“Paying our respects to Uncle Harvey,” Jim Bob said.
“This time of night?” the voice asked.
“It’s the time of night we get the most sentimental,” Jim Bob said. “What about you boys, you out here for a little batting practice?”
“You might say that,” the voice said.
“That’s kind of what I figured,” Jim Bob said. “Don’t reckon you boys would listen to reason?”
“Sort of doubt it,” the voice said.
“Yeah, well, remember, I gave you your chance.”
One of the men laughed, then they all came toward us and started through the gate.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“Simple,” Russel whispered to me, “first asshole within range, you see if you can crease his head with that shovel.”
“It could kill him,” I said.
“Let’s hope so,” Russel said. “Those bats won’t do us much good, I can promise you that.”
“Is there any good reason for this?” Jim Bob asked. “I mean, what have we done to you boys?”
“Not a thing,” the speaker said, and then he rushed Jim Bob with the bat.
Jim Bob was standing slightly in front of us, and he dropped the flashlight and turned in the direction of the grave, I thought to take the blow on his back, but he kept going down and he spun and his leg shot out and caught the first man on the ankle and knocked his feet out from under him and the man hit the ground and the bat went up and fell down heavy end first and struck him between the eyes and the man yelled.
Jim Bob was on his feet then, and the second man was nearly on him and the bat was coming down. Jim Bob went straight to the man and ducked under the bat and the bat waved uselessly over Jim Bob’s shoulder and Jim Bob grabbed the man’s throat with one hand and uppercut him in the balls with the other, then he twisted his hip into him, slipped an arm around his waist, bent, and sent the man flying. Jim Bob didn’t even lose his hat.
Russel stepped forward and faked a shovel blow to the third man’s head and the man brought the bat up to block and Russel dropped the shovel low and hit him in the kneecap. The man barked and went down.
The last man made a run for the trucks. He was nearly in the middle of the road when the Red Bitch came barreling down on him and the lights came on, then the Bitch braked, but the car still hit him and sent him over the hood. He rolled up against the windshield and flipped over on the driver’s side. He tried to stand, I guess, because the door came open, and at the same instant the inside light framed Ann, the door made impact with the man hard enough to make my testicles pull up.
The men from the pickups were down and I hadn’t done anything but hold a shovel.
The man Jim Bob had thrown was trying to get up, so I looped my shovel over casually, not putting much force behind it, and let it come down on his head. It made a nice, comforting ring on contact.
“See you’re still messing with that Jap stuff,” Russel said to Jim Bob.
“Korean. Hapkido. Hey, Dane, that wife of yours. She ain’t got a sister at home, does she?”
23
I went around and threatened the others with my shovel and told them to lie down with their hands out in front of them, which they did. The one Russel hit in the kneecap was yelling his leg was broke, and the one Jim Bob swept the feet out from under was complaining of his ankle. You would have figured they thought we were the Red Cross.
The one I hit with the shovel wasn’t saying anything. He was out cold. And so was the one Ann popped with the Caddy door. She was standing outside the car now, leaning on the open door, looking over the roof at us. She waved at me and I waved back. It was all very pleasant.
“Sorry we had to whip the shit out of you,” Jim Bob said to the moaners on the ground, “but we didn’t have much choice. We’re gonna leave now, but first, just to clear up a little mystery, just what are you fellas doing here?”
Neither answered.
Jim Bob went over and kicked the man with the kneecap injury in the hurt leg and the man howled like a wolf. “Now let me rephrase that in exactly the same goddamn way. What you doing here?”
“A man hired us to come out here and see if anyone was messing in the graveyard,” Kneecap Injury said. “He said if there was someone, we should beat them up good. He paid us.”
“What did he look like?” I asked.
“Tall, good-looking guy. Like a cigarette or clothes commercial or something,” Knee Injury said. “Had on a suit. Not the kind you get at J. C. Penney’s.”
“Where’d this fella find you boys?” Jim Bob asked.
“ A ‘t onk outside of town called the Wagon Wheel,” Knee Injury said. “Come on man, give me some peace. I’m hurting.”
Jim Bob walked around him and kicked him in the other leg, then walked over and kicked the other guy in his good ankle. “That’ll help balance the pain. Next time you come to fuck with me, sweeties, you better bring your daddies. You goddamn boys ain’t worth a fuck.”
They lay on the ground and moaned.
“Tell you now,” Jim Bob said, “we’re gonna be going, and I’d like y’all to lay right where you are, else I’m gonna feed those ball bats to you. Got me?”
A couple of nods.
“Y’all have a nice night,” Jim Bob said, “and since this rain is sort of clearing up, if you’ll watch right over there, when that cloud cover clears, you ought to be able to see the Big Dipper.”
When we got over to the car, I went around and looked at the man Ann whopped with the door. He was groaning and starting to get his hands under him so he could get up. I took hold of the door and jerked it forward again and popped him in the head. This just wasn’t his night. He went out like a light. I was beginning to feel a little savage, though I didn’t have any right. So far, all I had done was pop two guys in the head who were already down and threaten a couple who were injured. I was some tough guy.
“Is everything okay?” Ann asked. “They aren’t going to die or anything are they?”
“You done good,” Jim Bob said to Ann, “and they’re all okay. Fellas over there think their legs are broke, and they might be right, but it’s better than what I’d like to do to them.”
Ann looked down at the man she hit with the car. “Did you see him fly through the air?”
“With the greatest of ease,” Russel said.
Jim Bob took the keys from Ann and went around and opened the trunk and put the shovels and the tools in it. He slid back a part of the trunk bottom, reached inside and took out a double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun.
“You’re not gonna finish them, are you?” I asked.
He laughed at me, walked over to one of the pickups and shot the front tires out. He broke open the stock of the shotgun, rolled out two more shells, reloaded, went over to the other truck and did the same.
Turning toward the graveyard, he yelled out to the guys, “They were damn near bald anyway.”
He put the shotgun back in the trunk and we got in the Red Bitch and Jim Bob put the pedal to the metal and we were gone.
· · ·
When we got back to the Holiday Inn we went up to Jim Bob’s room. He took off his shirt, which had been torn somehow in the fight, and started to put on another. Ann said, “Is that a chicken tattooed on your chest?”
“Chicken?” Jim Bob said. “It’s an eagle.”
“It looks like a chicken,” Ann said.
We all leaned forward. It did look like a chicken.
Russel said, “I’ve always thought it looked like a chicken.”
“I was drunk when it was done, but I didn’t ask for no chicken. It’s just faded some is all.”
“It wasn’t faded when I first saw it,” Russel said, “and I thought it looked like a chicken then.”
“To hell with the chicken,” I said. “Price set us up tonight. The description that guy gave was Price. He went
