He quickly picked it up. He almost dropped it when he took a good look at it. Drawn on the card was half of a man with a woman, and hanging over the man’s head was half a scale of justice.
Hank knew the other half of the card was another woman, and the other half of the man, along with the other scale. The man was split directly in the middle, caught up between the two women. Hank tucked it in his pocket.
Pistollette started to spin those guns so fast you had to blink your eyes to see her fingers moving. Both hands going at once, she was spinning them forward, backward, sideways, just to start over and do it all again. Her fingers seemed like they were dancing.
If it were even possible, the rhythm sped up even faster. The motions of the guns were almost a blur until she stopped, acting like she was going to hand the guns over. The butt of the gun was facing the crowd, the barrel facing her, before she spun them once more to right them.
The girls blew kisses. Boom Box started clapping, pointing to the men, urging them to join in. Pistollette twirled the guns around her fingers once more. She smoothly slipped them back into their holsters, nodded at Hank, and then she was gone. She disappeared into thick white smoke like an apparition of the most beautiful form, in the same formation she and her gang of sisters arrived in, like they were never even there in the first place.
Hank knew she was there, though, because he had never felt so alive. He had never felt so alive since the day before Elvis never appeared out of that cloud of smoke.
It took a split second for Hank to truly grasp the fact that as quickly as she came, she was gone. He looked around the room once. The men were whispering amongst themselves, still on the floor. Hank had to be sure that what he saw happen truly did. And it had. The cameras were smoking. His heart was in flames.
He stood up abruptly and ran for the door. He followed their exit route, and when he made it out to the street behind the bank, he stopped for a moment, looking around.
A gust of wind blew past. Hank could have sworn he smelled the bank, traces of old money in the air. He saw something tumbling down the street, a crinkled and worn scrap of paper. It was coming toward him like a tumbleweed dancing in the desert.
One more gust of wind and it swept the ground before ballooning right in front of him. He grabbed it out of the air as it drifted. It was an old, faded greyhound ticket. The date was the day that Judge Pilgrim and REO had been killed—it was from Greenwood, Louisiana headed to Tupelo. It was identical to the one still tacked to Wild Thang. Hank didn’t have time to pull his wallet, so he tucked it inside his pocket.
He put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. Another parking lot sat across the street, with a little alleyway in front of it. He didn’t know why, premonition maybe, but he ran for it. Hank didn’t even bother to look both ways. He was running with his head down, until he ran into two hefty breasts.
They knocked him back and he bounced when he hit the ground. When Hank looked up, he saw standing over him a woman with eyes the color of melted caramel and skin the color of deep gold. Her hands were on her hips, and she was dressed in a nun’s habit. He could see a little fuzz peeking out of the side of the wimple; her hair matched her eyes and skin. And she was the tallest woman he had ever seen.
“Heaven Almighty,” he whispered.
Hank went to apologize. She held up her hand. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He thought maybe the woman was a figment of his imagination. When he reopened his eyes, there she was, Pistollette, standing next to the nun. The mask was still on Pistollette’s face, but she was in the same outfit as the tallest woman he’d ever seen.
The tall lady helped him to his feet. Now that he was standing before her, he saw that Pistollette had to be around 5’10” with those heels, because he was 6’0”. He looked up into the face of the “nun.” She had to be a good 6’5”, easily.
Pistollette shook her head at him. Hank assumed she was disappointed with him for following her. A low whistle sounded from behind her. She didn’t even bother to turn and look. Pistollette held her hand up, her fingers splayed. Hank twisted his body and saw another she-devil behind them. When she saw him, she fled, her footsteps silent.
Pistollette tapped on tall lady’s hand. They were speaking in code again. Tall lady nodded and cleared her throat.
“My name is Rotunda Grinder. You now have five seconds to answer two questions.”
Hank nodded. Pistollette took her thumb down. She was counting down.
“Are you sure about this?” Rotunda asked, staring Hank in the eye.
He nodded. The fingers kept ticking.
“What’s your name?” Rotunda asked.
Hank quickly cleared his throat. He had one more second to go. “Hank Rivers.”
“Well, Hank Rivers, I sure am sorry about this, this being our first and last meeting and all, but…”
The last second ticked. Boom. Hank never saw it coming.
All those years, Hank had been so concerned with the bridge between fear and hate, he somehow overlooked the narrow one between hate and love. Hank had done the unacceptable—he had followed a bad outlaw. Hank had done what he thought impossible—he had fallen in love with a bank robber.
Pistol ran behind Rotunda, who clutched Hank as he hung limply over Rotunda’s shoulder. Once they made it to the stark white touring van with the Sisters of Mercy, Chattanooga, Tennessee painted in bold blue letters on the side, Pistol saw Boom Boom’s arms outstretched, waiting for her. Pistol climbed over, and Rotunda slid Hank on the floor between them. The sisters were all dressed in their habits.
Pistol did a quick count; everyone was in. Cheshire Cat was in the passenger seat, and even though Pistol couldn’t see, because her mask was on, she knew Cheshire had a big grin on her face. Jellyfish was the closest to the window on the second seat, her arms crossed over her chest. Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham—one person, sometimes two, never at the same time though—was next to Jelly. Pistol could hear her giggling.
“Did you find your lucky ticket?” Cheshire Cat said.
Pistol didn’t answer at first. Instead, she looked at Hank. “It must have blown out of my pocket.” Her hand brushed past the torn piece of fabric. “Damn, I can’t believe I ripped my pants.”
Rotunda ducked her head before she slid inside. She started the motor and easily glided out of the space. Cheshire Cat started handing out Bibles locked in pewter boxes. They each took one, removing their masks. Each sister inserted her cover into the space in the Bible that was cut out to fit the shape perfectly. They locked the box with a gold key in the shape of a cross that they each wore around their necks.
Pistol quickly glanced at the spot where her lucky ticket usually went. It marked the page of the Bible that stated: though shall not kill. In its place, she put the card she had split with her bullet. She had picked up her half when she saw him pick up his. She had meant to do that for him.
Even though she had the card to replace the one she lost, she sure felt sad about her lucky ticket. Pistol rarely felt sad. When she did, it was only for the one who had her heart. For her lucky ticket, though, she could cry. But she didn’t. She carried on. She always did.
As they passed the front of the bank, with all the police cars lined up like they were preparing for a riot, they all laughed.
“Oh, thank the Lord! I’m so relieved this time we didn’t have to ride in a hearse. I got a real creepy feeling having to be in a coffin. I didn’t like it one bit. I felt like you do when you’re reading a novel and the writer is trying to tip you off by foreshadowing what’s going to come next.” Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham’s body shook like it had caught a sudden chill.
Everyone kept quiet.
“All right, let’s just get this over with.” Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham held her hand up. “Can someone please explain to me why we have two hostages along for the ride? Now we’re taking hostages! I don’t mind, but I would have liked to pick one out too.”
“Two?” Pistol said, looking around the van.
Pistol twisted in her seat and saw nothing but Elvis memorabilia.
“He’s buried underneath the stuff,” Boom Boom amended.
“Oh, hell!” Pistol shouted.
“Jellyfish knocked him upside his head.” Boom Boom nodded toward her sullen partner in crime. “You know she’s been itchin’ to. He came along at the right time. He mustn’t have too much good luck. Besides—” she punched Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham’s seat “—they’re not hostages if we didn’t force them. They followed us, like stowaways.”
“I don’t know why none of them fight with us. You’d think someone would stand up and fight back. I mean, Jellyfish ain’t the only one who wants to get in on the action. What the hell? I wish I could’ve hit ’im.” Cheshire Cat slapped the dash. Then she started to laugh. “Jelly, did you hear what he was yelling before you clocked him good?”
Jellyfish nodded and smirked. “‘Abandon ship! Abandon ship!’ Big titty.”
“Bless his heart,” Rotunda muttered.
“Why didn’t ya’ll leave him? We could say Hank is our tour guy and fell down, and we were taking him to the hospital. What are we supposed to say about the one who’s buried under Elvis?” Pistol said.
Cheshire Cat started to say something, but Rotunda cut her off.
“Before the bullets start flying… Pistol, what am I supposed do with the money this time?”
Pistol sat back in her seat, staring at Hank. “Give it all to the Tupelo Battered Women’s Association.”
“Can’t we just keep some of it?” Rotunda glanced at the rearview mirror.
“None of it,” Pistol said. “Not a low-down damn penny.”
Cheshire Cat poked Rotunda in the ribs. “You greedy lil’ thang!” Rotunda squealed and Cheshire Cat said, “I always knew you’d squeal first!”
“Speaking of squealers, what are we going to do with the two in the back?” Jellyfish said. “They’re extra baggage that we just don’t need. I say we dump ’em. Send their squealing asses up the river on a floatie.”
Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham turned around in her seat and giggled. She pointed to Hank. “He’s cute. I wonder why he followed us? That ain’t ever happened before.” Just then, Cheshire Cat charged up one of her electronic cigarettes and Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham went ballistic.
Even though the electronic cigarette had a filter, Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham didn’t. She looked like one person, but the rest of the gang knew that if you’d spilt her in two with a mallet, you’d find a devil and an angel on each side of her. She was cursing profanities like nobody’s business.
Pistol scooted closer to Hank. His back was against the seat and his head was limp, hanging forward. She straightened it and ran her fingers through his hair. The color reminded her of sugarcane and cinnamon whiskey. His eyes, the color of emeralds and specks of gold, had mischief and moonshine lurking behind them. His stare was contemplative, like he always had something serious on his mind.
Pistol leaned forward, a little closer to him, and wiped away the blood from his head where Rotunda had knocked him. She put her nose up to his mouth, just to smell him. He smelled like the faintest traces of tequila, mint, and last night’s cologne. She just wanted to eat him up.
“Pistol, what in the hell has gotten into you?” Cheshire Cat’s eyes went wide. “You’re actin’ like you’ve never seen a man with a good jaw structure before.”
Pistol just shrugged, not sure how to say it. She knew exactly what to think, though—he was the only one who had never disgusted her.
“I can rearrange that on him, if that’s what’s got you,” Jellyfish offered.
Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham whipped back around and smiled. “What’s wrong with his eye? He looked sleepy. I was starting to take it personal, like our show was lacking.”
“He has ptosis,” Boom Boom said, examining him. “It’s the dropping or falling of the upper or lower eyelid. His muscles are weak in his left eye. He has a mild case, though.”
“I like it.” Pistol traced a finger over the eye in question. “I think it makes him look serious. Like he has a secret that no one else knows. Like he’s thinking all the time and he’s smart. It’s sexual, too. Because of it, he stares at you with bedroom eyes. It works for him.”
She moved her finger further up, tracing his eyebrows, thick and a bit unruly, shaped like upside down crescent moons. She felt warm, because in her memories, she could clearly see him staring at her like he had. The heat of it burned like the sun on her skin. He didn’t just look at her, he saw her. If he hadn’t, he never would have spoken to her the way he had.
“He damn well does have a secret now. Not many can say, or not, that they were kidnapped by a gang of beavers.” Jellyfish clapped her teeth together, making chomping noises.
Boom Boom yelled to Cheshire Cat, “Hand me my kit, will you? I have some work to do.”
Boom Boom looked at Pistol and Pistol understood. The sisters understood everything the other couldn’t say. But Pistol wanted her to say it anyway.
Boom Boom smiled. “He’s going to need some stitches, and I’m going to give him something so when he wakes up, he won’t feel as bad.”
Pistol nodded, turning away, not wanting to watch her stitch him up. Usually she had no problem with blood or wounds, but for some reason, she couldn’t stand to watch because they belonged to him.
“Look at this!” Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham giggled. She held up a wallet. She was also the best pickpocket in the south. “Let’s take a lookie and see what he’s about. Hank Huckleberry Rivers. Born January 15th, twenty-nine years old. He also went to Ole Miss. College boy. The convent approves.”
Jellyfish stared out the window, her nose fogging up the glass, her forehead pressed against it. “What do you think he is, Pistol? Sweet Poppa or Fool’s Gold?”
Sweet Poppa was the gang’s term for a sugar daddy—a man with a lot of money who would freely give it without hesitation in return for a beautiful woman. Fool’s Gold was their term for the ones who didn’t have a dime or anything else to give—including emotion.
Then there were the Dry County Boys, who were just about perfect—and they were as rare as a meteorite falling on your head. The gang didn’t come by them too often because, well, that’s not who they dealt with. They weren’t looking for love; they weren’t looking for anything but what they wanted.
“I don’t know.” Pistol’s eyes never roamed far from Hank. “I was thinking he’s a Dry County Boy, with just a little booze in his closet. Just enough to make things fun.”
“Pistol, you are a fool. You know how it is. He’s only going to get hurt. We don’t do Dry County’s. We like our cash fast and our boys the same way.” Jellyfish thumped her fist against the window.
“Oh, he seems harmless to me. I say we have a little fun with ’em before we ditch ’em. He’s wearing a pocket protector, for God’s sake!” Cheshire Cat laughed.
“Oh, dear Lord!” Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham screeched and the wallet went flying in the air. She tossed it like it suddenly became a scorching hot piece of coal. “Oh, dear Lord!”
“What?” Rotunda leaned forward, gripping the steering wheel tighter. She was superstitious. “Lord, don’t tell me we done snatched up a preacher’s son.” When Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham didn’t answer her, she continued. “Lord have mercy! I’m in hell. I’ve done surpassed purgatory and I’m there. I knocked a man of the Lord upside his head!”
Jellyfish picked up the wallet and handed it to Pistol. When Pistol opened it, she saw a white card that read:
Hank H. Rivers. Assistant District Attorney.
She was silent for a good while.
“Tell,” Boom Boom said.
“He’s an assistant district attorney, which in my book is worse than a preacher’s son!” Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham yelled. “What the h
ell are we going to do? They’re going to send the dogs out for him.” Then she started talking real sweet before she went off into a rant of profanities.
“Well, hell.” Cheshire Cat grinned. “There’s a conflict of interest if I ever heard of one.”
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” Jellyfish growled. “We’re going to let ’em die.”
“Nobody’s dying,” Boom Boom shouted. Hank moaned. “They’re just knocked out. For the time being.”
“Well, then, shit.” Cheshire Cat frowned. “What’s the fun in all of this if we can’t hurt the men? They were askin’ for it!”
“Not all of them deserve it. Just some of them,” Pistol whispered.
Jellyfish turned around and stared at Hank for a moment, then looked at Pistol before turning around again. “You do know what this means, don’t you?”
“I know.” Pistol sighed, sitting back in her seat.
“No finger on your trigger,” they all repeated at once, all of them but Pistol. It was the sisters’ slogan. Pistol needed to be reminded of it.
Pistol was risking it all for a man she didn’t know, who she believed she loved. If they got caught fair and square, that would be one thing. The dangers come with the job description. It’s dangerous business digging up old ghosts, and sooner or later the sisters knew their luck would run cold, but that was no concern of theirs. But this wasn’t part of the job. This was stupidity, all for what? Foolish love? It was just as bad as derailing your train full of spoils right before you made it to the station. Just on time too.
Pistol had to get it together. She had to keep her head in the game and her heart clear. This wasn’t just about her, but about the sisters. They had worked too long for this, and now that they were so close, she was playing dangerously close with fire. A man got them into this mess, and now a man was threatening to come between what they all desperately craved.
Pistol knew that revenge is only short-term sweetness, but justice, justice is that long-lasting, sweet flavor that fills your mouth with so much glorious satisfaction, it can never be forgotten.
Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah Page 5