“Yeah."
“You remember what they did to your rear end?"
She grimaced and tightened the muscles of her buttocks. “You know I can never forget that."
“You remember what they did to your hair?"
“It grew back."
“You remember what they made you do with that cute little mouth of yours?"
“Eddie, I remember it, damn it.” The tears began to flow.
“If you ever tell anyone what I am about to tell you, I will do all those things to you and worse. Do you understand me?"
“I won't tell nothing, Eddie.” She pressed her breasts against his back and began soaping his chest.
“I was a preacher once."
“No shit?"
“No shit. My first job out of the seminary was with the Dot Baptist Church. Man, I was a somebody in those days. Everybody respected me. I used a different name then—John Baxter. Everywhere I went it was, ‘Good morning, Rev. Baxter. Nice day, Rev. Baxter. Can you join us for Sunday lunch, Rev. Baxter?’ Man, I ate it up."
“Why'd you change your name?"
“I just did. I was run out of Dot and the name ‘Baxter’ became a liability."
“How come you were run out of town?"
“I'm coming to that. Tim and Sandra Dollar live in Dot. Hell, they run the damn place. He inherited a fortune from his uncle. I don't know how or where Tim met Sandra, but I sure as hell remember when and where I first met her."
He raised his left arm for her to bathe. “I was working the graveyard shift in a service station on the outskirts of Raleigh, trying to earn enough to stay in Southeastern Seminary. A bunch of vans pulled up about three o'clock one morning. The place was deserted. They robbed me and beat the crap out of me. There wasn't much money in the register, so they stripped me and stole my clothes. They even stomped me in the balls."
Greta shuddered. “They were mean bastards."
“I was lying there on my back, completely naked. I was in so much pain I couldn't move, but to make sure, one of the bastards pressed his boot against my testicles and commanded me to open my mouth. That's when I met Sandra. She was wearing a mini skirt and didn't have on any panties. She stood over me with her feet on either side of my head. While her friends laughed, she pissed on my face. I couldn't stop her, but I swore that one day I would get even."
“When you went to Dot as a preacher you met her again and got even. That was why you were run out of town?"
“Not exactly. She pissed on me again."
Greta stifled a chuckle. “How did that happen?"
“I recognized her the minute I saw her, but she didn't recognize me. She was all respectable, now, and married to the richest dude in the world. Hell, she even called him ‘Dude.’ I trapped her in my study one day and told her who I was. Man, did she turn pale. I beat the shit out of her and made her have oral sex with me. I told her that from now on she was going to be my sex slave."
“Sounds like you did get even. Something else must have happened."
“Something else happened, all right. As I said, she pissed on me again. She set me up. This great looking black woman offered me a good time. You know what I mean. While I was doing her in my study, a huge black giant broke down the door, snapped some pictures, and then beat the crap out of me. He told me to get out of town or he would ruin me."
“And you left?"
“What choice did I have? He had photos of the preacher's white ass between a whore's chocolate legs. I've been knocking around the state for over three years now, dreaming of one day getting my revenge. That day is fast approaching. The black guy's name is Bobby Elliott and I saw him in Dot today also."
“Won't they recognize you?"
“No. I walked right by Sandy this morning while she was sitting in her car at the service station. She just looked at me and smiled. Back then I wasn't the fat slob I am now. I was thin and muscular and I didn't have this beard."
“What you gonna do, kill them?"
“Maybe. I'm certainly gonna kill the black bastard, but I may toy with Sandra a little. There was a kid with her this morning. They called him Junior. Wouldn't it be a kick in the ass to kidnap him, cut him up and mail the pieces to her one at a time?"
“If she's as rich as you say, it looks to me like the kid would be worth more to us alive. We could trade him for a ton of money and move out west someplace and live it up."
He reversed his position in the tub, sloshing water over the side, and pulled her lips to his. “Greta, for a dumb ass like you, that's a hell of a good idea, but I'll need your help."
She pulled her tongue out of his mouth long enough to say, “Sure Eddie. Anything you say."
“Hell, Greta. After we get the money I can still blow her sexy face off."
She stroked his head as he placed his lips on her breast. “Yeah. Or you could take her with us out west and make her your sex slave like you intended in the first place. If we do that, Eddie, can I have a go at her once in a while?"
He looked up at her incredulously. “You like girls?"
“Damn, honey. I like sex."
Chapter Two
Sandra Dollar sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the den fireplace, playing with her three year old son, Timothy, Junior. Junior pushed his bread-loaf sized blue tractor at his mother and laughed when it crashed into her leg.
“Okay, Smart Guy, here it comes.” She pushed the truck towards Junior.
He stopped it with his hands and moved it around him on the hardwood floor. “Brrrrooom,” he shouted as the truck picked up speed and headed towards his mother again. Before Sandra could send the truck on its way back to Junior, he got on all fours and pushed himself erect. “Let's play reading, now,” he said.
Sandra smiled. She was hoping he would say that. A few weeks earlier, while she was reading a novel, he climbed into her lap and innocently said, “I wish I could read."
Her first thought was to tell him that he would learn to read in a few years when he was old enough to go to school, but instead she asked if he would like for her to teach him. His reply was so enthusiastic that she put away the novel and immediately began to show him the alphabet. He learned so quickly and took such pride in imitating her printing that she found herself pushing him beyond his level of interest. It was Tim, Senior, who warned her to back off. Now she waited for Junior to ask to “play reading."
“Okay, Big Boy,” she said as she scrambled to her feet. “Your wish is my command.” They went to her study, which was originally the library, and sat at the mahogany conference table. The ceiling to floor bookshelves that lined the walls of the room, all filled with classics and reference books, provided Sandra with an inspiring ambiance as she went about her creative writing efforts and she hoped it would also inspire Junior in his quest to learn to read.
“Today I think you are ready to really begin to read,” she said as she beamed at her son.
“Oh boy!” he said, clapping his hands together.
Using a pencil and yellow legal pad, she printed the letter ‘a'. “What do you think that word is?"
“It's not a word. It's the letter ‘a',” he laughed. “You are trying to trick me."
“No I'm not,” she smiled. “It's a real word. What do you think it is?"
He studied the single letter on the page and finally said, “I don't know. It's just an ‘a'."
“That's right,” she said. “It's the letter ‘a’ and also the word ‘a', as in Junior is a smart boy."
“That's easy,” he laughed.
“Sure it is.” She printed the letter ‘I’ and asked, “What is this word?"
“I,” he beamed. “Like in I am a smart boy."
“That's right, Junior!"
He grabbed the pencil from her hand and slid the legal pad in front of him. “And this,” he said as he carefully formed the letter ‘u', “is ‘you'."
She tousled his curly hair and laughed. “It should be, but it isn't. ‘You’ is spelled y—o—u,” and sh
e printed the letters on the legal pad for him. “Think of the sounds of the letters and then run them together when you say them."
“Yohu,” he laughed and she hugged him.
“Good try, but trust me, son. It's ‘you'."
“You,” he said while looking at the word and nodding his head. “Show me another word, Mommy."
“Okay.” She picked up the pencil and wrote, “love."
“Lohvee,” he said. “Lohvee ... lohvee ... that's not a word.” His face brightened. “Love?” he asked.
“That's right, Junior!” She pulled his head to her bosom. “Junior, I'm so proud of you."
He pulled away and smiled up at her. “You is y-o-u."
“Let's try another word.” She wrote “dad."
“Daid,” he tried and immediately corrected himself. “Dad. Is that right?"
“It sure is.” Now lets put the words in a sentence. A sentence is a bunch of words put together so that they mean something.” She wrote on the legal pad, “I love dad."
“I love dad,” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Mommy, this is fun. I'll be so glad when I can read and write like you do."
“Junior,” she beamed. “You've just read your first sentence. There's a lot more to learn, but you can read now."
“Let's see if I can write,” he said as he bent over the legal pad and carefully moved the pencil. He pushed the pad back to Sandra. “Did I write something?” he asked.
“I love you,” she read aloud.
“That's right!” he squealed and he again clapped his hands.
Sandra saw Tim pass by the door on the way to his study. “Tim,” she called to him. “Come in here a minute."
With a disgusted look on his face due to the interruption, Tim moved behind Sandra and Junior.
“Tell Daddy what this sentence says,” she said to Junior.
“I love dad,” Junior read proudly.
“Hmmm,” Tim said. He took the pencil and wrote, “Daddy loves you, too."
“Tim, give him a break,” Sandra scolded. “He hasn't learned but one of those words, yet."
Junior studied his dad's printing. Without looking up, he said, “I didn't know you knew how to read and write, Daddy."
Tim's eyes widened in amazement.
Sandra laughed. “Of course Daddy can read and write, Junior. Why did you think he couldn't?"
Junior continued to study his dad's sentence. “He just watches TV."
Tim's face turned red. Sandra patted Junior's head. “Daddy does a lot of reading and writing in his study. Haven't you seen him using his computer?"
“Oh, yeah,” Junior said. At last, he looked up. “I'm not sure, but I think it says, ‘Daddy loves you, too."
Tim lifted his son high in the air and swung him in a complete circle while Junior laughed with glee. “You're something else, son. I am so proud of you. Bobby told me that you helped him cut the grass this morning."
“Nah,” Junior said. “I just sat in his lap and pretended to steer. We weren't cutting grass either. We were grinding up the dead leaves that fell from the trees after the last time Bobby raked. Bobby was really driving the tractor, but it was fun anyway."
“Ready to learn some more words?” Sandra asked.
“Let's go fishing."
Tim and Sandra looked at each other. “Son,” Tim said. “Don't you think it's a little too cold to sit by the lake? Next month is April and then the weather will warm up enough for us to fish."
“I will put on my coat and cap and gloves,” Junior pleaded.
The parents again exchanged glances. “What the heck,” Tim said. “Mommy, you bundle Junior up and I'll go dig some worms."
Sandra stood up and hugged her two men. She whispered in Tim's ear, “And you say I spoil the boy."
* * * *
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Dottie growled at George as he took his normal counter stool.
He looked surprised. “A man has to eat,” he said.
“Go eat in your own damn restaurant,” she spit back.
“Come on, Dottie. I came on a little strong yesterday. I'm sorry. Let me have one of your famous country style steak specials."
The usual din of the lunchtime crowd dropped a few decibels.
“Go get a tube steak at the golf course snack bar,” she hissed and started to walk off.
“Dottie, please,” he said.
She paused and looked at him over her shoulder.
“The words didn't come out right, but I was trying to do you a favor. I offered to buy you out at a fair price. I don't want your diner. If you change your mind and decide to sell, I'll close the place. I just didn't want you to be hurt by my new restaurant."
The only noise in the diner was now coming from the kitchen.
“Hey, everybody,” Dottie said as loud as possible without shouting, “Mr. Bennett is the one who is building a motel and restaurant across from the Dot Grocery. He says he is going to run me out of business. He claims that he will undersell me and all of my good friends and customers will desert me. Now he has the gall to come in here and try to order lunch as if nothing has happened. You, my former friend,” she said glaring at George, “can kiss my royal behind.” She stalked off to the kitchen.
George slipped off the stool and found every customer looking at him. “It's a misunderstanding,” he said meekly. “Because of the location, size, hours and variety of my new restaurant, I think Dottie will lose customers. I didn't want her to be hurt, so I offered to buy her out. I hope some of you can talk a little sense into her stubborn head. I give up.” He tried to walk out of the diner with dignity, but tripped over his own feet as he reached the door and left with the sound of snickering customers in his ears.
She wants to play hardball, he thought as he walked to his car. I love a good fight. He reversed himself and strode determinedly to the offices of the Holder Advertising Agency.
“Mrs. Holder,” he said when he was finally admitted to her office, “I want to plan an advertising strategy for my new restaurant that will wipe the Dot Diner off the face of the map.”
* * * *
“How are you today, Mrs. Borders?” Mack McGee asked as he welcomed the elderly lady to his study.
“Mercy,” she laughed. “Please call me Leora. I can't get used to the name ‘Borders.’ I was a ‘Nickels’ too long, I guess."
“It was one of the prettiest wedding ceremonies I ever performed,” Mack said as he motioned her to have a seat on the sofa. “I never put much stock in the old saw about matches being made in heaven, but if there ever was one, you and Julius are surely it."
“Oh, my goodness,” she laughed. “Don't call him Julius. He hates that. Just call him Borders."
“How is the Detective getting along now that he is retired?"
“He's a pain in the butt,” she said, but her twinkling eyes belied her words. “Always underfoot. I finally convinced him to take up golf. That gets him out of the house a few hours a week anyway. I'm going to put him to work helping with my research. He needs something to keep him busy."
“I don't want to meddle, Leora, but have you given any thought to you and Borders getting a place of your own?"
“He wants to. He wants us to buy one of those fancy houses at the golf course, and maybe we will one day. However, Randy and Jo don't want us to move and right now I am having too much fun with the twins. Maybe we'll do something after they're potty trained."
“Your son and daughter-in-law went through hell and high water to have those babies. God rewarded them with healthy twins. What are their names again?"
“Leora and James,” the proud grandmother replied. “Jo insisted on naming the girl after me. We call her ‘Lee’ to avoid confusion."
Mack laughed. “I tried to talk Jo and Randy out of getting married. I thought they were rushing things. Boy, was I wrong. They are a wonderful couple, and if ever there was a daughter-in-law who loves her mother-in-law, it's Jo."
Leora's eyes twi
nkled again. “I wouldn't want it to get around, but the feeling is mutual. You know why she insisted on going to all that trouble and effort to get pregnant don't you?"
“Well, I assume it's because they very much wanted to have a family."
“Nope. Neither of them cared much about having children. Randy still wears a clothespin on his nose when he changes diapers, and Jo was so certain she didn't want children that she had a tubal ligation done. They went to all the trouble of in-vitro fertilization because Jo found out how much I wanted grandchildren. I tell you, preacher, if Randy had his pick of every woman ever born, he could not have chosen a better wife than Jo."
Leora slipped a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and then hastily replaced it.
“You may smoke if you wish,” Mack said as he looked around for something that would suffice as an ashtray.
“Thanks, but I'm trying to quit. I have to sneak a smoke once in a while. Randy won't allow smoking around the twins. Let's get on with it, Mack. Did you find those records?"
“Sure did,” Mack said as he got out of his overstuffed chair and headed towards his desk. “I surely do appreciate your willingness to tackle the project of writing a book on the history of the church. If we can get it published by next November it will be the perfect topping to the church's centennial celebration."
“I already have the hardest part done. I figure there must have been many uphill battles to win for the church to have endured for one hundred years. I'm going to call the book, Upstream: The History of Dot Baptist Church."
“Sounds great.” Mack lifted a large box from the floor to the top of his desk. “These are the minutes of the church, going back to the beginning. I glanced through them. Until recent years, they are all handwritten. Some of the handwriting is absolutely beautiful and some is barely legible. The ink has begun to fade in many cases, but I think you can still make it out."
Leora picked up the top leather bound volume and thumbed through its pages. “Funny,” she said. “I feel like I am holding a holy book."
“You are,” Mack replied as he placed a second large box on his desk. “These are the replies to our church newsletter request for photographs and memories from church members. Our secretary has marked the back of each document with the name of the contributor. We want to be sure we get these back to their rightful owners. She is also going through the names of former church members. Where we have a current address we are sending out letters asking for any information they may have."
Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows Page 2