by Alan Black
Carl smiled grimly and dodged the question, “Look, let’s keep our focus. We are screwed here.”
Rooster said, “They probably didn’t want to take us on with just the two of them. That kind always finds courage in numbers. They must be sitting out there waiting for back up. Sure fire, they managed to get cell reception where they are sitting.”
“Hey!” Daisy May shouted at them from the porch. She was standing next to Harpo with a hand on his shoulder.
The great ape was staring off into the distance sniffing the wind. He was ignoring the woman next to him.
She said, “I already called Sheriff Hatcher about strangers parked in front of the house. He said he would get someone out here as soon as he can, but he says it will be a bit.”
Carl said, “I’ve got to get Harpo and go. Chuck said Stan Porrizzo has obtained a court order to put Harpo to death for killing humans. Chuck is trying to appeal, but he hasn’t been able to get a stay of execution yet. Harpo is done for if he falls into police hands, whether it is the Walker County sheriff’s deputies, Birmingham city cops or Alabama state troopers. At least the federal agencies aren’t involved yet.”
Rooster nodded, “I could probably hide you and your car, even from the feds. But, hiding Harpo is going to be a challenge. It will take awhile for Sheriff Hatcher to get someone out here, but we don’t have much time to spare.”
Carl replied, “I am not going to stay here and get you into trouble. I just need to get some gas for my car and grab some camping supplies. I am going to try for Oak Mountain State Park. I think that we can hide out there until Chuck makes things safe for us.”
Rooster shook his head. “We can gas up your car, but you won’t have the juice to get to Oak Mountain unless you cut straight through town. I imagine your batteries need more of a charge than we have time for. Oak Mountain is southeast of Birmingham and we are northwest. You would be sure to be spotted and nabbed if you go that way. Also, you and your ape already take up all of the room in that little buggy of yours. There ain’t no room for camping gear for longer than overnight.”
Carl said, “Yeah, I know but-”
“Shut up, you moron,” Rooster interrupted. “I’m thinking.”
Rooster looked at his wife, “Sweetie, can you see those guys by the road?” At her nod he continued. “Keep an eye on them for us. And send Spitter out here.”
Daisy May shook her head. “No, Marks. I am not sending another of my children out there when there are gangsters in the woods.”
Rooster asked, “You got your rifle handy, woman?”
Daisy May said, “You know it. I got the pink AR-15 you gave me for my birthday, right here by the door.”
Rooster said, “I’ve seen you shoot, Sweetness. Spitter is as safe down here as he is up there.”
Spitter slid past his mother, evading her grasp and ran to his father.
Daisy May said, “You get one of my children hurt, Mr. Rooster Marks and you will spend the rest of your life sleeping in the barn with your hound dogs.”
Rooster looked at his two boys. “Okay you heard your mother. No getting hurt.” At Spitter’s look he continued. “I mean it; remember that there is no reset button on this. What happens stays happened! There ain’t no do-overs. Got me?”
“Yes, sir,” both boys said. Carl’s voice joined theirs.
Rooster said, “First I want Spitter and Cousin Red to hide that thing he calls a car. Put it around back in the hay barn. And Spitter, I mean hide it, got me?”
Spitter nodded and said, “I got it, Dad.”
Rooster asked, “Red, the keys in it?”
Carl said, “Yes, but-”
Roosters interrupted with a laugh, “Is that a conjunction or are you calling me names again? Spitter, get a move on. Don’t worry, Red. He can drive it without hitting something and you can join him in a minute or two.”
Carl said, “I can’t stay here, Rooster. You said it yourself that you can’t hide Harpo. I don’t think I could get him to hide and stay hidden.”
Rooster said, “I have an idea about that. When you and Harpo leave here, you are going to go in my old blue pick up. It looks beat up but will run you to California and back if you need to. It is full of gas and good to go.”
Carl said. “Good. That will get us to Oak Mountain State Park with plenty of room to carry stuff for a stay.”
Rooster said, “Red, I have an idea about that too. Do you know Cloyd Smithson?”
Carl shook his head.
Rooster looked surprised. “Really, I would have thought you two would have run into each other a lot. He runs Smithson’s Animal Sanctuary.”
“Oh. I did not connect the name. He runs the Animal Rescue and Sanctuary up near Blountsville. We have not actually spent much time together, but we have been in the same room at the same time a few times. He is not big on zoos. He is not partial to having animals just to put them on display.”
“That is the guy. Yeah, he doesn’t even open his sanctuary to the public. He rescues all kinds of animals. He is pretty passionate about protecting animals from people. A couple of months ago Spud and I helped him trap a white tiger some idiot up in Mobile thought would make a cute pet for his kids.”
Carl grimaced at the thought. “Tiger cubs are cute, but they do get big fast. I remember reading the story on the zoo’s daily bulletins. The word was that the tiger just disappeared when the man turned it loose in the woods. The speculation was that some hunter got a trophy and kept it to himself.”
“That is as good a story as any. That tiger is in an enclosure up at Smithson’s. It may not be a true life for a tiger, but it is better than being a rug in some hunter’s cabin in the woods.”
Carl said, “I see where you are going, but I don’t want Harpo to disappear into Smithson’s Sanctuary where we can’t get him back out when this blows over. Harpo isn’t just at the zoo for display. He is part of a national breeding program working to preserve the species from extinction. Their habitat is disappearing at a-”
“Whoa, Cousin. You don’t have to sell me. Besides, you told me Harpo is not here for our entertainment. It is the other way around, right? I will call Cloyd, believe me, that point of view will tickle him more than you know.”
“Okay Rooster. I trust you on this. Harpo is more than my job. He is not my pet. He is my friend.”
He looked at his oldest son. “Spud. I want you to hightail it around the tree line and Axel Foley those two on the road. Sneaky Pete time.”
Spud handed his rifle to Carl. He grabbed four apples from the bucket Harpo and the kids had been eating. He took off around the back of the house without a word.
Carl asked, “Axel Foley them? Is that dangerous?”
Rooster said, “You really need to watch TV more often. Axel Foley was a character in the movie Beverly Hills Cop. He shoved a banana up a tailpipe and the car stalled out. ‘Sneaky Pete’ you remember from when we were kids? It means to do it all without being seen, hide-and-seek style.”
Carl said, “It does sound dangerous for Spud. I don’t want him hurt.”
Rooster gave a sad smile. “I don’t want any of my children, my wife or my favorite cousin hurt. That is why I am going to use Dad’s old thirty-ought-six and I will pull this trigger if Spud gets in trouble on his move up to the car.”
Carl asked, “Will an apple in the tailpipe really work?”
Rooster shook his head. He said, “Nope. It is too loose. A modern engine will just blow it out. But, Spud will jam enough up their tailpipe that they will stall out a short way away from the house. You and Harpo get away and I will figure out how to draw them away from Daisy May and the kids.”
TEN
CARL handed Spud’s rifle to Daisy May on the porch. Harpo had quit posturing and was sitting quietly in the sun. He looked like he was ready to take a nap.
Carl said, “Sorry Daisy May. I don’t think I could pull the trigger on this even if I had to.”
Daisy May said, “I understand. Yo
u are just one of those liberal, bleeding heart commie S.O.B.s.” Her smile belied her words. She ejected the magazine, sliding it into her waistband. She yanked the bolt and caught the spinning cartridge in mid-air. She slipped the bullet into her pocket and held the rifle up to the sun. She checked the receiver and barrel making sure it was empty. She flipped the safety to ‘on’, reaching into the house, she set the rifle against the wall. She picked up another rifle leaning against the doorframe.
Carl said, “It is pink. I thought you were kidding when you said that Rooster bought you a pink…what did you call it?”
Daisy May said, “You really have become a city boy, haven’t you, Red? This is an AR-15. It is a semi-automatic rifle that shoots 5.56mm ammunition, with iron sights set for two hundred yards and a twenty-round magazine. It has a flash suppresser on the muzzle and an adjustable stock, with a military sling.”
She held the rifle by its top carry handle. She shoved her left arm all the way through the sling hanging beneath the rifle. She twisted her arm, looping the sling around her elbow. A quick flip of her wrist and the sling wrapped tightly across the back of her hand as she rested the barrel guards on her partially open palm. She snugged the butt of the rifle tightly into the dimple next to her right shoulder. The result was the sling converted quickly into a series of triangles bracing the weight of the rifle against the sling and her upper back instead of against her left hand. She released her right hand and slapped the bolt release. A slight forward jerk indicated that the rifle had stripped a bullet from the magazine and put it ‘up the pipe’.
She stood easily with her right hand free of the rifle. She stroked the stock gently. “And yes it is pink in a camouflaged pattern. Paper targets and deer are colorblind and don’t really care what shoots them. I like it. So, wanna make something of it?”
“No ma’am. Harpo and I are glad that you are on our side.”
“No offense, Red, but you get one of my kids hurt or even that fool Marks, and I will tear a strip off your backside big enough to make a belt. Get me?”
“Yes, Daisy May. I am going to get out of here as soon as I can. And I apologize. I shouldn’t have come here and brought this trouble on you.”
She blew a raspberry at him. “You know for a guy with a doctorate you really are a moron, aren’t you? Where else are you gonna go? You are family. Here is exactly where you needed to go and where you belong. I am just saying that you shouldn’t let Marks go off and do something stupid.”
“I will try to keep him safe. But, I could not do that as a kid and I am not sure I can stop him now. I do know I need to get out of here before any law enforcement shows up. I don’t want to get you in trouble for harboring a fugitive.”
“There isn’t a policeman in Alabama that would arrest us for helping family.” She looked thoughtful. “Unless they were trying to use it as leverage to get us to turn you over. But, if you aren’t here we can’t turn you over, right?”
“Right. Rooster wants me to take the blue pick up. If I get caught you could always say I took it without permission.”
Daisy May laughed, “That thing? It isn’t registered to anyone of us anyway. I doubt if they could trace it back to us. You don’t worry. You just be careful on the road, hear?” She hugged him with her right arm. Her left arm still held the rifle without any apparent strain.
Carl said, “I have to go help Spitter out at the barn. Harpo, do you want to go with me?”
The orangutan roused himself, stood and grabbed Carl by the hand. He followed along, his eyes took in everything on the farm as they walked around the side of the house and down a short path to the hay barn. Carl’s Smart Car was out of sight of the road, parked just outside of the barn doors.
Carl stopped inside the door. He let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Harpo pulled loose, without the aid of the ladder, he raced up into the loft. He swung from rafter to rafter. He swung loose and dropped onto the boards. A squeal of delight and a shower of hay told him that Harpo had made a temporary nest to take a nap.
Spitter yanked hay bales away from the pile that went from floor to ceiling and wall-to-wall. He cleared a square and set the bales off to the side.
Carl nodded. He had not tossed hay bales since he was in high school, but it was not a technical activity. He stepped up next to Spitter and dragged a bale out of the way. After his fifth bale, he remembered why he had gone to school to be a zoologist instead of a farmer. His back was beginning to hurt and his hands, though not as soft as an accountant, were not used to carrying eighty-pound weights by a thin, rough, twine band.
“Slow down, Cousin Red. We got this.”
Carl said, “Ah, the energy of youth. Your dad and I did this all one summer, but I was your age.”
Spitter thought for a minute, “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Carl answered quickly, “Sure. We are family, right? What do you want to know?” He had answered quickly, but he was unsure of how serious a question the boy wanted to ask.
Spitter seemed to be worried or embarrassed about asking what was on his mind. A fourteen-year-old boy could ask all kinds of questions he might not want to ask his parents. Carl remembered the questions he had wanted to ask when he was a teenager. Mostly his questions had been about sex, military duty, masturbation, career paths, sex with girls, why girls acted different from boys, sex with two girls at the same time, becoming a pilot, and sex. What if Spitter was worried about being a homosexual? What if he wanted to talk about being a democrat? What if Spitter were curious about moving to California? Carl gave an inward shudder. He was not worried about Spitter being a homosexual or being a democrat, but moving to California would just kill Rooster. Carl was not sure he could or should help with most of those questions.
“Well, I once asked Dad about why you were called Red. I mean, if it is embarrassing or something you don’t have to tell me. Dad said that if I had to ask then I wasn’t old enough to know.”
Carl laughed and said, “Oh sorry, Spitter. I thought you were going to ask me a tough question. I am not laughing at you. I am laughing with relief. I was thinking of all kinds of strange questions you might ask.”
“Oh, you mean like asking your advice on how to become a Roman Catholic priest or who do I talk to about being homosexual?”
Carl froze in mid-stride. “You want to become a priest? I mean, I thought your mother was Baptist. Isn’t that where you go?”
Spitter laughed, “Dad was right. You are an easy Mark; family pun intended. I met a priest once at a career day. He was a real nice guy, but I am not really into that whole chastity thing. I also know a few gay guys. That ain’t no big deal; they are nice guys, too. But, I am not really into that whole…well…you know, their thing either. I don’t want to know about any of that. All I want to know is how come you get called Red?”
“Karl Marx,” Carl Marks said.
Spitter said, “Yeah, I know. Carl Marks. That is your name. I know that much.”
Carl laughed. He said, “No. I mean Karl with a K and Marx with an X. You’ve heard of him, right?”
Spitter looked thoughtful as if he was checking all of the files in his databank. “Nope. It doesn’t ring a bell. Is that some old relative of ours. Like he was a pirate or something; Karl the Red, like Blackbeard?”
“No. Really, you’ve never heard of Karl Marx?”
Spitter shook his head no.
Carl asked, “What year do they teach world history in school, freshman or sophomore?”
Spitter snorted, “History? The last we had history in school was fifth grade. They don’t teach it much anymore. It would conflict with studying for those stupid ‘no-child-left-behind’ exams and the SAT tests, not to mention interfering with our classes on basket weaving, horseshoes and handball, and political correctness.”
“Really? Horseshoes and handball?”
“Yes, sir. I had it all fourth period last year. I am really looking forward this next year to take the class on sociology where they teach
us how to avoid sexual harassment and all about racial harmony. But, no history. Only the advanced placement kids even get history beyond ‘Fourteen Ninety-Three Columbus sailed the deep blue sea’.”
Carl said, “Fourteen Ninety-Two.”
“Well, duh! That’s my point. They don’t, won’t or can’t teach us nothing anymore, so we don’t know. That is why I asked.”
Carl shook his head. He said, “Well, Karl Marx might come up in sociology. He was a German philosopher and sociologist from the mid nineteenth century. He wrote a number of various books over the years. His most famous was and is ‘The Communist Manifesto’. Some people say he is the father of communism. We call Communists ‘Reds’. My name is not quite the same as his, but it sounds the same. That is where the nickname comes from.”
Spitter laughed, “That is why Mom always calls you ‘that big city commie’. Now I get it. Man, do you have a bad nickname! Your mother must have some weird sense of humor to name you after a known commie.”
Carl wondered about the thought processes of a boy called Spitter who believed that Red was a bad nickname.
*
MBOTU answered his cell phone. It was the two men northwest of the city.
“What do you have to tell me?” Mbotu asked.
“We definitely have Marks and the ape bottled up. We are unable to kill them. There are too many people around.”
Mbotu shrugged even though the men could not see him. “I do not see the problem. Kill them all.”
“Yes, Mbotu. But, they are armed. We have seen them carrying rifles. They have even given a rifle to one of their women. She is standing and watching us now. We need more men if we are going to kill them all.”
Mbotu thought for a minute. He said, “Yes. I will come myself and bring others. I want to be there when we send these rednecks to their graves. Give me your exact location. We will leave within minutes.”
He slapped a palm against his chest, getting the attention of the men in the room. “Gather in readiness. We will take my suburban and go kill this ape, this man Marks and all of his family. Go and get your weapons. Start the car.”