Tony watched the Sheriff of Woodbury collect his uniform-matching, khaki-colored wide-brimmed hat from the countertop, then secure it atop his bald head. Without the hat, he was already tall—close to six-five. With it on, he looked like a freakin’ giant.
“Did you hear me, Tony?”
“I heard you, Dad. I’ll call Gary. See what’s happening.”
* * *
Tony listened as his father’s cruiser drove away. There was no way he was going to file any kind of written statement. He was already the butt of too many jokes. Putting in a formal police complaint would label him the world’s all-time biggest pussy. A pussy smacked around by the town idiot who then went crying to his daddy. No thank you. Tony had his own, far more effective, plan in the works.
A knock came at the door.
“Come on in … dickwad.”
Gary opened the door, sauntered in, and sat down in a chair opposite the couch. Tony’s friend said, “You look like shit on a stick.”
“Thanks. Bring what I asked?”
“Yeah … but why my dad’s?”
“Because your dad’s not the fucking sheriff. Your dad won’t even notice it’s gone from his closet. How often do shit-haulers use a gun?”
“Don’t call him that! He’s a Septic Engineer.”
Tony laughed out loud. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day. Septic Engineer!”
“Screw you,” Gary retorted back. “And why do we need it? I’m not going to prison because you have a hard-on for the Perkins kid.”
“I told you, it’s just for backup. To scare him a bit.”
Gary shrugged. “I don’t know about this ... Tony.”
* * *
They knew he wasn’t home. Earlier, they’d snuck onto the property—crept up to the back of the Perkins’ house—and peeked in the windows. The old lady was inside and so was the older brother, Kyle. Tony remembered he’d just gotten out of jail. But the idiot boy was nowhere around.
After that, they drove up and down the winding two-track lane, looking for the big moron. Leaving the sleepy town behind, they drove south along the road, eventually slowing down at the high school. Both were drunk as skunks and hazy-eyed. Gary burped, letting the truck’s engine idle as they sat for another ten minutes in the faded-green F150’s hot cab. When Tony moved his feet empty Keystone beer cans clanged together. “It’s hotter than hell in here,” he said, “maybe we should just forget it.”
“Wait … I think he sometimes hangs out with those two old blackies down the road. I think I’ve seen him there when I’m driving by.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? Cruise on by … we’ll take a quick look.”
Gary moved the gear selector into Drive and slowly eased the truck forward, unsure which house was theirs.
“Slow down … I think it’s that one there on the left with the leaning mailbox.”
Gary, pulling into the drive, did a wide U-turn so his truck would face back in the same direction. Then, after shutting the ignition off, they climbed out of the truck.
Tony looked around the cluttered-looking property then did a double take, spotting a corrugated steel shed off to the side—its sliding door opened-up wide. Tony liked old cars and he was surprised to see the front end of a true old classic, sitting in there with its hood up.
Tony and Gary, neither one capable of walking a straight line, moved closer to the house. An old black man with a crown of silver hair sat on the shaded porch in a rocking chair. He stopped rocking as they approached. “What you two want?”
Tony said, “You know who I am? You know who my father is?”
The old man answered, “No and no. Should I?”
A screen door swung open and a ginormous black woman, wearing a bright red apron, stepped out. “What the hell you want? Get your skinny white asses off my property now!”
Tony recognized her—Elma White. The elderly man was her husband Rutherford, or something like that.
She towered over them, holding an industrial-size metal dustpan clenched in her fist. Raising it higher, she snarled, “Go on … get off my property. I’m not going to say it again!”
Gary said, “Easy there, Elma … we’re just looking for a friend of ours. You know Cuddy? Cuddy Perkins, don’t you?”
“What you need that boy for? He wants nothing to do with the likes of you two. Now go on … get going before I call the police.”
Tony didn’t particularly like Negros. Or Mexicans. Or the Asians. And don’t get him even started on the camel jockeys. Or anyone not white. Especially when they didn’t know their proper place and got uppity, like this big black bitch.
Tony lifted the front of his shirt, revealing the butt end of a Smith and Wesson .45 tucked into the waistband of his pants. “I am the police and I’ve had as much lip from you as I’m going to take.” He watched as Elma took in the gun; seeing it finally shut her up. Good.
“I don’t know nothin’. That boy ain’t come around here for a few days now.”
Tony said, “What about you, Uncle Tom? You see the boy around here lately?”
The old man spat something brown onto the porch and leaned back in his chair. Staring down at it for a few moments, he said, “I ain’t seen nothin’.”
Tony’s head hurt. Too many cheap beers drunk in the hot sun and now one too many people disrespecting him: First his father this morning and now these two spooks. He pulled the gun from his pants, letting his arm hang loosely at his side. Gary eyed him warily but didn’t say anything.
Tony said, “The next time I come around here, you’re going to show me a bit more respect.” He lifted the nickel-plated semi-automatic pistol and pointed it at the old man’s face. Closing one eye, he lined the gun’s sight between Rutherford’s staring eyes. Tony smiled, finally the old man looked frightened. That’s a start. He moved his aim slightly to the left, toward a closed window, and pulled the trigger. An incredibly loud crack echoed outward onto the distant plains. Elma screamed, and the old man flinched as he twisted away sideways from the now-shattered window. His eyes were tightly clenched shut and Elma was whimpering. Tony had another idea. “Come on, let’s just go,” Gary said.
Tony pointed at his nose. “I told you, I can’t allow this to go unanswered.” He smiled—discovering one more way to screw with the Perkins … the retard’s family. “Old man, that car over in the shed.”
The old man stared back at him. “What about it?” he said, then glanced toward the old shed and his pride and joy—a fifty-year-old Ford Mustang.
“It still drivable?”
When Rutherford hesitated Tony raised the gun. “Uh … somewhat; rear brake shoes need replacing.”
Tony, still feeling exhilarated after pulling the trigger on Gary’s father’s gun, smiled. “We’re gonna be borrowing it … for a day or two. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Like hell I don’t,” Rutherford said, getting to his feet.
“Sit back down!” Tony barked. He looked up toward the second story, counting five small windows. He raised his arm and aimed at the one farthest away, then pulled the trigger five times: bang … bang … bang … bang … bang and all five windows across the front of the house exploded into shards. Elma dropped her dustpan and screamed into her hands, “Stop! Please stop! What do you want? What do you want from us?” sobbing in fear.
With no other word, Tony headed toward the shed and the old Mustang. Over his shoulder, he said, “You can report the car stolen but don’t mention our visit today. You have no idea who took it, understand? I’m sure you don’t want us coming back here.”
Elma was still sobbing, clearly terrified. “Just take it. Leave us alone.”
Gary hurried after Tony and grabbed him by the arm. In a hushed voice he asked, “What the holy fuck are you doing?”
Tony, walking toward the old car, slapped the gun into Gary’s stomach. “You take the truck. Oh … and did you bring any more bullets for this thing?”
“Yeah … some. But wh
y’d you take the old man’s ride? We already have transportation.”
“Don’t be such an idiot, Gary. This is the exact same model … maybe even the same year that retard’s brother, Kyle, stole … guy’s got a hard on for old mustangs. Just try to keep up, man … we’ll take the Mustang and drive it into Crowley Lake. I’ll text my dad that I saw Kyle driving it around town. Put big brother right back in jail again.”
Chapter 12
Jackie was running behind—started doing the chores too late around the farm. She actually managed to crack the books earlier this morning, but it had been a feeble attempt. She couldn’t concentrate. Everything she read, she knew she’d have to reread again later.
Her chores included gathering eggs from the chicken coop, milking the fatter-than-remembered cow Hilda, and cleaning out Dad’s disgusting refrigerator. After taking her third shower of the day, she almost called Mrs. Perkins to decline her invitation for dinner—explaining that she wasn’t up to socializing—with her dad in the hospital, and all. But her dad was doing surprisingly well and she really wanted to see Cuddy again. Over the course of the day she found herself thinking about him on and off. How losing touch with him over the last seven or eight years—ever since she’d entered high school then gone off to college—how she’d unknowingly lost a part of herself. What that was exactly … she wasn’t sure.
The drive over to the Perkins’ ranch was a ten-minute trek across mostly packed dirt roads. She had the top down on her yellow 2011 Volkswagen Beetle and wore an
Atlanta Braves baseball cap to hold her long hair in place. A warm Tennessee breeze flowed nicely in and out of the convertible. It was times like these when she most appreciated coming home to the small town of Woodbury. Sure, it was poor and backwoodsy, with practically nothing to do for a modern Millennial like her … yet there was something decent here. Woodbury was true and honest, had never claimed to be anything it wasn’t. Cruising down the one stop-sign town, you could get a sense of its humble Americana roots, and there was something comforting about that. Its lack of pretense—take me as I am sentiment.
The early evening sky had turned brilliant amber and pink atop darkening cornflower blue. From horizon to horizon, a pallet of vivid colors excited her vision. She couldn’t recall anything even close to being so beautiful. Her analytical mind knew that the colors were derived from refracted light, coming off particles in the atmosphere. Since there was no real industry around there to speak of … no smog … where did those lofty particles come from? Perhaps blown in from Memphis?
Slowing, she turned off Beacham Road onto the Perkins’ rolling, cratered driveway. Twice, she felt the Bug’s undercarriage bottom-out—clunk … clunk.
Up ahead was the old ranch house, and the dilapidated barn off to the left. Coming back was like going back in time. She recalled a hand pump for watering next to a horse trough, just beyond the wraparound front porch. Skirting a massive pothole, she remembered there used to be chickens running around all over the place, and even a few goats. Now, the old ranch looked deserted. If it weren’t for Momma’s old car, parked in front of the house, Jackie could have sworn nobody lived there anymore.
Momma Perkins did what she could with what she had, which wasn’t much. Jackie suspected they lived on whatever the state doled out to her. Having a disabled child maybe helped with that some, she supposed, and she knew Momma also took on odd jobs, using her old Singer sewing machine. Six years ago, her late husband, whom everyone called Hash, was struck by lightning while standing on the barn roof during a rainstorm, leaving family members to pretty much fend for themselves. Jackie wondered how they’d even managed—by the looks of things not very well.
Jackie braked to a stop and turned off the car. She grabbed the basket of eggs from the passenger seat, opened up the door and climbed out. Waving away disturbed-up dust and dirt, she headed for the house.
“And she comes bearing gifts too,” a deep voice said from the porch. She’d expected to see Cuddy. Child-like, she remembered him in past years, waiting at the end of the drive, waving like a maniac.
“You’re back,” she said, handing Kyle the basket of fresh chicken eggs. He looked as she remembered—a little older, perhaps, and a little rougher around the edges—still wearing the same old olive-green Army jacket he always wore, with his first initial and last name stenciled in black letters on the upper left pocket. His hair was longer and his eyes portrayed a young man who’d lost hope in ever finding a meaningful future.
She watched his eyes rove up and down her body. Found buried in a drawer, she’d pulled on a pair of old faded jeans, unworn since high school, but pleased they still fit her. Suddenly self-conscious, she gave Kyle a friendly punch on the shoulder suspecting that he too was reflecting back on their one night of intoxicated wild abandonment. She had that single indiscretion with Kyle years ago, which she instantly regretted. Regretted, because she felt she’d somehow betrayed Cuddy—her childhood friend who loved her. Loved her in a way that was purely innocent, but nevertheless just as real. She’d made it clear to Kyle that their intimate time together was a one-time mistake, which she wished had never happened. Hurting Cuddy would never be an option for her.
“Yeah … back after one year, seven months, and three weeks, but who’s counting?”
Jackie glanced back toward her car. “Should I hide my car keys?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Truth is, I wouldn’t need ’em. But I think you’re safe. There’s not another car on the planet that screams chick-mobile more than a VW bug. I bet you even have a flower sticking out of the little bud vase on the dash.”
“Well, yes I do, as a matter of fact. A plastic daisy.”
“Is that Jackie?” a woman’s voice asked inside the screen door.
“It’s me. Something smells awfully good in there.” Jackie added, “I’ll have you know, I’ve been doing ranch work all day long and the only thing that kept me going was the thought of some good ol’-fashioned Southern cooking.”
Momma Perkins swung wide the screen door, propping it open with a foot, then spread out her arms to give Jackie a hug. “Come on in, dear …”
Jackie caught her tight, artificial smile. The tension reflected off the older woman’s face was unmistakable.
* * *
The two women stood at the kitchen window, looking outdoors. Momma Perkins had turned down the burners on the stovetop. Tinfoil loosely covered an assortment of pots and pans.
“When he didn’t come home for lunch I started worrying. Especially in lieu of what happened to him a few days back.” Her arms were wrapped about her.
Jackie put a reassuring arm around Momma’s broad shoulders and squeezed. “I’m sure the big goofball’s simply lost track of time.”
“Don’t think so. Last few days … without Rufus … he’s been moping around something awful. Seeing you was the most excited I’ve seen him get. He wouldn’t be late, not with you coming here tonight. No … I’m afraid he’s met up with those two wretched boys again …”
Jackie was worried too but didn’t let on. She glanced over at Kyle, sitting at the kitchen table in the process of lighting up a cigarette. He didn’t look particularly worried.
“Put that out! You know there’s no smoking in the house,” Momma scolded.
Kyle shrugged but did as asked. “I went looking for him, but Cuddy’s been wandering around this countryside since he first learned to walk. Could be anywhere.”
“Get out there and look again!” Momma shouted.
Kyle looked up, startled, his eyes shifting between his mother and Jackie. “Fine …” he said.
“No wait,” Momma said, “I see him. And I have a good mind to take a switch to him, damn worrisome child.”
Jackie, the first one out the door, watched Cuddy hurrying. He looked up and smiled. Smiling, ready to wave back, her hand stopped mid-motion as Cuddy drew closer. There was something peculiar about the way he looked, though it could be her imagination.
C
hapter 13
While Momma stood at the stove, filling each plate with a pork chop, a mound of mashed potatoes, and a scoop of steamed sliced carrots, Jackie carried the plates over and set them around the table. She heard Cuddy, cleaning up in the bathroom. The faucet then turned off and the bathroom door opened. She wondered if Momma too noticed something different about Cuddy.
The screen door opened, then slammed shut as Kyle walked in. “That sky … it’s … crazy weird-looking. The nag is acting skittish, too … something’s got her all riled up.”
Jackie turned around, gazing out the window toward the barn, and caught the last vestiges of dusk before nighttime took hold. The sky was still ablaze with color—with added hues now of sparkling gold and violets.
“She’ll settle down. What she needs is to be let out of that stall tomorrow. You know animals can go stir-crazy too … just like people,” Momma replied, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
“Claustrophobic.”
At first, Jackie thought it was Kyle who spoke, then realized he was already seated at the table, using a fork prong to clean a fingernail. Curious, she looked at Kyle, then toward the entrance into the hallway. No, it was Cuddy; he’d spoken from the hallway.
Momma said, “That’s disgusting! Stop doing that at the table, Kyle.” He merely shrugged and winked at Jackie.
Jackie looked up as Cuddy entered the kitchen and noticed his face was washed and he was wearing a clean plaid shirt. He then took a chair directly across from her own.
“Hi Jackie,” he said, giving her a broad smile.
“Hi Cuddy … good to see you again. So where did you go off to today?”
“I just goofed around … out in the woods,” he said.
“He’s always in the woods,” Kyle said. “Never understood what’s so fascinating about it.”
Momma, sitting down at Cuddy’s left, took his hand in hers then reached over and took Jackie’s hand, who then took Kyle’s, and he took Cuddy’s—completing the handholding circle.
The Simpleton: An Alien Encounter Page 7
