Dimebag Bandits

by Craig Furchtenicht

  Within minutes the hallway was full of policemen, milling about and trying to sort out what had happened. Kori put his head on the table and pretended to sleep. The last thing he wanted was to be questioned as a witness to a clergyman-hooker fight. He had had enough questioning for one day already.

  It had occurred to him that it might be as good of an opportunity as any to sneak a peek at the folder, while all hell was breaking loose in the hallway. He kept his head on the table and listened as the hooker unleashed another barrage of insults at the staff. He was about to reach across the table once again when the door swung open.

  “They say that a guilty man sleeps well when he is finally caught and locked away.”

  Kori's heart skipped a beat at the sound of the voice and he looked up to see his stepfather glaring down at him. Behind him stood Dr. Ross, whose face was so red that he looked as if he were on the verge of a massive coronary. The good doctor was shaking like a leaf and sweating profusely. Not Clayton. His eyes blazed with fury, but his outward appearance was calm and stoic. The only time Clayton ever broke a sweat was behind the pulpit.

  “Clayton, just let me...” Kori started to explain, his voice cracking nervously.

  “I don't want to hear it,” Clayton cut him off with an outstretched palm. He had ended many an argument at home with that same gesture and it always achieved the same result. “Save it for your mother. She is at home right this moment, cleaning up the house after half of the West Des Moines police force tore it apart. Searching for God knows what.”

  Kori sunk down into his seat at the thought of this. There had only been the two officers at his home when they came to arrest him. He had not imagined that they would search the entire place after he was hauled away in the back of the police cruiser. He tried to do a quick rundown in his mind of what else they could have possibly found. Most of his stash was in the garage in a pretty good hiding place, at least in his estimation. He guessed that was yet to be determined.

  “In my house!” Clayton slammed the palm of his hand on the metal table, causing both Kori and Dr. Ross to jump. For a brief moment everyone in the hallway quieted down and looked in the direction of the interrogation room. Even the hooker stopped her tirade for a second or two.

  Dr. Ross placed a hand on the back of Clayton's shoulder, slowly as if he expected it to be hot to the touch. “Reverend, why don't we continue the conversation with the boy after we get him home.”

  Talk of going home instead of spending the night in jail surprised Kori. The prospect of it also terrified him. He was not sure which would be worse. It must have been written all over his face because the fire in Clayton's eyes burned even brighter. He leaned as closely into Kori as the table would allow.

  “That's right. Lucky for you, the good doctor decided not to press charges. In the best interest of the church, of course.” As if on cue, Dr. Ross nodded in agreement. “Also lucky for you, the chief of police is also a member of the Trinity Counsel.” Clayton looked around and lowered his voice. “He promised to sweep most of the nastier charges under the rug. Also in the interest of the church.”

  “Amen.” Dr. Ross chirped from the doorway. He straightened his posture a bit like a school child preparing to recite the pledge of allegiance. Clayton gave him a hearty amen back and stood away from the table. His eyes never broke away from Kori.

  “Now get up, before someone changes their mind.” Clayton lifted the folder from the table and thumbed through it for a moment. He shook his head in disgust as he pored over the contents. After he was finished he closed the file and looked up. “By the way, you can forget about joining the congregation on the trip. I won't have a thief and a dope peddler polluting the souls of my flock. You may not be going to jail, but I guarantee you will be going somewhere far worse.”

  Clayton and the doctor left the room without waiting for him. He wondered whether they were ashamed to be seen with him or if they half expected him not to follow. Probably both, he guessed. He could not say that he was actually disappointed that he was not going on his stepfather’s quest to “save the world from itself”. He could think of much better things to do than to hang out in the backwoods states with a bunch of bible beaters.

  In the hall Clayton stopped to “put hands” on the hooker whose attachment to the bench now included leg restraints. He always felt compelled to do things like that in front of a crowd. It never hurt to try and drum up more business for the church. However, the hooker was having none of it. She tried to pull away when Clayton touched her and rattled off a few lines of scripture. When she reached the limit of her restraints and could not get away she kicked at him with shackled feet.

  “Get the hell away from me, you cocksucker!” she screamed.

  “That's exactly what I'm trying to do, my child.” Clayton replied. “I'm getting Hell away from your tortured soul.”

  The priest was still bleeding from his newly broken nose, even though the staff nurse had taped a heavy pad of absorbent gauze across his face. He leaned his head close to Clayton's hands and smiled up at him, expecting some unspoken camaraderie to be shared between men of the faith. “What about me?”

  Clayton studied the priest's blood soaked garb and snarled his nose in disgust.“There's no hope for you, asshole.” He pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket and scrubbed his hands as he walked away.

  Kori caught up to him at the exit door. Clayton was standing in the doorway with his back to him, blocking the way outside. He stood there, leaving Kori hanging in awkward silence. It was a technique that he often utilized behind the pulpit. He was confident that the same effect would be achieved on the boy.

  “Do you know what I meant when I said that you would be going to a place worse than jail, son?” he asked as he slowly turned around. The fire was back in his eyes once again.

  Kori hated it when he called him son, although he would never dare tell Clayton that. He looked down at his feet to avoid his stepfather's burning stare. At that moment he hated Clayton more than he had ever hated anyone or anything. He sighed and spoke in a barely audible voice, “I guess, Hell.”

  “You guess, Hell?” This seemed to amuse Clayton. He let out a dry laugh and smiled. “Well, ultimately you are going to hell. That's a given. But in the meantime your thieving butt is going back to Cedar Ridge, where I should have left you in the first place.”

  Chapter 3

  Brenden watched the junkie emerge from the trunk of the car, entangled in a mess of speaker wires. The display of persistence filled him with both admiration and disgust. He had to fight back the urge to slam down the lid of the trunk on his head and shove him back in. If he didn't need the guy so badly, he probably would have done just that.

  It was not as if Soup Campbell was a close friend. Nobody was really friends with Soup. Not even his immediate family trusted the guy any further than they could throw him. His given name was Gary Campbell, but everyone called him Soup. Even his own mother had called him that since he was a young boy. His father probably would have called him that, too. If anyone could figure out who that was.

  “Maybe you should have swiped the owner's manual while you were at it,” Brenden said as he watched Soup struggle to his feet. He knew there was no sense in trying to discourage him from finishing now. There was no reasoning with Soup when he was speeding out. He just wished that he would quit jacking around and get it done. Who decides to install a set of speakers a few hours before committing a robbery, anyway? A junkie, that’s who.

  “Yeah, you're a funny guy.” Sweat dripped from Soup's forehead as he bent over the mess of wires. It made Brenden's teeth hurt to watch him chew on one of the ends with his teeth. His teeth were in remarkably good shape for a speed freak. Soup ignored the wire cutters that Brenden held in front of him and stripped the coating from the end. He spat out the peeled off casing and asked, “So when's your brother supposed to get here?”

  “Dunno. Soon I guess.”

  “So he's down for working with
us tonight?” Soup found another loose end and gripped it between his front teeth.

  “I haven't exactly asked him yet,” Brenden confessed. He squeezed in next to Soup and started rummaging through the trunk. Plumes of road dust rose up as he picked through the contents. He opened a grocery sack and looked inside. “Mom called the old man this morning and said she was bringing him back. I don't know the whole story, but it sounds like he got himself in some deep shit. She said something about him needing a job to pay some fines or something. I told the old man I could get him one.”

  Soup did not have to ask what exactly Brenden's idea of a job meant. The upper half of his body disappeared inside the trunk and he went to work with the soldering gun. “So it's gonna be a five way split now?”

  “We’ll work that out later.” He opened the bag and pulled out an assortment of gloves and knitted masks. He shook one of the masks and dust filled the air. “Why is that going to be a problem?”

  “Not with me. I've been saying that we've needed more help for years, you know that. But I ain't so sure how the wonder twins are gonna take it.” Satisfied with his handiwork, Soup eased back out and looked around the yard. “I'll deal with Chris. You can talk to Todd, but I don't think he cares either way. Where the hell are those two assholes, anyways?”

  “Where do you think? Back behind the shed, either smoking it up or pissing again. That's all they've done all day.” Brenden waved away the dust cloud that floated in front of his face and held up the mask. “Damn, dude. If that crap you guys smoke don't kill you, these will.”

  “We all gotta die someday,” Soup said with a shrug. He yelled in the direction of the shed. “When you two finish your sword fight, you wanna come over here and help us get this shit ready?” He shook his head in disgust. “Fucking assholes wanna play all day and then expect us to do all the dirty work. Yeah we need some new blood, 'cause these two are testing my goddamn patience.”

  As if on cue, an angry scream rose up from behind the shed. Todd emerged from behind the building first, in a full sprint. He was laughing wildly, barely able to keep his balance as he ran across the yard. Little Chris followed closely behind, swinging a broken tree branch and cursing at the top of his lungs. Each swing came closer to connecting with the back of Todd's head as he slowly gained on him. His face was crimson red and the front of his pants were soaked with what appeared to be urine.

  Soup reached out and snagged him with one arm as he ran past. He grabbed the stick with the other hand and wrenched it from his bony hands. Chris did not struggle to maintain control of the branch, but fought desperately to break away from Soup's grasp. He continued to scream and spit at Todd, who stood a few feet out of his reach.

  “Whoa. Slow down there, killer.” Soup said. He tossed the tree branch aside.

  “Motherfucker kicked me in the ass while I was taking a piss!” Chris yelled. Tears ran down his face as he hopped up and down, the only direction his efforts would take him against the strength of his cousin's grip. “Let me go, Soup! Goddammit!”

  “I swear, I didn't mean to kick you that hard.” Todd claimed, still laughing uncontrollably. He stepped closer and stuck his hand out as an offering of a truce. He was laughing so hard that his outstretched hand would not hold still.

  “It went in my fucking mouth!” Chris screamed and kicked both feet in the air.

  Todd pulled his hand away, but not soon enough to match his wiry friend's speed. The left toe caught him above the wrist, sending a bolt of pain up his entire arm. The smile vanished from Todd's face as he shook off the sting. His hand balled into a fist and he cocked it back, ready to deliver a punch to Chris's face.

  “Enough!” Brenden stepped in between. He grabbed Todd by the shirt and walked him backwards. The grocery sack dangled from his wrist sent up a cloud of dust with every step. “You two want to kill each other, then do it tomorrow. We've got work to do tonight. I don't need the both of you all busted up before we even get started.”

  He handed the sack to Todd. “Go in the house and throw these in the dryer for about twenty minutes.” Then he turned to Chris, who was busy rubbing the places on his arms where Soup had held him. “And you, go wash that spot out of your pants. I don't want to spend the rest of the night smelling your piss.”

  As the two went to the house Brenden turned his attention back to the Impala's trunk. Something had caught his eye before the melee had begun. Soup was about to shut the lid when he stopped him. “Hang on a second.” He reached in behind the spare tire and pulled out a small black plastic case. It caught his eye only because it was not nearly as dusty as the rest of the clutter inside the trunk. Obviously it had not been in there long. “What the hell is this?”

  Soup gave him a defiant look and quickly snatched the case from his hands. He fumbled with the two clasps for a moment and then opened it up. He pulled out a large handgun. Thanks to the protective case, the gun was virtually free of dust. It shined in the afternoon sunlight. He grinned and posed in his best two-handed stance. “It's my little equalizer. You like?”

  “No guns. We've had this discussion before, Soup.” He held out his hand. “Leave it here.”

  “I'm not gonna take it out with us,” Soup protested. “It's just that... you know. It would be nice to know if we needed it, we'd have it.”

  “Leave it.” Brenden's hand remained stretched out, palms up. “Or I'm out.”

  Soup hesitated momentarily and then reluctantly placed the gun back into its case. He handed it to Brenden and without a word turned his back. He slammed the trunk shut and stalked off behind the shed. It was time to play catch up with the others before the night's festivities began.

  Chapter 4

  It was exactly not the warmest of sendoffs.

  Within hours after waking up in the morning they were on the road. Kori sat in the backseat of Clayton's SUV with every article of clothing that he owned crammed into the storage compartment behind him. Most of his belongings were already packed for him by the time he had gotten home from the police station, the night before. His mother had not spoken two words to him since then.

  The SUV was the big shiny kind with a 'Save the Earth for Our Children's Future' sticker pasted on the back bumper, right under the Jesus fish. It only got sixteen miles to the gallon and could seat something like twelve people or some ridiculous number like that. Clayton and his mother were usually the only two that ever rode in it, which was probably a good thing. Between his belongings and their luggage, Kori barely had enough room to breathe. Not that they would have noticed.

  The longer he sat back there in silence, the angrier he became at the sheer coldness in the way they were acting toward him. Sure, he screwed up big time. He had made some foolish decisions that could have caused some serious problems for them all. But for them to sit there and pretend like it was entirely his fault was preposterous.

  As far as sendoffs were concerned, they were all bullshit in his opinion. Just a string of lies scripted to bid someone else fond farewell, knowing fully well that as soon as they are gone you planned to look through their dresser drawers and under their mattress, just to see if they may have left anything interesting behind. Something that they might not miss, if and when they return.

  There are hundreds of little white lies that everyone lets slip when someone temporarily exits stage left out of one's life. Why not? It makes everyone feel better to be lied to than to hear the plain boring truth.

  Kori tried to roll down his window, but Clayton had the controls locked from his front seat panel. He must have known how nauseating his overly applied cologne was to him. Kori kept his breathing to a minimum to prevent tasting it in his mouth.

  He stared through the glass at the blur of the endless cornfields. Just then, he desperately needed to hear a few well intended lies. Come on, Mom. Tell me a sweet lie or two. Tell me that you will miss me, even after I'm out of cell phone range. Nothing. Silence. Now that was tough love.

  Kori was just the last piece of luggage
to drop off and then it was off to the airport for an enlightening autumn seminar in Wyoming or some other backwoods state. He was just part of a last errand to run. The house keys turned over to a service, the dogs dropped off at the kennel and the son who disappoints goes back to the old man in Cedar Ridge for the fall.

  The only break from the silence was the steady hum of Clayton's oversized tires on the pavement. They were the kind that could tear through a grassy field like hot butter to get to the other side, where the more pristine side of nature awaited. It was all about access with Clayton. It sure beat the shit out of hiking after a three drink lunch.

  His mother turned around and stared at him for a while, drumming her fingertips on the headrest. Her nails were all but chewed down to the quick and void of any polish. Faye Cole just looked at her son, trying to script out her thoughts before articulating them. It was a habit that she had developed over the years. A result of being married to a theology professor turned preacher.

  From his pulpit, Clayton had once claimed that hundreds of thousands of animals died a cruel death every year as a result of animal testing. That evening, while entertaining dinner guests, Clayton made the mistake of asking Kori for his opinion on the matter. He often made it a sport to call Kori out in front of a group, especially when that group consisted of his circle of friends. Kori told him that at least the animals died pretty. Clayton did not speak to him for a week.

  Kori watched the reflection of his stepfather's eyes in the rear view mirror, shifting between the him and the road. Vehicles blew past them from the left lane like they were standing still. Clayton kept the SUV at a cool sixty miles per hour. They couldn’t have the newly appointed Midwest regional chairman of the Trinity Enlightenment for Life (TEFL) council getting a blemish on an otherwise perfect driving record. It was a good thing that they were not planning to drive all the way to the seminar, Kori thought to himself.