Seven Daze_Redneck Rendezvous

by Margaret Lashley

  A waitress dressed in an embarrassingly cheap-looking, tassel-lined vest and matching red-felt sombrero waddled up to our booth. “What’ll ya have?” she asked, then smacked on a huge wad of pink bubblegum.

  “I’ll have a pair of your finest tacos, madam, and your cheapest tequila,” Goober said. He tipped his top hat for emphasis.

  The waitress stopped chomping on her gum.

  I smirked and said, “I’ll have the same.”

  I COULD FEEL “THE URPS” coming on as we walked from the restaurant through the parking lot toward the RV.

  As we crossed from one line of parked cars to the next, I realized my little toe wasn’t aching as much. Instead of looking like a plum stuck to the side of my green flip-flops, it now was masquerading as a red grape.

  “Goober, look! My –”

  “Shhh!” Goober hissed. He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me behind an enormous, black SUV.

  “Ouch!” I cried out. “Watch the merchandise!”

  “Sorry. It was an emergency.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  My line of sight followed the trajectory of Goober’s boney finger all the way to the Minnie Winnie. Circling it like four well-fed vultures were Stumpy, Slim, Charlene and Elmira.

  “Crap! What are we gonna do now?”

  “Go back to Tito’s and stand out front. I’ll infiltrate the crowd.”

  “Goober, no! Four against one? It’s too dangerous!”

  “Not really. You forget. They’ve only seen me as Steve.”

  “Oh. That’s right! Who are you now?”

  “Hobo Howard.”

  I looked him up and down. “Of course you are.”

  Goober turned to go.

  “Wait. You’ve got to do something about that smarmy moustache. It’s a dead giveaway.”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” Goober said, and pulled a small box from his shirt pocket. “I always carry an emergency moustache with me.”

  My face impersonated a dead trout.

  “Don’t ask. Now walk back over to the taco place. I’ll pick you up there.”

  I’D BARELY PUT MY FOOT on the curb in front of Tito’s when I heard tires squeal. I whirled around and saw the Minnie Winnie take a turn on two wheels. It cleared an old lady pushing a shopping cart and then slammed back onto the asphalt. The chassis bounced and lurched and squealed like a mattress at a disreputable motel. A second later, the RV screeched to a halt at my feet.

  Goober waved at me, his moustache at half-mast. “Get in! Hurry!”

  I yanked open the cab door and took a bum dive inside. My feet were still dangling out the door as Goober mashed the gas and sped off. I scrambled around to right myself in the seat and slammed the door shut.

  “Nice entry,” Goober joked.

  “Thanks. I think.” I strapped myself into the seatbelt as Goober peeled out of the parking lot.

  “Where to now?”

  “The Hell’ammo.”

  “What! Why?”

  “You’ve got to get Maggie back...and your other stuff.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think now is such a good idea.”

  Goober turned and grinned like a wiseacre.

  “I wasn’t put on this Earth to come up with good ideas. But surprisingly often, I do. Don’t you see, Val? Now’s the perfect time to go. We know where all those folks are, and we’ve got at least a two-minute lead.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “I don’t know about this,” I told Goober as the old Minnie Winnie sped east down SR 60 toward the rural RV outpost affectionately known as the Hell’ammo.

  “Relax, Val. You think just like a redneck. Believe me, this is the last place they’ll come looking for us.”

  “I might be part redneck, Goober, but I’m not stupid.”

  “On the contrary,” he said, and flung his top hat back into the bowels of the RV. “You should be proud of being a redneck.”

  “Kiss my grits.”

  Goober laughed, then turned into Professor Peanuthead. “The term redneck has a rich etymology in the US.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “A rich what?”

  Goober smirked and rolled his eyes. “History, okay? I read somewhere that the whole ‘redneck’ thing started with a coal miner uprising. The Blair Mountain Battle, if I recall correctly. That’s one of the first times working-class folks got tired of their lot and fought back against their employers. The miners wore red bandanas around their necks, hence coining the term ‘rednecks.’”

  My eyebrows ticked up a notch. “Huh. So, rednecks were America’s first ‘power to the people’ freedom fighters?”

  Goober shrugged. “I don’t know about the first, but yeah, in a way, that’s right.”

  I settled back into my seat, crossed my arms, and let a warm, satisfying smugness envelope my tired, half-redneck body.

  “WE’RE HERE,” GOOBER said, startling me awake.

  “Nyu-huh?” I grunted. Geeze, how tired did I have to be to doze off in the middle of running for my life?

  I looked around. Through the greyish-pink of dusk, I could just make out the overgrown entrance to the Hell’ammo across the paved road. Goober had backed the RV up into a tangled cover of scrub oaks and palmettoes. Our current covert position afforded a head-on view of the entryway to the redneck lair. I supposed logistically, Goober’s choice would also aid in making a quick getaway, should one become necessary.

  “What’s the plan?” I asked, suddenly wide awake.

  “You’ll go first,” he said, and handed me a flashlight. “I’ll illuminate the road with the headlights until you drop out of sight. Then use your torch.”

  “Uh...okay. You’re not coming?”

  “Only if I spot trouble. I’ll honk or something to let you know if anybody comes back.”

  “Great.”

  “Look, I’ll be right behind you. It’s better if we split up, in case one of us gets...caught.”

  Goober’s stomach gurgled like a fountain of mud.

  “You need to use the toilet, don’t you,” I said.

  “You know what they say about tacos, Val. They’re the ‘beer’ of food. Tasty going down, but they don’t stick around.”

  I weighed my options. I could stay here, or sneak through the backwoods of Florida alone, unarmed, and in the dark. I chose the woods. The odds of being exposed to something lethal seemed smaller.

  “Whatever,” I muttered, and slipped out of the RV and into the night.

  I’D BARELY MADE IT past the ramshackle sign for the Hell’ammo when Goober killed the headlights. I switched on the flashlight. Nothing happened. I panicked and shook the daylights out of it. A feeble, bluish light blinked on and illuminated a small circle of ground about a foot in front of me.

  Great. I stumbled down the road like a drunken bum, wishing more than anything that I had on army boots instead of Dollar Store shower shoes. I tripped over a stick in the road and blew out my left shoe. Awesome. As I limped along in the dark on one flip-flop, I wondered, did that make me a flop?

  Heavy rustling in the bushes to my left made me forget all about my lack of proper footwear. I squelched a scream and took off running for all I was worth. By the time I reached the end of the lane and saw the dim light emanating from the front window of Winky’s RV, I was as barefoot and out of breath as my cousin Tammy Jeeter that time I caught her behind the barn with Tommy Knocksworth.

  Panting alone in the dark, my breath sounded like an obscene phone call. I crept up to the dilapidated RV and shone the pale, blue light around the front steps. My suitcase was still sitting beside them expectantly, like a stood-up date. I grabbed the handle and hauled it toward Maggie.

  My old Ford Falcon was just where I’d left her. Yesterday, I’d loosened the duct tape holding the tarp down on Maggie’s driver’s side. The wind must have blown the tarp up and over. It was folded away from the driver’s seat, but still covered the passenger side. I took a limping step toward the r
ight side of the car to un-tape the other half of the tarp.

  Suddenly, four flashlights flicked on around me like humongous lightning bugs. Above each one, a hillbilly’s face was caught in the surrounding yellowish glow.

  “Where you think you’re goin’?” Slim asked.

  In one synchronized motion, he, Stumpy, Elmira and Charlene took a step toward me, tightening the gap between us like mullet net.

  Oh, crap! Now what?

  “Let’s get the witch!” Elmira howled.

  The four took another step forward. I took one back...and stepped on something. I looked down and my heart thumped. It was the makeshift broom-crutch thing Goober had made for me. I snatched it up, plastered on my best evil sneer, and shook it at them.

  “Get out of here!” I screeched. “Leave me be, or I’ll cast an evil spell on the lot of you!”

  To my utter amazement, they scattered like a pile of rednecks being chased by Bigfoot.

  “Huh,” I muttered in astonishment. I turned around. Bigfoot was standing two feet away from me.

  The earth came up and hit me in the face.

  WHEN I CAME TO, BIGFOOT had me in his arms, toting me toward Winky’s RV.

  “Let me go!” I screeched, and wrestled with the hairy beast.

  “For cripes sake!” Bigfoot said.

  “You can talk?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Val, it’s me.”

  “Goober?”

  “Who else?”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  He set me down and laughed. “I didn’t want to ruin it for the others.”

  “I guess this means going back to Walmart is out of the question,” I said, and fished around in my purse for the keys to Maggie.

  “Yes,” Goober answered. “I’ll meet you at the main road.”

  “Where can we go?” I asked as I tossed my suitcase and duffle bag in the backseat and opened the driver’s side door.

  “I’ve got an idea. Just follow me.” Goober waved and took off jogging down the dirt lane.

  Great. Now I’m taking advice from Sasquatch.

  I thought about going back inside the RV for my baloney, but I heard muffled voices. I looked down the road in the other direction and saw four flashlight beams heading my way. Not again!

  I scrambled into the driver’s seat and smooshed the tarp away that still enveloped half of Maggie. I cranked the engine to life, shifted into reverse, and backed up into the dirt lane. The rearview mirror showed the lights were bobbing up and down now, drawing nearer by the second.

  Time to make like a tree and leaf....

  I punched the gas. Maggie’s glasspacks roared and echoed off the aluminum abodes nearby. Her tires kicked up an orange cloud of sand and she fishtailed down the narrow, sandy lane.

  A few seconds later, the lights behind me were getting smaller. I sucked in a sigh of relief and reached to adjust the rearview mirror for a better view. My hand hit something swinging from it. I nearly pissed my panties. It was that horrible shrunken head – again!

  I swatted at the hideous thing and lost control of Maggie. She veered into the overgrowth of bushes. A long, metallic scraping sound set my teeth on edge. Oh, crap on a cracker!

  “Sorry, Maggie.”

  I wrestled with the steering wheel until I got her centered back onto the narrow road. I punched the gas. As I cleared the exit to the Hell’ammo, Maggie’s headlights lit up the side of Goober’s old RV. He had the Minnie Winnie back on the road and ready to roll.

  Goober waved a hairy arm and took off like a chimp who’d just heisted a banana wagon. I punched the gas and followed him in hot pursuit.

  Right about the time I hit seventy miles an hour, the duct tape on the front passenger side of the car let loose. The silver tarp flew up alongside the car like a ghost. But the tape on the rear panel held tight. The tarp started flapping behind Maggie like a cape, and a thrill shot through me like a bolt of lightning.

  I looked up at the night sky full of stars and laughed like a madwoman.

  Look out, world! Here comes the Redneck Avenger!

  SOMEWHERE BEFORE WE hit the main road, the silver tarp came loose and tumbled down the road behind me into the darkness like a dead body in an ill-fitting spacesuit.

  I followed Goober right onto SR 60. It wasn’t long before he turned off and pulled into the last place I would have ever expected.

  The Polk County Police Station.

  I pulled Maggie up alongside the RV.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said as Goober poked his unmasked head out the window.

  “Where else could we be safer?” he asked.

  I sighed. “I guess you’ve got a point there. And I’m way too tired to argue.”

  “Finally, my lucky day.”

  “Hardy har-har.”

  Goober took his hairy Bigfoot hands off the steering wheel and grinned. His gold tooth shone in the moonlight like a bad toothpaste commercial.

  “You look like a wreck, Val. I sure hope you’ve got the energy to take a shower before you hit the sack.”

  “Hey, you’re the one impersonating a skunk ape.”

  Goober shook his bald head. “I beg to differ.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Aww, crap! My phone didn’t charge,” I said as I stumbled out of the tiny bedroom toward the smell of brewing coffee.

  Goober was in the kitchen, shirtless, pouring himself a cup. He turned around to face me and my jaw went slack. Goober had two navels!

  “What the...?” I asked.

  Goober’s smile evaporated. A hand flew down to cover his midsection. “Sorry. I got shot once. Left a terrible scar.”

  “Oh. I...I didn’t know. How did it happen?”

  “I’d rather not say. And Val? Don’t say a word to anyone, okay?”

  “Geeze, Goober. At this rate, I won’t even be able to claim I ever knew you.”

  Goober grinned. “That’s –”

  The thunderous sound of a megaphone pierced the air. Someone bellowed, “Come out with your hands up.”

  Goober and I looked at each other. “Not again.”

  “At least you got to have a sip of coffee first,” I whined. From between the blinds, I could see Chief Collins standing in the lot. He looked pretty pissed for 7:30 in the morning.

  “Wait a minute,” I said to Goober as he reached for a shirt. “Is this about Woggles...or you?”

  Goober sighed and slipped the t-shirt on over his head. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  WE STEPPED OUT OF THE RV with our hands up. Chief Collins blew a whistle, and he and five other cops burst out laughing.

  Neither Goober nor I got the joke.

  “Mornin’ you two!” Chief Collins said. “We were just havin’ some fun. Come on in for some coffee and donuts. We got a confession out of Elmira last night. She called up and told us she did it.”

  “I had a feeling,” I said as I stumbled toward the Chief, still undecided whether I was peeved at him or relieved. “How’d she do it?”

  Chief Collins patted me on the back. “Crushed up apple seeds and put ‘em in old Woggles’ Geritol. She made craft stuff with apples, you know. Saved up the seeds.”

  “I know. Wait a minute,” I said. I ran over to Maggie and snatched the shrunken head from the rearview mirror. “She made this, didn’t she?”

  “Yep, I’d imagine,” Chief Collins said as he studied the head. He sniffed it. “Made from a dried-up apple, all right.”

  “What was her motive?” Goober asked.

  “Had a life insurance policy out on him,” Chief Collins explained. “Elmira told me, and I’m paraphrasing here, ‘As old Woggles showed no signs of dying of his own accord, I decided to take it upon myself to speed up the process.’”

  “You don’t say,” Goober said, shaking his head.

  As we entered the station, Detective Rogers stepped up with his clipboard. “Coroner’s report confirms it Chief. The dumpster raccoon and Mr. Walters were both
poisoned with the same agent.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Chief Collins smiled. “It means you’re both free to go.”

  AFTER FINISHING OFF two cups of coffee and three donuts each, Goober and I said our adieus to the Polk County police department.

  “Can you believe that?” I asked as we stepped out into the parking lot. “She killed him with apple seeds.” I studied the shriveled head in my hand. For the first time I noticed the slits that made up its cat-like pupils were actually deadly apple seeds.

  “Sure,” Goober said. “Apple seeds contain amygdalin. When you ingest them, it releases cyanide.”

  The harmless shriveled head in my hand suddenly regained some of its voodoo power. I held it a little further from me. “So, why don’t people die from eating apple cores, then?”

  Goober looked up in the sky, as if searching for something. “You’d need, I’d say, about a hundred and fifty seeds to kill someone the size of Woggles.”

  I eyed Goober with a mixture of trepidation and respect. “How do you know that?”

  Goober shrugged. “Sorry. That’s part of my ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell,” policy.”

  “Argh!” I flung the shrunken head in the backseat of Maggie. “Okay. But Goober, what if you ate fewer seeds? Like maybe fifty or something?”

  Goober’s lips twitched to one side. “I suppose that’d be enough to cause dizziness and nausea. Maybe a bit of brain damage. Possibly impotency.”

  “Geeze. I wonder. Do you think Elmira’s been poisoning anybody else at the Hell’ammo?”

  Goober snorted. “Who knows? I mean, with that crowd, how could you be sure?”

  I smiled. “Right. I guess we should get going.”

  “Okay. You want to follow me back?”

  “No. Don’t worry. I know my way home from here.”

  Goober smiled softly. “I believe you do. Hold on.” He climbed inside the RV and came out holding my cellphone. “I’m afraid it didn’t charge up much. Use your one phone call wisely.”