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.
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