I don't want ya saddled with my dirty deeds for the rest a your life. Promise me . . . “ he took a deep, raspy breath.
“ . . . find the ev'dence John Hobb hid, and promise me you'll destroy it.”
“ I promise, Papa,” the young man said as a sob escaped from his throat.
The Jig Is Up
fumeer: adverb \fum-eer\ from here
Where do we go fumeer?
[ March 9, 1932 ]
“Yeehaw boys! We done it,” Rod in the backseat hollered, waving his cowboy hat in the air.
“ Pipe down, will ya?” said the driver.
“ I’ll pipe down if you’ll slow down.”
“ Both a you knock it off, ya bunch a numbskulls. Yeah, we did it. We done pulled it off. Now we gotta git while the gittin’s good. We need to dump this old heap a junk and find us a new one to take us far and wide, boys.”
“ Where do we go fumeer?” asked Rod.
“ After we finds us a new ride, we need to split up fer a few days. Lay low. Don’t do nuthin’ s’picious. And YOU . . . “ the front passenger, Brick, turned to Rod behind him. “Don’t be drinkin’ none. You get stupid when you’s drunk.”
“ Yeah, well, I’m dry as dirt,” said Rod. “’Sides, I still say we shoulda oughta taken care a the Hunter boy, ‘stead a turnin’ him a loose on Main.”
“ Yer such an ornery old cuss. Hunter won’t talk. We got him jest where we wont ‘im,” Junior said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“ Yeah, but we gotta give him some a the take,” whined Rod.
“ Not nessarily. Whas he gonna do—go to the PO-leece?” sneered the driver, Junior Wells. “He’s in deep as we are.”
“ We give him his cut. We don’t need no more trubba,” Brick said flatly.
The other two men kept arguing, and it wasn’t long before Brick had had enough. He snapped, “What in tarnation are you knuckle-heads jibber jawin’ ‘bout? You two nitwits shut yer pie holes. Y’all sound like a bunch of old biddies.” Brick stared out the window.
“ Hey. Genius, looka thar,” Brick said, pointing. “Look over yonder at that Oldsie. Pull over.”
“ Whatta you thinkin’ Brick?’
“ Whatta you think I’m thinkin’? Ah swear, if yer brains were dynamite, you couldn’t blow your nose.” He shook his head. “I don’t rightly know fer sure if our car was spotted, but I ain’t a gonna chance it.”
“ Have you lost all of your mind? We can’t just walk up and take that car,” cried Rod.
“ Why not?” Junior asked.
“ Somebody’s bound to see us, that’s why not.”
“ Then we wait,” said Brick. “We sit and watch the house, if’n nobody’s around after an hour or so, we hep ourselves to that there Oldsmobile.”
An hour later, Brick pushed on Rod’s arm to wake him. “Hey Roddy. Wake up, ya old slug.” Rod’s head bobbled, and his eyes opened halfway. Brick snapped his fingers two-inches in front of Rod’s face.
“ Gad night a livin'. Would you get offa my back.” Rod squinted as he woke up, and pushed Brick’s hand away from his face.
“ Roddy, listen up—you sidle up over thar and get that car. We’ll gwon up the road a fer piece and you come pick us up. We’ll leave this heap on the side a the road.”
“ How come I gotta do it?”
“ ’Cause this is yer first rodeo.”
Stealing the car wasn’t a problem since the keys were already in it. Nobody in the country bothered with taking the keys inside the house. Rod started it up and drove two miles and picked up the other two men. He dropped Brick off in Flat Rock and Junior in Greasy Creek. Then he drove on to get lost in the big city. He was going to have a vacation. He figured he’d earned it.
[ June 2010 ]
The man had cold eyes. He looked out of his office window at the hustle and bustle of downtown Goose Pimple Junction, lost in thought. He wasn’t sure if he had a problem brewing or not, but he was intent on finding out. The evidence was in that house. He was sure of it. This was the second time the sale of that