Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah (43 page)

He stared around the office, no pictures, not much furniture, just the desk and the chairs. Right behind the desk hung a shelf lined with Tequila bottles, like trophies. An empty sandwich wrapper rested on the desk, a few strings of lettuce left behind. A Newton’s Cradle idled on the left side of the desk.

Hank slid it over, the balls clacking with the movement. He picked up one of the silver balls and let it go, releasing a chain reaction of clacking as the balls hit one another. Hank did it again and again until he heard a toilet flush and Booty came staggering out, his shirt un-tucked. Booty’s face was red and full of salty driblets of sweat. Hank moved the balls back to the left corner, just as they had been.

God Almighty, he never thought he’d see that man again. He had met him in his nightmares a couple of times, but he would always wake up, the monster disappearing when reality set in.

Hank watched, almost painfully, as his cartoon feet dragged the floor. He took out a handkerchief, wiped the sweat beads on his head, around his crooked nose. When he sat in his swivel chair, the smell was nauseating. He coughed and turned to face Hank.

“You wanted to see me, Rivers?”

Hank remembered the picture in his pocket and cleared his throat. “I did. I think you know why I’m here.”

Booty smiled, a piece of green pepper stuck in his front tooth. “Let’s just cut to the chase, boy. I don’t have all day to play around with little shits like you. What do you have and what do you want?”

“I have proof that you killed two men, Judge Pilgrim and an unidentified man. I know where you buried them. I can bring the cops there right now. I might be a shit, but I’m a shit that never forgets.”

“That was years ago. You have no hard evidence. You were just a bunch of punk kids playing in a tree house. Punk kids with very vivid imaginations. And with the statute of limitations, I doubt anything you have will hold water in any court down there in Tupelo.”

Even though Hank knew he wasn’t referring to anything legal, he continued on anyway. “Let me remind you, the state of Mississippi doesn’t have a statute of limitations on murder.” Hank acted like he was thinking. “I’m pretty sure two bodies, along with three testimonies, will hold water real well. Real damn well.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Rivers, the DA’s son. The lawyer, the big shot prosecutor who is hell-bent on tearing down walls and putting new ones up for the weak and un-justice-fied! I know a lot about you, Rivers. Don’t forget that. I know more about you than you do. You sit here, acting like tough shit, when I eat people like you for lunch.

“What do you think I just crapped out in there? You. Punks just like you. I ate two of them, right here at my desk. I ate their hearts with hot fries, dipping their toes and fingers in ketchup, eyeballs and all. One of them boys’ name was Sam, called it a Sammich. There was nothing, not a damn thing left of them when I was through. Give me just a few minutes, just a few minutes. I’ll be hungry again, boy.”

Hank sat back, cool, collected, still sweating. “You know, Booty, those boys you ate, they don’t seem like they agreeing with you too much. You’re looking a little sweaty and flustered,” Hank motioned to his forehead and nose. “All around there. It seems like your digestion isn’t like it used to be. Those boys are fighting back, and you just never know when they’re going to make a reappearance.

“But since I’m a fair man, and I hate to see anyone down with the heartburn, I have something cool for you to drink. Just a little something to down those boys with. Make ’em easier to swallow.” Hank held a finger up, digging in his brief case. “Let me see. Here we go.”

Hank pulled out a long manila envelope and set it on the desk. Booty leaned forward and twirled the envelope so it was facing him. He flicked the strip open and pulled out the pictures. They were in perfect condition from every angle. Booty’s face was splattered across the desk, holding the gun, pulling the trigger, paranoid and looking around, wiping the sweat from his brow with a bloody hand. He studied them hard and then spun one around for Hank to look at.

“I think this was my best picture. This one had the best angle. I’ve aged since then.” Booty laughed, and then slurped his tongue along his front tooth, chewing on the speck of left-over pepper.

“I think you’ve seen better days.” Hank smirked. He lowered his other eye, making him look tired and uninterested. It gave him an edge. “I think you’ll look real fine though, real fine, all blown up over the newspapers and news. Especially up North. Isn’t that where you’re from? It’s a little different up there, I hear. I mean, I could be wrong. Just hearsay. I, myself, have never been. A little too cold—”

“What do you want?” Booty spat saliva on his desk.

“I like the weather warmer myself. And they don’t have such pretty flowers like we do down here—flowers that can make a man rich. But you have to appreciate the flower for the flower, not worry about the green, unless you are admiring the stem. But who really takes the time to admire the stem when the flower is so…eye catching. Have you ever been in a cotton field, Booty? No? Yes? What is it? Seems like the boll weevil’s got your tongue. I think cotton is the prettiest flower myself, but my favorite is those little tea roses—”

“I said, what do you want?” Booty’s eyes rose to meet Hank’s, empty, cold, ready to snap.

Hank paused and titled his head. “Pardon?”

“You’re playing a game here, kid, that you can’t win.”

“So I’ve been told. But here we are. I want the money from the banks that are being robbed. I want you to tell your boss to keep his hands away from my game. I want, Booty, what was his money. I’m going to bring every one of those pretty little girls down, taking credit for every bit of it.”

Hank held two fingers up, ticking one off at a time. “Money and notoriety. I can wait on the power. I’m a patient man, one thing at a time. I know how these things go. And if he doesn’t give me the money, these pictures go public. I can link him with you. I can prove he gave you the orders to do it. I can prove it all and wrap it up in a nice little package, handing it to the judge all pretty-like on his big mahogany desk up in the judicial sky. You have a reputation around here, boy. Oh, and one more thing, you try to off me, these pictures explode. I have sets of them, waiting and ready, just like a bullet in a burning up gun.”

“Don’t toy with me, kid. I don’t take it kindly.”

“What’s wrong, Booty? Those boys suddenly making a comeback from the wrong end?”

Booty laughed. He ticked his fingers. “I don’t have a boss. You’re in love with one of those girls. This is all nothing but a bluff. You want me to stay away from her because you’re in love with her. I’ll tell Cray, all right, I’ll tell him real good what you been doing around here today. I’m a pussycat compared to him. Still, you have laid some good things on the table today. Things that can’t be ignored. You were the only loose ends in my entire career. I can’t stand loose ends. Sure cant.”

Hank laughed. “You can’t stand loose ends? Or those other voices that come from your mouth? You know, the dead ones you speak for? Yeah, you see, Booty, you underestimate punk kids. They can also record.”

Their eyes held. Hank kept his straight, even though he felt saturated. Finally, Booty collected the pictures, buzzing his mother at the front desk, telling her he needed the key to his safe in a few minutes. He told Hank since he had plenty of copies, he was sure he wouldn’t need those. Hank agreed.

Hank stood, knocking the balls back and forth for a second. Then he turned his back on Booty to walk away. He heard a draw opening. Hank knew the scene. It was coming back to life for him. That day in the woods, when REO turned his back, and then faced forward—the biggest mistake of his life. Hank knew how he felt now. He was doing the same thing to him. He could just feel it.

Booty had the gun pointed at his chest. He was smirking. Then he started to laugh hysterically. Hank wondered after he’d killed him and Barb, would he do their voices too? He told Hank to lift his hands, and Hank did. Then he felt for the picture and closed his eyes.

“I’m going to teach you two lessons today, boy. Too bad for you, your first lesson is going to be your last. Never turn your back on your enemy and if you do, have someone else watching it for you. Whoops, my mistake, that’ll be three lessons. Seems today is your lucky day. Now, I’m going to kill you, eat you, and shit you out, just like I said. Hanksamich. I’m a man of my word.”

Hank heard the shot. It exploded in his ears just like it had when Pistollette shot the cameras out. God Almighty, Hank thought, he didn’t even know where he was hit. He couldn’t feel anything. He was too stunned to open his eyes until he heard Booty inhale sharply and something hit the floor with a thud.

Looking down, Hank saw that one of the Newton Cradle balls had rolled from Booty’s desk onto the floor, right to Hank’s foot. Pistollette was behind him, both of those guns pointed at Booty. Barb was laying on the floor, the old lady pointing a gun at her head. She dropped it when she saw the two women at the door, masked faces, holding a gun to her.

Rotunda came in right behind Pistollette and knocked the old lady in the head. She hit the floor like a crack of thunder. Two girls at the front door, two girls at the back, and this time they were all packing heat.

Pistollette stormed past Hank like an angel out of the tempest. Her hands were already on the triggers, her arms outstretched and ready. Booty kept the gun pointed at her, but she didn’t stop. She pounced on Booty’s desk, like a crouching feral leopard jumps on a low-slung branch. She was graceful and powerful. She stood over him, putting him under her feet, never removing her stare from his. He blinked a few times, his face now as pale as a piece of paper.

She ticked her mouth at him, shook her head. Hank didn’t even notice Rotunda standing beside him until she put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Honey Hole, can you move over here please? We have to keep the doorway clear in case Pistollette needs to shoot. Thank you, kindly. Now, Hank, listen. I found out your daddy is a preacher? Is that true? It is, well, do you think he’d be upset if someone smacked you?”

Hank shrugged and then shook his head. He needed quiet, but she continued on.

“Good, that’s real good…”

She continued to talk in his ear, whispering, while Pistollette and Booty stared at each other. Booty didn’t want to put his gun down. He was terrified of her. He didn’t want to make any sudden movements. It was all written too clearly on his round, pale, sweating face. He’d heard stories about her. She was a ghost. She was a man killer. Her hands were magic. Her speed was sent from God above. She could shoot you down before you even knew you were shot, and then she’d disappear…a ghost, a ghost, a ghost.

Hank froze when Pistollette stretched her left arm out. Rotunda stopped talking for a moment, bent down and picked up the silver ball. She threw it up in the air, toward Pistollette. Pistollette never turned her face, never removed her eyes away from Booty’s.

Pistollette’s arm followed the path of the ball until it was centered between the ceiling and the floor, and then she shot it clean out the air. Booty handed his gun over to her then. Hank looked down at her feet—she was in her robbing get up, except the soles of those heels were blood red. She had murder on her mind.

Rotunda cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Hank. I have to speak to this mean ole monster now. Booty, here’s the deal, sucka’, you touch one hair on Honey Hole—Mr. River’s—head here, or any of his friends that you’ve been planning on killing for some time now, and Little Sister—Pistollette—won’t be so nice the next time she pays you a visit. You’d be wise to take my advice. You forget his face. You forget his address. You forget he is alive. Because if you don’t—” Rotunda stepped forward and pointed at his chest “—you won’t be alive to remember. She’s watching you. Ghost, ghost, ghost will come after you in your sleep. You know you won’t even see her coming.”

Pistollette slowly lowered herself to his eye level, stared at him until he turned away from her. Rotunda swiped his gun from the desk while Pistollette put hers away. She took the envelope with the pictures from his desk, ticked her mouth at him once more, and then jumped down. She stopped right when she got to the door. She motioned for Hank to cover his ears. He did.

She shot every tequila bottle from the shelf. Glass exploded and liquid flew through the air. The room filled up with the smell of gunpowder and alcohol in less time than it would take you to sneeze. After, she grabbed Hank’s hand and they were gone.

They all took shelter underneath a wide-stretching oak tree a few blocks away from Booty’s office. Knobby little acorns were spread out on the ground, little crunching seeds when they’d walk on them.

Barb and Curly rested their heads against the tree’s massive trunk. The girls hovered around them. Hank and Pistollette were having a standoff on the curb while Rotunda moderated.

“Hank, what were you doing here?” Rotunda probed. A bit of humor was laced in with the seriousness of her tone.

“I had business to take care of.” Hank’s tone was cutting.

Hank could tell Pistollette was keeping her distance from him, standing more paces away than usual. When he said it that way, though, she took a step toward him. Her eyes, even behind those dark contacts, were storming. Hank took a step toward her.

“I didn’t need you to come here.” Hank’s eyes were fierce on hers.

“Oh, really? Then why’d she have to save your ass?”

“He wasn’t going to kill me. I have too much on him.”

Pistollette stopped, looked at Rotunda. The masks hid everything, but not all—clearly mirth and a bit of incredulousness lurked behind the façade.

“Booty could care less about what you have. He’d find a way to turn the story. He owns part of the system. There’s no dealing with them unless it’s the end. Do you get my drift, Honey Hole?”

Hank moved closer to Pistollette, staring her in the eye. “I can take care of myself.”

She moved away from him, the fury evident just by the rise in temperature. Hank was sweating again. They were pushing and shoving without even touching.