One Last Spin Part 9

38

A phone conversation from the office of the manager of Mall of the Swamps:

"I'm telling ya, Dick, we're gonna lose Dixie Outfitters for sure.  I mean, look at the name of the place they're proposing - Dixie Land Mills!"

"Tell me about, Harry!  I liked it better when it was just called Compton Park.  Now that's a name that has no ring or oomph."

"There's worse news, Dick.  Tom tells me we could easily lose both JC Penney's and Belks.  They are being made hellaciously tempting offers."

"Crap on a crutch, Harry!  Who the hell would be left?"

"Left?  I don't know.  Even Cato's is squirming.  Maybe Swamptown Vapes and A-Nunber One Chinese.  I don't think they could afford the rent increases."

"Damn!  We might have to turn the whole damn thing into an antique mall, or just plow the whole damn thing under!"

"Oy!  Sometimes I hate progress!"

39

Mama Crowley looked out the kitchen window.  She could see Reggie sitting on the porch rocking, smoking a big stogie.  Well, fine and damn, Soon she would have to get him in gear before the whole enterprise fell apart.  She was to the point of going to meetings with him just to keep him on track.  The other partners of Compton Park, and the managers at the mill, were a little surprised at first that she was taking a larger role.  But when they saw that Reggie wasn't objecting, they started giving her their full cooperation.

Mama Crowley was short, no more than five feet tall, and it would be astonishing if she tipped the scales at ninety pounds.  She looked like a cross between Mammy Yokum and Granny Clampett.  Despite her size, she was a powerhouse in managing her family and their interests.  Even though her name was Elizabeth, virtually everybody, inside and outside of the family, everyone called her Mama.  There was a brief time when Reggie was courting her that he called her Betty, but she didn't know where that came from, and it didn't last long.  Once Digger was born, she was Mama, for then and for always.

It wasn't just the business she kept going.  Despite their banishment from Reggie's life, she maintained contact with Digger and Freddy.  She  wasn't happy with what they've done, but they were her boys, and she wasn't going to abandon them.  Reggie would soften over time.  He always did.

Had she known Freddy was gay?  Hell, yes, she figured it out with the way he played with dolls as a child, just the way he talked about things.  A mother knows, even if she doesn't say it out loud.  She had just hoped he would have shown more discretion.  That was one of the big changes from when she was younger.  Everybody knew there were gays, but everyone had the good taste to be quiet about it.  No one questioned why bachelor cousin Eddie spent most of his time with a roommate named Ken.  It was none of your cotton picking business.  Now you had to deal with all this coming out stuff.

Had she known Digger was a murderer?  That was a harder call.  She did realize he was violent, and must have been out playing tiddly winks on the day that God passed out common sense.  She didn't exactly believe in his innocence, but she did believe there was more to the story than Digger and Reggie were letting on.  She had deep suspicions of Reggie's brother, Archie.  Now there was the king of lowlife scum, if ever there was one.  She would stake her life on it that Archie was hiding something.  If only she could figure out how to drag down Archie without hurting Reggie, she would do it in a country heartbeat.

She would go out to the porch.  She would show Reggie love and affection in the best way she knew how.

"What is the matter with you, you morose good for nothing?  Get your bony ass off that rocker and get to busy!  There's work to be done!"

Reggie popped up like a freshly ejecting piece of toast.

40

Digger stared at the jail cell ceiling.  He was stuck in county lock up, his father refusing to make bail.  Mama was trying to get him to do it, but so far with no luck.  She was close to giving up and using her own resources, but Digger told her not to.  Bail was astronomically high, as he was what they called a proven flight risk.  He wasn't ready to deplete Mama's resources.  He wasn't ready to get out yet, anyways.  He still had some planning to do.

Digger's favorite TV program was A Game of Thrones.  He liked its violence and intrigue, even if he didn't understand all of it. 

But he did understand the part with the little girl named Arya, with all the crimes and slights she had witnessed, about her overwhelming desire for revenge against those who had wronged her.  Her listing of names she would exterminate with her little sword, Needle, inspired him.

So he repeated the names quietly under his breath, each and every night, those he wanted to hurt and kill.  Yes, he could just convolute things, both with truths and lies, and implicate others and drag them down.  But that would not be as satisfying as using the metaphorical needle.

Christie Delco.  She narced him out with her stupid exposure of Kayak Kelly's body location, and telling about the Compton Park connections.  He wanted to strangle her, watch her life flee, but not before putting it to her the hard way.  See what a real man was like before he choked her off this mortal coil.

Gariton Hollander.  He and his stupid accounting investigations, his weakness in letting Christie roam, and his buddying up to Freddy.  Must be a closet fag himself.  Explains why Christie left.  He would like to blow holes in him, using Christie's gun.

Sheriff Alan Steel.  For being a smug, relentless A-hole. Bad enough he had harassed him and his family, but then he had to go and make fun of his junk when he was arrested, barging into his hotel room, when both he and Cissy were naked.  He'd like to get some bull cocks and stuff them down the sheriff's throat, watching him turn purple, eyes wide with terror.

Archie Crowley.  He should have backed him up. Instead, he threw him under the bus, denying any knowledge of what Digger had done.  He wanted to weave truth and fiction into a long note, force Archie to sign it, and then string him up by a rope, and watch him choke and gasp for air.

Sandy Harley.  Son of a bitch was supposed to be his best friend, but he confessed quicker than a wino in a Jaguar racing to the liquor store.  He'd like to pummel the living crap out of him, then OD him on a ton of the filthiest, lowest grade heroin he could find.

Freddy Crowley.  His fag brother, who was always Daddy's favorite.  He'd wanted to pummel him most of his life, even remembering how Freddy got the better toys at Christmas.  There was a certain bat that he wanted to stuff up a certain orifice, bursting his internal organs, cram it all the way in up to his heart.

Reggie Crowley.  None of this would have happened if Daddy didn't understand who the true son was.  He deserved a death like Tywin's from the Game of Thrones.  Barge in on him while he was on the can, and shoot an arrow right straight through his heart.

And that was just the start.  His list was growing every day.

He stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, the needle of his anger and resentment growing stiffer and harder.

Someday soon he would be out.

And then he would make them all pay.