent Smith said.
“You know, Warley sounds a mite too close to Wartly,” Bubba said. “Is that what they used to call you in elementary school? I thought I got teased about Snoddy, but that ain’t nothing on Wartly.”
Bubba heard faint laughter. Whoever was watching on the other side of the one-way mirror was chuckling. It sounded a little like Sheriff John.
Smith turned an unbecoming shade of pink that started high on his cheekbones and went down to his chin. Then his chin turned pink. It was kind of like a person with rosacea, splotchy and high pink.
“We know everything,” Smith said arrogantly. The agent couldn’t quite pull the statement off with the pink cheekbones and chin. It simply didn’t look correct. He should have had one of those waxed mustaches that he could spin with his index finger and thumb while he made his aggrandized statement that was obviously a big fat lie.
Bubba and the Zigzaggery Zombies Page 20
