Texas Strange

by West, Terry M.

  Cecil glared at Hattie Mae. “You can cook? What about cleaning?”

  “She ain’t the maid, man,” Bubba argued. He turned to Hattie Mae. “Don’t let that damn Neanderthal take advantage of you. You were alive and married in the forties. Things have changed. We got Women’s Lib now. And affirmative action, too.”

  “Oh, jeez Louise, man,” Cecil relented. “Fine. You don’t have to clean. But you’re still gonna cook for us? Right?”

  “Yes,” Hattie Mae agreed, happily.

  Cecil mulled it over for a second.

  “You sleep on the couch, you don’t crowd up my bathroom with all them womanly products, you figure a way out of this curse mess, and if you turn into that ugly succubus demon thing again, I’ll kill you,” Cecil warned. “We understand each other?”

  Hattie Mae smiled and hugged him.

  “All right, all right,” he muttered, pulling out of Hattie Mae’s grip. She felt and smelled damn fine, but he couldn’t get that hideous demon face of hers out of his mind. It was cold water on him. “We’ll see how things go.”

  “Fresh start?” Hattie Mae said, holding out her hand.

  Cecil stared at it and then looked to Bubba. The big man smiled and nodded. Cecil shook her hand.

  “Okay,” Cecil said. “Just keep the feminine shit to a minimum. My home is my castle. I don’t want to see flowers on my curtains.”

  “The masculinity of your trailer is safe. I promise,” Hattie Mae assured him.

  The store door opened. Two well-dressed men in dark suits entered and walked up to Cecil.

  The lead man was in his fifties. He had a deeply tanned face and dark bags under his eyes. He looked like he didn’t sleep much. The hair on his head was short and dark as midnight and there was salt and pepper stubble on his chin.

  The other man was half the age of his partner and he looked a little young for the suit he wore. He had fairer hair and large brown eyes that devoured everything. He lingered behind the first man and looked over the people in the store. Spotting Hattie Mae, he unabashedly drank her in from head to foot before catching himself and hardening his attention back on his partner.

  “You in charge here?” the taller and older of the two asked. There was urgency on the man’s face and in his voice.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Cecil said, straightening. “Cecil McGee of McGee’s Gas, Garage and 24 Hour Convenience Center. What can I do you for?”

  The man brought out a badge. “FBI. I’m Special Agent Leonard Bennetts and this is my partner Henry Hanson.”

  The younger man flashed his badge proudly for everyone to see.

  “We have a little bit of a situation,” Bennetts said, and then he glanced over to Bubba and Hattie Mae. “Who are your friends?” he asked, but his eyes stayed on Hattie Mae. He pulled a pack of gum out of his pocket.

  “This here is Bubba and Hattie Mae,” Cecil said.

  Agent Bennetts popped a stick of gum into his mouth and then he took Hattie Mae’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, with a polite smile.

  Bubba waited for his handshake, but it never came. Bennetts was focused strictly on Hattie Mae. “Listen, do you folks mind if we borrow Cecil for a few minutes?”

  “That’s fine,” Bubba said, putting his hands on Hattie Mae’s shoulders and steering her toward the door. “I was about to send her over to the trailer, anyway. Come on, Hattie Mae. I’ll give you directions to the trailer park. It ain’t far from here.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Hattie Mae smiled over her shoulder at them.

  Bubba and Hattie Mae walked out of the store. The agents stared after them.

  “She your girl? Or your friend’s?” Bennetts asked Cecil.

  “No, man. She’s just a friend staying with us,” Cecil explained.

  Bennetts grinned and leaned in close. “Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, I’d drag my body over a mile of broken glass just to beat off in her shadow, because she is hot, my friend.” He turned to Hanson. “Am I right?”

  Hanson nodded and arched his eyebrows. “She was fine. No doubt about it. I’d throw a little jizz that way.”

  “Southern fried cooze is the best tasting,” Bennetts said with a chuckle.

  “That may be true, but trust me; she’s got problems. I wouldn’t recommend tying up with that one,” Cecil warned good-naturedly.

  Cecil didn’t know where the men were from, but they weren’t from Texas. Somewhere north, he figured on, seeing how big they talked and acted. They were definitely cocky and arrogant, and they had a license to carry and kill in the name of government. Cecil didn’t like them for those reasons and for the way they were putting their filthy jaws on a flower of the south. Hattie Mae may have been a former demon, but they didn’t know that. They were God damned tourists and he hated them.

  “So, what’s the emergency?” Cecil asked.

  “We have a van outside. It’s running funky, all of a sudden,” Bennetts explained. “We need you to fix it. We have some important cargo we need to get to the DFW airport before morning.”

  “Well, the garage is actually closed,” Cecil explained. “Don’t know how much I could do for you tonight.”

  Bennetts nodded and pulled his wallet from his suit jacket. He plucked a hundred dollar bill from the wallet and handed it to Cecil. “It’s really vital we get that van rolling. And we don’t have all night to fuck around, you understand?”

  Cecil took the money. He decided they weren’t so bad after all. “Guess I could run a diagnostic for you.”

  “You’d be doing your country a great favor,” Bennetts said, putting his wallet away. “How long you think that’ll take?”

  “Not long,” Cecil guessed. “An hour, I’d say, to get it purring.”

  Bennetts nodded. He put an arm around Cecil.

  “One more thing; you’ll notice we have a padlock on the back of the van. Don’t fart around, okay? I guarantee that there’s nothing in there worth getting yourself hurt over. You feel me, Cecil?” Bennetts warned. His eyes stayed friendly and the smile was still there, but Cecil could sense a strong potential for malice in the man; it practically gave off a glow.

  Cecil nodded in compliance and with assurance to both men. “Yeah, sure, guys, that’s an unwritten code. You don’t have to worry.”

  Bennetts smiled again and patted Cecil’s shoulder. “Good.”

  “But is there something dangerous I need to worry about in there?” Cecil asked cautiously.

  Bennetts and Hanson both laughed. “No, Cecil. It’s something that’s stone cold dead and has been for a very long time. You’ve got nothing to worry about; unless you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  Agent Bennetts dug out his keys and pitched them to Hanson. “Go start the sedan. I’ll be out in a second.”

  Hanson nodded and left the store.

  “So, where’s the nearest watering hole?” Bennetts asked.

  “Well, if you go south on the Jacksboro, there’s the new Old Hob Nob. It’s a pretty decent place to rope your horse,” Cecil recommended.

  “It’s the new Old Hob Nob?” Bennetts asked curiously. “What happened to the old Old Hob Nob?”

  “Burnt down,” Cecil replied. “They built the new one on the same spot. It’s a blessing really. The old one was a shit hole.”

  “We’ll be back in an hour or so,” Bennetts said. “Have that van running or it’s your ass, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cecil said, giving a two finger salute from the brim of his cap. Cecil wanted to give the man one finger, though. What an asshole this Bennetts guy was. “You can count on Cecil McGee,” he added, with a fake country grin.

  Bennetts left the store, passing Bubba who was coming back in.

  “Take it easy, Jethro,” Bennetts said to Bubba as they passed each other.

  Bubba frowned. “It’s Bubba,” he said, but the agent was already in the black sedan.

  “Hattie Mae said she’s gonna fix us up some food and come back here in an hour
or so,” Bubba told Cecil. He looked back curiously toward the entrance. “What did those Feds want?”

  “They got a problem with their van outside,” Cecil explained. “I’m gonna take a look at it for them.”

  “I didn’t like the way they were staring at Hattie Mae, man,” Bubba confessed. “They were practically raping her with their eyes.”

  “You’re sweet on her, ain’t you?” Cecil accused his friend. “That’s why you want her in the trailer and you’re being all protective. Well, you ain’t Costner, she ain’t Whitney and you ain’t gonna carry her off into the sunset, you dumb ass.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Bubba said, defensively. “I’m just trying to help someone that needs help because it’s the right thing to do. Not that you would know anything about doing the right thing. If there ain’t money or pussy tied to it, it doesn’t get done by Cecil McGee.”

  “That’s the way of the world, man,” Cecil argued. “You fuck or get fucked; eat or get eaten. Grow up, you naïve little bitch.”

  “You know, I talked to Hattie Mae for a spell at the club,” Bubba said. “She ain’t nearly as jaded as you, and she’s been on the dark side, brother. She’s actually a very innocent and kind person.”

  “Bubba, she was a hell whore,” Cecil reminded him. “There ain’t nothing innocent about her.”

  “You watch it,” Bubba warned, ready to put Cecil back on the ground. “She never wanted any of that business. Her husband abused her and so did the devil. This is a chance for her to be something other than a sex toy, man.”

  “So, after slipping the chains of otherworldly sexual slavery, she goes and signs up to ride the pole at a strip club?” Cecil argued. “How does that make any sense?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Bubba argued back. “She’s the best looking dancer there. She’ll make a good living until she decides what to do with herself. And I’ll be there to watch over her.”

  “I think that you’re steering this ride with your dick, man,” Cecil shot at his friend.

  Bubba looked highly offended. “I ain’t making an untoward move on her. And you better not either, slick. She don’t need that shit; especially from a pervert like you. You ought to be registered, you dirty bastard.”

  “Bubba, I vividly remember what she looked like in demon mode,” Cecil said, shuddering a little at the image flickering in his mind. “I wouldn’t lay my little Cecil a hundred feet near that.”

  “Good. Keep it that way,” Bubba said firmly.

  Cecil shook his head. “Yeah, you don’t sound sweet on her at all,” he said, sarcastically. “I don’t get you, man. There are at least half a dozen gals at that place you work who are more than ready to put the stink on you; despite your damned girth I might add. And you go and bring home a sex demon that is only a damn day into retirement.”

  Bubba ignored the comments and spotted the Invasion video game in the corner. “I’m gonna play a few games while you work on the van,” he announced, digging some quarters out of his pocket.

  “Can you watch the register while I’m back there?” Cecil asked.

  Bubba nodded. “Yeah, I know the drill. Ain’t the first time I’ve covered for your sorry ass,” Bubba said, taking a detour at the soda dispenser. He grabbed a large cup and put a little liquid from each nozzle into it.

  “Why are you still being so sour?” Cecil asked.

  “Cause you’re too mean to live at times, man,” Bubba said, securing a plastic top to his drink and sticking a straw through it. “It gets awful tiring.”

  Cecil couldn’t argue with the big man. He didn’t like being so agitated. It was just who he was. Bubba had known him a long time. Why the sudden surprise? “You come out to the garage and get me if you need something,” Cecil said, leaving the store.

  Cecil stepped outside into the night. He saw the dark woods on the edge of the lot, and he could hear brisk traffic on the Jacksboro. He spotted the van, pulled up next the garage doors.

  “Hey! Cecil McGee!”

  Cecil turned back toward the woods. He faced a small crowd of trick-or-treaters, spear-headed by the pirate and ninja turtle he had run out of the store earlier. They let loose at him with eggs.

  “Son of a mother fucker!” he screamed, covering his face as the eggs pelted him and the store windows.

  The kids laughed and scurried into the shadows.

  “You little pricks! I know who each and every one of you is! I’ll eat your parents and screw your dogs!” Cecil shrieked after them.

  “Happy Halloween faggot!” one of them called back from the darkness of the woods.

  “I got a gay cousin, man! That’s a hate crime!” Cecil shouted at them.

  He could hear their laughter growing fainter. He looked at the store windows. They were a mess. “Who is gonna clean that shit up?” Cecil wondered.

  They had only caught him once but it was a good one, right in the center of his chest. He wiped at the mess and flicked egg whites off of his fingertips.

  “God damn, I hate Halloween,” he muttered to no one as he walked to the van.

  Cecil dug out his store keys and unlocked the bay door of the garage. He rolled it up and leaned in, switching on the fluorescents. He climbed into the van and saw that the key was stuck into the ignition. The vehicle was clean. Cecil figured it was a rental. There was a plywood barricade behind him that hid the contents of the back.

  He turned the key and fired the van up, revving the engine. It stuttered and sucked at gas. Cecil pulled the van inside and cut it off. The engine coughed and shook before the vehicle fell silent.

  “Yep, you’re ailing, darling,” Cecil whispered, climbing back out and shutting the van door.

  He pulled the rolling garage door down for privacy. He also didn’t want to encourage more sickly vehicles this time of night. Cecil took a thick red rag from the tool counter and cleaned his shirt. He tossed the rag aside and looked for the handheld diagnostic reader. Cecil didn’t know all of the codes on it, but there was a manual for it buried somewhere in the garage.

  Although he was allowed to do little more than oil changes and air filter replacements, Cecil was sure he could cure the van. It was either the carburetor or fuel filter; these were the suspects he was eyeing. But God damn the garage was a sty. He looked for the reader, spreading the oily tools around on the counter that ran the distance of the double garage on the far wall.

  No one ever cleaned or put anything away when they were done with it, and Cecil knew his Daddy would make this mess a project for his son. He had told his father to make work stations for all the mechanics and he was sure his suggestion would bring order and accountability on the men. But although Daddy would climb up Cecil’s ass for the slightest infraction, the man never said boo to his technicians. Cecil was going to fix that God damned van and prove to his father that he was a horse worth betting on- win, place or show.

  He looked and looked, his hands getting filthier as he dug around. Cecil could feel that temper of his heating up again. Nothing pissed him off worse than not being able to find something.

  His mouth opened and his lips stood ready to pour some creative obscenities on this predicament when he felt something.

  He froze.

  Cecil felt a tickle in his brain. He turned slowly, focusing on the van. Taking a battery-operated screwdriver from the messy tool counter, he walked to the rear of the vehicle.

  He inspected the padlock. Lifting it up, he inserted the small flathead tip of the screwdriver into the lock. Cecil turned the electric tool on and shoved the tip further inside the padlock. He burrowed around for awhile, and then turned the tool off. Cecil tugged at the lock, but it held firm.

  Something inside of him revised the plan and Cecil took the screwdriver to the security hasp. He took the screws from it. Cecil then hammered on the lock with the handle end of the electric screwdriver. The lock and hardware fell to the ground. He no longer required the tool in his hand. He relaxed his grip and it bounced against the concrete f
loor.

  Cecil grasped the back door handle, and opened the door slowly.

  The cab light came on, and Cecil stared at a metallic cylinder. It looked like a coffin. Cold came off of it and Cecil could see his breath suddenly materialize.

  He crept in, hunched over, and scooted to the object. He ran his hands down the cold metal, and he could feel it vibrating and humming beneath his touch.

  Cecil found a keypad, illuminated by a faint blue light, at the top front of the container. The buttons on the control keypad were engraved with the numbers one through nine with a zero that must have represented ten. Cecil stared at the keypad for several seconds, and then his hand quickly began pressing a series of numbers. His fingers moved so fast that the keypad was actually beginning to heat.