lissell had a good book: "a
series of unfortunate events" by lemony snicket. "you read
this kind of shit stacey?" pork pie asked.
"i get off on it,"
she answered.
"i'm waiting uncle pork
pie," sidney hollared.
"yeah yeah!" he
grumbled.
"mr. anderson,"
lissell prompted. he looked at her. "the cigar."
"shit," he answered,
then threw it out into her front yard. he snarled at lissell, then
walked back to sidney's room, his head in the book.
"he's such a nice man,"
i said, and smiled.
"yeah, salt of the earth."
"could he be in real
trouble lissell?"
"hell carlee, he already
is, he rents trucks to known felons, one of the drivers is missing and
presumed dead, and his business partner is on a ventilator after he
throws a horse shoe at her."
"but sysco isn't dead."
"no, thanks to you, but we
heard her cursing him from her death bed, what are the chances of her
filing charges against him when she gets better?"
"i don't think sysco is
comfortable around the police and lawyers lissell."
"that's even worse for mr.
anderson, she's a hitman herself, i'm sure she has plenty of contacts."
a cop car pulled up. "hey
girls, we have a lead on sidney's father," harry said.
"great, just a moment
captain."
"oh, wait lissell, i want
to go too," i said. "let me talk with pork for a moment."
i went through to the bedroom. "you're not reading pork," i
observed.
"hell honey, this english
stuff bored him to sleep." pork lay next to sidney in shirt
sleeves and his hat, smoking a cigar. the place smelled like a pool
hall.
"we liked harry potter,"
i smiled and said.
"me ain't we carlee, i
hated the son-of-a-bitch."
"listen pork, he went to
sleep because he was tired, it's been a long day for all of us, take
your shoes off and catch a few winks yourself, we're going to the
police station. and put that cigar out, right now."
"alright! Goddamnit,"
he snorted and padded to the bathroom, muttering under his breath all
the way, face as red as a beet. his shoes had to be 14's, boats.
"and calm yourself uncle
pork pie, you'll have a stroke." he glared at me. "and where
did you put that cigar?"
"in the fuckin' pot, you
see any ash trays around here?" i walked gently to pork, held him
and kissed his cheek.
"listen buddy, they may
have good news about terry, we're going downtown to find out, we need
some good news about terry, baby, and we've got sidney to take care of
now, just you and me."
"oh, get off your fuckin'
soap box, i know all that shit." he smiled at me, his complexion
was lighter.
"and don't sleep in your
hat," i added. lissell and harry were in the car listening to the
police scanner. "very romantic," i said. "two cops
spending the weekend at home." harry laughed.
"yeah, what'll it be
tonight honey, quiet dinner, champagne, a bath together, or shall we
drink beer and listen to the scanner?"
"very funny," lissell
said.
"what have we got?" i
asked.
"dunno angel, something
though, the feee....ah, federals are holding a briefing in twenty
minutes," harry said. hmm, harry didn't call them feebies,
respect for lissell? had i missed something? lissell smiled.
terry had been spotted in
arizona; mesa plains, on video tape from a convenient store. he
escaped the fbi dragnet, but they were in hot persuit.
"mr. sypes was positively
identified in mesa plains this afternoon at 0123, he paid cash for
groceries at this convenience store, the fingerprints matched what the
bureau has, the video tape confirms that mr. terry sypes is alive, and
is wanted by the u.s. government," said special agent warren
casebier. "our investigations find that mr. sypes highjacked a
truck owned by mr. laverne anderson, loaded with an unknown amount of
illegal contraband, probably narcotics, and made an exchange here."
he stopped and referred to a map. "on highway 307. the cashier
claimed that he drove away in a late model ford, green, and very
pretty." everyone snickered. i nudged lissell in the ribs.
"he's alive," i
grinned.
casebier continued. "mr.
laverne anderson informs us that he rented the truck to miss sysco
bolin, who is critical in a local hospital. a federal warrent has been
served on her for conspiracy to commit conspiracy...what the hell does
that mean?" he said to a colleague.
"ah, that's among many
other charges, sir," he answered.
now, if sysco makes it, maybe i
can return to the peace and quiet of the green river. will i ever be
satisfied? "isn't it great lissell?" i said.
"well baby, not exactly
great, when they find terry, he will be arrested for what he did, or
killed by who he sold the drugs to, mr. anderson may be charged as an
accessory and miss bolin is already in big trouble, and there's still
little sidney. that don't exactly spell mother, carlee."
"you're so negative
lissell."
she smiled. "practical
love."
"whatever," i
replied. "i've got to tell sidney though."
hell, it was five thirty in the
morning, a cop drove me to lissel's house, she and the rest of the
police force would be busy until noon. "thanks officer," i
said, as i kissed his cheek.
"no problem miss, enjoyed
your company."
pork pie was drinking whiskey
at the kitchen table. he was dressed in black socks, his underwear and
his hat. "little early isn't it?" i asked.
"five o'clock, the
cocktail hour, carlee," he replied.
"it's five am, pork!"
"so, what crawled up your
ass?"
"terry isn't dead," i
said. he looked shocked.
"they found him?"
"no, not yet, but they
will."
"did he highjack the truck
and sell the goods?"
"they don't know pork, he
may have, they'll have to wait until they find him."
"yeah, and shoot him, or
put him behind bars."
"god, you're as negative
as lissell," i said. "pour me a glass of that shit," i
told him.
"no, there's coffee for
you carlee, and a funny bun."
"a what?"
"in the cellophane,"
he answered. honey bun. alright. "baby, this still doesn't sound
too good to me," he said.
"it sounds a hell of a lot
better than if they found him hanging in a tree by his ankles dead,
pork pie, he is sidney's dad."
"i know that sugar, i know
that, hey, go tell him," he smiled, as he finished his drink.
"sidney." i shook
him. "wake up honey, i've got some news about your dad."
"good news?" he
asked.
"they know he's alive in
arizona baby." sidney's reaction was slight, he halfway smiled.
"when's he coming home?"
"don't know yet sidney,
soon, i hope. now get dressed, uncle pork pie will fix you breakfast.
i'm going to the hospital, got a sick friend."
sysco looked awful, she was
asleep, her wrists were tightly restrained against the bed frame. dr.
smith was standing over her. "any change, smith?" i asked.
"i think she'll make it,"
he answered. "ran three units of blood last night, hemoglobin is
eleven this morning." she looked like a victim of count dracula. "by
the by miss, you did a fine job last night."
"no smith, you did, i
wasn't even here." he smiled. sysco's eyes opened. dr. smith
shone a pen light into them. sysco shook the entire bed. she was
trying to talk.
"do you know what she's
trying to say nurse?" he asked.
"she wrote me to get the
fuckin' tube out of her throat doctor." a knock at the door, and
the nurse went to open it. "yes ma'me?"
"may i see miss bolin, i'm
darline calloway, her daughter."
"one moment please,"
the nurse said. "her daughter, doctor."
"give her ten of morphine
nurse, then we'll speak with her." the nurse did so, and sysco
relaxed immediately. The ventilator registered 12 breaths per minute,
she was in la la land. darline was a pretty girl, probably in her
thirties, tall, plump and well dressed.
"mother!" she said.
no responce from sysco. "ma ma!" she shouted.
"we've given her a
sedative miss, she'll sleep for a while," doctor smith explained.
she put her hands over her face, and cried bitter tears.
"oh my god," she
moaned. i put my arm around darline.
"it's alright baby, she'll
probably be fine. i'm carlee mccord, and this is doctor smith, your
mom's surgeon."
"darline calloway. pleased
to meet both of you. poor mother, i've seen her like this before,
several times in fact." she sniffed.
"miss mccord is quite
right mrs. calloway, your mother is improving rapidly, probably be off
the breathing machine by tomorrow."
"doctor!!" the nurse
shouted from across the room. sysco had broken her right wrist
restraint and had pulled her endotrachael tube out.
"son-of-a-bitch!"
sysco yelled.
"what do you think miss
mccord?" smith asked.
"she'll be fine," i
said. "if she doesn't stroke out."
"mother," darline
gently said.
"who in the hell are you?"
she asked, still holding the tube, the bulb still inflated.
"darline mother, your
daughter." if looks could kill.
"git the hell out of here,
all of you!" she shouted. darline, crying, ran for the door.
"no sense in that sysco,"
i said.
"fuck you mccord, stay out
of my business."
"but she was so concerned."
"if she were so fuckin'
concerned,why in the hell haven't i seen her for the past ten years?
now let me out of here, i've got work to do, where is that pig faced
muthafucker?"
"miss bolin, calm yourself
down," smith told her. "you're not going anywhere but to a
private room tomorrow for observation, you've been very ill."
sysco handed him the tube, then drifted back to sleep. i went to the
waiting room to find darline. she was sitting there, crying.
"darline, i'm so sorry,
your mom isn't herself, she had a close call." darline looked up
and smiled.
"i could sense that miss
mccord, she didn't try to kill me."
i chuckled."she's a tough
customer."
"in her line of work, she
has to be tough." i didn't acknowledge that i knew that sysco was
a professional killer. i knelt down and hugged her.
"maybe she'll be more
receptive tomorrow."
"i doubt it miss mccord,
but thanks for your encouragment, my mother and i have never gotten
along, i didn't follow in her foot steps."
"just as well," i
said, and i meant it.
lissell and sidney were having
breakfast. "where's pork pie?" i asked.
"gone out for pickled
pig's feet," she answered.
"still drinking?"
"he'd have to be, to go
out and eat those," she answered.
"breakfast of champions,"
i replied.
"how's your sick friend?"
sidney asked.
"better honey, off the
ventilator."
"did you or dr. smith take
her off?"
"neither, she took herself
off." i told the story of her daughter.
"poor darline,"
lissell said. "i can't even think of sysco bolin even having a
daughter."
"she was very nice
actually. do you have a car lissell, or are we stuck?" i asked.
"mr. anderson has mine,
but if you have errands, you can use margaret's."
"i really need to find
pork honey, do you think margaret would mind?"
"wait here, i'll go ask,"
lissell said.
"sidney." i said. "are
you ok?"
"sure carlee, i was kind
of hoping that i could come and live with you, but it's ok, daddy's
coming home." i smiled and kissed him.
"yeah sidney, he's alright
baby." lissell came back with the car.
"it's a straight shift
baby, can you handle that?"
"i can drive a semi
lissell."
"wow," she said.
xxx
"what about this warrant
served on sysco bolin, bobby?"
"well sir, it's not
exactly a warrant, captain zimmerman."
"a subpeona then."
"not that either, sir."
"well what in the hell was
it then?"
"an acknowledgement, kind
of, it has too many holes for a warrant, it's actually a list of
charges against her," bobby answered.
"well shit man, is she
under arrest or not!"
"the courts don't have
time for her at this point captain."
"then why in the hell did
your people have us serve her with a piece of paper tell her all of
the bad things she's done?" zimmerman asked.
"action was rescinded
about the same time the papers arrived here sir. i was told to stop
the serving on her, but was too late," bobby said, embarrassed.
"we're too efficient for
you all agent mccgraw?"
"something like that sir."
xxx
i found pork pie at his favorite
pool room, eating pickled pigs feet and drinking beer. "never
mix, never worry," i said cheerfully.
"hell babe, it wouldn't
make no difference eating these fuckers," he said, and reached in
the jar for another. "have one carlee." he said.
"a little early for me
pork."
"then a beer?"
"for that too," i
answered.
"i've heard from him,
little one."
"who pork, terry?" he
shook his head as he dove into another pig's foot.
"how!" i said,
startled.
"he beeped my office, they
beeped me. this fuckin' beer's hot goddamnit, pour me a cold one!"
he shouted. the barkeep handed him one in a can.
"on the house pork pie,"
he said.
"german huh? this will do,"
he snarled.
"where is he pork pie?"
"new mexico, carlee. he
wants to talk with you."
"me! why me?"
"you've got his kid."
"how does he know that?"
i asked.
"i told him," he
answered.
"bless you, uncle pork
pie," i said, with a degree of sarcasm. "did he give you a
number?"
"yup."
"gimme," i said.
"not yet."
"and why not."
"i haven't finished my
pig's foot," he answered, as he munched. then he buried his hand
in the two gallon jug and fished out another foot.
"god pork pie, don't they
have tongs or something?"
"only in china," he
answered.
"is terry in trouble?"
"not according to him. my
lawyers tell me i am though, they want me to take a vacation carlee."
"where?" i asked.
"i have this place in
italy."
"on the beach?"
"no, the mountains, alps,
i think."
"the alps are in
switzerland, pork."
"well, maybe that's where
it is, come with me carlee, it's a great place."
"i can't pork pie, there's
sidney, and my life."
"living on a damn river in
a shack ain't no life carlee."
"i don't live in a shack,
pork, and i'm thinking about going back to school."
"school? ain't you a
little old to be a student?"
"sure, twenty nine is
ancient, now give me terry's number."
"what you plan on studying
carlee?"
"the law, pork, so i can
save guys like you."
"here." he reached in
his pocket and handed me a piece of paper. it was dripping with
pickled pig's foot juice.
i dialed the number on the pay
phone. it rang six times, the pool room was empty, except pork pie,
drinking german beer and indulging himself in pig's feet. "sypes,"
he answered.
"terry?"
"yeah, it's me, carlee."
a large man walked in.
"don't fuck with me dude,"
pork pie said.
"i ain't fuckin' with no
dude drinking beer and shooting pig's feet at this hour of the
morning," he replied.
"where are you terry?"
"new mexico girl, they
highjacked my truck and left me for dead. how's sidney?"
"sidney's fine terry, safe
and sound, listen, you must come home."
"i know carlee, i know."
"find a motel, i'll find
someone to come and get you terry."
"you're fuckin' with me
dude," i heard pork pie say.
"alright old man, i'm
fuckin' wit you."
"listen terry, i have to
go, you call after you find a motel, and don't worry." i hung up
just in time to see pork pie pour a two gallon jug of pig's feet on
the big black guy's head. "pork!" i cried.
"you oughten' to have done
that man," the black guy said, as he stood up.
"pork pie, what in the
goddamn hell did you do that for!" i cried.
"fuckin' with me carlee."
"shit pork, he's reading a
book!"
"out the way miss, there's
work to be done," the dude said, as he drew a razor.
"no, now, listen, it's a
mistake mister."
"right miss, the mistake
of his life." black dude pushed my face, i hit a pool table, and
hurt my back.
"god." i moaned, and
the fight was on.
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