“No, I wouldn’t say that, Fred, I’m just sorta sour on these politicos. Now, we’re down to two folks, Hillary Clinton, a sickly old lyin’ broad, and Donald Trump, a bidnessman and billionaire who ain’t ever even run for political office of any kind. Ya tell me, which’s the best choice.”
“Well, Mister Willobee, I didn’t mean to bother you with this political foolishness, I was just interested in your thoughts about the presidency. I don’t usually have anyone to talk to, and guess I got carried away.” Fred said.
“No bother atall, ’cept ya need to call me Trent. That’s what most of mah friends do.
Sure…Trent…don’t mind me ’cause I gotta get the place ready. If ya see somethin’ interestin’ on Fox and Friends, let me know.”
“I’ll shorly do that.”
“I’ll get ya another cup of hot java before I get started.”
“Thanks, and I’d like a couple of them Honey Buns on the counter.”
“Be right back,” Fred said.
Trent continued watching TV in hopes that the character Fred described was in town and would show up at noon. Although, Trent wasn’t crazy about dealing with druggies. He saw people like that as weaklings, delusional, and abject failures. For him, failure was not an option.
“Hey, Fred, this guy Trump’s phoning in to Fox and Friends, thought ya might wanna hear what he’s gotta say!” Trent called out.
“Be right there!”
Fred came over and stood beside Trent and watched the segment. Apparently, Mr. Trump was happy to discuss his meeting with the President of Mexico, Peña Nieto, and his visit to a black church in Detroit, Michigan. He also weighed in regarding, as he called her, Crooked Hillary and her 33,000 deleted emails, as well as the hacking of her private server, when she was Secretary of State. Apparently, that was inextricably linked to the Clinton Foundation—pay for play. The issue of polls came up, and Trump appeared to be catching up to Clinton. When the segment was concluded, and a commercial break came on, Fred was eager to see Trent’s reaction.
“What did ya think?” he asked Trent.
“All’s I know is if I’d put my unit at risk, must less the nation, when I was in the military, like Clinton done, I’d been court-martialed and sent to Fort Leavenworth Federal Prison. The truth is I’d probly still be there.”
“You asked me earlier which of these two were the best choice,” Fred said, “now based on what ya just heard, can ya answer that?”
“It’s fair ta say I’d not be votin’ for that sick old woman.”
“I guess, Mr. Willobee, I mean Trent, what kind of American would vote for a pathological liar, a criminal, and a person who has broken the law in so many ways?”
“That’s a good question, Fred, and one I doubt I can answer, but I’m willin’ ta ponder it,” he said, getting up from the table, “think I’ll get a little air and take a walk. Be back shortly.”
Trent walked down State Road 9 a few hundred yards, looking around to see what the little settlement was like. He saw more mobile homes than houses and lots of evidence of poverty. He observed old broken down cars in front yards of rundown trailers and ramshackle stick built houses. There was an abundance of bottles, cans, and other debris littering the area. The poverty he observed was on either side of the highway. Since there wasn’t much traffic, he finally just stood in the middle of the road and stared in each direction until he’d seen enough and made his way back to Krofton’s. Trent opened the screen door and announced his return.
“I’m back, Fred,” he called out.
“Good, I’m fixin’ somethin’ hot for the construction workers who’ll be comin’ in soon,” He called out from the back.
Trent returned to his table and sat down. He looked at the old store clock and he still had a half-hour before noon. He could smell something good coming from the kitchen.
“Hey, Fred, what ya whippin’ up back there?” Smells good!”
Fred returned to the counter. “The boys usually like hot dogs and chili with onions. I think I make some of the best chili ever!”
“Well, now, that means I’m gonna git some of that, too.” Trent said, “’cause hot chili’s one of mah specialties, not con carne, but real chili!”
“That’s good, ’cause I’d like to get an opinion from someone who knows how to make good chili. It’ll be ready shortly. I’ll bring ya a bowl,” Fred said.
“Man, I’m glad I found this place. Before I got here, thought I’s gonna starve!”
Fred came back a few minutes later with a bowl of a steaming hot chili on a tray. “I thought ya might like to try a couple of hot dogs, too,” Fred said with a smile.
“I’m gonna have mah bowl of chili first, ’cause I don’t wanna defile the taste. After that, I’ll make some chili dogs with onions, mustard, and ketchup,” he said with a wink.
While Trent was having lunch, four young, rough-looking construction workers came through the door calling out for Pops. As they passed by Trent, they gave him a look of surprise. As Fred was getting food prepared in the back, one of the four interrupted Trent’s lunch as he leaned against the counter.
“Ya ain’t eatin’ our lunch, are ya?”
Trent paid no attention to them or what they said. He was enjoying the hot chili.
“Hey man, I asked ya a question, you gotta hearin’ problem?
“You talkin’ ta me,” Trent said, looking up.
“Yeah, you, old man. Ya eatin’ our lunch?”
“This here chili and these dog’s mine. I paid for ’em,” Trent said.
“Maybe, we think that food’s really ours.”
“If you and the rest of the boys will ’scuse me, I’m eatin’ and don’t won’t mah chili ta git cold,” Trent said and returned to his bowl of chili.
“What we got here, Ray, a hillbilly or a cowboy?” The talkative one said to one of his companions.
“Look, gents, I’m just hungry and tryin’ ta eat. Don’t won’t no trouble.”
“We’re hungry, too, old man.”
“Don’t let these gray streaks in mah mustache fool ya. Guess my chili’s gonna git cold ’cause I’m gonna have ta take long enough ta kick some ass, and that might take me a whole minute or so,” Trent responded quietly.
“You actually think you can kick all our asses?” Ray asked, leaning back on the counter.
“I popped more bitches than you before mah sunnyside’s were done, so let’s git it on!” Trent said as he stood up.
“Hey, Donnie, what the hell’s goin’ on out here!” Fred exclaimed as he walked into the room.
“Nothin’, Pops, just this stranger’s eatin’ all our food,” he replied.
“Knock it off, now! This man’s hungry like all of ya. I have plenty for everybody.”
Fred’s firm admonishment seemed to calm things down, but Trent still wasn’t sure, and the one thing he did learn was that Donnie was probably Donnie Gardner, the guy with whom he wanted to hitch a ride to Las Cruces. Since he was about to engage in a physical altercation with him and them, he sat there ruminating about how to broach the subject. Can’t believe this is the guy Fred told me ’bout. Damn! I can see he’s a piece of work, but before he gits outta here, I’m gonna offer him a bidness proposition. Maybe it’s time for me ta make amends. Trent slowly got to his feet and sidled up to the counter next to Donnie.
“Fellas, think we got off on the wrong foot with all them ill-spoken words. I regret that, so ta show ya there’s no hard feelin’s, I’d like ta buy all of ya lunch,” he said, looking into Donnie’s eyes.
“You serious?” Donnie asked.
“Yep, don’t want no problems between us.”
“You don’t look like ya gotta enough to pay for your own lunch,” Donnie said.
“Ya know ’bout books and covers, don’t ya?”
“About what?” Donnie aske
d with a confused look on his face.
“I was just usin’ one of them metaphors. They say ya can’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Oh, okay, I get it. So ya do have enough money to pay for the lunches,” Donnie said.
“And more,” Trent replied.
“So what’s your game, Mister?” Ray asked, standing next to Donnie.
“Got no game, just need a ride to Las Cruces,” Trent replied.
“Las Cruces is about 100 miles from here. Gas costs money, not to mention my time and wear and tear on my truck,” Donnie said.
“As an old truck driver, I’d say ’bout a dollar a mile’s fair.”
“I say about a dollar a mile round trip.” Donne said.
“That sounds like a bit much, that’s two Ben Franklin’s.”
“Ya wanna ride or don’t ya?” Donnie asked.
“Yeah, I do, ya gotta deal.”
“When ya wanna leave?” Donnie asked.
“Soon’s ya git done with lunch.”
“Okay, but I wanna be paid up front, and I have to drop these guys off at our construction job, first.”
“Ya drive a hard bargain, but that won’t be a problem,” Trent said, pulling two hundreds from one of his vest pockets.
Trent returned to his table to wait and watch TV. Not long after he sat down, Fred came up beside him and watched some more of the news with him.
“Fred, will that pay for their lunches and what I scarfed down?”
“Why, yes, with money left over. What did ya think of the chili?”
“I’d be hard pressed to pick mine over yor’n. Ya make a mean chili, mah friend.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that, and the pleasure of your company.” Fred said.
“Before I take off with these ole boys, we’re all clear on what I owe ya?” Trent asked again.
“Oh, yes, yes, you have thirty-two-dollars change.”
“Tell ya what, Fred, keep that as a gratuity,” Trent said with a wink.
“Mr. Willobee, I mean Trent, be careful and take care of yourself. Safe travels.”
“Will do,” Trent said and followed the construction workers outside.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Trent jumped into the bed of the pickup along with two others. Donnie drove, and Ray sat in the passenger’s seat. He couldn’t hear what was being said between Donnie and Ray, but he could tell they were having quite a conversation. As they were zipping and bouncing down the highway, Trent remembered he was supposed to call Haylee, but he thought the day was still young so he had plenty of time.
Without warning, Donnie Gardner took a quick right turn onto a very rough road, leading into what looked like uninhabited territory. Trent reached up and knocked on the back window of the truck, and Ray slid it open.
“What’s the problem?” Ray asked.
“Where’n the hell we goin’?”
“Takin’ a short cut,” he replied.
Trent sat back while observing the terrain and the other two travelling with him. They continued down that road for another 15 minutes until Trent became very suspicious and uncomfortable with the situation. Finally, he banged hard on the window again, and when it slid open this time, Trent demanded that they pull over, and the vehicle came to a sudden stop, and he jumped out of the back of the truck.
“Somethin’s not right here boys, I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck, but I did just jump outta pickup,” he said standing a few feet away from the cab on the passenger’s side, “Ray, I suggest ya put that pistol back in the glove box, ’cause I’m gittin’ a little upset, and I might have ta hurt you fellas,” Trent said.
“What the hell ya talkin’ ’bout? You stuck out here in the woods with us and this thirty-eight,” Ray angrily fired back.
“That little ole gun ain’t gonna help ya none, ’cause this here nine millimeter’s got a full mag, and I can take every one of ya out in less than two seconds,” he said standing there, gun in hand, which they never even saw him draw.
“Hey, wait a minute, nobody’s done anything to ya,” Donnie yelled from behind the wheel.
“No, ya ain’t, but ya did plan to rob me and leave me out here dead. Four stupid fuckers like you damn sure ain’t gonna git that done, so everyone of ya outta the truck, and keep ya hands where I can see ’em! Line up right in front of me, now!” Trent bellowed.
Reluctantly, they all did as he directed complaining and whining as they lined up in front of him.
“What’re ya gonna do? Kill us?” Donnie blurted out.
“What would make ya think that? Maybe we should play a little game. Maybe y’all should kill each other. I gotta extra gun,” he said, whipping out his other 9 millimeter, “I could give one of ya a gun, and you could shoot one of yor buddies. See, if ya didn’t, I’d have to shoot ya myself, but it’d be a lot more fun watchin’ ya blow each other’s brains out, right Donnie-boy?!”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, you’re not serious. You can’t scare us. We could rush ya right now, and you’d never be able to shoot us all,” Donnie said smugly.
“Tell ya what, Donnie-boy, I gotta gun in each hand, that means I can drop two of ya in less than a second. If you think I can’t, try me. Look, you fuckin’ tattooed scumbags, y’all must think ya that disrespectful tattooed forty-niner quarterback, so try me, ’cause I’m in the mood for blood, but if you’d rather shoot each other, that’d be fine, too,” Trent said with a big smile.
“Hey, big man, so what’re ya gonna do to us?!” Ray yelled.
“Like I said, I think it’d be fun watchin’ ya cowardly pieces of shit splatter each other. Now that I think of it, that thirty-eight revolver would make it a lot more fun. We can take two bullets outta that thing and spin the cylinder. Ray, ya big mouth tough guy, I want ya to git that gun outta that truck and bring it over. Ya’d better not mishandle it, ’cause you’ll be the first one ta eat lead and dirt.” Trent said.
Ray did as he was instructed. He carefully handled the pistol with two fingers as he delivered it to Trent.
“Not bad for a dummy, now take out two bullets, spin the cylinder, and give me the pistol,” Trent directed and Ray complied.
“You’re nuts if you think we’re gonna do this!” Donnie shouted.
“Donnie-boy, ya might be right, and that ya gotta worry ’bout. Before we git started, everyone of ya take off your ball caps and throw ’em in the back of the truck,” they complied, “and while yor at it, do the same with yor shoes and socks!” Trent shouted.
The four of them stood there confused and wondering what possibly could be next, but Trent was not finished.
“Take ya belts off and throw ’em in the truck, too. Since most you boys like to wear yor pants where their hangin’ over yor ass like some uncivilized moron, ya don’t need a belt anyways.”
“Donnie-boy, them keys still in the truck?”
“Yeah, ya hear it runnin’, don’t ya,” he replied sarcastically.
“Okay, smartass, we ’bout ready for some action!? Ya guys wanna play, don’t ya? Ya think we should start this game with Frick or Frack? Ya know, the two dummies that don’t seem to talk or have a name. Ray, Donnie-boy, you’ll have ta tell me which one is Frick and which is Frack.”
“Okay, mister, enough of this crap! We’re not playin’ your game, and we’re not gonna shoot each other,” Donnie proclaimed.
“Does that mean I’ll have to execute the four of ya. If so, not a problem,” Trent said with a smile.
“I think you would do that, ’cause you’re a whacko!” Donnie exclaimed.
“If I decided, to let you pieces of human trash live, how long would it take ya ta walk back to where there’s people?”
“Without our shoes, fuckin’ forever! Ray screamed.
That comment didn’t set well with Trent, and he double-tapped near Ray’s left foot,
which sent him jumping away from the rounds.
“One more damn comment like that and none of ya are gonna be able to walk ’cause next time I’ll be aimin’ at somethin’,” Trent said solemnly.
“Look, mister, how ’bout just lettin’ us go without gettin’ shot?” A formerly silent one asked.
“Ah, a voice from the dumb, which one’re ya, Frick or Frack?” Trent asked coolly.
“I don’t care what ya call me, but I really don’t wanna die or get shot,” he replied.
“Give me one damn reason why I should let ya sonsofbitches git off. Y’all planned to rob me, kill me, and dump me, didn’t ya?” Trent asked angrily.
“I can’t speak for all the guys here,” he said waving toward the others, “but I can for myself, and I didn’t know anything ’bout causin’ you harm, and that’s the truth, mister.”
“So, what do ya spose I should do, Frick? By the way, the other dumb guy’s now Frack,” Trent said pointing.
“I think ya should let us alone, take the truck, and go on to Las Cruces.” He suggested.
“What’re ya talkin’ ’bout? That ain’t your damn truck, it’s mine!” Donnie yelled.
“Shit, Donnie, that fuckin’ truck ain’t worth me dying for!” Fric exclaimed.
“Now, now, boys will be boys, but shut the fuck up! I know everyone of ya’s gotta knife, so reach into yor pockets, take ’em out and throw ’em in the back of the truck,” Trent directed.
“I ain’t gotta knife,” Donnie said.
“No problem, drop them pants and throw them into the back of the truck,” Trent said.
“I’m not gonna do that, you motherfucker!”
“Well, I’ll just shoot ya, ya sonofabitch, and ya won’t have ta,” Trent said, taking aim for a headshot.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Donnie said throwing up his hands.
“Get them pants off, and admit you’re a liar, or I’ll still shoot ya, dog shit!”
Donnie did as Trent insisted. He took off his pants, threw them into the back of the truck, and said he lied.
“Now, all of ya, get over there in a group and git back-ta-back,” he said, pointing about 30 feet away, and they complied.
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