Forgiveness come to him, he just threw June-bug under the bus. His own mother.
“I called her and told her I was on my way to Memphis, as we trailed her all the way to a hotel. I was so upset afterwards that I drank myself sick and passed out in the woods. The next morning, on my way to Sheriff Sur Cotton’s house, I stopped at the bank and that’s when it was robbed. I didn’t want my mother to find out that I lied, because I’d have to tell her why. I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. I left the bank and called Delilah, and like I said, she picked me up.”
The two agents sat back in their seats and looked at each other.
“Your mother is having an affair with your biological father?” Agent Wyser said, his tone disbelieving.
“Caught her red handed. It would be a disgrace to my stepfather if he knew—he is the district attorney of Tupelo. I didn’t want to bring any attention to him. Or have it come out before he heard it from my mother.”
“And your biological father, he’s a preacher, correct?” Agent Cody said, the dubious sound now in the tone of his voice.
“That’d be correct.” Hank took a drink of his iced tea. “In Memphis. It would be a disgrace for him too.”
“Mr. Rivers, your mother didn’t mention Memphis to us. She said you went to a wedding. Didn’t know why you were at the bank,” Agent Wyser said.
“I doubt she would. I lied to her and I’m sure she was wondering why.”
“Mr. Rivers, would you happen to know a Rosemary Law?”
“Who?”
Agent Cody opened a folder on the table. He slid a picture to Hank. Hank looked it over. It was a young woman with wild red hair, ruddy tinged skin, and dark eyes. She was ferocious looking. Her stare was penetrating. It almost made him want to look away. The picture couldn’t even keep it controlled in the stillness of its grasp; a living thing started back at him.
If Hank had seen her, he would have never forgotten her. She would have left a brand on his memory, that’s for certain. She had a rolling passion that one just doesn’t lose—even in a photograph.
“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize this woman.” Hank slid the photo back.
“Positive?”
“More than one hundred percent. Why?”
“We have reason to believe she is the leader of the gang who has been robbing those banks. They call her Pistol. Sometimes she goes by Little Sister. As of late, Pistollette.”
Pepsi stomped out of the house, slamming the porch door with a thunderous clack! Both agents looked at her with ice in their eyes. She returned the ice with heat, frowning at them the entire time she marched to the swing. She plopped down real hard, her eyes never leaving their forms, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I know my rights,” she said clearly. “Ya’ll just can’t come around here stinkin’ us out our own place.” She pointed at them separately. “Mmmhmm.” She gave a mighty push with her feet, the swing moving to her defiance. She cleared her throat loudly and then began to sing hymns from church about fire and brimstone.
After that they started asking legitimate questions about the robbery. Questions Hank knew they should have been asking from the beginning. Hank gave a true statement, but he made sure to mention that it was more like a show, and that some of the men seemed to enjoy it. He made sure to repeat a few times that they never hurt anybody. They were even polite to a certain degree.
Pepsi continued her swinging and mmmhmm’ing. Hank didn’t know why but she seemed to hate them. There were a few questions he thought were odd, going back to him and Delilah, and a few more questions about Rosemary Law. But they were thrown in, added easily, in an underhanded kind of way. The tactic may have trapped a simpler man, but there wasn’t a thing simple about Hank Rivers.
Finally, after what seemed like a long stretch of time, they got up to leave.
Agent Cody stood closest to the porch door. At the same time he went to stretch, Delilah walked out the door. The sequence of actions made it seem like Agent Cody was going to hit her. Freud jumped from his spot, a low growl vibrating deep inside his chest. He crept toward Agent Cody, head down, eyes firm, hackles raised. Agent Cody kept his arms up, moving back with slow steps. Freud pinned him against the house. His canine teeth mighty close the agent’s crotch. Agent Wyser put his hand on his holster.
Hank was about to call Freud when Delilah put herself in front of Agent Wyser. “Freud, it’s all right, baby. Come to mama. Come on now. It’s all right.”
Freud took slow steps back, his hackles still prickling with vengeance. His owner would take a bullet for him, but a gentleman would never allow it. He stood directly in front of Delilah, blocking anyone daring to get to her. She bent down beside him, rubbing his head. Now they were side by side.
Agent Cody’s hands were trembling. He searched his pocket for a cigarette and then lit up.
“Agents, if your work here is done, I’d suggest getting on up the road now. I’m afraid Freud won’t be very good company from now on,” Delilah said, watching the man suck in a lung-full of smoke, blowing it out of his nostrils.
Agent Wyser gathered their things from the table. He didn’t want to seem like he was hurrying, but it was clear that he was. “Why’d he do that?”
Delilah stood and looked him in the eye. “Freud mistook your partner’s stretch as threatening behavior. He thought you were going to harm me. Freud don’t take too kindly to men hitting women. Freud’s a gentleman, and gentlemen never stand by and allow a lady to be assaulted. You gentlemen might want to remember that.”
“Mmmhmm,” Pepsi went again. “I should get my hose out. Clean this porch of the filth. Mmmhmm, lower than whale shit.”
The two agents stopped when they were right in front of Delilah. Hank didn’t like the way they were looking at her. He stood next to Delilah and looked back at them.
“Mr. Rivers,” Agent Cody said, looking right at Delilah. “These robberies are getting out of hand. My boss is riding us hard. You know it’s getting almost like it used to be—wanted dead or alive kind of situation. A bounty may be cast upon the heads of those who participate in this heathenish sort of behavior. That little hell cat, boondock saint of a leader of theirs, she’s public enemy number one on the big man’s list. She’s a bad outlaw. It’s of the utmost importance we uphold justice, and those backwoods criminals are caught. Next time, it might be him you speak to, not us.” He winked.
“That’ll be fine. Now, if you two don’t mind…” Hank nodded his head toward their vehicle. “If you need me, you have my number and where I can be reached.”
Agent Wyser paused on the step. “Can we reach you here?”
“No, I’m going back to Tupelo. If you need me, you can find me there. Or your boss can find me there.”
“Very well,” Agent Wyser said, moving along with the inquisition in tow.
“We’ll be in touch shortly,” Agent Cody said. He looked directly at Pepsi and smiled, the devil hiding in the grin.
“Oh, I’m betting on it,” Delilah muttered loud enough for them to hear.
Pepsi maneuvered herself between Hank and Delilah, a loaded hose poised in her hands. Freud was licking the driblets of warm water that ran down the swollen rubber; the pressure was ready to be expelled in a stinging rage of showers.
“Mmmhmm,” she said again, shaking her head. She sprayed the car as they disappeared down the driveway. “Yes, indeed!” She exclaimed in glee, pressing the trigger even harder. “Yes, indeed! It’s cleansing to the soul to clean the filth. Cleanliness is close to godliness, so the Good Book says.”
Pepsi and Delilah walked back inside after the car had gone. Pepsi wanted to be thankful, to celebrate cleaning the filth by baking sweets. Such a positive energy that nice lady excluded.
Hank went and sat back at the table. Freud rested at his feet, taking respite from the brutal heat, panting in intervals while his tongue flopped out lazily. Hank stared at the full glasses of tea they wouldn’t touch. His mind became as still as the truth waiting
for its chance to be set free. The truth, it was of a patient sort. Not like lies, eager and headstrong to be out in the world, causing destruction and misery, but burning as quickly as it tore in. Truth, no, it could wait, but once it was set free—it floated, retaining its value.
He leaned in closer, staring harder at the gold liquid, watching the sweetness float in little sugary fragments around specks of lemon, wondering how such a bad lie was believed by two skilled FBI agents. The lie about June-bug was told on purpose. And they ate it up, like pieces of an award-winning pie.
Something didn’t smell right. Yes indeed, something didn’t smell right at all. Hank took a deep breath. That ole stench of reeking southern politics was floating in the air.
Hank looked down and met the gentlemen dog’s honest eyes. Freud bayed and Hank knew he smelled it too.
Long before he ever did.
Pistol dialed the number and waited for an answer. It rang once, twice, and then she heard a breathy, “Hello, baby.” She could just imagine the big grin on the other side of the line. As mischievous as a sneaky ferret trying to steal cookies.
“Hey, baby,” Pistol answered back.
“What you doin’? Or should I say, who you doin’?”
Pistol laughed. “It’s what. I ain’t doin’ much, except thinkin’.”
“Woooo, I cain’t wait to hear this gossip.” Pistol could hear the phone pulling away. “No, I didn’t say tread politely, you nincompoop. I said, tread lightly. What do you take me for? A prim and proper? Sorry, Pis, people just don’t know how to listen anymore. What were you thinking about?”
“You remember those boys we went dancin’ with not too long ago?”
“Mmm…what were their names?”
“Billy and Mack.”
“Sure, now I remember. Idiots with small workin’s. Oh wait, that’s ninety percent of the male population. But I know whom you referring to. Oh, baby, take me higher, higher, make me float like a bee and pound like a jackhammer…or some manure along those lines.”
“Yeah, that’d be them. I’m a little disturbed by something. They been sniffin’ around Cotton Belle lately. That one, he never did anything for me. I didn’t even have time to roll my eyes before he jumped off thinking he was king. I think he might be wantin’ a second round or something. And then Big Daddy Slip goes and gets all jealous about it. He got all squirrely like. You know how he is. He threatened to call the nine-one-one and then dropped dead, right there.”
“Did he now?”
“He sure did. I’m a little worried about those two, though. They ain’t nothin’ but pocket players. They were checking out my new car real fine. You know how much that car means to me. I saved a long time for that vintage classic, and I’ll be damned if anyone tries to steal it. If they put one scratch on it…I just don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll go mad, that’s what.”
“They must’ve been stalking you something steady, baby, to even know you got a new car. You park it in the garage most of the time.”
“I should’ve never left the top down. They wouldn’t have even known it was me.”
“Why? Can you tell me?” There was a pause, a voice in the back going a mile a minute, denying any involvement in the question that was just presented without a just cause. “Figures. None of you can answer why.” A long breath whooshed across the receiver. “Just for once in my life, I’d like a man to be straight, you know? A man that can really give me what I need. I thought I had it once, but then I opened my eyes and realized I was giving it to myself. Just once, is it too much to ask for my eyes to roll behind my head? I guess what they always say is true, when you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.”
“Woo hoo,” they said in unison.
“Damn, Pis, you’re always getting us in compromising situations.”
“Just don’t let ’em tie your hands behind your back. That’s never any fun.”
“They’d have to catch me first.” Pistol could just sense the big grin on the other end of the line.
“Woo hoo,” they went again.
Then the call went dead.
Hank had had a long day. That night, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep. After a period of peaceful stillness, the vision came in a vivid way. In his dream, he was dueling with a bug crawling on his nose. He kept swatting it away, begging it to stop, just go away, dammit, but it wouldn’t. He fought with it for a while, but he kept losing. Having enough of the villain bug, he slapped himself so hard it drew him out of the battle with a start.
Hank opened his bleary eyes in a dazed rush, caught something fuzzy coming toward him, the thing going straight for his nose. When he looked up, Delilah stood over him, a fishing pole in her hand. She was wearing a light gold thermal and old cut-off overalls. The dull leather of the cowgirl boots on her feet caught the peeking light sneaking in from the hall. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun, and soft baby pieces were falling around her face.
“Get up, Hank. We’re going someplace special.”
“We are?” he croaked and scratched at his nose.
“Come own now, if we don’t get, we’ll miss our dinner.”
“Why are you talking so very country all of a sudden?”
“Hank & Delilah. I’m playing my part, baby.”
He really had to stop sleeping around her. “Where are we going?”
Delilah dangled the pole. “I’m taking you night fishin’.”
“Oh, Delilah, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Oh, Hank, whyever not?”
“I’m cursed. I truly am. I have what my friends call the equivalent of a black thumb, except it goes toward fishin’. They call it ‘Hank’s black hook.’ If you want fish for dinner, I’ll buy you some.”
“All right.” She took her pole and started moving toward the door. “I’ll see you in the mornin’. Night, Hank Rivers.”
“Wait!” Hank shot up. “Are you still going?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She grinned.
At least she had the decency not to laugh at him. “All right.” Hank stood up and went for his clothes. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
“Hurry up then, slow poke. Molasses won’t be moving up-hill forever, now will it?”
Hank met Delilah on the back porch. He had to walk past a rowdy bunch of women playing poker and drinking Blue Pabst beers out of cans first. The smell of beer and strong perfume wafted from his clothes when he closed the door behind him.
Delilah was sitting on the steps with Freud. Two fishing poles, a tackle box, a jug of sweet tea, and a small ice chest were leaning against the house next to her. When she heard Hank, she turned around and smiled.
“You ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.” Not really.
Hank grabbed the tackle box and ice chest. Delilah carried their poles and the tea. Freud ran ahead of them, compulsively sniffing as he went.
They walked quietly through the woods—well, Delilah was; Hank was crunching the ground as though his feet were heat to popcorn—as a buttery moon ran through the trees, using its path to touch everything with tender light. Magnolia trees were abundant, their buds in full bloom and lustrous white, glowing in the dark. Chinaberry trees were ripe with plumping heat, the fruits of all their labors just as buttery as the moon sharing its hypnotizing gleam.
Hank could smell deep scented gardenia and honeysuckle. It percolated through the air so thick and heavy, it smelled like it was stewing in a cast-iron pot.
As soon as their feet touched a field filled with overgrown grass, the moon seemed to claim the sky, blasting the night risers with energy and vigor. Crickets were singing, croaking bullfrogs were complaining. A slow, warm wind was blowing. Lightning bugs rose and fell like they were made of helium, in and out of the stalks of flourishing grass.
An owl fluttered in a tree nearby, a soft whoo whoo floating above them every so often. A deer flashed before them, galloping in a frenzy to get away from Freud, who
had suddenly become deathly still, using his paw to point in the fleeing animal’s direction. Delilah ticked her mouth and he was off again, running in the opposite direction.
Now that’s self-control.
It was Delilah’s turn to stop walking. She leaned over and collected a few of the golden honeysuckle flowers, saving them in her pocket with delicacy. The tiny florets were exceptionally crowded and fragrant here, the possible source of the delicious smell perfuming the earth with its tasty nectar. Hank took advantage of the foraging time to reverse his Memphis hat. In case she let him kiss her, it wouldn’t get in the way. After her pockets were full, they strolled on again.
Their pace was unhurried as they walked side-by-side, as slow as the night seemed to be moving. Molasses moved slow, no doubt, but so did butter, it seemed. Hank was thankful for that.
The moonlight showered Delilah, and Hank thought it looked like she was bathing in it. Damn, she had dynamite legs. He’d never seen them this bare, and they seemed silky soft. All of her seemed tender, but capable too.
“I just love nights like these,” Delilah said, her eyes dreamy and her tone matching. “I like moving slow like this. I like feeling like the night will never end. I think that’s what I love most about summer. It feels like it’ll go on forever. The days are stretched and the nights seem to go on and on. The warm air slows everything down. Time moves at a lazy pace. The world gets sleepy.”
The caress of her voice seemed to move over him, seep into his bloodstream with a fierce power, and he was starting to feel summer drunk. “Molasses time,” Hank said, grinning.
“Yes, molasses time. I like that. It feels just like that, doesn’t it? Dark, thick, leisurely moving, sweet and warm.”
Hank hated to do it, but he had to bring it up again. “Delilah, I’m just going to apologize ahead of time. I’m sorry we’re not going to catch anything.”
Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah Page 15
