Loosening the Belt at Spitchaw Ridge

What a fine set of vittles prepared by ol' Mama Crowley!  Nothing to do now but unbuckle your pants, sit down on the rocker with a big ol' stogie, and watch the world go by.  Or in this case, his two semi-idiot sons try to dock their dingy at the pond.

He looked out, and as far as his eye could see was Crowley land, an area commonly called Spitchaw Ridge.  His three acre pond, blue water glistening, flat and calm, hardly a ripple on it, except for what the two dimwits were splashing up.  Past the pond were woods filled with scrub pine and grasses, duck blinds and deer stands.  He grew nothing.  This Crowley was no damn farmer.  But it did make for a great hunting playground.

The sky was cloudy, it's rich blues covered by blotches of fluffy white clouds.  It didn't look like no rain anytime soon.  It was slightly chilly this mid-January late afternoon, but nothing he couldn't handle.  Just time for a post-meal cigar, and to empty his mind from the pressures of the mill, and that all-consuming Compton Park Development Project.  Sometimes he thought that damn development was not worth the headache it was giving him.  It was one of the hardest things he ever took on, what with all the bureaucratic runaround.  All he was trying to do was make something of this town, give it a first rate shopping mall, with a Sears and a Belk's, maybe even a Denny's - wouldn't that be classy?

And just when he thought that Kayak Kelly problem was off the table, that randy Rondy Strickland starts throwing up roadblocks.  Damn, that fancypants lawyer was supposed to be on their side!  Now he's coming up with all kinds' new forms and dots and q's to sign off on, delaying construction another two months.  You would think he wouldn't have time what with chasing down Christie Delco whatever-her-last-name-is.  Well, it didn't matter, as whatever her marriage she was in was now on the kaputs.  What a weak-willed bastard he must be, to be kicked out of his own house by the woman who was cheating on him!

He saw the boys had managed to tie up the boat and were now walking up to the porch.  Well, there goes peace and quiet.

He stood up, all five foot five inches of him, a wiry figure, with a twisted nose like Pappy Yokum form the Lil' Abner cartoons.  Of course, if anyone suggested he looked like Pappy Yokum, he would deck them out.

Looking at the size of him and Mama Crowley, also small framed and seemingly frail, until she popped you in the face or kicked you in the shin, it was hard to believe the two boys were so damn big.  Heavy, tall, and ornery looking, they were constantly in t-shirts, blue jeans and baseball caps.  They were fussing with each other as they approached the porch.  God, he did not want to get dragged into their bullcrap.

"You boys in for the evening?" asked Reggie Crowley, as the boys pushed open the screen door.  Entering was Freddy and Digger, Reggie's two sons.  Both were big framed, both just over six feet tall.  Digger was strong, but beginning to verge on blubber.  He had long, stringy black hair, and he had the twisty Crowley nose, large and crooked.  Freddy was slightly smaller, but not by much.  He had close cropped brown hair, and his nose was more aquiline.  Reggie believed that Freddy had a scose more IQ points than Digger, or maybe it was just a bit more common sense.  Digger would do pretty much whatever he was damn well told, but Freddy might question things a bit.  The bottom line was even though Freddy was second born, he was much more likely to run things one day, whereas Digger might only have a supporting role.  He sure to God wasn't ready to tell either one of them anything about that yet.  Better to keep them guessing, competing with each other.

"We going in to watch some of that Duck Dynasty marathon," answered Digger.  "And then we going to the Oasis later to catch that new band playing there, The Grave Yard Stompers."

Reggie frowned.  "What the hell, boys!  Why don't you just gallivant the evening away!  Don't even check with me first to see if there was anything I needed y'all to do.  I mean, it's not like the Compton Park Development had anything to do with your future."  Now, one would think that with Reggie owning the mill, and a good chunk of Dixon county land, that he would be a happy man.  But, that's not how wealth worked, particularly not for Reggie.  It wasn't enough to have five times more land and money than anyone else in Dixon County.  He wanted to be a state player, hell, maybe even someday compete with the likes of the Koch Brothers and that Donald Trumper feller.  Enough was never going to be enough.

"What you need us to do, Daddy?" asked Freddy.

"We running out of time to turn that project around, boys.  We got to start moving faster.  Digger, I want you get out to that Kayak Kelly cabin, sniff around and see if the police found anything, you know, anything that might show where he is, or if they stumbled acrost anymore of that blue plant bulb he found."

Digger looked confused, but there was nothing real special about that.  "Ok, Daddy.  But, ain't that like a crime scene or something?  I don't wanna get no fingerprints on things I shouldn't ought to."

"Digger, you're an idiot," sighed Reggie.  "There ain't no crime there.  The man's just gone.  I mean, none of you two numbskulls had anything to do with his disappearance, did you?"

Both boys vigorously shook their heads.  "Good.  Don't get me wrong.  It's awful convenient that he's gone, and I'm really grateful, but we can't have even the slightest berry fart of a hint that we had anything to do with it, you understand?"

Both boys nodded.  "Just wear gloves or some shit.  That should do it."

"Can I take Sandy?" asked Digger.  That was Sandy Harley, one of the Harley brothers.  Bigger and fatter than Digger, they often did things together.  Harley's family was genuine, certified redneck, without the redeeming quality of money like the Crowley's had.

"What are you?  Sweet on him?  Y'all gotta do everything together?"  God, you would think that with the money behind his boys, they would have more girls sniffing around.  Freddy actually seemed to spend a little more time with girls, although it had been a good long while since he remembered Freddy actually dating one.  He did kinda overstep recently, patting their waitress's behind (Franny somebody).  It was funny, but he had to nip it in the bud because it was irritating Grace, the restaurant owner.  Hell, maybe someday he would just buy the Honey Dew, and then Freddy could pat whoever's behind he wanted to.  "Shoot, Digger.  Take Sandy.  Just be careful."

Reggie turned to Freddy.  "Freddy, I want you to follow Rondy as discreetly as possible.  I want to know what that fancy a-hole is up to.  See who he's meeting with and where he's going.  What the hell is making him suddenly slow foot this project?"

"I'll do it, Daddy," agreed Freddy.  "I'm afraid all I'll do is catch him shagging that Delco bitch, which is not something I care to see."  Freddy grimaced, the though of it disgusting him.

Digger chortled.  "What's wrong with you?  I wouldn't mind catching some of that action!"

"And that's why I'm sending you into the swamp with your boyfriend, Digger.  Freddy has a better chance of keeping his head on his shoulders."  He had a much better chance of Freddy processing whatever he was witnessing than Digger did. 

"Now, scoot, you two!  I'll have Mama record the whole damn Duck marathon, and you can catch the Grave Robbers or whoever they are another night.  Hell, you two do your job right, and I'll bring 'em out here to Spitchaw Ridge and you can have a regular ol' concert, invite pretty girls and whatnot."

"Whoa!" exclaimed Digger.  "Daddy, you the best!"

Off they went, leaving Reggie on the porch to finish his cigar.  Were they the sharpest tools in the shed?  Probably not.  But they were good boys, and they did their best. 

The more he though about it, the better he liked the concert idea.  Might be a great way for those two to meet some girls, even if he had to bring them in from surrounding counties.  Maybe they was somebody he could find that would knock Freddy's boot off.  Marry some real pretty girl and start having some grandbaby Crowleys!

Now there was a dream worth looking forward to.