Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah

by Welch, Annie Rose

  Little Sister pulled out a card from her pocket, so did mama, and they exchanged them.

  “Yeah, and look what his sister did to Paulie. That’s all right, though, the devil never sleeps, and neither do I.”

  Mama grabbed Little Sister’s arm and then stopped, looking at me. “Baby, why don’t you go out and pick some pretty flowers for mama to put in the vase. Be mindful of your pretty dress. Don’t get dirty. Go on now. We don’t have much time. And be sure to put your nice shoes on as soon as you come back in.”

  Little Sister stopped me at the door, kissing me on the cheek before I took off for the fields. I loved her too, and other than Uncle Paulie, I wanted to be her. She wouldn’t take shit or shinola from anybody. She was the only one not scared of the monster.

  I was mindful of every step, not wanting to get one speck of dirt on my dress. I stopped for a moment, in between the rows, and looked up at the sky. I could smell it coming. It was just a matter of time. The wind was moving. Heat lightning cracked across the sky, and storm clouds were gathering.

  I picked a few flowers of cotton, the soft feeling of the flower against my skin my favorite. The seedlings floated in the breeze like soft gossamer wings.

  I heard mama scream, “Go on, now! Go, Little Sister. Run! Get away from here!”

  I turned my head to look, but Little Sister was much too fast for me to see. I was hit from behind so hard the flowers flew out of my hands. I tried to turn over, but the weight on my back was too heavy. My face pressed into the dirt so deep that it covered my teeth, filled my mouth, and coated my tongue.

  Oh God, I wanted to beg, please, don’t get my dress dirty. Sweet Jesus, please keep my dress clean.

  I heard snickering, felt hands in my hair, pulling my face up. “What you going to do now, rag doll?”

  I looked through the cotton, keeping my vision straight to the street, and there it was, that big black Cadillac. He was going to take my mama away and drive off in that stretched funeral vehicle. I started to fight back a little harder, rocking, trying to get him off me. I tried to use my elbows, but sweet Jesus! He was as heavy as a sack of rotten potatoes. The pressure lightened just for a second, and I was able to turn over. The body moved with me, pinning me from the front. It was that devil’s helper, the smart one, Winston.

  He snickered, unzipped his pants. “Go ahead, make a fuss. I’ll only have my daddy kill yo’ mama.”

  I spit the mud at him and tried to fight back, but he held my arms. “Get off of me! You incest little ninny! Get off! Sweet Jesus, get him off of me!” I cried, and the storm clouds started to move in closer. The wind started to cry with me, and the fields were full of white drifts, blowing in the air.

  He put his hand under my dress. I felt like I was going to be sick on him. I turned my head and closed my eyes tight. God, I was so scared, so terrified of him. Then the weight lightened, stopped moving. I opened my eyes and he was passed out on the ground. I looked up. My big Shuger was there.

  She stared down at him. “You don’t touch her!” She pulled him by the collar. “Run home now, Delilah Mae. Run home! Before that mean ole devil comes looking for you! I’m going to leave him down a ways, by some fallen branches. Run!”

  I shot up like the lightning in the sky and started to run. My dress caught on a loose branch and tore from the bottom all the way to my thigh. I started to cry harder, the rain starting to fall heavier. It was ricocheting off my face. Blood and muck tainted my pure white dress. I was no longer perfect. I held on to my dress as I ran into the house, mud-soaked and torn up. My legs burned from the lashes on my flesh, all the struggling I did on the ground.

  The wind felt like it was knocked out of me when I saw him. All dressed in a black and white suit, leather suspenders stretched over his wide shoulders. Animal carcass wafted in the air from the hide. His black hair was brushed back perfectly, those terrifying eyes cutting me without touching me. His cigar burned and wafted. The expensive crystal on the table glowed red with the finest wine.

  The devil comes disguised as a beautiful man. I took a silent breath.

  He looked me up and down, shook his head. He took off his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up, wiping at his mouth lazily.

  “You’re all dirty, Delilah Law. Do I like you dirty?”

  I shook my head, my body twitching.

  “Speak, goddammit! What are you? A goddamn mute?”

  I couldn’t answer. I shook my head again. Or maybe my head shook me. Those words I locked away wouldn’t come forward. They were hiding in terror. The rain started to beat on the roof and leak inside the house. The porch door swung open and slammed shut, and I jumped out of my skin with fear. I wanted to crawl away, hide in the fields. He smirked at me and kept rubbing his mouth, that razor-sharp pinky ring of his glinting in the dimming of daylight.

  “Daddy, it’s true!” Woe screamed at the door. “Big Jack said to tell you it’s true! Uncle was with the whore! Booty said the other one has been taken care of too.”

  I backed up slowly as those eyes glowed like fire in the night. The porch door slapped shut again and Woe was running back toward the car. That mean ole devil grabbed me by my throat, and I couldn’t find my breath.

  I saw my mama coming for him, and when he felt her draw near, he threw me clear across the room, into the hall, right in front of my door. Then he slapped me in the scar he had already created, splitting it open again. That same old wound reopening, bleeding into my eyes, everything black streaked and burning.

  “Remember, Delilah!” Mama screamed before he grabbed her and started to hit her with that razor ring.

  I crawled into my room, my dress soaked with urine. I was the coward in the corner. I stuck my fingers in my ears and rocked myself. I rocked and heard Mama singing those songs. She loved those old Loretta Lynn songs, and I started to sing them, and then Elvis for Uncle Ham. I could still hear him, whipping her so hard. He sounded like a wild animal in the woods. The killin’ kind. But even animals don’t kill because it’s fun. Only the devil does that.

  Oh, sweet Jesus, take all my fears. I can’t be afraid anymore. If you have all my fears, what is there to be afraid of? The crying, the begging, it was getting louder. The tearing and the ripping, and I could smell the blood. Then he stopped. I could hear his footsteps. I counted them, one, two, three, four, five.

  He whispered, “Shh, listen here…shh, please forgive me, for I have committed a lot of sins, young woman. Don’t tell another soul…shh…Listen…take them all with you when you go. I killed…” whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper, whisper, like throwing dirt into a hollow grave until it filled up with sins and their weight buried you fifty feet under.

  A booming gunshot, and the whispers stopped cold.

  Get up off that damn floor. Pick yourself up off the damn floor. Fear is just another emotion.

  I picked myself up from the floor, took small steps toward the door. I could smell it, even stronger, the rich scent of rusty blood and fresh rain and old pinewood. My mama was lying on the floor, her face unrecognizable, in a pool of dark red blood. Her hands twitched, her body convulsed.

  He was gone.

  I ran past her, my red footprints following me step for step. I ran out onto the porch and jumped into a puddle of mud. I saw Little Sister, her pistol aiming for the black Cadillac. The droplets of water running down the hood bubbled like water in a scorching-hot cast-iron pan. I screamed for her and she turned her head—another gunshot, and she fell to the ground, the gun skidding from her hand.

  There’s one thing separating you and him, Little Sister, Pistol. Yes, you’re just like a pistol! One thing separating you and him—that’s you. You have the power to stop him. Fear is just another emotion. Happiness is more powerful than fear, remember that. Let nothing or no one control you. Do not fear death. If you have nothing to steal, he has nothing to take. Even if someone calls your name, never look away. You’re going to shoot without having to look. You’re going to do it in record time. You’
re going to be able to shoot a pill out of the sky.

  I bent down real slow and picked that gun up. I held it out with a trembling hand. I ran behind that black Cadillac, Woe and Winston, their faces staring back at me through the back window. Woe stuck me the finger and Winston licked his lips, laughing. I pointed it right at them. I pointed and I pulled that trigger. The recoil knocked me on my back, but I sat up. I pulled, and pulled, and pulled as the car screeched away. I would never hesitate to pull that trigger again when it came to them or my life. I would never hesitate if the people I loved were in trouble again.

  I could hear sirens now. I could hear people screaming from the house. I felt a gentle hand touch my shoulder and heard a voice tell me to put down the gun. It was Mr. Moses Shuger. He was blood-stained, and his eyes were sad. Police were dragging him away, because they said he killed her. Yeah, they were in on it too. The law. The reeking Pockets with blood money in their accounts. Nobody had killed her. She was just getting started. She was my extension.

  Listen here, Little Sister, Pistol. We don’t aim to miss; we aim to hit. There’s nothing wasted. No step, no words, no breath of air, no movement, do we understand? Time is not on your side. Use your intuition, use your guts, feel where they are, know where to aim.

  Be as quiet as a mouse, as ferocious as a leopard, forget your steps and just be. Never let anyone get their hand on your trigger, Pistol. Never, under any condition, do we let anyone put their fingers on our triggers. You are patient; you’re not out for revenge, you’re out for justice. Forget you’re walking; float toward them like those ghosts they make. Never let them see you coming. You have the element of surprise. There’s no hesitation. Hesitation only leads to wasted moments.

  Close your eyes. Do you hear that? Yes, sir. It’s a bird for eatin’, right there on the white picket fence. Shoot it, Pistol. Hot damn, you shot it. Do it again. Do it again. Two now, we’re going to shoot with two.

  I crept through those woods, quiet as a mouse, as ferocious as a leopard. I have no heart, I have no fear, the world fears me, not a damn thing in this world will ever make me a coward again. Quieter now. Damn, it got away. Try again. Keep trying again. Try something big at first, the size continuing to get smaller and smaller, until it became the size of that little ole boll weevil.

  I needed something that didn’t quit. That was ferocious and wouldn’t give up until one of us was dead. Footsteps even lighter. I’m the hunter, not the hunted. Ah, yes, here we go. That mean ole wild boar. Keep coming toward me, keep coming, keep grunting and charging…

  Now, Pistol, now! Not yet, just a little closer, a little closer. There, I pulled that trigger, right between the eyes. The beast let out one last grunt before it fell and slid right at my feet. Now, Pistol, we’re going to eat that hog. We only kill what we can eat. It’s the law of the land. You take care of it, it takes care of you. You are powerful, but there will be no senseless killing. You are more powerful than you should be. But it should be treated as a gift, not something owed. You take responsibility for everything you do. This is not a game. This is survival. Remember that.

  I would never forget. I would never be afraid again. I could control Pistol. I could control our destiny. I would never become a victim. Never again, never again. I would never hurt intentionally, but I would hunt for him. He’d never see me coming. He’d be afraid of me. He’d learn my name, and quick. He wasn’t a patient man. I was a very patient woman. Then he’d remember me. He would remember my family, those faces and loves he stole away. The ones he buried in nameless graves.

  I could still hear those whispers.

  Shh, listen here…shh, please forgive me, for I have committed a lot of sins, young woman. Don’t tell another soul…shh…Listen…take them all with you when you go. I killed…

  The wind swept them forward, crawling like boll weevils on my skin.

  He’d take every one of those secrets with him to the grave when he went. We’d bury him under them, under the house, in the bedroom walls, out there in the woods, on the street, plant him below the cotton fields…why do you think they grow so pretty? They’re filled with women he killed. Those secrets will tear him apart, limb by limb, shred by inhumane shred.

  I stared at the pauper’s shack, just like he had left it. Blood-stained, reeking of old ghosts, and decorated with chipped plates. I blew nails out, one by one, destroying every window and memory, and most of the good plates. I still needed a few for reminding.

  I hated those good plates for a very long time, until I had choices. Until I learned to love the chipped and the perfect ones. I loved them all because I had the choice to do so. It’s powerful to have plates, to have the freedom to say, chipped ones today, perfect ones tomorrow! I changed my mind; today it’ll be the perfect ones just for the fun of it. Oops, I dropped a good one. Now it’s chipped, and not a damn word will be said about it.

  Yes, I needed some reminding. Just a little reminiscing always does the trick.

  I vowed, I vowed, we vowed, to never let him get away with this again. He was going to be set on fire, go down in flames, meeting his maker with all those secrets…whisper, whisper, whisper. He was going to burn and smoke, becoming nothing but ashes in the wind. Whisper, whisper, whisper…

  All those whispers, blowing you away with the wind storm that’s coming for you, you mean ole devil. Little Sister, Pistollette, she never misses when she aims that gun, you see.

  You better see, and you better run for cover.

  Dylan sloshed through the mud sticking to his shoes like brown paste. Fast flying rain was falling in heavy sheets around him. He stopped for a moment and looked around. They had all gone mad.

  Tommy and Stroke were playing ring around the rosy, while Curly sat there pointing and laughing. Jesse was rolling around in the mud. Hank was busy going off the deep end in that old house. No one could stop him. They all tried, but he was reckless, like the storm coming down around them.

  Those women were around, eating hamburgers, drinking Southern Comfort and laughing. On more than one occasion, more than one of them shouted this was the best damn show they’d ever watched.

  Dylan heard gunshots and ducked, calling for Sergeant Pepper to follow him. He was still being assaulted by visions. By the make-believe cops and robbers shoot-out going on in the field. He used the white flowers to hide behind, to duck and return fire.

  He noticed a payphone by the church and ran toward it. He slipped in the mud once, but he didn’t go down. He hid behind the body of it, using it as a shield. Even though he was having visions, his right mind would flare up now and again, and he knew he had to get help for Hank.

  That house was hanging on by a beam. Any moment it was going to collapse. And he knew no one but Delilah could get him to stop. They hadn’t seen her yet. The entire reason they came to this hellhole in the first place.

  Dylan tried using his phone, but there was no service out here. Not surprising, given how far out in the boonies they were. He tapped his pockets, searching for Pepsi’s phone number. He wasn’t sure what he had done with it. She had given it to him just in case something like this would occur. Dylan laughed to himself, not really knowing why, as he patted himself down. Whatever was in that root beer might be frightening because of the visions being purged straight from their own hell, but it was also calming. It was like they were beating all those demons, and they were winning and freeing themselves at the same time.

  He heard more gunshots and ducked in between the wings of the phone booth. There, written in graffiti on the clear part, was Pepsi’s name. Directly underneath was her phone number and it said: Call Pepsi if you need some good Shuger. The Lord does bless us with small miracles sometimes, Dylan thought. He got the operator on the line and had her connect him to Pepsi.

  “Oh, Pepsi Shuger, is that you?” Dylan looked around to make sure the robbers were halting their fire. All was clear. “It’s me, Dylan Cotton. It’s so damn good to hear your voice on the line.”

  “What is it, tha
nk sweet Jesus for Pepsi week? All you boys are coming too late in life for me. I know they say you never too old, but Lord, I done feel it. Everything all right over there, Cotton?”

  “Well, I don’t rightly know, ma’am. Hold on a sec.” Dylan was suddenly hearing gunfire, and Sgt. Pepper was pulling him by the sleeve. “CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! There’s a lady on the line. Pepsi? You still there? Oh, thank God. We have a lot going on over here. We got robbed and those bad boys started firing on us. Sgt. Pepper and I are holding them back until more help arrives. All we have is regular civilians around here, so they can’t be counted on for help. But listen, besides that, I need you to get in touch with Delilah.”

  Pepsi sighed. “Lord have mercy, ya’ll done lost your minds. Delilah ain’t there?”

  “We drank some rotten, but very smooth, root beer. No, she ain’t here. We haven’t seen her since we arrived, and Hank…well, Hank is having a blow out in one of those old houses around here. It looks pretty beat down, like someone shot it up real good. It seems to be leaning—” Dylan paused when he saw plates go flying out the window. “And there are flying saucers coming out the windows now.”

  “Maybe it’s time that old place goes down. It’s nothing but blood and memories. Blood and memories.”

  “Sure, that’d be great. But I’d rather Hank be outside of it before it collapses. He’s my best friend and he’s a good man, Pepsi. He doesn’t deserve to be buried in there with the rest of the blood and memories. She’s the only one who can stop him.”

  “Are ya’ll there alone, baby?”

  “No, ma’am, those cackling sisters of hers are here with us. They’re getting drunk and enjoying the picture show. They’re kinda mean, aren’t they?”

  “I suppose. They’ve just been through a lot. All of them. They really don’t mean any harm.”

  “What happened to them, Pepsi? CEASE FIRE!” Damn, Dylan thought, a man just couldn’t catch a break around these parts. He wished he had some more root beer. Uh oh, there went more flying saucers. Were the aliens invading?