by C. L. Bevill
That made Bubba look at the other people in the group aside from his mother. One was an unknown young man dressed in a blue suit, and Bubba was certain that he didn’t know him. The fourth and fifth ones were women. The fourth one was wearing another sequined dress but one that glittered goldly in the beams of the bobbing flashlights. It might have been a tea-length dress, but the height of the woman made it into a mid-thigh-length dress. Her black hair was piled high on her head and one of her hands was inserted into a matching gold-lamé purse as if she was prepared to extract something at a moment’s notice. When she looked in Bubba’s direction, he nearly ducked because he saw that it was Celestine Gray, Willodean’s mother. He didn’t know whether to be awed or appalled that his mother had dragged his mother-in-law into this contrary mess of legendary dimension. (The awe side was slightly more weighted.)
Bubba sighed as he looked at the fifth person. She was another tall woman, although not as tall as Celestine’s six feet. (Willodean had missed that bit of DNA, but Bubba didn’t mind that in the least, although Willodean lamented her height at times especially when she was trying to reach something on the top shelf in the kitchen. Bubba had never seen a woman who could climb the cabinets like she could.) Her hair was long auburn curls when flashlight beams revealed them, and she wore a 40s era dress that flared out at the bottom. The color was a rich burgundy velvet, and her beribboned pumps matched the dress in an elegant 40s fashion as she hobbled over the uneven ground. She also looked familiar, but Bubba was having a problem placing her.
Thelda whispered in Bubba’s ear as if reading his mind. “Thee be Cella Montague LaPierre Mitchell Blankenship, a niggling bugbear.”
Oh yes, another resident from Dogley. Bubba had once mistaken Cella et al for David Beathard, which was another interesting story, and Cella had ended up being invited to Bubba’s wedding where she demanded dogs in blankets and jumbo shrimp, and that was about the most that he could remember about her.
Celestine must be having a grand time, Bubba thought. That was followed by What next? which was likely a challenge to the universe because that was when the growls started.
Bubba looked up as several flashlights were directed to a point higher on the hill. There was the Boogity-Boo in all his or her hairy glory. Red eyes flashed in the darkness. Wow, nice contacts.
The Boo screamed in fury at the group below putting on a show that would have impressed P.T. Barnum himself.
Lloyd, who clearly didn’t appreciate the Boo’s showmanship, abruptly lost all courage and turned tail and ran down the trail. “Tole everyone I wouldn’t come up here for a million billion gazillion dollars! Forty bucks and all-you-can-et ice cream ain’t enough, Miz D!”
“I need that tux back!” Miz Demetrice hollered at his back, all pretense at being something she wasn’t vanishing.
“I’ve got my Glock,” Celestine announced.
“Don’t shoot!” Bubba yelled.
The Boogity-Boo glanced startled at Bubba’s thicket and promptly turned to stomp away. The large figure froze abruptly when another Boo appeared not twenty feet away snarling in turn. The shape was silhouetted against the glow of the flashlights in the fog and its snarls were just as impressive as the first’s.
Just then on the opposite of the clearing appeared a third Boo, shorter than the others but still just as terrifying. Its horrifying growls were also Oscar worthy.
Bubba’s mouth gaped. “It be a congregation of Boos.”
“Like a murder of crows,” Brownie muttered, “or a parcel of hornets or even a parliament of owls. Boos should have their own group names. A bale of Boos. A business of Boos. A bank of Boos. No, none of those work, do they?”
Then on the other side came a fourth one, jumping out in front of a stand of pines and growling while simultaneously glowering. For a long minute all four Boos growled and snarled at each other and then at the group of people in turn.
“I’m with Lloyd!” Newt yelled abruptly and threw his bottle over his shoulder as he fled higgledy-piggledy down the path.
“I’ll take down those vicious animals!” Cella yelled and pulled off one pump to use as a weapon. She held it up warningly.
The unknown young man in the suit tugged on Miz Demetrice’s shoulder and squeaked, “Is this really what you were expecting?”
“I was only expecting one,” Bubba’s mother said loudly, “so no.”
It was readily apparent that the three distinct groups didn’t know exactly what to do. The pretend VIPs on the trail in the little clearing, or what remained of them, were frozen in place. Bubba’s crew was stuck in place expectantly waiting. The Boos were snarling at each other as if to scare off the competition.
Then one of the Boos said, “The hell with this,” and fled. He took three steps before there was a loud snap and the sound of leaves hurtling through the air, and he vanished in a ball of rope and brush. There was a secondary snap as the trap bounced and effectively caught its prey.
Brownie giggled.
Another one of the Boos turned to flee and there was another unearthly snapping noise and a similar reaction.
The third and fourth ones abruptly vanished into the earth as they tripped other traps. Brownie clapped his hands together in triumph. Then he did a fist pump. “In your face, Boogity-Boos,” he yelled.
Of course, that was when the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department showed up, followed by the Pegramville Department of Police, and a Texas Game Warden for good measure.
Chapter 26
Bubba and a Bevy of Boogity-Boos
Sheriff John was yelling. Big Joe was yelling. Miz Demetrice was yelling. The Texas Game Warden was yelling. Three of the four Boos were yelling. Brownie had located his iPhone, dug it up, and was taking pictures of the Boos. Two of them were trapped in leg snares that used counterbalances and were hanging in the air by one leg, which did not look very comfortable. (Brownie had used a rock that weighed more than Bubba, which had been a very interesting way of setting a trap and also time consuming to set.) Two of them had fallen into punji traps, or big holes that were deep enough that they weren’t going to climb out, and they weren’t particularly comfortable looking either. (They were lucky that Bubba wouldn’t allow Brownie to use the stakes that were traditionally supposed to go on the bottom of those types of traps. “No stakes!” Bubba had to repeat the directive on three separate occasions.)
“Boobytraps,” Brownie announced through a large grin to the world at large, but no one was paying particular attention to him. “That’s also the name of that Army manual that’s my very favorite.”
“Everyone SHUT UP!” Sheriff John yelled, and there was an abrupt silence. “I’m in charge here! This here is Pegram County—” he shot a glance at Big Joe whose jurisdiction ended at the city’s limits— “and I ain’t shore about needing the game warden—” he shot a glance at the Texas Game Warden who was a large man named Caleb Conner— “so I also ain’t shore ifin there’s a crime that’s done bin committed so I don’t know why I’m here.”
Three of the Boos started yelling again. Mostly they wanted out of the holes or down from the trees, although one of them wanted their lawyer. (Apparently one Boogity-Boo did have an attorney on retainer. Who knew?)
“SHUT UP!” Sheriff John yelled again and everyone went quiet anew. He took a deep breath and sighed. “Don’t you people have somewhere to be tonight?”
Bubba did. His wife was needing a little loving to perk her up, and there were feet that needed to be rubbed, too.
Miz Demetrice said, “Just clearing up a little human nonsense, John. I don’t believe the po-lice need to be present.”
Big Joe guffawed and Celestine finally put her Glock back in her shiny purse.
“Did you know your hat has LED lights on it?” Big Joe asked Miz Demetrice. “You’re like that fella in the movie about a horse that lights up. Except it’s just your hat.”
“Shut up, Joe,” Miz Demetrice said. “Don’t you have a donut shop to go to?”
Big Joe patted his gut fondly. “I gave up donuts last week.”
“Thou venom-eyed, onion-hooked eunuch,” Thelda said to him.
“And you’ve got brown, green, and black paint on your face,” Big Joe said, unperturbed by her statement. “So does Bubba, Brownie, the guy in the brown sheet, and holy crap, I mean carp, is that Daniel Lewis Gollihugh?”
“Shore,” Dan rumbled in his deep voice. Big Joe took a step back because he didn’t have a squad of Pegramville’s finest backing him up.
“Just you relax, Dan,” Big Joe said. “Dint I promise you tacos the last time we locked you up.”
“I don’t recollect that tacos were provided,” Dan considered. He grinned broadly showing the gap between his two front central incisors as if he was considering using them on the police chief.
“He’s Buddhist now,” Bubba said, “so he don’t bite no more.”
“I ain’t never bit someone,” Dan protested, “except that one time and that fella deserved it. Totally. And them doctors did sew that part back on and he kin use it again, so it’s all good.”
“So, who called you, John?” Bubba asked.
“Guess,” Sheriff John said right back.
Bubba cringed. Willodean had been concerned and couldn’t get through to Brownie or Dan’s phones because one had been buried in the dirt and the other one had been muted. She probably hadn’t known to call one of the loonies. Even if she had, all of their phones had been muted at Bubba’s request when they’d hunkered down waiting for the trap to be sprung.
“Yep,” Sheriff John said. “Then there was a call from Mrs. Virtna Snoddy that her son was missing and her daughter, Cookie, was crying because she has a terrible rash. Of course, I cain’t be doin’ nothing about a rash except to recommend that Boudreaux’s Butt Paste. And I—” he looked around— “then Big Joe heard it on the radio, and I ain’t shore why Caleb showed up.”
“Someone called saying an endangered species was being trapped,” the game warden said eyeing the variously trapped Boos, “but I’m thinking only things trapped here are people in costumes. What in hellfire and brimstone is going on around here?”
Bubba sighed. He looked at his watch. Time had gone from dragging to a top speed that would have made a race car driver envious. “Just to clear this up,” he announced loudly, “we set up a trap to catch whoever was pretending to be a Boo to ruin the movie.”
“This was a trap?” one of the Boos asked disbelievingly. “Dammit, I’m stupid.”
Bubba went to that Boo, who was hanging from a particularly tall oak tree, and snatched the mask off. She cursed at him and then at everyone else for simply being present. Long brown hair tumbled down from a hair net that had kept it neatly under the mask, and brown eyes glared at all of them in turn. It was Marquita Thaddeus. “That got some of my hair!” she squealed.
“Why are you trying to sabotage your own movie?” Bubba asked baldly.
“Not sabotage,” Marquita snarled, “just generating more press. There isn’t anything illegal about what I’m doing. I heard about these people coming and came down to see why you hadn’t called me about them. And to give them a little scary something-something to talk about while they were writing checks! This is my rental, and all of you are trespassing! Are you going to help me down?” She tilted her head a little and stared at the group of fake VIPs. “Those aren’t real VIPs!”
Brownie lifted the counterweight while Bubba helped Marquita extract herself from the snare. She sat on the ground and rubbed her ankle, lifting up the bottom of the costume to do so. “That stretched me out better than my chiropractor,” she muttered.
“So, who’s that one?” Brownie asked as he peered into the first punji trap. “You know they had holes already dug around here? It made it very easy. Someone had even marked them with caution tape so I could find them easier. Of course, I took the tape away, and I dug those two about three feet deeper.”
Bubba joined Brownie at the edge of the hole. Sheriff John, Big Joe, and Miz Demetrice joined them as they observed the captured being in the deep pit. They looked down and watched as the Boo in the first hole sighed heavily and slowly removed his mask. “As I thought,” Bubba said with satisfaction. “That’s Schuler.”
“Schuler!?!” Marquita shrieked at the former head makeup artist of The Deadly Dead. “I’ll make sure you never work in this biz again!”
“That was already happening!” Schuler shrieked back. He brushed a wig off his pink hair and shook it out.
“He left his scarf in the tunnels,” Bubba said. “You remember that other one everyone thought was a necktie and someone used to try and frame me for Kristoph’s death?”
“It was a scarf signed by Liza Minelli!” Schuler corrected. “And Marquita and Risley Risto wanted to make sure I never worked again. All I was doing in Georgia was zombie, zombie, zombie. I’m sick to death of zombies. God, who wants to see zombies anymore? When I heard about the movie, I had to come here and try to stop it. Just because.” He leaned against the hole and began to cry.
Marquita shifted uncomfortably as she listened to him cry. “I never tried to cut you out of the biz, Schuler,” she said finally. “If you want to work for scale, I’ve got jobs now. I think we managed to grab the rest of the budget needed to finish the flick. It’ll be a great credit for you. Simone would love to see you back with us.”
“Really?” Schuler asked, wiping his face. He lifted his head, and in the meager flashlight beam he appeared hopeful.
“Of course,” Marquita said. “Can’t you get him out of that hole? He’s an artist, and his temperament needs to be respected.”
Bubba had a temperament that needed to be respected, too, and people didn’t see him trying to scare folks out of a livelihood. He held onto John’s arm while he reached down to hoist Schuler out of the hole. The makeup artist came up and nearly collapsed against Bubba. Bubba set the other man right and lent him a hand while he collected himself.
“I think I sprained my ankle,” Schuler said and limped over to sit by Marquita.
“Nice Boo suit,” she said and took a breath. Then she said, “So if that’s us, who are they?” She gestured at the other two Boos. One was hanging from a tree and the other one snuffled from the other hole that Brownie had boobytrapped with a false top.
“The former FBI agent, Hornbuckle, had said she took stuff from the tunnels that showed where people had been wandering around.” Bubba glanced at Jesus Christ, Thelda, and Dan, who shook his head. Bubba took that to mean that David nor any of the loonies wanted to own up to mining for gold in the tunnels under the Hovious place. Bubba didn’t want to announce to all and sundry that gold was present because it might cause another treasure-hunting spectacular. Besides, he’d promised David he wouldn’t blab. “There was some stuff from them fellas from the junkyard and then there was one of Schuler’s fancy scarves, and there was a carton of Lucky Strikes. That was because everyone was wandering through them dang tunnels when they had a mind to hide out. It was a right good place to duck while pretending to be the Boo.”
The third Boo slowly swung from the tree by an ankle and crossed its arms over its chest as if preparing to defend itself. Finally, it said, “I was wondering where those smokes went to. I could use one right now. And a doobie. Anyone got a doobie? No. Well, a cig?”
“So you’re saying Hornbuckle wasn’t one of the Boos,” Marquita said.
Sheriff John cleared his throat. “That gal is still at Dogley. She’s in the secure section of the hospital locked up tight until the psychiatrists are done with her. Might be a while.”
“She seems like such a nice former FBI agent,” Cella remarked, and everyone ignored her. “She promised to let me play with her metal detector if I gave her my Jell-O, but I’ll only give her the lime and not the cherry.”
“What have you dragged me into?” the young man in the suit who Miz Demetrice had brought with her asked.
“Who’s that, Ma?” Bubba asked.
“
The clerk from the Ramada,” Miz Demetrice said. “He was bored, and he had a suit. I needed a group so there he was.”
“That explains why that fella didn’t text you that Schuler had left the motel,” Bubba said irritably.
Ma shrugged as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“So, who’s that?” Brownie asked, pointing at the remaining hanging Boo.
“Tandy?” Marquita asked. “Is that really you?”
“Hell, yes, it’s me,” Tandy said. She snarled a little bit and then added, “You wouldn’t give me any of the extra lines! You wouldn’t listen to any of my ideas! I wanted to get my part bigger, and let me tell you, there are producers lining up to get me. I was in Bubble People, you know. I almost got nominated for an Oscar.”
“What producers?” Schuler asked snidely. “Tandy, you know how this business is. One day you’re up, and the next day you’re dumpster diving for Alpo behind the Safeway.”
Tandy snarled some more and then snapped, “Get me down! The blood is rushing to my head, and if my ankle is broken, I’m suing everyone! I’m going to sue this rope around my ankle! I’m suing the person who first lived on this continent! And their sister! I’M GOING TO SUE MY OWN MOTHER FOR HAVING ME!”
Brownie lifted the counterweight, and without further ado, Tandy dropped to the ground. Bubba didn’t even have a chance to catch her, and she landed in a clump of bushes with a loud shriek. More profanity-laced threats followed.
When Tandy finally paused to take a breath, Bubba said, “Say, Tandy, kin I git your autograph? There’s a trooper I promised to git it for.”
Tandy rolled onto her side and said, “Bleeping bleepity bleep bleep autograph! Bleeping bleepo bleeper bleepinese! Bleep! Bleep! BLEEP!” except it was a given that she wasn’t using the word bleep.
Bubba took that to mean no and wondered what he was going to tell that state trooper who’d gone to the police academy with Willodean. (Maybe the man would take a dozen pints of Häagen-Dazs.)