Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

  “Come on in, it’s unlocked,” he said.

  “You could’ve at least come to the door,” Haylee said as she entered.

  “Well, Haylee-Girl, I been so busy makin’ phone calls, I got too lazy ta git up,” he said, standing to give her a big hug.

  “I thought you said you only had to make one call to get that truck.”

  “Yeah, I done that, but I need ta git some business, so I been workin’ on locatin’ some good payin’ routes, but it looks like in most cases it’s gonna take a month or so ta git things goin’ again,” Trent said, “I, uh, also talked to the owner of a little ranch in New Mexico ’bout buyin’ his place.”

  “I really hope that call was good, and before I forget…ah…where’s the proof you were gonna show me?” She asked teasingly.

  “Just pull out that drawer over there,” he said, pointing to the top one in the kitchen.

  “What’s all this? It looks like a lotta money!” she exclaimed, looking at Trent.

  “Ta me, it’s a lotta money. Twenty-five thousand ain’t nothin’ ta blow yor nose over. That’s mah proof these fellas are for real.”

  “That means we can finish planning the wedding and get married before ya get back out on the road,” she said.

  “That money’s for doin’ what I gotta do ta make my truck acceptable, but we got money ta take care of this here weddin’,” he said, giving her a tender kiss.

  “Ya comin’ over for dinner?” She asked.

  “Shor, what can I bring?”

  “Nothin’, we have everything. Just be at the house at seven,” she said.

  “Okay, sweetheart, I’ll be there wearin’ mah appetite,” he said with a smile.

  “Since momma’s gonna be at home, hope you’ll be wearin’ more than your appetite,” she giggled.

  “Guess that means clothes, too, huh,” he chuckled.

  After Haylee left, Trent moved the money to his closet in his bedroom in a special place behind a little door he had crafted years before above the top shelf. That was his substitute for a safe. Even when his place had been broken into when he was still in Mexico, the burglars never even had a clue that the hiding place was even there. He was the only one who knew about that location. When he finished stowing the cash, he poured himself a Scotch and water, clicked on the TV, and watched some local news of which much of it was about the upcoming third and final debate between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, which was going to be held at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas, Nevada. As he sat there sipping his drink, he wondered why media hacks were used as so-called moderators. The news was about over when he realized it was nearly seven o’clock, so he hopped onto Rocket One and headed over to see Haylee and Kit. He was at their door in less than five minutes.

  “How y’all doin’?” He asked as he came in.

  “We’re fine, but ya know I forgot to ask, do ya like sauerkraut and pork chops?” Haylee asked meekly, making a little grimace.

  “Ya should know by now, I’m a chow hound. Sounds like great vittles. I ain’t had that in ages.”

  “Trent, I didn’t know Hay hadn’t told ya what we’s havin’ for supper, ’cause some people don’t like pork or sauerkraut,” Kit said apologetically.

  “Kit, don’t ya worry ’bout that none, ’cause I ain’t Jewish or a rag-head, I only hope there’s nuff for the three of us, ’cause I’m hungry as a timber wolf!” He laughed.

  After dinner and three large pork chops, Trent teased Kit about the upcoming election. He needled her about Donald Trump.

  “Kit, I hate ta bring it up, but there’s a lotta women sayin’ Donald Trump misbehaved with ’em, know anything ’bout that?”

  “Nothin’ but lies and more lies! He’s a gentleman. He loves America, and I love him. Ain’t never seen no man or woman work as hard as he does, while Hag-Hillary sits on her big behind and keeps lyin’!”

  “But Kit, them people on the news say he did all that stuff.”

  “They are liars just like her. The way they take up for ’er, looks like they’re part of ’er campaign! You just wait ’til election day, then ya gonna find out just how big Mister Trump’s gonna win!” She exclaimed.

  “Momma, momma, you’re gonna have to get used to Trent’s mischief. He’s only teasin’.”

  “Ya goin’ to the debate in Vegas?” Trent asked.

  “I would if I could, but I ain’t able. I’d really like ta see that man just once.”

  “If he gits elected, you’ll git ta see ’em a lot, ’cause he’ll be President Trump,” Trent said with a smile.

  “Ya gotta point there,” she said, nodding her head, “but not in person.”

  “Well, Kit, if he ever comes back ta visit out west, I’ll make shor ya git ta see ’em in person.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Doggone right I will.” Trent replied.

  “Why?” She asked, looking at him curiously.

  “’Cause it means somethin’ special.”

  “Momma, he’s mischievous as the dickens, but if he said it, he meant it,” Haylee said.

  “Thanks, Haylee-Girl, I’m obliged to ya,” a smiling Trent responded.

  “You tellin’ me that if he ever comes back to Las Vegas, I’ll get to see ’em?” Kit asked.

  “If he comes within a four-hour’s drive, ya gonna see ’em in person. I’d drive longer, but I don’t think it’d be good for ya.”

  “Ya know I watch all of his rallies all over the country, and I always imagine I’m there,” she said wistfully.

  “How ya do that? All them rallies ain’t on TV,” Trent said.

  “I know, but I watch ’em on the computer.”

  “Ya mean online?” Trent asked incredulously.

  “Just ’cause I’m old and broken down don’t mean I know nothin’ bout computers.”

  “You ain’t that old or broken down. I’s just surprised that you’re, what they call it…computer literate? Most folks I know who’re gittin’ on it years don’t know much ’bout the electronic world we all live it. Heck, without computers and all them gadgets, we couldn’t work no more.”

  “Well, I didn’t know that truck drivers knew much about them, either,” she said, giving it right back to him.

  “Haylee-Girl, yor momma’s gittin’ too feisty for me tonight, I better git back to mah-place. Ya know I ain’t got no wife ta help out over there,” he chuckled.

  “If I hear another crack about no wife, I know of at least one woman who’s not gonna cook, clean, or do anything else for ya,” Haylee said, giving Trent a big hug.

  “Sweetheart…Kit… I do need ta git back home ’cause I got some stuff I need to look up on my computer! Thanks, for the company and a great dinner. It really was awesome! I’ll see you two tomorra, and Haylee-Girl, I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  When Trent returned home, he logged onto his computer and began surfing the Net for more information on small spreads near Santa Fe, New Mexico, like the one he called about before. Most of them were too large and cost way too much for his budget, but he did find more than one which might be within his financial reach. He printed out the information so that he could show it to Haylee and Kit. He was faced with two options: buy one outright, which meant he’d have to sell the rig he was about to receive, or carry a manageable ten-year mortgage and keep the new rig. If he did the latter, that meant he’d have to haul cargo until the ranch was paid off. He finally tired of the search, because he’d been at it quite a while. Bedtime.

  Just after two in the morning, Trent was awakened by muffled voices in the back of his place, along with the neighbor’s whining dog next door. He quickly and quietly pulled on some pants and a pair of socks. He didn’t wear anything which might make sound. He put his Glock in his waistband, retrieved the 12-gauge shotgun from the corner of the bedroom, and picked up a flashlight near the front door
and eased out quietly. He could smell gasoline in the cool night air. Trent stopped and listened before making his way around the trailer. He glanced up and noted that the moon was full, and that was a big advantage, because it would be shining brightly over his backyard. Trent could feel the small rocks and stones through the fabric of his socks. He stealthily moved as molasses in the winter toward the back. The closer he got, the more pronounced the whispers of at least three people lofted through the air. He stood very still at the corner listening intently.

  “Is that all the gas left?” Someone whispered.

  “Damn, we brought five-gallons, that oughtta light up this whole damn place like an inferno,” Another voice answered.

  “This’ll wake that sonofabitch up, and if he clears that front door, I’m gonna lay waste to Mister Willobee!” A seemingly familiar voice whispered loudly.

  Trent crouched down and peaked around the corner of the trailer. He could easily make out three figures, but he couldn’t identify anyone. He stood upright, flicked on the flashlight, and pitched it about 20 feet behind them and quickly rounded the corner with shotgun pointed in their direction as they turned toward the flashlight behind them.

  “Hold it, fuckers, don’t move! This shotgun’s bound to go off,” Trent yelled, “put yor hands up where I can see ’em, now! Back up real slow and keep them hands held high!” He demanded, and they complied.

  “Don’t get trigger happy with that damn shotgun,” first man said, “we ain’t done nothin’!”

  “I think we know each other, don’t we, Donnie!? Where’s the rest of your hyenas? Ray, step forward, or I’ll just start pumping this ole twelve-gauge,” Ray obliged, “now you Donnie-Boy! Frick, speak up is that you?”

  “My name’s Lloyd, not Frick!”

  “Only three of ya chickenshits, huh? Guess Frack must still be tryin’ ta git his voice and decided ta not git killed.” Trent said.

  “Drop the damn shotgun, or I’ll blow a hole in ya I can see through!” a voice from behind said, shoving what Trent believed to be the barrel of a gun in his back, and he slowly dropped the shotgun.

  “How’s it feel old man for a guy who can’t talk to get the drop on ya? It took a fucking week for my feet to heal up, you sonofabitch!”

  “Reckon you boys figure game’s over. Mah guess is y’all planned to light me up with gasoline or maybe git a chance ta shoot me, but now I’m gonna have to hurt ya or kill ya.”

  “You fuckin’ hick, cowboy, or whatever you are, you’re dead and don’t know it,” Frack said, “we all got guns and gasoline, and you ain’t got shit!”

  He’d barely gotten his words out when Trent slapped the barrel away, causing the rifle to discharge, and he became volitant, using his feet as lethal weapons which smashed into Frack’s face, while forcefully flinging the gun by its barrel into Ray and Donnie, which left Lloyd wide open for Trent’s wrath who with the speed of light snapped Lloyd’s arm, creating a compound fracture. As a 12th degree black belt, he inflicted great damage and injury to Donnie and Ray. He mowed them down as though he was competing in a world championship tree surgery contest with a chainsaw. While all this was going on, the neighbor’s dog was going wild, barking, jumping, banging against the chain-link fence, and then lights started popping on throughout the house. Trent was so focused on matters at hand everything else had become tertiary at best, because the four miscreants he’d encountered posed a clear and present danger which had to be eliminated. Then…when only he was left standing…he realized he’d repelled the threat. He could see their images, under the moonlit sky, lying in the yard, whimpering, moaning, and crying in pain. None of that evoked pity from him as he started dragging them into a pile, stacking them like cordwood. He looked around and found the gas can, grabbed it, and poured the remaining gallon or so on the four of them.

  “Boys, let this be a lesson, never try ta do a man’s job. Since I don’t smoke, I ain’t got a lighter or fire sticks, but at least one of the four of you dumbasses gotta have a light. So, I’ll give ya the honor of firing things up, that is, if ya can stop yor whining long nuff ta git the job done,” Trent said, retrieving the flashlight.

  “Willobee, you’re not gonna set fire to us, are ya?” Ray asked in a pleading and raspy voice as he spit out a tooth.

  “Ain’t that what them ragheads in the Middle East do? They burn people in steel cages. Sorry ’bout not havin’ a cage, but none of ya goin’ no where’s no how ’cause y’all gotta lotta busted bones. Besides, sometimes I burn piles of trash. This looks like one of them times.”

  Unexpectedly, the night air was split by the sound of sirens and then the sight of blue and red lights. Carl Mosley, Mohave County Constable, and Buster Smothers, Mohave County Deputy Sheriff, showed up in the back yard.

  “Trent, what the hell’s goin’ on out here?” Carl yelled out.

  “Notta whole lot. I’s just about ta burn a pile a trash,” Trent said, staring into Carl’s flashlight.

  “Your neighbor, old man Carruthers, said there was a fracas goin’ on back here and called. Soon’s I knew you was involved, I brought an ambulance along,” Carl said.

  “That was real thoughtful of ya.”

  “I didn’t bring the E-M-T’s for you. This ain’t the first time you’ve beat up people,” Carl said.

  “Trent, can ya tell us what happened here tonight?” Buster Smothers asked, as the EMT’s rushed past.

  “These here four bad guys were tryin’ to burn my trailer up with me in it. I caught ’em before they got the job done,” Trent answered.

  “How’d they get into that pile over there?” Buster asked.

  “They pulled a gun on me, and I had ta hurt ’em.”

  “Deputy, we’ve got to get these men to the hospital. At least two of them have life-threatening Injuries,” an EMT called out.

  “Hell, I ain’t holdin’ ya up. Do ya damn job!” Buster yelled out.

  Trent stood there watching them all being loaded into the emergency vehicle and thought to himself that it looked awfully crowded. As he was looking on, Carl and Buster were having a meeting off to the side. Finally, they finished, and Buster walked over to Trent.

  “Gotta question for ya? Have ya ever thought ’bout movin’?” Buster asked.

  “How’d ya know I was thinkin’ ’bout that?”

  “I was just hopin’, that’s all,” Buster replied.

  “Ya gonna miss me when I’m gone,” Trent said with a smile.

  “Yeah, like a bad case of hemorrhoids. This shit you get into is always a pain in the ass! We’re not gonna charge ya with anything. It’s obvious that it was four against one. They sure are sloppy arsonists, ’cause all of ’em smelled like gasoline. Besides, all them boys had guns on ’em. You wanna press charges?”

  “Think I already did,” Trent replied.

  “Send me a fuckin’ postcard from wherever you light,” Buster said, walking toward his cruiser.

  Trent walked into the restaurant for breakfast at a little after nine. He sat down on the third stool and Haylee came over to take his order.

  “Ya look a little tired today, sweetheart. Sleep okay last night?”

  “Yeah, for the most part, but there was a little ruckus over at mah place.”

  “Ruckus…whadaya mean? I woke up last night to the sound of sirens. Any connection?” She asked.

  “Probly, I had ta take care of some fellas. They wanted to burn mah damn place down with me in it,” he said calmly.

  “Jesus! Trent, are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I just gotta sore right hand, but I’m fine. I know I’m doin’ better’n them, ’cause they’re all in the hospital.”

  “Trent, I’ve never mentioned this before, but ya do have a reputation for being a badass. Hope thing’s’ll change after we’re married, I don’t wanna have to worry ’bout ya,” she said, placing her hand on his.

/>   “Sweetheart, ya don’t have to worry ’bout me. I never look for trouble, but I damn shor don’t run from it,” he said with a smile and a wink.

  “I wonder if,” she paused, “just before ya came in this mornin’, a dark-skin guy came in askin’ ’bout ya. He kinda looked Spanish, but I’m not sure. He spoke pretty good English. Ya think he might’ve had somethin’ to do with what happened last night?” Haylee asked.

  “Hmm…don’t know, but I’ll ponder it. Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No, he just asked if you’d been in.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  One Week Later

  Like he promised, Trent showed up for the 3rd and final presidential debate between Trump and Clinton with beer and pizza in hand. He arrived about 30 minutes before things in Las Vegas got underway. Kit was very excited, yet nervous about it. Haylee put the oven on to keep the pizza hot while they waited. Kit wanted to know about the new truck, so Trent gave her and Haylee a rundown of the pros and cons. Overall, he was satisfied with what he’d been provided, but one thing he didn’t like was the color of the cab—mustard yellow. He put it in a paint shop in Kingman to remedy the situation. He wanted the cab to be white with red and blue flames licking from the front upward toward the windshield.

  “When’ll it be ready?” Kit asked.

  “Another day or two, providin’ they got it right,” Trent said with certainty.

  “Would ya mind takin’ me for a ride in it?”

  “Really?” Trent said with surprise.

  “Ya think it rides as good as the one ya friend picked me up in?”

  “Just as good if not better.”

  “Now, Momma, don’t be silly. Trent’s got that truck for work,” Haylee interjected.