Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  “Sure you can. You have a nice alto voice."

  “Well, I can't read music."

  “I'll teach you.” He moved behind her and fondled her breasts. “These things are beginning to look like knee-knockers. Aren't there some exercises you can do?"

  “The way you tug and pull on them all the time, exercise won't do no good. Eddie, what am I gonna wear to church? I don't even own a dress."

  “Look in the closet. The old lady might have something in there."

  He went to the counter and poured another cup of coffee. “Snatching the kid is going to be easy."

  “Why do you say that?"

  “Twice I've seen the Dollar bitch pull up at the Dot Grocery across from the Korner Kafe and leave the kid strapped into a kiddy seat. She doesn't stay in the store more than five minutes, but that's long enough. If I can make this dart gun thing work, he won't even make a sound."

  “Why don't you just do it and get it over with?"

  “We haven't lived here long enough to establish a good reputation. When it happens, I want us to be so loved by the community that no one will suspect us of having anything to do with it. That's why we're joining the church today and later will join the choir. I think it would be a good move for me to also join the volunteer fire department."

  “I can't picture you risking your life fighting a house fire,” she said.

  “I was a damn good volunteer the last time I lived in Dot."

  “Is that Elliott fellow dead yet?” she asked.

  “I heard Mr. Bennett talking about it yesterday. The bastard's still in ICU, but they now think he'll recover. I hit him where his heart is supposed to be, but it seems the bastard is one of those freaks whose internal organs are reversed from the normal positions."

  “Don't you think he's suffered enough?"

  “Maybe. It's the flat-chested bitch with the leaky bladder I'm really after."

  She took her empty bowl to the sink. “Okay,” she said. “Let's say we snatch the kid. What are we going to do with him? If one of us stays out of work, won't that raise suspicions?"

  He slapped her playfully on her bottom. “I cleaned out a place behind the furnace for him. We'll tie and gag the little fucker and let him rot in the basement until the bitch comes up with the ransom money. Maybe I'll kidnap Sandy too and keep both of them tied and gagged in the basement. Tim would come up with the big bucks in a hurry if his kid and wife were both being held for ransom, and I'd love to torture that scrawny bitch with her kid watching."

  The daydream returned and an evil grin creased his lips. “Wouldn't it be a kick in the ass for you to take a Polaroid of me humping Miss Tiny Tits with the kid watching and send that to Tim Dollar. Man, he'd shit in his pants."

  “But then he'd know who kidnapped them."

  “We wouldn't show my face in the picture, stupid."

  He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her knees. She knew what he wanted and unzipped his pants.

  He wrapped his hands in her hair and stared out the window. “If I do decide to just take the kid, I'll grab the bitch when she brings me the ransom money. Maybe I'll build a medieval style torture chamber in the basement and let the kid watch his mama get worked over day after day after day. A torture chamber—now that's a great idea. It'll need to be soundproof, ‘cause I want to hear that honey-haired bitch scream and beg for mercy."

  He tightened his grip on Greta's hair, groaned as his semen pumped into her throat, and backed away. “Now get your flabby ass in the bedroom and find something to wear,” he commanded.

  Greta went to the bathroom and gargled, fighting the urge to regurgitate. His semen smelled and tasted like rotting fish. She again looked at her sagging breasts. If I'm ever gonna leave him, she thought, I'd better do it now while my tits still have enough uplift to attract customers.

  She went to the closet and jerked the string. She pulled out dress after dress and finally found a navy blue one that seemed to be larger than the others. She tried it on. The hem fell just below her knees. Must have been ankle length on her, Greta thought. When she buttoned the dress at the waist, it popped open at the bust. When she buttoned the top first, it puckered at her waist.

  She returned to the closet in search of a wide belt and once again felt a chill run down her spine.

  “Lady,” she said. “I'm sorry to be taking your clothes, but if it helps any, I'm wearing them to church.” Suddenly she spotted a wide black belt. She was almost certain it was not there before. It fit. As she buckled the belt, her eyes fell on a shoebox on the floor. She tried the shoes in the closet rack earlier and found them too small. She knelt down and opened the box, wondering how she could have overlooked it. The black low-heeled pumps fit perfectly. Somehow, she knew they would.

  The chill crawled up her spine as she turned to leave the closet. She reached back and pulled the string, extinguishing the light. “Okay, lady,” she said reverently. “I'll look through your stuff in the other room when we get back from church."

  “Who the hell are you talking to? Eddie barked. “Hot damn. You look down right respectable. I told you you'd find something in the closet, but take off your bra."

  “Eddie, not in church."

  “Yeah, in church, and we'll sit close to the front. I want to watch that preacher get a hard-on while staring at your nipples."

  * * * *

  “I don't know why I let you drag me to church Sunday after Sunday,” Borders griped as he held the car door for Leora.

  “Just hush, Julius. We go through this every Sunday. You know you like Mack McGee's sermons as much as I do."

  “Yeah,” he said as he sat behind the wheel of the car and fastened his seatbelt. “I guess I do, but this is Easter. The place will be packed. The choir will sing a dozen anthems and Mack will preach forever."

  “His sermons never last more than twenty minutes,” she said as he eased the Toyota onto Lumbermill Road and headed for the church. “I saw today's bulletin when I was at the church yesterday. The choir is just singing two anthems. One of them is the Hallelujah Chorus. I know you'll like that."

  “The choir isn't good enough or big enough to perform anything by Handel."

  “Then you ought to get your lazy butt up there on Thursday nights and help them out. You have a beautiful bass voice."

  He smiled, remembering years gone by when he used to sing in a church choir. It was fun. Maybe he should try it again. “How's the history coming along?"

  She laughed. “I've come to a tough spot on the road,” she said. “In the early days, the church disciplined members for every real or imagined infraction of their rigid moral code. They held public trials and the minutes don't record anyone ever being found innocent."

  “Why is that so hard to write about?"

  “Because the minutes call a spade a spade. If they suspected a woman of committing adultery, for instance—and the minutes are full of such cases—they describe her sin in minute detail. Up to this point I have been quoting the minutes verbatim to illustrate my points, but somehow I don't think it would be in good taste to do that in these cases."

  “Give me a ‘for instance',” Borders said with a little smirk on his face.

  “Okay, you lecherous old man. There was this one woman who used her tobacco barn for more than curing the golden leaf. You know, when they cured tobacco, they had to tend the fire in the curing barn around the clock. They would set up a cot at the barn to make the long night hours a little more comfortable. She always volunteered to tend the fires during the wee hours of the morning. Finally, her husband became suspicious and spied on her one night. Several neighboring farmers called on her during the night and crawled between the blankets with her. The minutes indicate that the church severely condemned her because, unlike a prostitute, she slept with her neighbors purely for the pleasure it gave her."

  “What punishment did the church render?"

  “Exclusion, of course, but in this case they told the husband to use a razor strop o
n his wife daily until she came to know the fear of the Lord."

  “What did the church do to her gentlemen callers?"

  “Nothing. The minutes don't even name the fornicators."

  Borders shook his head.

  “Then there was the case of a young man who, for unnamed reasons, committed suicide. The church decided that taking your own life was a sin and refused to allow the body to be buried in the church cemetery,” Leora said.

  “Aren't there some records of lesser sins?"

  “Lots of them—public drunkenness, moon-shining, failure to attend services regularly, failure to contribute financially to the church, petty thievery—stuff like that. An interesting situation showed up in 1900. They charged a member of being a sot. I suppose that today we would call him an alcoholic. The church convicted him many times of this offense, excluded, and then reinstated him. Finally, they threatened him with permanent exclusion unless he ended the use of alcohol as a beverage completely. He argued that if he followed their instructions, he could no longer take communion. That's when the church switched from using wine to grape juice in the observance of the Lord's supper."

  “I suggest that you quote the minutes on some of these less embarrassing cases and just allude to the others."

  “That's what I'll have to do,” she said and then grinned. “But I hate to leave out the juicy stuff."

  He laughed. “I don't see why you have to leave anything out. The requirement to quote only from the minutes is self-imposed. For the juicy stuff, why don't you simply tell the stories like you just told me?"

  She nodded. “That would be one way around my dilemma."

  “What kinds of punishment, other than exclusion, did the church use to discipline those who strayed from the straight and narrow?"

  “Oh, sometimes they made demands of the condemned, as in the case of the alcoholic, and sometimes they would resort to knee-jerk discipline as in the case of the suicide. Occasionally they would require that thieves make restitution, but as in the case of the woman with the wandering eye, the discipline normally was exclusion from fellowship. I still haven't figured out exactly what all that entailed, but apparently it was a mark of disgrace. Eventually the sinners would go before the church, ask for forgiveness and restoration of fellowship. It was always granted."

  “Nobody was put in stocks or publicly flogged?"

  “Nope."

  “Shucks."

  Leora laughed. “Nobody was burned at the stake either."

  “Did the church have any black members back then?"

  “Nothing is said about it in the minutes, but the membership roles have ‘Negro’ written beside numerous names, so I assume blacks were participants in the early days."

  “Still are,” Borders said. “That's at least one thing the church does right."

  “Borders, you were gone a long time yesterday afternoon. Where were you?"

  “I thought you'd be pleased with my absence."

  “I was, but I'm curious too."

  “I was in Charlotte talking junk with the guys. I still have it in my blood, you know."

  “Did anything come up I would be interested in?"

  “I don't think so. For the most part we talked about the shooting."

  “Have they made any progress?"

  “Not really. They found the spot in the woods where they think the shooter fired, but there were no clues—no footprints or shell casings. Both bullets went clean thorough Bobby's body. One they can't find and the other flattened out against the brick foundation of his house and is of no use for a ballistics test. The only suspect is Eddie Crow, the new guy working for George Bennett. A deputy questioned Crow on the day of the shooting and found he had a recently fired high powered rifle in his truck, but Crow had an excuse and there's no evidence linking either Crow or the rifle to the shooting."

  “Maybe it's time you become actively involved in the investigation. I don't like the idea of someone lurking in the woods taking potshots at us."

  Borders chuckled. “My buddies made a point of reminding me that I am retired and should stay out of it."

  “Oh,” Leora said as they came in sight of the Dot Baptist Church. “Look at all the gorgeous flowers in the cemetery."

  “Yeah,” he grumbled, “and look at all the cars in the parking lot. It's going to be a long day. You can count on it."

  * * * *

  “You look real nice this morning Mom,” Billy Frank said as he helped Dottie into the cab of his wrecker."

  “That's a beautiful hat, Dottie,” Billy's wife, Tracy, commented as she squeezed over to make room for Billy to get in the driver's seat.

  “Nobody wears hats anymore. I wish I hadn't let the two of you talk me into going this morning,” Dottie groused.

  “Mom,” Billy admonished. “It's Easter."

  “Why do you insist on driving the wrecker to church?” Dottie asked irritably. “It's embarrassing."

  Billy laughed. “Because it's good advertising. Everybody in Dot will be at church today and they can't miss seeing the wrecker."

  “Stop,” Dottie said. “Turn around."

  “What?"

  “I've changed my mind. I'm not going."

  Billy ignored her. “Mom, you know you want to go to church on Easter. All your friends will be there."

  “We'll see how many friends I have tomorrow. Can you believe that bastard is offering a free meal to everybody?"

  “Mom—such language,” Billy joked. “It's going to cost Mr. Bennett a fortune, but you must admit, it's a sure way to get people to try his food."

  “That damn sanctimonious fool will be sitting in the fourth pew on the left, bowing his shaggy mane during the prayers, drowning out everybody else singing the hymns, and nodding his twofaced head in agreement with everything Mack says during the sermon."

  Billy reached behind his wife and squeezed his mother's shoulder affectionately. “Yes,” he agreed, “but he'll be sitting alone while you are with people who love you."

  * * * *

  Stretching the shoulder strap to its limit George opened the passenger door from the inside. “I warmed the car up for you,” he said as Maggie slid in, “but don't you think you need a jacket?"

  “I'm fine,” she said with the heart-stopping smile on her lips. “It'll warm up soon and a jacket would just be in the way."

  He watched her latch the shoulder strap and admired the shape of her breasts as the belt tightened between them. “I appreciate you going to church with me, Maggie. I feel a bit out of place when I go alone. I should have bought you a corsage."

  “The pleasure is mine, kind sir, and I look foolish wearing flowers” she replied jovially. “I don't talk about it much, George, but I rarely miss a Sunday in church, and certainly not Easter Sunday."

  He put the car in gear and headed down the circular driveway. “Here I go again, sounding like a dirty old man, but Maggie, you are such a lovely creature. Why do you usually dress so sloppily?"

  “To keep the guys from hitting on me,” she replied without hesitation. “It usually works, too. For instance, when you first met me you said something to the effect that I have small breasts. Men like big ‘uns,” she laughed. “I keep mine strapped down so they won't get in my way and don't attract unwanted attention."

  She noticed the tint to George's cheeks and gently placed her hand on his knee. “I didn't mean anything by that,” she said lamely.

  “I ... I shouldn't have commented on your anatomy at all. I apologize."

  “George,” she said rubbing his knee with the palm of her hand, “lighten up. I like you. You're a great guy."

  “You're a great gal, too, Maggie. I feel like my whole life has changed for the better these past few days."

  “Me too,” she said as she let her head fall back on the headrest. “Your home is like a palace to me, George. Letting me have the run of the place is like a dream come true."

  He glanced in her direction and saw her eyes close and a dreamy expression eme
rge on her face. Her lips seemed to glow. Perhaps she was wearing some type of lip-gloss.

  “One of the things I am going to do in church this morning is to thank God for you,” she said with her eyes still closed. “The other is join the church. Are you a member, George?"

  “Well, I go nearly every Sunday and give them a little money, but I've never formally joined."

  “I believe in being a church member,” she said, “and since Dot has only one church, my choice is easy."

  He laughed. “You know,” he said. “You are setting a good example for an old man. I think I'll join this morning too."

  “Does the church have a good choir, George?"

  “It's small, but I think they do a good job. They have a wonderful little pipe organ one of the members donated, but the teenager who plays it is not the greatest organist I ever heard. Why do you ask?"

  “I sang in the glee club in high school and the only thing I truly enjoyed at Clemson was the glee club. I was thinking I might want to join the choir. You have a sweet baritone voice, George. Do you sing?"

  He nodded. “Used to. I've been thinking of joining the choir too, but I hate to go alone."

  “Now you don't have to,” she sighed and she moved her hand to his thigh.

  They rode in silence for a few minutes. “You're excited about tomorrow, aren't you?” she asked.

  He smiled and nodded. “The Grande Opening."

  “The place will be packed."

  “I certainly hope so."

  “I should think giving away meals will guarantee it."

  “That's the idea. I just feel a little bad about Dottie."

  “Dottie?"

  “Dottie Frank. She owns the Dot Diner."

  “So?"

  “The Korner Kafe will drive her out of business."

  “You think so?"

  “I know so. I will do whatever it takes. This town just won't support two restaurants. I offered to buy her out but she got snooty on me. She thinks her customers are friends who won't desert her, but money talks. I tried to warn her."

  “Is that why you set our menu prices so low—to drive her out of business?"

  He nodded.

  “That doesn't sound like you."