Bubba and the Missing Woman

by Bevill, C. L.

  The PSS said from the back seat, “Do you have psychic super senses, too?”

  Demetrius pointed to the Chevy. “They booted your truck.”

  “Oh hell no!” Bubba exclaimed. “Not my truck. They might as well have put a boot on my dog.”

  Precious whined.

  “What’s a boot?” The PSS asked.

  “A clamp on the wheel so that the car can’t be driven,” Demetrius answered. “Mostly private companies do it in Dallas. Your investigator must have some contacts.”

  “That foul, wretched devil incarnate!” The PSS swore.

  “White folks,” Demetrius said derogatorily.

  All exited the Suburban and plodded over to the old, green truck. Even Precious cheerfully followed, happy to be doing something out of a vehicle.

  Surveying the bright orange clamp locked in place around the rear driver’s side tire, Bubba considered it carefully.

  “You can take the ‘Burban,” Demetrius said after a moment. “Get your stuff out of the truck and- ”

  Bubba interrupted with, “I can take care of this.”

  “Do tell, country boy,” Demetrius said with a sneer.

  Bubba found his jack and put it under the rear axle. The scissors jack took a minute to be jacked into place, but the boot groaned as it was lifted off the ground. He handed the tire iron to Demetrius and said, “Take the spare off the side, would ya?”

  Demetrius shrugged and went to town on the lug nuts.

  When Bubba was satisfied the jack was secure, he unscrewed the little cap on the valve stem of the booted tire. He extracted his buck knife with an easy movement. Kneeling next to the booted tire, he opened the knife. Using the end of the blade, he pressed on the stem to let the air out of the tire.

  “You think that’ll work?” Demetrius said as air steadily hissed from the valve stem.

  The PSS wandered up, adjusting his Tinker Bell coat as he went. He glanced at the diner. “Maybe some dinner? I bet they have a good burger. Home fries, too. After all, we missed out on the gumbo.”

  “We’re driving soon,” Bubba muttered. “Maybe you want to travel light.”

  “Well, a superhero does what a superhero has to do,” The PSS acquiesced reluctantly.

  Air continued to hiss perkily.

  “The trick to this,” Bubba said as if he was teaching a class, “is that the person who put it on don’t put it on exactly right. As soon as I let enough air out of the tire, the edges of the boot will wiggle enough to pop right off.” Ready to demonstrate the lesson, he jiggled the boot slightly. The entire mechanism sharply fell off, hitting the pavement with a loud acrimonious clank.

  “I guess you been out of the woods a time or two, huh?” Demetrius was impressed. He finished with the spare and gave it a pull. It bounced twice and Bubba got to work.

  He set about changing the tire with quiet efficiency. He would have to have the original one aired up quickly, but it was cheaper and timelier than waiting for a police officer to come take off the boot with a master key. Furthermore, if a police officer came to remove the boot, he would probably remove Bubba, too.

  Bubba threw the formerly booted tire into the back of the truck.

  “I love that,” Demetrius said benignly. “I knows a guy who uses a 14-inch gas cut-off saw to take boots off. He works the private parking lots in Deep Elum about closing time. Charges $50 per car, and them folks is desperate to get those boots off so they don’t have to pay no $350 instead.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper from another pocket and handed it to Bubba. “This here is that guy’s address in Dallas. I means the murderer’s brother, not the guy with the cut-off saw.”

  Bubba saw that Morgan Newbrough was the name on the top of the computer-generated directions.

  “How did Big Mama know- ”

  “Ma works things out a lot faster than the rest of us,” Demetrius said. “Hope you find that deputy, Bubba. I saw her photo. Dah-ammmm, she’s one fine bootylicious babe.”

  “She’s nice, too,” The PSS said.

  “Need a piece?” Demetrius asked, pulling out a large pistol and offering the butt end to Bubba. “It ain’t hot and you might need an edge.”

  Bubba stared at the weapon and then shook his head. “Naw,” he muttered. “Ifin I find her, I ain’t gonna need much but a little bit of mad, which I got in spades already.”

  “Okay then,” Demetrius said. “Don’t be a fool, ya’ll.” He grinned at them, kicked the dismantled boot onto the sidewalk, and went back to the Suburban. A moment later the big SUV passed them with a little toot of the horn.

  “Get in the truck, David,” Bubba said, “before a meteor lands on our heads.”

  •

  Normally Bubba would have waited until morning before stopping at Morgan Newbrough’s Dallas address. However, Willodean had been missing for seven whole days, and time seemed to be slipping away faster and faster.

  “I’ll be the good guy,” The PSS said, “and you can be the bad guy.”

  “You’ve got a mask on, David,” Bubba said gruffly.

  “That’s why I’m the good guy,” The PSS replied. He smiled brightly as he twirled a little orange and white package around in his hands. The light from a nearby street lamp showed his pupils were distinctly dilated. “I love taking Dramamine. It makes me a little groggy and yet cures all that dratted motion sickness. And who knew it came in chewable form?”

  Bubba knew because they’d stopped at a 24-hour CVS pharmacy. The PSS had misplaced the other package of Dramamine, and there was a pharmacy next to the gas station where Bubba aired up the formerly booted tire. Manifestly, the company that made Dramamine made about a million different variations, and The PSS wanted to compare all of them. At the same time.

  What Bubba wanted was to hurry. An image of a ticking clock popped into his head and wouldn’t go away.

  “Why don’t you wait in the truck, David?” Bubba asked. “Seeing a masked man on your porch at ten p.m. isn’t really something most folks like to see.”

  “Really, why not?”

  “They might not realize you’re a superhero,” Bubba said gently.

  Precious barked once.

  “I know you’re hungry, girl,” Bubba said. “We’ll get something in a little while. Burgers from McDonald’s?”

  Precious barked again in a derogatory fashion. She put her head down on the seat and sulked.

  “You could play ball with my dog,” Bubba offered to The PSS.

  “Really? I love to play ball with dogs,” The PSS said. He threw his hands in the air excitedly. “It’s much better than when they chase me. Some people just don’t understand leash laws.”

  “Great,” Bubba sighed. “Ball’s in the glove box.”

  Bubba got out of the truck and walked up to the small house the piece of paper listed as Morgan Newbrough’s home. A single, exposed light bulb from the front revealed all that it was and all that it wasn’t. It was a narrow house stuck in-between other narrow houses, with a lawn that would have made a postage stamp say, “Dang.”

  Paint peeled in great strips off the porch’s supports. The only reason paint wasn’t peeling off the rest of the house was because it was constructed of red brick. One of the brass numbers attached to the side of the front door hung sideways, and the rusting mail box was ready to make an escape via falling off the wall. The mail box would have to fight its way through a slew of toys pushed off to the side.

  After knocking three times, Bubba backed away so he wouldn’t appear threatening. Behind him he heard The PSS saying to Precious, “Get it! Get the ball!” Precious barked sharply once. “Don’t fret, dogling, I shall not use my super strength to throw the ball again!”

  The nearest window was completely black one moment, and then light appeared around the edges. A silhouetted form parted the curtains and stared at Bubba. Then the curtains fluttered closed, and someone said through the closed door, “Who is it?”

  “My name is Bubba Snoddy,” he said, “and I’m looking
for Morgan Newbrough.”

  Silence resulted.

  The voice had been a woman’s. Bubba supposed it was Morgan’s wife. He didn’t remember if he’d heard her name before. Nancy Musgrave had said something about Morgan the week before. He had a family. He worked at Best Buy. He lived in Dallas.

  “You couldn’t come in the daylight?” the voice said through the door.

  “It’s important.”

  “So is my sleep, buddy,” the woman snapped.

  “Very important,” Bubba stressed.

  There was a spotted-brass mail slot just under the middle of the door. A finger pushed it open, and Bubba could see the woman’s mouth as she said, “People coming to my door all the fricking time now. Wanting to know about Morgan and his kookoo sister. Newspeople. The neighbors. The police. Want to know did I know what his nutcase sister did down in Pegram County. Want to know if Morgan knows about it. So I’ll tell you what I told them.” Her red lips compressed in anger, and then she resumed her declamation, “Morgan left months ago. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t send money. I’ve filed for divorce. He’s a shithead. And he doesn’t live here.”

  She stopped speaking for a moment and then added, “Jesus, I’m going to need a beer to go to sleep tonight.”

  “Uh, right sorry about that,” Bubba said politely. “You’re Morgan’s wife?”

  “Isn’t that what I just finished saying and it’s gonna be ex-wife just as soon as I can.”

  “There’s a woman missing down in Pegram County that might have something to do with this whole mess,” Bubba said. “I don’t want to rile you up, but is there anything you can tell me that might help?”

  The finger was still holding the little brass flap open. The red lips started to move again. “I tried to have that dingwa committed. I called every-finkling-body I could think of. Nancy fooled the damned psychiatrist into thinking I was just pissed at her. She’s a flipping social worker for God’s sake. I mean, she knows what to say to a shrink. Ain’t nobody can say I didn’t try to do my part. If those stupid em-eff-ers had listened to me a year ago then no one would be dead in Pegram County, and I don’t know anything about someone who’s missing.” After finishing her testimonial, the mouth took a deep breath of air.

  “Is Morgan down in Pegram County?” Bubba persisted.

  “I don’t flinking know where the jackass is,” the lips said fiercely. “And I can’t tell you what the two of them are planning. They’ve been bitching about those people in Pegram County for ten years. I mean, let it go, for the love of merciful Pete. Their father stole from orphans, and Nancy still thinks that was okay because he was using the money for their Christmas presents. How is stealing from orphans ever okay? But no, Nancy’s a few peas short of a casserole. ‘It’s that woman’s fault. That Demetrice Snoddy woman’s fault- ’ Hey.”

  The lips stopped moving.

  Bubba waited.

  “You said your name is Bubba…Snoddy,” the lips said.

  “Yeah, Miz Demetrice is my mother.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with Nancy’s murder plot,” the lips declared.

  “Lots of folks think about killing Ma,” Bubba said reluctantly. “Most don’t follow through. But she’s still about, kicking and taking names.”

  “You don’t sound angry,” the lips commented.

  “Well, I reckon you know that Nancy got caught last week.”

  “Yeah, I know. Didn’t I just finish telling you all these people coming to my door asking questions about what Nancy was up to? The television has been playing that interview with that kid and Matt Lauer 24/7, for Jelly Belly’s sake. How could I not know she got caught?” The lips paused to chuckle. “A stun gun. That’s rich.”

  Bubba said carefully, “My friend disappeared the same day Nancy got caught.”

  “I said I’ve seen the news,” the lips admitted. The finger tapped the side of the slot. “The news didn’t say it had anything to do with Nancy.”

  “No one thought that it did, until today,” Bubba admitted.

  “What happened today?” the lips asked as if dreading the answer.

  “The guy everyone thought did it, didn’t.”

  The lips closed.

  “You said Morgan has been gone for a few months,” Bubba stated.

  “Yeah. We were fighting about his sister again,” the lips said bitterly. “He packed some shit and left. A couple days later his company called him and said he was fired on account of the fact that he didn’t show up. Now it’s just me and my babies.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Bubba said.

  “It’s okay,” the lips said. “I got a decent job. I can take care of my children without the jackass’s help. I got relatives who’re good to us.”

  Bubba thought of something he had thought about before. When he’d suspected the Newbrough siblings were behind the Christmas killings, he knew that they had to be people who was relatively new to the area. But he didn’t have to go around checking everyone to see if they were Morgan Newbrough, formerly Morgan Roquemore.

  “Do you have a photo of your husband?” Bubba asked. All he had to do was look at Morgan’s image, and Bubba would know if the man was in Pegramville.

  “Ex-husband to be,” the lips retorted. “Why in seven hells do you want a picture of him?”

  “I want to know if I seen him before,” Bubba said honestly.

  The lips sighed. “Can’t help you. We moved to this house on account there was a fire in our other one. Lost everything. Photos, too. Everything we got has been donated by the church, friends, relatives, and charities. And damn, they’ve been good to us.”

  Another fire? Nancy likes fires. Had she tried to get rid of a loose end? “When did this fire happen?”

  “About two months ago,” the lips said. “Not too long after Morgan split.”

  “But this house is listed under his name,” Bubba said.

  “Yeah, well, it’s hard to get listed under my name when he was the one who initially got all the utilities,” the lips said resentfully. “That’ll change when the divorce is finalized.”

  “This fire an accident?”

  The lips pursed for a moment. Bubba wished the woman would just stand up and open the door so he could see her face, but she had no reason to trust him.

  “Fire department said it was kids playing with matches,” the lips said. The lips vanished and blue eyes moved down to stare through the flap’s doors at him. “But you don’t think that, do you? I can see it in your face.”

  “I think maybe Nancy tried to do you in,” Bubba said. “She set fire to a storage shed and to a woman’s house who was connected to the historical society board.”

  “The same board that put her daddy in prison,” the lips reappeared and said. “Headed up by your mama.”

  “That’s right.”

  “We went over to my mama’s that night,” the lips mused. “She had a new Disney movie for the kids.” The lips went silent for a moment. “That frinking, no account, crazy-brained dingleberry.”

  “Your mama?”

  “No, Nancy,” the lips spat out.

  “Do you think you might be able to find a photo of Morgan, maybe something you gave to your mama or a friend or something?”

  “Maybe,” the lips said. “Mama doesn’t like Morgan, and mostly I give her photos of the kids and stuff. She probably used the ones of Morgan for toilet paper.” The lips took a moment to curve with amusement.

  But Bubba thought about another way he could find out. He also thought of someone else who might be able to give him a photo. “I appreciate your help,” he said. He brought out the paper Demetrius gave to him. “I’d like to give you my cell phone number so you can tell me if you find one or maybe ifin you hear from your soon-to-be ex-husband or maybe ifin you think of something either of them might have said that could help. You got a pen?”

  The lips passed a pen out to him a moment later. Bubba scrawled the number on the paper and passed the pen and paper th
rough the slot.

  The blue eyes replaced the lips again. They stared out of the slot past Bubba. Morgan’s soon-to-be ex-wife said incredulously, “There’s a man in a purple mask and purple clothes playing ball with a Basset hound on my front lawn.”

  “Yeah, well,” Bubba murmured, “he’s kinda my sidekick.” He considered. “Or I’m his.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The Return of the Bubba

  Thursday, January 5th - Friday, January 6th

  Bubba was dog-tired so they stopped at a motel fifty miles away from Dallas. Bubba figured that Charles Park wouldn’t be watching the credit card of a relatively benevolent criminal such as himself so he used his Visa to pay for it. If the police came to arrest him they’d have to wake him up first.

  Before retiring for the evening, Bubba made sure all superheroes and Basset hounds were fed. He followed up with attempting to figure out how to retrieve messages on his disposable phone. He would have asked The PSS for assistance, but the man fell mask-covered facedown into one of the double beds in the room and proceeded to snore just like Bubba’s Aunt Caressa. Precious claimed the other bed and used feet, snout, and her butt to make a nest out of the coverlet. She took up a large percentage of the bed with her long ears and four paws spread out to all directions of the wind.

  With a mournful resignation, Bubba called his mother. Miz Demetrice’s phone went immediately to voicemail and he left a message. “On my way back to Pegramville, Ma,” he said. “Don’t got much new.” He sighed. “Wish I could say there was something else.” There was another significant pause. “Did you have to sic Big Mama on me?”

  He took a shower, dried off, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, and lay on the part of the bed that Precious wasn’t using. A minute after that, the snores between the three individuals contended for the ultimate conquest of which would be loudest.

  •

  The morning brought a warmer Texas winter’s day. The sun was out. The temperature was climbing rapidly. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.