by Phil Truman
“I can dang sure second that,” Punch said.
“It’s been moved and seconded,” Euliss said. “All in favor?” All hands, but one, rose. “All opposed?” Everyone looked at Sunny. “I abstain,” she said.
“Does anyone have any suggestions on where we should start with this?” Euliss asked the committee.
Hayward Yost spoke up. “I remember Buck Buchanan showing me a picture of a group of the town’s original residents, his grampa included.” He swiveled his chair to look at Sunny. “Do you have any idea where that picture might be, Sunny?”
“Well, no,” Sunny said with a thoughtful look. “He used to keep it on the mantel, I think. But it’s not there now. I may have packed it away with his and Mom’s stuff after I moved in. I’ll check.”
“That will be your action item, Sunny,” Euliss said. “Please gives us a report on that at the next meeting”
“If there’s no other old business,” Euliss continued, “I think we should address the parade issue. Hayward, what have you found out?”
While Hayward went on to report that the town’s Kiwanis and Lions Clubs had agreed to have some kind of parade entry, and that he’d located a contingent of Shriners who’d bring their little cars and fezzes, Punch looked over at Sunny with a stony expression. She returned an icy glare, so Punch winked at her. After a few seconds the ice melted some, and a faint smile curled her lips.
Chapter 10
They Killed Him
March 2004
Threebuck took a bite out of his Big Mac and shook his head. He couldn’t at the time express his opinion to Goat about the latter’s stupidity without choking on the wad of burger in his mouth, so he just sneered and shook his head.
Red Randy said it for him. “Treasure huntin’ is for fools,” he said.
“Not if that fool has a map, it ain’t,” countered Goat.
The trio sat in the bike shop eating their lunches when Goat related the story he’d heard from Buck Buchanan over a year ago. He added his opinion that all that gold and treasure still waited out there for the taking.
What started out as casual conversation evolved into a short game of one-ups-manship. Goat first mentioned how he had made out the previous evening when a kid at a Walgreens had given him back two tens, a one, and change after he had handed the inattentive teenager a twenty for a $3.49 pack of cigarettes. Red Randy then told about the time he found a wallet in a bar parking lot with nine hundred dollars in it. The owner and his buddy, bodyguards for a local mobster it turned out, asked him for it back and he tried to negotiate a reward. Randy got stabbed in the gut, not only losing the nine hundred bucks, but three feet of his colon, as well.
Threebuck followed that with a tale about getting an official looking letter once from the State of Missouri that told him he’d won two hundred and fifty thousand in the state lottery. The letter said he needed to come to a location in Kansas City to sign some papers and pick up his winnings. Only it turned out, Threebuck said, that it was a sting operation to corral local felons with outstanding warrants. Threebuck had a few at the time—petty larceny, burglary, and one for assault with a deadly weapon for the time he’d deliberately shot a fellow fence builder in the knee with a nail gun.
It was at that point that Goat gave them the story about the lost Belle Starr treasure, which he later regretted.
Threebuck sucked some Dr. Pepper into his mouthful of food and swallowed. “What, you got a map to all this, hot shot?”
“No, I ain’t got it, but I know where it is.”
“What, the loot or the map?” Threebuck asked.
“The map, toadstool.”
“How much you figure is in this stash?” Red Randy asked Goat.
“Don’t really know for sure, but that old man said there’s at least forty—fifty thou in gold coins alone; maybe more,” Goat said. “I figure it’s all worth at least a hunnert thou.”
“So, what, you stupid enough to go looking for this, Goat cheese?” Threebuck asked. “Sounds like a stupid goose chase to me. Maybe a stupid goat chase.” He grinned and looked over at Red Randy for approval.
“I been thinking about it for a while,” Goat said. “It just seems like an opportunity worth looking into; which is what I aim to do one of these days.”
Threebuck and Red Randy looked at one another. Threebuck reached back to scratch his rear and said, “You’re a stupid damn idiot.”
“Yeah, well maybe,” Goat said. He stood and tossed his food bag and drink cup into the trash barrel in the center of the shop. “But I’d rather be a stupid damn idiot than a skinny little butt-scratcher.”
Threebuck shook his head again and polished off his Big Mac. “Guess I’m going to have to give your face another definition of ugly,” Threebuck said as he licked the tips of his fingers, and stood up.
Red Randy, leaning against a big Harley while he ate, grabbed Threebuck’s shoulder and shoved him back into a sitting position.
“If you got a map for this treasure, maybe me and Threebuck oughta help you find it,” he said.
Goat looked at Randy and Threebuck. “Naw, I don’t think so. It’s pretty much a one-man job. Besides, I thought you said looking for treasure was for fools.”
Red Randy looked down at Threebuck in mock confusion. “Did I say that, Three?” Threebuck looked up at Red Randy with some uncertainty. “Well, yeah, I think you did, Randy.”
“Hmmph,” Red Randy said. “Well, I think you misunderstood me. What I’m trying to say is that you, Goat, will be the damn fool to get that map. Then me and Threebuck will help you find it.”
“Now why in the hell would I want to do that?” Goat asked with a smirk.
Red Randy looked at Threebuck and grinned. Threebuck looked back at Red Randy and grinned, too; not because he necessarily knew what Red Randy was thinking, but because experience had taught him it was the prudent thing to do.
“Hmm... well,” Red Randy said in a quiet, calm voice. “Maybe because of this.” He reached out and grabbed Goat by the throat lifting him to his tiptoes. “I could snap your neck anytime,” Red Randy said to the gurgling, dangling Goat. “But that wouldn’t do me much good until you get me that map. So I’s thinking maybe you’d want to get that treasure map for us just to make sure that little girl of yours don’t meet up with me and Threebuck some night. I think Three, here, is kind of sweet on her.”
Red Randy released his clutch on Goat’s throat and let him slide to the floor, gasping and coughing. “Deal?” he asked Goat.
Goat rubbed his throat and nodded, not able, at that moment, to make any verbal commitment to his new partners.
* * *
“I don’t think I can do that,” Sunny said. “I wouldn’t feel right just taking it.” She took a forkful of her baked eggplant and dipped it in the soft tofu square on her salad plate. Before she shoved the combination into her mouth, she looked at Goat across the table and asked, “Is this why you asked me to dinner?”
Goat had casually approached Sunny on the subject of the Ed Reed Letter that evening during their restaurant dinner together. He brought up the hidden treasure as a topic of conversation after inquiring as to how her “folks” were doing. She’d mentioned that she was going to go see them on Saturday.
Goat laughed and carved his steak. “Dang, Sunny. Why’re you’re always so suspicious?” Sunny looked at him without answering. Then he said, “It’s just... well, you know, that story he told me last year about that hidden treasure and that letter he showed me written to his grandpa sure was fascinating. I think I’d like to try finding that treasure. You think you could sneak out with that letter on your visit this weekend?” That’s when Sunny refused to do the deed Goat had asked. He hadn’t mentioned his new partners in the venture, nor their threat.
“I doubt that old man would miss it, Sunny. He said himself he hasn’t bothered to look for that treasure in years.”
Goat was conflicted. His master plan had gone all awry. He figured he would just steal the
letter himself at the next opportunity. Maybe the next time he got invited on another visit to see the old folks. He wanted to kick himself in the butt for telling Red Randy and Threebuck about the lost treasure. That was stupid. But he couldn’t turn back now. He had to get that letter, or he felt sure Randy would follow through with his menacing threat.
“No, Goat. I’m not going to do your stealing. Besides, I don’t think that letter is a deep dark secret he wants to keep hidden anyway. It’s more of a family historical curiosity to him than anything else. Nobody has found that treasure in a hundred years, and I doubt anyone ever will. I think ‘the lost treasure’ is more legend than reality. Why don’t you just ask him if you can have a copy of the letter? He’d probably send you one.”
“Hmmph,” Goad said rubbing his chin. “I never thought of that.”
So Goat wrote Buck and asked him for a copy of Ed Reed’s letter, as he wanted to try his luck at treasure hunting. Buck promptly wrote back that, sure, that wouldn’t be a problem as many people had tried to find Bell Starr’s hidden treasure. He wished Goat good luck with his effort. “But,” he added at the end. “I got to warn you about the curse.” He included a photocopy of Ed Reed’s hundred-year-old letter.
“This don’t make no sense unless we know where these landmarks are,” Red Randy said after he read Jim Reed’s letter. “I think we need to go ask this old farmer about all this. My guess is he knows more than he lets on. I think we could persuade him to tell us.”
“I got you what you wanted. Just leave that old guy alone,” Goat said.
Randy, grabbing the front of Goat’s shirt, smashed him up against a shop wall. “You take us to this man, or I’m going to turn Threebuck loose on your daughter,” he said with quiet menace.
* * *
Lorene, sitting in her rocking chair and looking out the living room window, watched the men approach Buck sitting on the tractor. He’d been disking the north forty, and had pulled to a stop as the men got off their motorcycles at the side of the road. They crossed the fence to walk toward the idling tractor. Buck got down and greeted the men and they talked. Buck had laughed and shook his head, removing his straw hat and wiping his balding head with his bandana. One of the men, the big one, pointed a finger at Buck’s face and said something to him. Buck moved back some and shook his head again. He held his palms up and shrugged.
The big man advanced on Buck, grabbed him by the shirtfront with both hands, and seemed to yell in Buck’s face. Lorene could hear the sound of his voice, but not the words. One of the other men, one with a ponytail, moved in and pushed against the big man’s chest to try to move him away from Buck, but the big man backhanded him, knocking him to the ground.
Buck turned quickly, pulling something long from the tractor’s toolbox, and swung it at the big man hitting him in the neck with it. The big man stumbled sideways and backwards, falling on his side. The third man, a little man wearing a red bandana on his head tied in a knot at the back, jumped on Buck’s back and wrenched the long thing out of Buck’s hand. Then the little man clubbed Buck on the side of the head with it. Buck fell to the ground, and didn’t move.
Lorene put her hand over her mouth, sucked in a breath and held it. After a few seconds she exhaled and said, “Oh, Buck.”
The big man got back to his feet and said something to the little man. They both looked down at Buck. The big man rubbed his neck and looked around, then he motioned toward the tractor and said something. The big man and the little man grabbed Buck’s feet and pulled him to a place between the back of the tractor and the front of the disking implement. The little man got on the tractor, then drove it forward pulling the disks over Buck. The man with the ponytail sat on the ground holding his face in his hands.
Lorene, her fingers still on her lips, her eyes wide in terror, exclaimed, “No, no... oh, no!”
The big man and the little man started walking hurriedly back toward their motorcycles. The man with the ponytail slowly got to his feet and looked toward the house. He seemed to be looking right at her. He stayed that way until the others called out to him, then he went to join them. They started up their machines and started to ride away, but the big man stopped and pointed back to the tractor saying something. The little man got off his motorcycle and returned to the field. He picked up the long thing he’d used to hit Buck. He took it to the tractor and put it back in the metal toolbox attached to the tractor. Then they all rode off.
Lorene continued to sit in her rocker looking out the window at the lifeless lump in the field that had once been her Buck. Sadness and terror flooded her body, tears ran down her cheeks. She rocked as her mind played back the entire scene, then some of the scene, then only the part where Buck was struck in the head and fell to the ground. The terror ebbed as the morning wore on, but the sadness remained. She could recall some men being there. She knew there had been more than one, but she wasn’t sure how many. She knew that they had done something terrible to Buck. She couldn’t remember what they had done, but it made her sad... very, very sad. Then she couldn’t remember why she felt that way.
Every few minutes a realization drifted into her mind like smoke in the woods. “They killed him,” she said. Then the smoke blew away, carried off by the sudden gusts roaming the dark forests of her consciousness.
Chapter 11
Sunny Finds a Recipe
After Sunny watched the how-to video on YouTube for a third time, she thought she could give it a shot.
She’d read an article in the latest issue of the newsletter, The New Gaian, entitled “An Earth Recipe for Health.” The article examined the spiritual and physical healing powers of Vidalia onions, as well as those of the Korean fermented cabbage concoction known as kimchi. The article, written by someone who called him- (or her) self Uranus Aphrodite, extolled the miraculous curative and prophylactic powers of the Vidalia onion as a stand-alone snack. According to Uranus, the Georgia onion would not only prevent or cure arthritis, shingles, migraine headaches, bowel disorders, and genital herpes, but would also ward off most known evil spirits. In addition, the onion was very high in vitamin C and potassium. Uranus also wrote about the history and medicinal attributes of kimchi. The article’s conclusion stated that the Vidalia onion, when used as an ingredient in the making of the Korean side-dish, would add a synergistic healing effect for a good number of normal and paranormal adverse conditions.
Sunny, in the midst of a head cold and a bout with winter depression, decided that this was exactly what she needed. She made a trip to an Asian food market in Tulsa to gather all the ingredients to make kimchi—the cabbage, the large Korean radish, the garlic, ginger, sea salt, the ground red pepper, the leeks, the Korean fish sauce, the oysters, the large plastic container to mix it in, the rubber gloves, the goggles... and, of course, two big Vidalia onions. She spread all of the items out on the kitchen table where they awaited her assault at the conclusion of watching the how-to video.
Besides her cold, the other part of Sunny’s motivation to make this kimchi had been Gale (a.k.a. Punch, but she refused to call him that)... and her depression, which always seemed somehow intertwined. She, for the life of her, couldn’t understand what it was about that man that drew her to him. She’d almost convinced herself that it had to be some evil spiritual influence.
While she went about the slicing and dicing of the vegetables, she thought about her relationship with Gale. It’d been almost three years since their first accidental encounter out by the lake. At that time, she had an immediate dislike for the man. She considered him uncouth and obtuse then. Her opinion hadn’t changed much since. He hunted, fished, drank beer, dipped snuff, and only bathed and shaved once every two or three days. He would go two months or more without getting a haircut. Politically they were poles apart. Sunny considered herself an enlightened social progressive, and she considered Gale a Nazi. He would disagree vehemently whenever she called him that; which, of course, she felt proved her point. As for his spirituality, well, the
re were tree stumps with more spiritual energy, unless you wanted to count NASCAR and football as religious followings, which he did.
He somehow still connected himself to that Jo Lynn woman, his two-time ex-wife. Sunny didn’t understand that relationship at all. Oh, from her own perspective, she understood why the woman had let the lout stay around. There was that mysterious attraction about Gale. Jo Lynn must’ve felt it, too. She found herself a little... jealous and resentful of Gale’s continued attention to Jo Lynn. Sunny wanted everything in her power to be rid of Gale, but at the same time, she didn’t want any other woman to have him either. The thought angered her. It gave her even more reason to want to shed him like a snake would dead skin.
Yet, she just couldn’t rid herself of him. He seemed to have pheromones that drove her wild. He could be sweet. Like the time he brought her a hummingbird feeder after she went ballistic on him when he told her he’d been quail hunting. Another time he had come to her door with an armful of yard gnomes, he and all of gnomes grinning stupidly. That occurred after they’d had a big fight over Igor, Hermione, and Cornflakes—her cats—and their right to jump onto the dinner table. Gale was against it, and had physically demonstrated his position.
Oh, yes, he hated her cats, and he teased her relentlessly, the big brute. He made constant fun of her dream-catchers and wind chimes.
“What,” he’d asked one time when she showed him her spirit garden and tried to explain it, “...you afraid the boogie man might get you?” She thought back to the day they first met in the woods. He tried to scare her with all that silly Hill Man talk. Anybody who’d lived around Tsalagee for any time knew all that creature nonsense, and she knew what he was trying to do.
Gale reminded her that no bunch of strings and feathers hanging from the porch, or tinkling things, would stop the Hill Man if he decided to come and carry her off. A couple of times when she was by herself she’d heard some kind of ruckus around the barn. It was late in the night, and it set her chickens and goats to squawking and bleating something fierce. It did scare her, but she didn’t own a firearm at the time, and wouldn’t have known how to use it if she did.