Family Thang

“He ran, Sheriff. Ran! Up one side of the church and down the other, with a big, goofy nut chasing him. I was shocked more than anyone. Hell, I was mortified. A dead dog in a three-piece suit flying in the air, landing in my lap. A beast grabbed the microphone and put me in a headlock. You ask me, I’m the one who deserves an apology.”

Sheriff Bledsoe pulled into the driveway of a three-story antebellum. The front yard adorned with ceramics: two lions guarded the front walk; a donkey pulled a red wagon carrying a small man wearing an oversized sombrero; a large elephant sprouted water from its trunk into a small pond. Near the porch a white jockey offered a ring.

“Here ya go, Reverend, home sweet home.”

“No, Sheriff, take me to jail. I’ve been gone three days—she’ll kill me if she sees me like this. One night is all I’m asking.”

“I’m sorry, Reverend.” He got out and opened the rear door. Reverend Walker crossed his arms and stared at his lap. “Come on, Reverend. A good night sleep and tomorrow everything won’t look so bad.”

“It’ll be worse tomorrow. Monday. My wife doesn’t work Mondays. I don’t know the whereabouts of my car and I’ll be stuck here with her. You know what I’ll be thinking when she rants and raves how big a fool I am?”

Sheriff Bledsoe gently took hold of his shoulder. “Come on, Reverend. Tell me as we go inside.”

“Three words, Sheriff. Kenny Damned G!”

“Who? The dog?”

“A dead dog,” shaking his head. “I lost everything because of a damn stanky dead dog.”

Sheriff Bledsoe released his shoulder. “All this time you’ve been rambling about Larry Harris’ dog?”

Reverend Walker gave him a look asking, “Where the hell have you been?”

Sheriff Bledsoe looked at the house. A gold ornamental light fixture glowed above the door and only one of the second-story rooms cast a light. No one had stuck their head out to see what was going on.

“Reverend, you sure you wanna sleep at the jail tonight?”

“I sure do.”

Getting behind the wheel: “Well, tonight you’re my guest. You can sleep in as long as you like. I won’t bother you. I probably won’t even be there. Only one thing I’m requesting. I need you to tell me again about the beast and the flying dog. This time I need all the details.”

“I’d be glad to oblige. My mind, however, is a little fuzzy now. You think we could stop and pick up another bottle? I’ll buy. A little something to knock the cobwebs off my memory.”

Sheriff Bledsoe backed out of the driveway. “I had a feeling you would say that.”

* * *

“Say it like you mean it!” she told Eric. “You’re playing games. I don’t have time for games,” jerking his head back, popping something in his neck. “Say it like you mean it!”

“Ruth Ann,” he shouted with all the passion he could muster. “Help me!”

“I have a gun,” Ruth Ann shouted back. “I know how to use it, too!”

She stepped in front of Eric and fired three shots over the cabin. On the third shot, Eric stood up and started hopping as fast as he could… fell down, somehow got up, and continued hopping.

The bondage around his legs loosened a bit and he ran… hopped… ran… hopped… ran…

“Get back here!” she said, and he worried a bullet in the back. He kept going… tried to run only, tripped and stumbled head over end down an incline. At the bottom he couldn’t get back to his feet. How did I do it the first time?

Footsteps… leaves crunching. He froze. Crunch crunch crunch crunch… coming closer and closer… and closer. And then—another epiphany!—the crunching kept going, right past him, farther away.

He tried again to get to his feet… couldn’t. He would have to wait, and hopefully soon the police would come. So he lay there on his side, arms numb, right hand throbbing, face scratched and smarting, heart racing, and waited…

…and waited, for what seemed like hours. He heard leaves crunching. She’s coming back! He held his breath. Once again she passed right by him, the crunching continuing up the incline.

Damn this! He had to move. After kicking the restraint off one leg, he leaned on his right shoulder and painfully scraped his face along the ground toward his knees, and sat up, his bottom resting on his ankles.

He pushed up, swung one leg in front, staggered up on it and stood up. Thank you, Jesus! The crunching noise started again… from down the hill, coming toward him. How? It had to be someone else.

“Help! Help me! Help me!”

A figure ran to him and clutched his throat.

“Were you expecting someone else?” she said. “A savior? Huh?” He started choking; she released him. “Do you want to die?”

Eric caught his breath before saying, “No!”

“Then get back up there and get Ruth Ann to come out.”

“I tried! I tried the best I could. Maybe you should go in there and get her yourself.”

“Maybe I should shoot you and let you die out here. What you think about those apples, whore?”

“I think I can get her to come out this time.”

“You’ve got five minutes to convince her to come out. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you instead.”

“Why you doing this to me? Why? I never did anything to you. I know I owe you ten dollars—can’t pay it till I get it.”

She pushed him. “Move!”

“Tell the truth, wasn’t I always nice to you? I treated you with respect.”

She whacked the back of his head and he fell to the ground.

“Ohhhhh! You bust my head! Is it bleeding?” She hadn’t really hit him that hard. He was playing for sympathy.

“Get up!”

“Ohhhhh! My head! I can’t see! Hannity! Hannity, is it you? Ohhhhh!” Maybe the nut role might work. “Hannity, you’ve gone stale, bro—same shit every day!” He was in the middle of another “Ohhhh!” when steel kissed his tonsils.

“Get up and shut up!”

Immediately all pain ceased, and she didn’t have to worry about him saying anything. How could he with four inches of gun barrel shoved into his mouth.

“Keep jerking me,” she said, “I’ll shoot in your mouth. You don’t want me to ejaculate prematurely, do you?”

“I sheer daunt!”

She yanked the gun out. He spat to rid the bloody-metallic taste.

She led him near the same spot as before.

“Five minutes, whore! You call her and tell her to get her butt out here.”

Chapter 40

Ruth Ann closed her eyes and braced herself. Death had entered the cabin, with her name on its lips. “Ruth Ann?” the intruder repeated.

“Grab him!” Leonard shouted. Ruth Ann heard footsteps shuffling across the floor… poundings, someone saying oomph… more poundings, grunting and groaning.

“I got him,” Shirley said. “Ow! Hold up! Leonard, is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Stop hitting him. I got him in a headlock. Check his pockets for a weapon. Hurry up!”

Ruth Ann opened her eyes and tried to distinguish the milieu, but it was too dark. “You got him,