A Thanksgiving to remember

He pulled off the road and into the gas station. There were some good ol’ boys sitting around the picnic table. He asked for directions. The good ol’ boys decided to have a little fun … at the stranger’s expense of course.

They told him the place he wanted was down that road yonder a piece, turn right at the church, ya can’t miss it, and go a little piece, it was on the right.

He thanked them and started for his car.

“That’s five dollars,” the good ol’ boy said.

“Really.” he said.

“Yup, five dollars.”

He reached in his pocket and took out some coins, he found two pennies.

“Nah, don’t think ya understand,” the good ol’ boy said, “that’s five dollars. Looks like you have trouble countin,’ so let me help you. There are three of us.”

He looked at each one in turn.

“Better get three more.” He heard the crunch of tires on the gravel.

The good ol’ boy smiled.

“Mornin’ Deputy,” he called to the man who got out of the car.

“Blackie, Sandy, Whitey,” he called each.

“Like I said, that’s five dollars.”

“That makes four, you still need two more.” He said.

“He owes me five dollars, Deputy,” the good ol’ boy said.

“I’m the law around here,” the voice said from behind him.

“Blackie says you owe him five dollars, pay him.”

“I’m not from around here,” he said.

“The law is the law,” the voice said.

“Different places, different laws,” he said.

“Put your hands on the table, boy,” and the Deputy pushed him in his back.

“Put that hand on me again and you won’t get it back,” he said.

The man behind him pushed him again. He turned around. As he turned, he pulled his knife, the blade opened on its way to the man’s hand. The blade sliced through the man’s fingers. The severed digits fell onto the gravel.

He turned back to the three men at the picnic table.

Blackie’s mouth was open. Sandy and Whitey sat frozen.

He took the two pennies and slapped them on the table.

“Square.” He said.

Blackie nodded once.

He started for his car … again.

The man laying on the ground tried to take his gun from its holster. It was difficult. The holster was high up on the man’s right hip. Since he was missing a few fingers on his right hand, he was trying to use his left.

“I told you. I am not from around here.” He said as he walked past the Deputy.

“Don’t care! You are under arrest!”

“No, don’t think I am.” He said as kept walking towards his car.

“What? Why you think that?”

“Because I am the law wherever I am.” He said.

“Blackie! Sandy! Whitey! Grab that son-of-a-bitch!” The Deputy yelled at the three men.

“Better get three more.” He said without turning his head.

He backed out and took that road, yonder a piece, turned right at the church, ya can’t miss it and go a little piece.

There was nothing except a vast open field of something. Some farm stuff. Crops.

He turned around.

He pulled off the road and into the gas station … again. The three good ol’ boys had helped the Deputy to the table and had a handkerchief wrapped around his hand.

He walked to the table.

“You lied.” He said.

“Why, shit, Mister. We was just havin’ some fun.”

“I didn’t.” He said.

“I’ll ask you again. This time, you had better not lie to me.”

“The Glasgow’s place is almost 5 miles down that road from the church. The Miller’s house is on the left, say three miles down the road and then the Chapman’s place is on the right. The house you want is after that on the right. It’s the third house -- the last house on the right.” Blackie said.

He had heard the tires crunch on the gravel while Blackie was telling his story. He heard the two doors open. He heard boots hit the gravel. He heard the man on the passenger side pump the shot gun. He heard the man on the driver’s side say, “Put your hands on the table!”

Blackie smiled.

“That … makes six,” he said to Blackie.

The smile faded from Blackie’s face.

“I said -- put your hands on the table!” The man on the driver’s side yelled.

He did the threat assessment. Deputy’s gun in holster. Three shit birds. There was no threat from the men in front of him.

Behind him. Two men, one armed with a shotgun. The other had spoken in a tone that said he was accustomed to people following his orders. He probably hadn’t drawn a weapon. Yet.

He turned around. As he turned, he pulled his knife, the blade opening. He stepped to his right, towards the driver’s side of the car. The man with the shotgun turned to follow him. His left arm went inside the car, forcing the barrel of the shotgun down. If he pulled the trigger, it would still have been a good shot. Some or even most of the buckshot could have hit him. But he knew, the man wouldn’t fire. He knew that he would wait for the other man to give-the-order.

He took one more step and stuck his knife into the throat of the man on the driver’s side. He angled the thrust up.

He let go of the knife and dropped his hand to the man’s holster, unsnapped it and drew the big Colt Python .357 Magnum from the holster. He thumbed back the hammer and fired into the other man’s head, just under his left ear. He thumbed the hammer again and tracked left to the Deputy, he fired. Hit center mass. The next three shot were the same.

He tossed the revolver onto the car seat, turned the man around and pulled his knife out of his throat. He wiped the blood off on the man’s shirt.

He drove almost 5 miles down the road from the church. He passed a house on the left, then another on the right. He pulled onto a path leading to the next house on the right. The last house.

He got out and walked around the house. He walked to an outbuilding and walked around it. Then he walked back to the front of the house. He walked to the potted plant on the front porch. He pulled the plant out of the pot, shook the root ball and a small plastic bag fell out of the potting soil. He opened the bag and fished the keys out of the grass in the bag.

He smiled. His brother’s sense of humor. He had said he would put the keys in the pot plant on the front porch. He unlocked the door and went inside. He was in the living room. The kitchen was out of sight to the right. He looked in; a table, four chairs, refrigerator, cabinets, sink, a window and a door that faced the outbuilding. He turned and walked through the living room to the hallway that separated two bedrooms and a bathroom on the back of the house from the master bedroom with a bathroom on the front of the house. The house was fully furnished. In fact, nothing had been removed from the house, except anything that looked like food. At least that is what his brother had told him.

He went through the kitchen and outside to the outbuilding. He unlocked the door and turned on the light switch. A single two lamp four-foot florescent lamp lit up. One tube was out. The gray Pontiac Parisienne was there. A work bench, tools and various cans and boxes. He flipped on the light switch on the wall beside the work bench. To the right side of the work bench was a couple dozen plant pots. Above them was suspended a grow-lamp or at least that was what his brother had told him. The plants had died. The lamp was unplugged. He walked to the front of the building and unlocked the doors. He pushed them open. The afternoon sun streamed in. He stepped out and looked back towards the church five miles away. He saw nothing. It would be dark in an hour or so. He locked the outbuilding and went back into the house. He searched the kitchen cabinets. He looked in the refrigerator. As his brother had told him. Empty. No food in the house.

He stood on the front porch. He stretched, lit a cigarette and looked at the sky. He thought, shit, those are pretty colors. If you like that sort of thing. He was a night person.

He was trying to make his mind up. He was hungry. And he was tired. The last time he had eaten was somewhere over Canada, he thought. He had left over twenty-five hours ago.

He decided he go to town. He had seen a diner on his way through earlier. He also decided that he would drive the land-yacht. He went to the outbuilding and opened the doors, swung them open and started the Pontiac. He had always liked this car. He pulled it out into the front yard. Then he put the rental car into the building and locked it up.

He drove to the church and turned left. Yonder a piece on the left was the gas station. There were several cars and a couple of vans. An ambulance, a coroner’s meat wagon, two more cop cars and two other cars.

He pulled in, up to the gas pumps. He got out and took the hose from the pump. One of the cops yelled.

“Are you stupid or what?” the cop said.

He looked at the cop.

“Can’t you see this is a crime scene?” The cop said.

“And it’s a gas station. You do the crime, I’ll do the gas,” he said. He turned his back to the cop and placed the nozzle into the filler for the tank.

The cop put his hand on his shoulder and pushed. The Old Man didn’t move.

“Put that hand on me again and you won’t get it back,” he said.

The cop stepped back. His hand hovered over his holstered pistol. The other cop saw the movement and hurried over.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

“He threatened me!” The first cop said.

“What?” the other cop said.

“Yeah, I told him that this is a crime scene and he threatened me,” the first cop said.

“Sir, what do you have to say?” The second cop asked.

“He put his hand on me. I told him if he did it again, he wouldn’t get it back.”

“So, you did threaten him!” The second cop said.

“I think of it as giving a man a fair warning. He behaves, no problem. If he misbehaves …” The Old Man left it hanging there. He finished putting in the gas and hung up the hose.

“If you two want to take it as a threat, that’s your business. Feel threatened. But I’m giving you the same warning as I gave him. Now get out of my way so I can go pay for my gas.” The Old Man said.

The two cops turned slightly as he walked past them to the store. At the counter, he paid for the gas and chatted with the woman, then he walked back to his car. The two cops were standing there waiting for him.

“Before you tell me that I am under arrest, I figured you two would talk this over, and you should be back at your crime scene, but since you are still here, it is obvious that you decided to do the stupid thing. I told Aunt Nancy that you two were going to do this. She is videoing us right now.”

The two cops looked at the store. The woman held her phone up and it was apparent she was watching through its camera.

“Now you are thinking, there’s nine eye witnesses standing right over there. But they aren’t paying us any attention-but Aunt Nancy is taping this.”

“But … we’re the law,” the first cop said, “and you threatened me. You threatened both of us.”

“I warned you. I warned both of you. Now, smile and wave to Aunt Nancy and get back to your crime scene while you still can.”

“Are you threatening us, again?” The first cop said.

He smiled, turned and waved to Aunt Nancy. He turned back.

“I’m tired and hungry. The car needed gas. I bought gas. I did not come here to get into a pissing contest with you two. Leave me the fuck alone or wish you had. Now, get the fuck away from me.”

The second cop said, “You are under arrest!”

“Don’t!” said The Old Man.

The first cop tried to draw his pistol. The Old Man clamped down on his hand and held it to the holster. The second cop stepped back. The Old Man repeated, “Don’t!”

The second cop tried to draw his pistol. The Old Man hit him with the heel of his hand just under this chin. The cop’s head flew back, his eyes closed, and he fell.

“You! … stupid-son-of-a-bitch!” The Old Man yelled at the first cop. He took his pistol away and stuck it in the waist of his jeans.

“Help him up!” He ordered. He took the other pistol and held it.

He looked at the people over at the crime scene. They were all watching him. He turned, smiled and waved to Aunt Nancy again. She came out of the store and told the people at the crime scene, “Its okay, he’s a federal marshal.” She waved to The Old Man.

He nodded to the people at the crime scene. A couple of them nodded back.

The first cop said, “Shit! Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because you are a fuckin’ douche bag. Now, I am charging you with assaulting a federal marshal, and interfering with a federal investigation and anything else the US Federal Marshal can come up with. Since it is on video, I win … you lose. That’s minimum 25 years for assaulting a Fed.”

“But I didn’t know.” The first cop said.

“Tough shit you – you arrogant fuck!”

“Hey! How about you guys taking a look at this man?” The Old Man called out to the people at the crime scene. The ambulance team came over and checked out the second cop.

“He’ll be fine.”  They assured him.

“Thanks,” The Old Man said.

“Cuff him and put him your car.” The Old Man told the first cop.

“I can’t do that.” The first cop said.

“Cuff him and put him your car or I’ll put your body in the trunk and then cuff him and put him in your car.”

The Old man sat in the back of the cop’s car on the passenger side, the second cop beside him, the first cop drove.

Fuck! The Old Man thought. What am I going to do with these two local dip-shits? His stomach growled.

“Go to the diner.” He told the driver.

“Which one?” He asked.

He slapped him on his head. “THE diner … you fuckin’ asshole.”

The cop pulled into the diner.

“Help him out.” The Old Man ordered. “Take the cuffs off of him.”

They sat in a booth. The two cops together on one bench, The Old Man on the other.

The waitress came over, “Evening Jim, Steve. Coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, Maggie.” The first cop said.

She looked at The Old Man.

“Coffee, a stack of pancakes, two eggs over easy, bacon, toast, grits and do you have any fig preserves?”

“Sure, anything else?”

“That’s a good start,” he smiled up at her.

She smiled at The Old Man and left.

“Now you two need to think before you speak.” The Old Man said.

“What do you mean?” The second cop asked.

“I told you that I was tired, hungry and the car needed gas. I got gas, I am about to eat, but I am still tired. And I am not in a good mood. Maybe after I eat, I’ll feel a little better. If the food is good, it may help my mood.

“Anyway, I am tired. I really don’t want to spend the rest of the night on the phone with DC doing this paperwork and arranging with Atlanta to have your asses hauled off.”

The two cops looked at each other. The first cop started to speak …

“Think … before you speak.” The Old Man said.

The two cops looked at each other again.

The waitress brought the coffee, mugs, cream, sugar and glasses of water.

She placed the mugs on the table and filled The Old Man’s first.

Then she filled Jim and Steve’s mugs.

“So, who’s your friend?” Maggie asked Steve.

The second cop said, “He’s a Federal Marshall. He is advising us on a case.”

“Well, do tell! Welcome Marshal. Just let me know if you need anything.” She said loud enough so that everyone in the diner heard her.

The Old Man smiled, gave her a wink and said, “Thanks, Maggie.”

She giggled and went towards the kitchen.

The Old Man watched as the line formed at the register. Within three or four minutes the diner was empty except for their table.

Buckle of the Bible Belt he thought. Fine upstanding citizens. Good people. The salt of the earth. And at the mention of Federal Marshal, like magic … the diner had emptied.

“Marshall …” Steve started.

The Old Man interrupted him, “Think before you speak. For God’s sake, don’t add any more charges.”

Steve nodded.

“Since we all failed to identify ourselves to each other, I think I should offer you an apology.” Steve said.

The Old Man looked at Jim.

“Me too! I’m sorry!” Jim said.

The Old Man leaned back. He thought it over.

“Life’s a bitch. It’s funny that the next 25 years of your lives depends on how the grits taste.”

Steve said, “If it is okay with you, I’d like to go speak to Carl. He’s the cook.”

The Old Man nodded.

The waitress brought the food and arranged it in front of The Old Man.

“Your grits will be ready in just a minute; can I get you anything else?” She smiled at The Old Man.

It was silent on the drive back to the gas station.

They went inside and talked with Aunt Nancy. She shared her phone and they looked at the video. The Old Man forwarded the video to his phone, handed her phone back and said thanks.

The three of them watched as he walked to his car and left.

He turned at the church, slowed and turned the car’s lights off and let the car cost to a stop. He did not use the brakes. The headlights that had been behind him when he left the gas station turned and the truck pulled up along side and stopped. The driver leaned across and rolled down the window.

“Hey, Brother!” He said.

“Hey!” The Old Man said.

The truck chirped its tires as the driver dumped the clutch and mashed the gas. The Old Man followed the truck to the house.

His brother was standing at the rear of the truck. The Old Man hugged him.

“Good to see you, man.”

“Great to see you, too!” They went in the house.

“When I saw Dad’s car at the station I pulled in and waited for you. Where you been? It’s been over an hour.”

“Local cops.”

“They suspect you?”

“No. just a couple of local assholes.”

“So, you clear?”

“Yeah, I’m clear.”

“Thanks for taking care of that for me. I’d have done it myself, you know, but I’ve been under constant surveillance since it happened.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, what do you think of your new house? This is the first time you’ve been here, right?”

“Yeah, first time.” And probably the last, he thought. “It’s nice. Make a good place to retire to one day.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it for you while you’re gone.”

“Thanks, Brother.”

“I’ll let you get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

He put the Pontiac back in the garage, turned the rental left at the end of the driveway and headed south towards Orlando.

I always liked that car, he thought.