Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction

by Amy Metz

  Tess stepped over Henry Clay, putting her finger to her lips and motioning to Martha Maye to keep moving toward the front of the truck. As Joe Bob came out to check on Henry Clay, they tiptoed to the front of the car that was up on hydraulics.

  “HC! Buzzard on a buzzsaw! What’d they do to you?”

  When Joe Bob bent down to check on Henry Clay, the women made a dash for the office. They pushed the big metal desk in front of the door, just as he reached it and started pounding. Tess pulled Martha Maye down in front of the desk two seconds before bullets started pelting the door.

  It’s So Hot You Can Pull A Baked Potato Right Out Of The Ground

  Idjit: noun idj-it idiot

  He was acting like an idjit.

  [ July 2010 ]

  “Cut the light off, Jack,” Lou said, as she walked ahead of Jack and Pickle out of the bookstore.

  “Lou, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding Martha Maye,” Jack said to reassure her.

  “She’d best be at home.” Lou locked the bookstore door. Without another word she took off to find Martha Maye as fast as her Easy Spirit Oxfords would allow.

  “I need you to think, Pickle. Where do you think Henry Clay might have taken Tess?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I really don’t. But if I had to guess, I’d say Willy’s in on it. I seen ‘em together, and here he comes.” He pointed down the street to Willy, who had parked and was walking toward them.

  He walked the half block to his prey, calling, “Mr. Wright!”

  Wearing a black denim jacket and black jeans, he walked up to Jack and said in an overly friendly tone, “Just the man I was lookin’ for. And if it idn’t his trusty sidekick, Boy Wonder. I’d say it’s very fortuitence . . . fortuit . . . lucky I found you, too.”

  “It’s a hundred and forty-six degrees out here, Willy. Why’re you wearin’ a jacket?” Jack looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and suspicion.

  Willy’s smile turned from friendly to threatening. He pulled a gun, keeping it partially hidden beneath his jacket, and said, “Gotta keep this little piece of metal outta sight, Jack. Now come on, let’s go.” Willy motioned with the gun for them to walk toward Henry Clay’s car.

  “Forget it, Willy. I’m not goin’ anywhere with you. And Pickle’s goin’ home.”

  “I don’t think that would be in the best interest of y’all’s health. Pickle, don’t you make a move, except over to that there car,” Willy snarled.

  “Uh, Jack, idn’t that Henry Clay’s car he’s drivin’?” Pickle pointed toward the Cadillac.

  Jack’s head whipped around from Pickle to Willy. “What in tarnation have you done with Tess?” Jack narrowed his eyes, still not budging.

  “Ah, the lovely Mizz Tess. That’s one fine woman, let me tell you. Had she chosen me over you, things might have turned out different. But she didn’t, and here we are—”

  Jack lunged for Willy, but the gun came up between them. “GUN trumps fists every time, Ratchetfoot.”

  Jack backed up slightly, glaring at Willy. “If you’ve so much as touched one hair on her head . . . “

  Willy laughed. “Ha! It don’t look to me like you’re in much of a position to be threatenin’ me, mister. Looka who’s got the gun and looka who don’t.”

  Jack started at Willy again, but the little man poked the gun into Jack’s stomach and said, “Ah, ah, ah! Mind your manners! I already killed one idjit this week. I don’t mind a’tall makin’ it two . . .” he glanced at Pickle, “…or three,” he said with a menacing grin.

  “Leave Pickle out of this,” Jack said through gritted teeth.

  “No can-do, buckaroo. Kid knows too much.”

  “Is John Ed in on this, too?”

  “Aw, hell no. That old coot’s a gutless wonder. Naw, he probably suspected who it was but didn’t want to find out he was right.”

  “So who did the mugging? You or Henry Clay?” Jack asked. “I mean, I need to thank whoever it was for the bump they put on the back of my head.”

  “Well you can thank me for that bump, Jack. Want another one? How about two this time? One, if you don’t stop askin’ so many questions and another one if you don’t start movin’ toward that car.” Again, he motioned with the gun, but this time he jerked his head toward the car too.

  “Where is she, Willy? What have you done with her?” Jack hissed.

  “Well if you’ll get in the car you can see for your galderned self.” Willy was getting exasperated.

  “Buddy, I will come back from the grave to personally take you apart piece by piece if you’ve so much as touched Tess with your pinky.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talk’s cheap. Get movin’, pretty boy. You don’t wanna be late for your appointment with your maker.”

  “I told you I’m not goin’ anywhere with you,” Jack snarled. “What’re you gonna do? Shoot me right here on the sidewalk in the middle of town in broad daylight?”

  Willy pulled out a cell phone from his pocket. “Well then, I’ll hafta make me a little call, and see if we can listen in while Joe Bob persuades the fine Mizz Tess to persuade you.”

  Jack looked around the empty town square. It was so hot out, even at ten in the morning no one was lingering outdoors. The humidity hung in the air like a sauna, making people want to go straight from air-conditioned car to air-conditioned store as quickly as possible. Jack began moving slowly, hoping for a chance to catch the eye of someone coming out of a store.

  “Where are we going? What’s your brilliant plan once you have us all in one place?” he taunted as they began walking, Jack and Pickle side-by-side, and Willy behind them, the gun pointed at their backs.

  “First we’re gonna go get that nosey girlfriend of yours, and then we’re all gonna take a long drive out to the country. It’s so sad that Goose Pimple Junction’s about to have itself a bona fide tragedy. I can see the newspaper headlines now, ‘Four die in fiery crash. Willy Clayton hailed as a hero for his rescue attempts.’” Willy made a fake crying sound.

  “Four? Whaddaya mean four? I’da thought even a dunderhead like you could count Tess, Pickle and me equals three.”

  “Har har har. You think you’re so smart, but you ain’t because you don’t know all there is to know.”

  “Huh?” Jack and Pickle said, gaping at each other.

  Looking smug, Willy said, “We got Martha Maye too, smarty britches. That woman has one big mouth. And she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like you two are gonna be in just a little short while.”

  They were getting closer to Henry Clay’s car. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed Pickle slowly put a finger over the lettering on his t-shirt that said, “I Make Stuff Up.” Jack turned his head slightly to look at Pickle, who tapped his finger and raised one eyebrow. Jack gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  Pickle said, “Say, Silly—I mean, Willy, did you know Skeeter Duke’s a sharpshooter?”

  “No, I did not. But it don’t matter. He ain’t gonna find y’all in time to sharp shoot anything. Now keep movin’ and stop whinin’.”

  “Uh…Wull…lookie there.” Pickle motioned with his head to across the street. “Speak of the devil. There’s Officer Duke now, with his shotgun pointed right smack dab at your ugly head. Hello there, Officer!” Pickle called out, waving, and looking to his right. It was just enough of a distraction to make Willy look away briefly and lower his gun slightly. Pickle jumped to his right, and Jack jumped to his left.

  The gun fired.

  That Boy’s Cheese Done Slid Off His Cracker

  sitcheeation: noun sich-ee-ey-shuhn situation

  Let me tell you the sitcheeation.

  [ July 2010 ]

  The left front tire of Henry Clay’s car hissed and deflated when the bullet hit it. Jack charged at Willy, grinding and stomping on his foot, grabbing his hand with the gun, and twisting it behind his back. The revolver fell to the ground and Pickle scurried to pick it up. Once he had the gun and the real danger was over,
his legs gave out and he sat down on the curb, chanting, “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap oh crap.”

  Both Jack and Willy got punches in at each other before Skeeter and Hank came running from the diner with guns drawn.

  The three of them wrestled Willy to the ground, and Jack began pounding his face with fist after fist. Skeeter pulled Jack away and Hank jumped between them asking, “What on God’s green earth is goin’ on?”

  “This birdbrain has Tess and Martha Maye,” Jack screamed. “He was tryin’ to kidnap Pickle and me and take us all somewhere and kill us, make it look like an accident.” Jack kicked Willy in the ribs, hard.

  Willy moaned. “No, no, no. He attacked me! Right here in broad daylight!”

  “You lyin’ piece of vermin . . . “ Hank struggled to hold Jack back.

  “I heard a shot. Are y’all all right?” Skeeter asked.

  “The bullet hit the tire over there.” Jack pointed toward the Cadillac and the deflated tire. “We need some handcuffs and a jail cell for this big bad-wannabe man.” He waited a beat and added, “Oh, and some clean shorts for Pickle.” Jack winked at him. “You okay?”

  Pickle nodded.

  Hank took the gun from Pickle, while Skeeter handcuffed Willy, pulled him up, threw him against the building, kicked his legs apart with his foot, and patted him down.

  “What’d he want with you two? And you said he has Tess and Martha Maye? Has ‘em where?”

  Jack walked over to Willy, grabbed his hair, pulling his head back so he could look him in the eye. He yelled, “Where are they, bonehead?”

  Willy smirked silently.

  Suddenly a long, shrill whistle pierced the air followed by two short bursts.

  Jack let go of Willy’s head with a push, broke into a huge smile, and said, “That’s my girl!” He turned to the officers. “I’ll fill y’all in later. Come on! They’re at the fillin’ station!”

  Jack, Hank, and Pickle took off running, while Skeeter took Willy to the squad car.

  As they ran almost two blocks to the filling station, Hank spotted a state police cruiser and waved him down, hollering and pointing, “The fillin’ station! Head over there!”

  He called to Jack as they ran, “Thank the good Lord above! We called the staties a while ago, on account of the coroner’s findings. We knew we couldn’t trust John Ed.”

  They were nearing the back of the station when Hank pulled on Jack’s shirt. “Jack! Hold up. We need a plan. You can’t just go runnin’ up to the door. We don’t know what’s goin’ on in there.”

  They stopped at the side of the building just as John Ed’s cruiser screeched to a halt in front of the station, and the state trooper pulled in at the back of the building.

  “’Bout time you got here!” Hank called out to the trooper. “All hell’s done broke loose since I called ya.”

  A huge man in a state trooper’s uniform got out of the vehicle and walked toward the group, putting his hat on his head. His size, dark hair, and even darker eyes gave him an intimidating appearance. He was the type who could either be your real good friend or your worst enemy.

  “Holy cannoli,” Pickle said in awe. “Talk about yer redwoods.” Pickle stood, gawking up at the well-built trooper who must’ve stood six-feet-five and was all muscle.

  “Folks call him Paul Bunyan,” Hank whispered out of the side of his mouth, then introduced the officer as Trooper Johnny Butterfield.

  Buck came running down the sidewalk from City Hall and joined Jack’s group, which had congregated on the side of the building. Shortly after Buck’s arrival, Skeeter rolled up in his police car, with Willy handcuffed in the back seat. The officer got out and jogged toward the group.

  “I did some old fashioned persuadin’ with old Willy,” Skeeter said. “Henry Clay and Joe Bob are in there, sure ‘nough, with Tess and Martha Maye.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Lou cried, overhearing him as she rushed up to the group. She grabbed Pickle and hugged him tight. “What’s goin’ on?” Her hands were shaking, and her eyes were filled with tears.

  Suddenly a shot rang out from the garage bays, hitting the police chief’s car. John Ed ducked back behind it.

  “Hey now! You knock that nonsense off right now, ya hear?” John Ed called out.

  Jack said, “I’m not waiting another second. I’m going around front for a look-see.” He disappeared around the front of the building before anyone could stop him. The garage bays jutted out farther than the office did, and the brick wall obstructed the garage’s view of the office door.

  He tried the office doorknob, but it was locked. The door had six paned windows on the top half, and he looked through the window and locked eyes with Tess who was crouched in front of the metal desk. When she saw Jack, she ran to the door.

  Jack said, “Oh thank you, Lord.” Then to Tess he hollered, “Are you all right?”

  Tess shouted, “We’re locked in here. It’s a keyed deadbolt lock on both sides of the door. Can you spring us?” Just then, a shot splintered through the thick office door, joining half a dozen other bullet marks that Joe Bob had made just a few minutes earlier. Tess hit the deck. A bullet hit the Coca Cola machine that had been in that same spot for over fifty years. One of the mini Coke bottles shattered as a bullet hit it.

  Hank and the statie came up behind Jack. Butterfield nudged Jack aside and called out, “Stand aside, ma’am.” Tess and Martha Maye duck walked to the left of the door where they crouched and locked arms, holding on to one another.

  Butterfield kicked once, twice, and the third time it busted open. Tess came flying out and into Jack’s arms, running to him with such force she almost knocked him down. Martha Maye ran out, flapping her hands like a chicken, and straight into the arms of the surprised state trooper.

  “Nice to meetcha,” he sputtered.

  “Sweet mother of all that is Good and Holy!” Jack grabbed Tess, enveloping her with his arms. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Tess nodded against his chest, holding him tight. “It was Henry Clay, Jack! Henry Clay’s Nate’s grandson.”

  “I know darlin’, I figured it out. Sorry it took me so long.” He hugged her close to him and she held on.

  Buck rounded the corner with Lou, who looked at Tess and said, “That grip looks like she might not ever let go.”

  Lou ran to Martha Maye. “Heavens t' Betsy! My precious girl. Let me look at you. Are y’all all right?” Lou took the trooper’s place, and alternated between squeezing Martha Maye’s face so tight she looked like a fish, to hugging her with fervor. A shot rang out again, this one hitting the police cruiser.

  “If you want to fight me, you better pack a lunch and bring a flashlight,” John Ed hollered to Joe Bob. Another shot rang out.

  Butterfield corralled everyone back to the side of the building, telling Skeeter to go tell John Ed his son and Joe Bob were in the garage bay. He started toward the chief, as Joe Bob yelled out, “Once I get my hands on you, I’ma whip you like cornbread.”

  Martha Maye began talking a blue streak, telling everyone what had happened as she held on tight to her mother.

  “Henry Clay’s out cold, but Joe Bob has a gun, and we moved the desk in front of the door, to keep him at bay—” she broke off laughing, “…at bay, in the bays . . . “ She was close to hysteria over her ordeal, and her unintentional pun nearly pushed her over the edge. “We have the key to the garage doors,” she handed them to the trooper, “but we couldn’t get out of the office on account of the door bein’ deadbolted and we didn’t have the key for it and—”

  “Hold it, hold it!” Jack made a T with his hands. “Henry Clay’s out cold? How?”

  “Tessie here packs a mean wallop, ‘specially with a tire iron.” Martha Maye patted Tess’s back.

  Hank turned to the state trooper. “Here’s the sitcheeation. The dude doin’ the shootin’ is so dumb he couldn’t pour rain out of a boot, with a hole in the toe, and directions on the heel. So while he’s distracted with John Ed out front
there, I say we sneak in through the back and surprise him.”

  “Why don’t you just go through the office door?” Lou asked.

  “No, no! The noise of the desk being moved will draw his attention. We can sneak up on him through the back way. If Henry Clay’s unconscious, and he’s distracted with John Ed, it’ll be a piece of cake,” Hank said.

  “Sounds like a plan.” The trooper and Hank started for the back of the building.

  Another shot rang out, and as the two men walked around back, Jack heard the trooper say, “I think that boy’s cheese done slid off his cracker.”

  “None of the three ain't got any walkin’ around sense, that’s for sure,” Jack said. “And to think I was gonna vote for Henry Clay.”

  Jack herded everyone to the back of the building, while officers Butterfield and Beanblossom went for Joe Bob.

  “Joe Bob, zat you? You dang fool, quit them shenanigans, and get yourself on out here,” John Ed called out. “You got a hurt man in there who needs medical attention.”

  “I won’t, Chief! You’ll have to shoot me dead!”

  “Son, it’s time to paint your butt white and run with the antelope,” the chief hollered out.

  Tess, still holding onto Jack, raised her head to look at him.

  “He means to . . . “

  Tess interrupted and answered for him, “He means to quit fussin’ and do the right thing.”

  Jack used his exaggerated twang, “Very good, Mary T. I b'lieve you've done gradjeeated in southern speak!” He hugged her tightly, rocking her gently side to side.

  Moments later, one of the garage doors opened, and Hank escorted Joe Bob out of the building and toward the trooper’s patrol car. Butterfield went for John Ed, who had already surrendered his weapon to the mayor.

  “I wanna see my son,” John Ed yelled.

  They’d handcuffed Henry Clay, and he was coming-to when Lou marched into the garage behind the trooper and John Ed. Before anyone could say a word, Lou walked up to him and with hands on her ample hips said, “Henry Clay, you are rude, crude, grossly unattractive, your feet stink, your mother makes your clothes, and you don’t love your Jesus.”