Hawg
Page 10
He sat on the bike for a bit, contemplating if he made the correct choice regarding Roberts and the dealers or not. “I’d hate to move on and start over somewhere else,” Hux said quietly to the lot vacant of life. Although riding out and disappearing in Idaho appealed to him, this was his home. His choice to accord Roberts what he wanted, a scapegoat for the drug dealer overlords, was not easy, either. Roberts liked the idea of a body to blame instead of dissolving the dope line to the area from Cicero. Hux was a known commodity. Besides, this furnished Hux the chance to rid himself of the competition from the south.
The main serving area of the bar was a squared set up brooded over by a looming bald man. Bottles lined the shelves behind him and many sat drinking around this bar. The bar tender, Dola Davies, levered his head at the new arrival and started to get Hux his beer of choice.
“Double D,” Hux said in greeting to the bar tender, glancing around the watering hole.
“How’s tricks, Hux?” Double D asked, but appeared unconcerned.
Hux smiled, thinking of the irony of Dola’s nickname. His upper body denoted the label Double D, and there was a picture from madri gras week over the bar to prove it. Double D still kept the beads he earned wearing the huge brassier.
Overall, it appeared a normal night at the Green Parrot, or Dirty Bird as some called it. Younger bikers Johnny Atlas and Cody Greenwell sat, arm wrestling and swearing, trading shots in the shoulder. Kimmi Jo Patrick showed her tits for shots of Jim Beam. Tyler Bellot was bragging about the size of his penis, that it even bested that of famed county cop Matt Crouch, who was a legend. Tyler never mentioned he was a one-ball man, a fact he confessed in a drunken stupor to Hux once. Hux wagered one was all one needed.
In the back corner of the dim bar sat Big Ed Nelson, machinist at a local shop, most feared biker in the county, connection for the largest cash crop in southern Illinois to Miller’s Fork. Hux’s Chi-town bosses dealt in higher grades of crack, smack and meth, so Big Ed and his pot business was small time to them, and antiquated. However, Big Ed hated Hux, even if they got along in public. Big Ed was old school, nearing fifty, and cut from a cloth unfamiliar to “kiddie” bikers of a younger generation.
A dozen bikers called out Hux’s name as he walked in and he waved, motioning for a beer to the bar tender. The bald man with no neck behind the bar drafted Hux a brew and sat it on the bar as Hux endowed Big Ed a mock salute.
Ed leaned forward, stubbing out his smoke. He took a shot of whiskey before chasing it with a sip of his long necked bottle. Big Ed stroked a long beard of reddish hair peppered with gray. His bloodshot eyes focused on Hux as he said, “Well, look who’s still alive. Merry fucking Christmas.”
A smile aimed at his scapegoat, Hux said, “Still doin’ time in this flesh, buddy.”
Big Ed gave him a look as if to say, I ain’t yer buddy, but the words never popped out. “Sit your ass down, Hux and tell me dirty stories. The news on the radio and tube is makin’ my ass hurt.”
His rectum still stinging, Hux walked over to the table near to Big Ed and sat down. He shifted on the wooden surface and said, “That’s what I had in mind.”
The jukebox changed a song and silence reigned for a few moments…just as old Elias stepped into the smoky room. Elias half tottered as he approached the bar. All eyes riveted to him as he grabbed the bar, then sat on a stool. The old man placed a five on the polished counter and asked for a drink.
The bar tender focused on Big Ed. The burly biker soothed his long hair back and nodded. When Double D served Elias, the bald man’s face appeared like he drank lemon juice.
As the music picked up as well as Kimmi Jo’s top, Hux said, “Damn, time was, his kind wasn’t allowed in here.”
Ed shrugged. “They ain’t, but never know when the piggies are watching or in the neighborhood. It may be fun, so leave him alone. What is it you wanted, Hux?” Ed’s gaze narrowed at him. “Something wrong with you?”
“Just looking at the world with different eyes, man. When I was a kid, even the crap on the walls in here impressed me. The napkins signed by Jim Dandy of Black Oak Arkansas or the pictures of Dan Hampton of the Bears with ol’ Larry and his son kinda have lost their luster to me.”
“What are ya smokin’?” Ed chided him and took another swig of beer. “If I wanted to eat humble pie I’d have let the kitchen stay open.”
Tyler offered Hux a cigarette. “Relax, man.”
Hux declined the smoke and Tyler shrugged before putting the cigarette behind his ear.
Double D cut the sound on the jukebox and turned up his scanner. “Hey boys, listen to this shit!”
Though anger bubbled in the bar at first, they all listened as the voice of Alex filled the bar. They heard his frayed voice telling a few of his buddies, on the open police band, about the dead teens in the graveyard. They heard him talk of the butchered dog, of Andrea and Dinsdale, and of the kid’s tale of a giant pig man.
When the scanner went dead, a strange silence reigned in the bar. Hux gazed away at the wall filled with mirrors containing confederate battle flags and southern rock band logos. Though it was dank and warm in the bar, Hux felt so cold.
“Ain’t that the shits,” Big Ed said, leaning back. “I heard some folks died last night and a young thang was missing.”
Drunken bikers started swearing, angered at the idea the cops kept secrets from them. Wild tales started to flow about a monster on the loose and how impossible that was. More anger came as many shot down the ideas and called them crazy.
Big Ed eyed Hux, who fell silent and stared down. “You know something, don’t you, Randy?”
Hux snapped his head up, but his face couldn’t hide his guilt. He said, “Aww, c’mon, it’s all…”
“All what?” Ed leaned in and transferred a grim look. “Fess up, man.”
“I saw it, last night,” Hux confessed and the bar grew quiet, eyes staring at him. “I saw it out on the frontage road near to the Solow’s place.”
“What was it?” Kimmi Jo asked, mesmerized, tying her greasy hair back, and adjusting her sports bra under her shirt.
Hux swallowed and felt his rectum pulsing. “Just what they said. It looked like a giant guy crossed up with a damned pig. I know that ain’t possible, but it was true. That’s what I saw. The moon is damn near to full, so I saw his tusks. They shined like they was steel.”
Ed asked, “What were you doing out there? Acid?”
Laughter rippled in the bar. “That isn’t important. What is, well…” he regarded at Elias, who was swaying on his bar stool. “…wonder where something like that comes from?”
They all knew who Elias was and where he worked. The man caused no trouble, but the stripe that hung out in the Green Parrot had no use for him or his race.
As if on cue, Double D served up Elias another beer and said to him, “You don’t raise no pig men out on the Solow place, now do you?”
“Not every pig one sees is on four legs,” Elias said, words heavy with drunkenness. “It’s hard to be a good man and not a pig, sir.”
“That story on the band is scaring folks bad,” the bar tender said gently, the entire tavern listening to the exchange.
“Change is bad,” Elias answered, words pulpy and wet. “I knew it was bad from the beginning. We never shoulda kept ol’ Hawg, but he was tame like, you know? Never no trouble. In fact, he got rid of troubles. He was a good boy, gentle even. Now, them accursed drugs got in his self and he done went feral. If he kilt them young folks, that’s a shame.”
Suddenly, he snapped to alertness, understanding his long tongue. Elias slipped off the bar stool and looked at the room. Everyone stared at him, mouths agape. Elias faced the door and walked to it with more grace than he entered with.
“That fucker,” Cody Greenwell raged, his oily pony tail waving. “He knows about this monster! You all heard him.”
Big Ed said to this biker, “Easy kid…” His words weren’t condemning, though.
Many grun
ts and cries agreed. Another biker said, “We need to call the cops.”
Ed eyed the muscle bound biker who spoke and said, “Ease up, Atlas.”
Tyler ran a hand through his blonde hair and said, “We oughtta string that bastard up!”
Soon, a dozen men were on their feet, full of fury. They started to file out of the bar and Hux looked at Big Ed.
“You gonna stop them?”
Ed shrugged and lit another smoke. “They’re fulla crap. Mob mentality. Once the cool air hits them, they’ll sober up.”
They saw Elias’ truck lights leave the parking lot, soon followed by a half dozen bikers.
Ed sighed and stood. “Then again, I may be wrong.”
***
“ And God will judge them all, sheep on one side, goats on the other. Unto those found faithful, he shall give a crown of life and life everlasting in Heaven. To all of those unworthy, he shall cast them from his sight. These that are unclean will be cast into the lake of fire and be tormented forever and ever.”
“C’mon out, you old prick! I know what you done!”
Mr. Solow got out of his chair fast, then slowed down. True, the voice yelling outside startled him, but his ire faded fast. The wine in his system caused a rush to his head, but this soon bottomed out. He rubbed his chin, fingered the cleft there and then sighed. Teeth tight, his mind focused well on the danger at hand. He shut off the tape and headed across the kitchen. He put the glass down on the dryer and took a breath. Like any farmer in such a situation, he reached for the shotgun behind the door. Once on the porch, he reached into the pocket of his winter coat that hung there, pulled out two shells. He never loaded them into the chambers of the pump shotgun as he kept it at the ready at all times.
From his side porch, he could see the police cruiser in his back yard via the outside lights. At first, his fear returned and a feeling of resignation sank in. However, when he saw the man shouting wore plain clothes and held an empty whiskey bottle, his mood lightened.
“Damned fool, so young,” Solow sighed, gun lowered.
“You bred a killer didn’t you? Come out and tell me you didn’t make him!”
Solow stepped onto the back porch and opened the screen door. The gun in his hands pointed down and Solow handled it gingerly as if to show he had no intent on using it. “What is it you are shouting about, young man? Who is that out there?”
“You know!” Alex said, charging up to him, but stopping short of contact after his eyes focused on the shotgun. “I heard tell from the kids about the pig man thing out hereabouts.”
Solow blinked. “What? Do tell, son.”
“I’m not your son, old man. God, tell me all about it!”
“You are Alex Brown, aren’t you? Wilbur and Kristen’s boy? Your mom still have a good rhubarb crop?”
“Shut up about all that!” Alex’s head shook violently and spit flew from his lips. “I saw what he can do, I saw his prints. I know, its gotta be from you!”
Solow frowned. “Young man, that’s craziness. I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“What craziness? That there’s a pig-man about butchering folks or that you raised it?”
Solow said, “Both of them things, son.”
Alex face tightened as he sneered, “I am not your son.”
With a nod, Solow said, his voice turning cold, “Don’t I know it. My son would be taller.”
Alex gave him a sideways look as the odor of fecal matter increased. Solow saw the expression of the cop as he sensed the smell, but tried to focus on his next line of threat. Solow figured Alex even heard the foot falls in the yard just before the cop reached out and grabbed the farmer’s shirt.
When Hawg’s right claw closed around Alex’s wrist…the one he had near Solow, time stopped. For a moment, all froze, the shock of the added presence of the huge beast, towering over both of them dammed the walls of time.
Red eyes burned at Alex, so feral and angry, they were all too human.
Hawg snapped Alex’s wrist like a dry branch with his right claw and swiped at the cop’s neck with his other hand. Blood spattered on the milk can standing by the back door, but the slice didn’t cut open the cop’s neck all the way. Alex twisted, gagging, stumbling toward his car.
Hawg bellowed and rammed him in the back, tusks driving through Alex’s upper back under his shoulder blades. The creature’s charging momentum lifted the cop and propelled them both forward. Alex’s body took the brunt of the fall on the top of the car. The windows all smashed out at once. Alex’s neck and spine broke under Hawg’s weight. Tusks out and head in the air, Hawg licking the blood on his teeth. A-straddle of him, Hawg howled and brought up his right hand. He dropped it fast, pulping Alex’s head on the top of the ruined police cruiser, shattering the line of lights. The cop’s head deflated like a ball, pieces of his skull poking out on gray smattered edges amongst the ruined lights. The ejecta from Alex’s head shot forward, adding a stripe to the top of the brown county cruiser.
Hawg stood on the hood of the car, hooves denting in deep. He licked the brains from his fingers and long nails, but turned his head to spit out hair. Hawg then climbed off the vehicle, staring at the body dividing the glass that spidered away from the impact point.
Hawg turned his head. He eyed Solow and took a breath.
The farmer put the gun against the inner wall of the porch and took a sip of wine. He stared at Hawg. Their eyes met and there were no words.
That’s when they heard the straight pipes of Harleys out on the back of the property. Both turned to look in the direction of the sound. Hawg then faced Solow again.
***
Jack Sullivan cursed the distant sound of the Harleys as they echoed in the night. He walked up his drive, let off by a friend from the pub on the south side of town. Before he walked into his house, Jack relieved himself by the Chinese bushes Betty was always on him to trim before it was time. The resonance of the bikers annoyed him, but it also triggered a few memories of his youth. He once undertook hanging out at the Green Parrot tavern with that one bad assed biker, what was his name? Big Edward? Ed wasn’t about a cult of personality and hated wannabes. Jack moved on with his life and made something of himself.
He said to no one, “I hear tell you are still around, Ed, leading biker troops and organizing Labor Day raffles for Jerry Lewis telethons.”
Once, Jack heard Ed bought a cheap Honda and sold hits to it, five dollars a pop. Harley riders from all over the county and farther away came into hit the strung up bike with a sledge to gather money for Jerry’s kids.
His mind still buzzed from the call he received from Douglas White. Even though Jack had tied one on, it came through clear the story about the kids and the monster. He wasn’t drunk enough to buy it, but Doug White sounded disturbed, even if he kept his head about him.
“Stupid rednecks,” he muttered, shaking off. He gaped at his pants and saw a few dried spots. He swore again, angry that he must’ve dribbled earlier in the night. He hated the idea of being seen like that in public.
“Here, here,” a voice said from the shadows of his home.
Startled, Jack was near to pissing on his pants fresh when he snapped, “Who’s there? Show yourself, fucking punk!”
“Calm yourself, Mr. Sullivan,” the coy voice drawled as the figure stepped into the porch light. “I’m not one of your subordinates to talk down to.”
“Then who the fuck are you?” Jack said, his voice bordering on a growl.
“You can call me Roberts,” the name said calmly. “I’m from Cicero.”
Jack’s face drained of color and he fell silent. The eyes of the man in his yard seemed striped like a reptile. Jack blinked, writing this off to the effect of the tequila shooters.
Roberts said, “Mr. Huxtable and I are trying to hash out an arrangement for a lost shipment of goods. I didn’t want to disturb you with a phone call so I decided to do it in person.”
“What’s any of that to do with me?”
“What did he promise you?”
Roberts grinned. His teeth shone bleach white in the moonlight and glow from the carport. “That is something you may ask him, something about a scapegoat. However, you will make sure he delivers so I can face my superior with a smile.”
Jack swallowed and said in a balanced tone, “I’ll see it works out.”
“Good.” Roberts turned to the shadows again. “I’d hate for anything bad to befall your family.”
“Me, too.”
“Your daughter?”
Jack’s mind was ablaze, fear for his teenaged girl burst in his thoughts. His anger rose, blood pounding in his temples at the idea of this swine threatening his daughter. His hands flexed for they grew hungry for the puke’s throat. All of his years behind a desk hadn’t dulled his abilities so much that he couldn’t take out a skinny drug courier.
“Yeah? What of her?”
Robert’s said, “Forget her, Mr. Sullivan. It’s your son I will rape if this fails. You copy, good buddy?”
The mocking tone of the man from Cicero echoed in his ears longer than the sound of the Harleys. At least the noise from the bikers faded at last.
Jack Sullivan’s world twisted and he cursed himself forever getting involved with these people. “So easy at first,” he said to no one, thinking of how his desire to control everything led to his actions dominating the drug dealers in the town. It took a little bit of thought to dictate these little fools and the rewards were good. His retirement home, condo time-share in Florida and other vacations were lavish due to this bit of control. Never did he plan on any of it coming back to him.