Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah Read Free Page A

this,” Curly whispered so low, I hardly heard him.
    I stood next to him. We watched as the two men continued to argue. This time, Booty pushed the guy. I grabbed the camera I had just loaded and stuck it between the bushes and clicked the button.
    “What are you doing?” Jesse rasped-whispered. “What in the hell are you doing!” he said again, this time more panicked.
    I waved my hand behind me. “Quiet.”
    Booty pushed the man again. The man shook his head and started walking toward our tree.
    “Oh shit!” Curly said.
    I threw my hand over his mouth and shook my head.
    “Oh—” Jesse let out a long wheeze “—shit, what?” he barely got out.
    I narrowed my eyes at him, putting my pointer finger to my mouth. I continued to watch the man walk toward us, constantly pulling on his cigarette, cherry still glowing like a damn fire. When he was just a few feet away, he stopped and turned his back to us. He kept his front to Booty. Jesse’s daddy was right, people were afraid he was going to kick them in the ass. I kept the camera steady.
    “You didn’t do what I asked,” Booty said, gritting his teeth, spitting from the side of his mouth.
    “If you want to check the damn tree, you check it yourself. I checked it earlier. There was nothing there! Nothing, it’s just a tree!” The man took another long drag. He blew the smoke and I could see it rising, smell it filling my nostrils.
    Booty pulled a gun from his pocket. The man lifted his hands. I pressed my finger down. Booty pulled the trigger. The camera clicked. The loud gunfire shocked Jesse so bad a huge wheeze erupted from his mouth, almost like a belch. He started to panic, pacing the floor and gasping for breathes. He was unzipping his Presley pack, searching frantically. His miracle pills and the syringe with the clear liquid went falling to the floor.
    “Where—” he wheezed out a long one “—is my sys—” another long wheeze “—tem!”
    I grabbed Curly by the shirt—he was glued to the window like someone pasted him there—and whispered in his ear, “Take Jesse into the closet and don’t come out. No matter what, you hear me!”
    “I’m too young to die,” Jesse was whisper-rasping over and over.
    Curly grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him in to the closet. After I made sure that the door was lined with the rest of the creases in the wood, I went back over to the window. Booty was standing over the man. He was lying on the ground, a big black spot on the front of his shirt right where his heart would be. A gurgling sound rose up from him, the sound of it drifting like the smoke, and then it stopped.
    Booty stood over him for another few minutes. Then he looked up, right at me. I stood perfectly still because I didn’t know if he could see me or not. After he stared long and hard he started walking back toward the direction he came from. I took the camera out and clicked —he stopped dead in his tracks.
    Fat Squirrel was running along the tree branches. I could hear his scurrying. This must have derailed him because he continued to walk until he reached the spot he was at before. He rested his back against a tree, just fiddling with his gun. After he was done he stuck it back in his pocket.
    I stood deathly still, afraid one noise might tip him off. But my hands were shaking so bad, the camera was bouncing up and down like it was on a trampoline full of rowdy kids.
    I don’t remember how much time had passed. When you’re afraid, time goes by painfully slow. Like someone has smashed the watch of the timekeeper and he’s busying trying to put it back together while you suffer. I heard more rustling, and when I narrowed my eyes and got a good look, it was another man. Judge Pilgrim. They shook hands.
    God Almighty, he was in on it too!
    No, no, wait, he wasn’t.
    They were starting to argue. I heard a thump against the hidden closet door. Jesse must’ve passed out. Good, he was better off. I just hoped he hadn’t died from the