by C. L. Bevill
Bubba smiled. “Gotcha.”
Chapter 25
Bubba and Another Big Bada Boom
Sunday, April 7th
“What do you mean, gotcha?” Blake asked.
“I mean you’ve bin duped,” Bubba said firmly. “You might as well put the gun down and put your hands in the air.” Assertiveness occasionally worked when nothing else did. Miz Demetrice would have bellowed, “Screw fear, and do it anyway!” Sometimes his mother was correct no matter how much Bubba didn’t like to admit it out loud.
Blake responded by putting both hands on the weapon. He braced his elbows on Cybil’s desk. The .45 Colt must have been getting heavy. He steadied his aim and frowned at Bubba. “How?”
“Blake,” came a voice over the loud speakers, “you’ve been a very bad social worker. And with all those extra qualifications, too. Advanced practitioner, huh? For shame.”
Bubba glanced upward at the speakers in the corners of the oversized foyer. There were also camera mounts next to the speakers.
“No,” Blake breathed. “I saw him. He was gone. I mean he was gone.” His face screwed up in concentration. “How in holy hell did that…”
“The shot went into the ground,” Bubba said and smiled. It wasn’t a good idea to smile at a man who didn’t have anything else to lose and who was also holding a large revolver in a way that suggested he was used to it, so Bubba stopped smiling. “That explosive made a ledge down below there. I guess you dint have the time to go look at it. He hid there until I was back at the hospital door. Then he snuck in the back way and made it to the security room. Unlike me, David knows all the nooks and crannies in this hospital. He already knew about the cameras. He knew that he could record whatever you had to say to me. Even if you killed me, he could get that, too. For a loony, he shore is a smart fella. You might say it was very Sherlockian.”
“No matter,” Blake sighed. “I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill him. Then I’ll find whatever it is that you think you’ve done.”
“You can walk away now, Blake, while you have a chance,” David said from the intercom. “I’ve got the whole thing on disc.” There was a loud click and then came Blake’s voice from the speakers in the corners, “Yes, I killed Hurley. I killed Dr. Adair after he helped me pretend I was a victim, too. Yes, this was a frame-up job on top of a frame-up job. You and David are completely, utterly innocent of any wrongdoing. Good Lord, do we have to go through everything?”
“So?” Blake asked. “It’s easy enough to get that disc and just as easy to destroy it.”
“You’re not listening, Blake,” David said, and his voice was triumphant. “Pay attention to the details.”
“Listen to what?” Blake snapped.
Bubba tilted his head to better hear. There was a faint noise that was growing louder. It was a chop-chop-chop of something cutting through the air. There couldn’t be a mistake as it came closer and closer. He knew that in another minute if he looked out the front doors of the mental institute he would see it.
It was a helicopter.
“You goin’ to kill all them people, too?” Bubba asked. “I don’t think that revolver has more than six rounds in it. There’s me, David, whoever’s in the helicopter, and a few other people hiding in the bushes. I’m assuming you kin hit a moving target and them folks in the helicopter will prolly have a gun or two or more. They won’t like you shooting at them. Or us, for that matter. If Willodean, that’s my affianced one, is in it, she’ll shoot you out of spite. Don’t you dare shoot at her, or I will come back from the dead to pound you into little itty-bitty pieces of social worker mincemeat.”
The sound of rotors increased. The helicopter was right on top of them. Bubba had an idea that it would be landing on the side lawn where the patients had been playing with foam darts.
Precious inched behind Bubba’s knees and leaned her head there. Bubba watched Blake Landry attempt to make a decision. Various expressions surged across his face like the vacillations of a powerful thunderstorm.
Bubba took a foot and nudged Precious away from him toward the still-open door. “Get the ball, girl,” he whispered and jerked his thumb toward the exit. Her head shot up and she looked for the nonexistent ball. After a moment, she trotted toward the opening and went outside.
Blake watched the dog go without moving the weapon away from Bubba. Bubba nearly sighed with relief. Blake really didn’t have to do anything to Precious, so he didn’t. It was even possible that all the others were okay because he hadn’t really needed to do anything to them either.
“Come down here, David,” Blake said, “or I’ll kill Bubba.”
“Don’t come, David,” Bubba said. “He’s just goin’ to kill us both.”
Blake said, “Well, it was worth a shot.” He paused. “No pun intended.”
“You can run now,” Bubba said, repeating what David had told Blake. “Mix in with the people. Leave while you can. I’ll promise not to say anything until you’ve had a chance to go.”
“Oh, really?” Blake said. “I can’t see that happening.” He sighed again. “You can tell I don’t really like hurting people. The only one I really wanted to hurt was you, of course, because of what you did to Connie.”
“Do I need to point out that no one made Miz Constance murder the judge’s first wife or the fella who’d bin blackmailing her? She dint have to blow all that stuff up? Does that company ever take an accounting of all them explosives?” Bubba inched closer to the door. He wasn’t going to make it easy for Blake by standing still. He could still hear the rotors slowly as the helicopter powered down. There was a chance, albeit a slim one, to get away before the social worker decided to make him look like an oversized colander.
“Sorry, Bubba,” Blake said. “You seem like a decent enough fellow. Sure Connie made mistakes, but you know how it is. Family comes first.”
“That’s right,” came a new voice. Peyton stepped into the foyer, holding up something in his hand. His streaked hair was badly mussed. His wings were blurred. The manscara and manstick were nearly gone. His pants, shirt, and Gucci loafers were covered with dirt. Even his manicure was chipped. Bubba wouldn’t have noticed the man’s fingernails except that they were on the ends of the fingers wrapped around the stick of dynamite he was holding up.
“Family comes first,” Peyton repeated. “A very important tenet.”
“Uh,” Bubba said. He thought of the brick of Semtex which shouldn’t have blown up when thrown off a cliff even if it had bounced against the rock face. He thought of the box of dynamite in the explosives shack. He thought of the previous week when an arctic front had slid all the way to the south and caused some lows in the teens. He thought about how if dynamite is frozen, it sometimes destabilizes. (Another factoid obtained from the idiosyncratic mind of his mother, which popped into his head when it wasn’t really wanted.) If dynamite has been destabilized then it sweats. It sweats nitroglycerin, which crystalizes on the outside. He thought that he could see bits of twinkling matter on the stick that Peyton was holding.
“And this boy has a wedding to go to,” Peyton went on. “A wedding that will take place even if I have to drag his dead body to because I planned it. A wedding by Pure Love Weddings, LLC always goes on and in spectacular fashion, no matter how many murders, felonies, or conspiracies have occurred.”
“A wedding,” Blake repeated. “Can I go? Never mind, I’ll just shoot you, too.”
“And wiiill you shooooot the Soooon of the Loooord, as weeeell?” Jesus asked, stepping in beside Peyton. He also held a stick of dynamite. There were two more sticks in his rope belt, and Bubba winced.
“Let’s see. I’ve got four of you now, so yes,” Blake said, “yes to all of you. Line up beside Bubba.”
“And thee, thou beslobbering, plume-plucked maggot-pie?” Thelda asked. She stepped inside the foyer and sidled to the left to give herself a little room. She still wore several sweaters and also held a stick of dynamite in each hand.
“Fiv
e,” Blake said. “I can shoot five. I’ll have one to spare if I miss one of you.”
“Uh, dynamite,” Bubba choked. In the wide world of Snoddys, he had been around dynamite before. He had a second cousin who did, in fact, like to fish with it. He once took Bubba to a lake. They’d managed to fill three coolers with fish before the authorities had appeared. (Fishing by dynamite was not an inconspicuous business.) Bubba had been detained but only until Cousin Artemis had admitted it was his dynamite, thirty years old, and obtained from Mexico on a dark and stormy night. That had also been the occasion when an elite team from Dallas had been flown in to dispose of the sweating sticks of dynamite with a specialized chemical that burned it. The team’s leader had lectured Artemis all the way to the back of a departmental vehicle. Bubba hadn’t thought to mention that the box that his cousin had used was only one of five that he had in his shed. But then Bubba hadn’t gone around Artemis’s shed ever again. Somehow his cousin managed to get rid of the rest of the dynamite before anyone was disintegrated via the explosive method. Artemis always had seemed to have a lot of fish in his freezer.
“JESUS!” David yelled gleefully as he appeared at the top of the stairs. “THELDA! Peyton, too! I thought you were all DEAD!”
Blake’s gun wavered between David, Bubba, Jesus, Thelda, and Peyton. Clearly, he couldn’t decide who to shoot first.
“So just put the weapon down,” Peyton told Blake. “I mean, just because you get paid a measly $40,000 a year is no reason to be a mass murderer.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Blake said.
“Where have you been?” David asked.
“There was a party in the VIP house,” Peyton said. “It was sick! Apparently, it’s been going on since yesterday morning. Can you believe they didn’t invite us? When I escaped I followed the music and found it. You shouldn’t have locked me up. I’m slightly claustrophobic. I’ve had five Irish kamikaze Jell-O shots. I think they used the 140 proof vodka.” He stuck his tongue out. “Ithh yy onnggg eeen?” which Bubba translated into “Is my tongue green?” It was.
“Thou guts griping malcontent,” Thelda said, but it was with an affectionate tone. Then she stuck her tongue out. It was about as green as a leprechaun’s underwear. She giggled.
Jesus grinned broadly and stuck his tongue out. It was also green. He retracted his tongue to say, “Iiiit was a veeeery good paaaarty. There waaaas a baaaand. They plaaaayed techno, reeeeggae, hip-hop, aaaand the bluuuues. It was bitching.”
“Just how many people are over there?” Bubba asked.
Ratchley stuck her head in the door. “They’ve got food!” She held up a plastic tray of pigs in a blanket. Fortunately, she did not have more dynamite.
Cybil yelled from behind Ratchley, “And no danged murderers, those poopy Peters!”
Abel yelled, “I’ve got some more Jell-O shots!”
“And I’ve got a bottle of Everclear!” cried Leeza.
“Cigs, too!” Tandy yelled. “Also some damn fine weed! Did you know Ralph is here? He brought in a bunch of people to party before the cell phone tower and the cliff got blown up!”
“How did you know to bring dynamite?” Bubba asked.
“That was purely coincidental,” Peyton said. “We were going to throw the dynamite over the cliff to see if it would blow up, too, when we saw you and followed you. With the door open, we heard everything. It worked out well.”
“Blake,” Bubba said seriously, “you don’t have enough bullets to kill everyone.”
Blake’s face fell. “I obviously didn’t plan for this. Do you know they’re holding dynamite?”
Bubba sighed loudly. “No one plans for Pegram County.”
Blake put the oversized revolver on the desk and leaned back in Cybil’s chair. “I know when I’m licked. Someone call a lawyer.”
Just then the sun came out from behind a cloud. Rays of purest light shot into the foyer and created a spotlight of crystalline magic. If Bubba’s heart had been stopped, it would have miraculously begun to beat again.
Willodean pushed through the crowd and held her gun out, unsure about who to point it toward. She stood in the middle of the sunlight rays and positively glowed. Bubba smiled at her and indicated Blake Landry.
Blake had his arms wrapped around his head and was muttering, “What am I going to tell ma?”
“Whoopee!” yelled Peyton shaking the dynamite in the air.
Bubba’s heart nearly stopped. For a split second he’d forgotten the next most imminent danger, and Willodean was standing right next to it. She was surrounded by six sticks of dynamite, all of which were covered with bits of crystalized nitroglycerin. “EVERYONE FREEZE!” he roared.
Surprisingly everyone did.
Blake peeked between his arms and froze when he saw Willodean in her neatly pressed uniform with her smartly shined Glock pointed at him.
“They got dynamite,” Bubba said, indicating Peyton, Thelda, and Jesus. “It’s sweating. That is very, very bad. Big bada boom.”
“Everyone out,” Willodean ordered, “except anyone who is holding a stick of dynamite.” Blake went to rise, and Willodean moved swiftly. She threw him around as if he was half her size and put the cuffs on him with economy of movement that Bubba found enthralling. She pushed him up and toward the door, pausing near Bubba.
“Ya’ll need to put the dynamite on the desk,” Bubba told Peyton, Thelda, and Jesus.
Peyton stared first at Bubba and then at the dynamite. “It’s…sweating. But it isn’t hot.”
“It don’t work like that,” Bubba said. “You remember that little explosion we had before?”
“That was Semtex,” Peyton said. “Even I know the difference between plastique and dynamite.”
“Yeah, I reckon it had been right next to the dynamite,” Bubba said. “Must have sweat some of that nitro right onto those blocks. It’s the crystals there that are dangerous.”
Peyton looked at the stick in his hand and paled. “You mean, it could just blow up?”
Bubba shooed Willodean toward the exit, and she frogmarched her prisoner out the door. He heard her say, “Everyone needs to get away from the building right now!” Then she yelled, “Bubba! That means you too!”
David scurried past all of them with the disc in his hand. “Just let me give this evidence to the police, and I’ll be right back.”
“Theeee Son of Gooood cannot diiiie,” Jesus said. “Except that one time. A minor thing, really.”
“Jesus, don’t move,” Bubba said. “Mebe you cain’t die, but you could blow up. And you could blow up the rest of us.”
“I seeee your pooooint,” Jesus capitulated.
“Thee art an artless shard-borne death token,” Thelda said, holding her sticks of dynamite as far away from her body as she could.
“I was just trying to help,” Peyton said. “Do you know how poorly Pure Love Weddings, LLC would look if the groom got murdered right before the wedding? I take my job very seriously.” Then he hiccoughed and giggled at the same time.
Bubba looked around. “Just very carefully put the dynamite on the desk.”
Peyton stepped forward and softly placed the single stick of dynamite atop Cybil’s desk. He sighed and said, “I need some more Jell-O shots. Outside, people. Ratchley might have left some pigs in a blanket if we’re lucky.”
Jesus put the stick in his hand on top of the desk as tenderly as he could. The two in his belt followed. It was a gentle, careful movement. He stopped and patted the last stick. Bubba cringed. “Father,” Jesus prayed, “pleeeease do not aaaallow the dynamite toooo explode preeeematurely.” He backed away, and Peyton guided him out the door.
“Thou crusty botch of nature,” Thelda told her sticks and put them on the desk. She let out a deep breath and looked at Bubba. “I’m never touching dynamite again.”
Immediately, Bubba twirled the woman and shoved her toward the door. Thelda didn’t need a lot of motivation. Her personal nitrous oxide kicked in,
and she shot out of the building.
Bubba was right behind her. There was a noise, and he looked back. One of the sticks rolled slightly. It hesitated as if held by the tip of an invisible finger, and then it rolled again right to the side of the desk. Just before it started to tip over the side, Bubba looked forward and jumped out of the door. Still in movement, one hand pulled it shut behind him. The last thing he heard was the click of the latch.
Epilogue
Bubba and the Ignoble Ending
Bubba opened his eyes. He saw a white ceiling with ugly off-white drop tiles. He looked around and saw a hospital room. Without thinking about it much, he knew he’d been in that particular hospital room before. He might have even been hooked up to the very same IV before. It definitely looked like the same hospital gown he’d worn before; no one could mistake the baby puke-green color.
He began to take an accounting of himself. Everything hurt. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, it was all a dull ache. If someone had entered the hospital, announced he’d been hit by an out-of-control Mack truck hauling coconuts to Outer Mongolia, he wouldn’t have been surprised. Regardless, everything seemed to be present and mostly operational.
“There you are,” came a voice from his side. There was an inordinate amount of relief in the tone. He turned his head and saw bright lights exploding. It was a burst of rainbow kaleidoscopes careening in midair. Then he blinked, and it was all clear. Willodean sat in the chair beside the bed with her hands resting lightly on her abdomen. She had changed out of her uniform into a baseball jersey and jeans, but she still looked like a million bucks.
“It wasn’t my idea for them loonies to get the dynamite,” Bubba said quickly. He also quickly regretted it as his tongue hurt, too.
Willodean shook her head sadly. “No more explosions this year, huh?”
“I swear,” Bubba said and reached out with his left hand. She took it and wrapped her pinky around his pinky.
