Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah

by Welch, Annie Rose

  Hank and Curly both nodded.

  “I swear this is going to sound worse than it is, but we went out drinking one night. I knew she had been with Booty before. I saw her out with him, and I decided to try my luck, you know. I had to be careful because I knew if she thought I was fishing for information, she’d dump me. After she got drunk, she let the beans spill. She told me that Booty told her that he had killed a judge in Tupelo. Kids were hiding in the tree when he did, and he knew who they were. He didn’t kill them because he didn’t know what they had on him.

  “You see, he had never been in such a compromising situation. The people he killed, he knew exactly what he was dealing with. If there were evidence, any at all, it would be destroyed. And he was waiting for them in the woods, but before they came down, people started searching for them and he left. He killed REO because REO lied to him. REO must have been in Wild Thang before we got there. I think he might have lied to save our lives, or extended them at any rate.”

  “Booty told her that he knew who those kids were now. Someone had told him. It had to be one of our parents who told someone else, because no other kids knew about it. It’s our place and our secret. He knew Hank had become an attorney and was working for the man. He knows about all of us. The thing is, Booty wasn’t run out of Tupelo because he was scared of Cray Lusianno. They have a strange working relationship. Booty was the only one who could rival Cray’s amount of cruelty and insanity. Cray is not only deadly, but he thinks like a businessman in every aspect of his life. He loves his money. He loves his power even more.

  “Cray wanted him because he couldn’t allow him to take over. Seeing as Cray had money and pull, he joined him. Cray, Cray is a mad son of a bitch, Hank. They don’t call him Casper for nothin’. When he first started out, he sliced a guy’s balls, made him sit in lemon juice, and then ripped them off with his bare hands because he looked at him wrong. The guy was dirty, just like him, but you wanna know what dirty guys do when they get had by other dirty guys? They spread the news, and Cray with that damn razor-sharp ring of his became money and power. They can’t indict him because there’s never any evidence. None. The same with Booty. They know how to play the game well. They own the damn game. They make the rules.

  “But it goes beyond that with Cray. He has a thing for lots of women. He loves beauty, and he has kids everywhere. He loves pure beauties. When he’s through with them, he starts telling them all these secrets of his. He feels like if he confesses them, they’ll forgive him like a priest, but since they know too much, he kills them after. And he feels lighter, because they take his secrets to the grave. The mothers of his children! It’s sick and satanic and I can’t even begin to understand.”

  “The only kids he keeps around are his two boys, Woe ‘Lights Out’ Lusianno and Winston ‘Smart-Guy’ Lusianno. Woe is the brawn to Cray’s body, and Winston is the brain. Cray’s the damn beating black heart. He’s nearly unstoppable. He only has a select amount of men that he trusts, and he has no worries, because he’s so secure no one will ever try to lay a hand on him. He dug into that king’s seat and made a permanent indention with his royal ass. Booty told him about the kids, now us. He’s keeping tabs, Hank.

  “They know you ran behind those bank robbers, and our old story has caused him to come out of hibernation. They want to know why, because Booty is paranoid. That’s his only weakness—paranoia. Out of his entire career, we’ve been his only loose ends. Cray, he’s superstitious. If he even feels you’re coming for him, he’ll destroy you. Right or wrong.

  “Hank, they’re going to come for you. If they can’t buy you, because you’re in a position of power, they’re going to kill you. They’ll do the same to each of us. We all hold something they want. A sheriff, a journalist with contacts, a device that can detect and track, without the person knowing, and Curly will become one of their flunkies.”

  Jesse looked up for a moment. “Do they really call Winston ‘Smart-Guy’?”

  Tommy tilted his head and shook it. “Seriously? No, they don’t! He just goes by Winston, but that’s what I call him. I don’t like to speak their names much.”

  “Let them come for us. We’ve never backed down from bullies.” Dylan pushed off the wall, as though he was daring the threat to show itself from one of the stalls.

  “Hank, here’s the thing, buddy.” Tommy was getting so excited that he was almost going for four words each. A record. “They probably know where you are. Why would a lawyer, who is sworn to put criminals away, run behind them? Without some type of protection? It’s not normal, and they’re curious as to why. If we have something on them, maybe we’re trying to frame them? They just don’t know. And they always have to know. Always.

  “If Delilah is Pistollette, you might have just lucked out, my friend, and saved all our asses. They know who she is, and they won’t touch her. She’s quicker than anyone they’ve ever seen. Quicker than anyone Cray has or can have. A bunch of guys, afraid of one woman! Why? How quick can she be?” Tommy fixed his eyes on Hank’s before he started to ramble again.

  “If she’s just Delilah, a beautiful girl who owns a bar and happened to be in the right spot at maybe the wrong time, well, you have something to worry about. ‘Lights Out’ is trying to make a name for himself. His signature send off is the middle finger. He’s so stupid, but he’s meaner than Cray. He’s got the temperament of a bull being castrated. They’re coming, Hank. It’s only a matter of breaths now.”

  Hank looked up from staring at his shoes. “What’s the good news, then?”

  Dylan, Tommy, and Jesse looked at Curly. Dylan nodded.

  Tommy cleared his throat. “Hank, June-bug is having an affair on Lenoir Cootie.”

  “What!” Hank yelled, pushing away from the wall. “With who?”

  “Preacher John,” Tommy said, regret and something like mirth twisting in with his words. “Lil’ Billy Mackerel saw them at the Motel Six the night of the wedding.”

  “How does he know they were up to something? They could’ve been talking.” Hank took a deep breath, keeping it buried in his lungs for a few seconds until he slowly released it. He was trying to still the panic that was beginning to rear its ugly head. His parents? Dear God, give him strength.

  “She was ri-ri-ride-riding his back and su-suck-sucking his neck, Hank.” Tommy lifted his hands in a motion that clearly said there’s no other explanation.

  Hank, Dylan, Tommy, and Jesse looked at Curly.

  “I’ve always liked him better anyway. He always let me come over when you and Randy visited. He paid us more than change for our chores.” Curly shrugged.

  “And that was good news?” Hank said.

  Tommy nodded. “Has to be better than the last.”

  “What are we going to do now?” Jesse wheezed.

  “I’m staying here. Hank is going with Delilah to her place in Magnolia Springs. Hennessey offered me a job and Hazel offered me her trailer to stay in. I’m going to keep an eye on them,” Curly said.

  “Are you sure?” Hank said, looking Curly in the eyes. He hoped his eyes conveyed the sorrow he felt, not because his parents were having an affair, but because he hated that Curly had such a lousy life.

  Curly nodded.

  “I’m going to stay with Curly,” Tommy said, patting him on the shoulder. “People around here have to know something. I’m pulling out Barb.”

  They all looked at each other. Beanie Barb Beeswaxes was the opposite of Thomasina Beeswaxes. She was a busty blonde with a big attitude and a heavy southern accent. She was Tommy’s first choice for the column, but the paper wanted someone older. A real granny type. Hank didn’t even want to know why Tommy kept Beanie—her wig, her clothes, even her makeup. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

  “Jesse can come back with me so we’re always in twos. I’m going to send Perkie and the baby to Lousiana for a while, to stay with her grandparents. We are going to infiltrate these operations. We’re not going to let Booty, and the rest of the trash, get
the first jump on us. If Hank is in love with her, bank robber or not, he deserves to know the truth. And no telling how much longer we have now,” Dylan said.

  “It’s settled, th-then.” Tommy looked at Hank. “You b-better buckle up, Hank, and buckle up tight. If Del-Delilah is Pistollette, you’re runnin’ with the fastest sh-shooter possibly in the world, and ain’t nobody slowin’ h-her down. It’s time to put on your big boy boxers and m-m-man up.” Tommy paused to look at each one of them separately. “It’s time we-we all do. If these are-are our g-girls, we’re all going to be run-running with the f-fastest dames in t-town.”

  Hank shook his head, trying to shake the mess free. Damn ghosts. He just knew it. They were all screaming and shaking those chains at once, this time not taking no for an answer. They were haunting, smoking secrets from their graves.

  Hank stood in the doorway to Delilah’s office; one arm against the frame, leaning in, watching her. She had changed into a black thermal shirt and dark, skintight jeans. Her hair was partly pulled back by a beige tweed slouch hat. Her wavy hair fell around her shoulders; it had lost some of its curl since earlier. Her ears sparkled with diamonds that reminded Hank of flickering stars in the sky. She was packing her things, but Hank had no idea how she found anything. Her office was a mess of papers and personal items.

  It was still early on in the night. Pistol Fanny’s was still rocking, bringing them in dozens at a time. But Delilah didn’t seem too concerned with staying. She seemed eager to leave, trying to accomplish everything she had set on doing. Once she fulfilled her duties, she was almost antsy to get out of the bar.

  She hadn’t said anything since earlier, and Hank had the feeling she knew something had gone on between him and his friends. She seemed to watch him more intently after that. Hank thought it could be him. He was a nervous wreck, directing all the anxious feelings inward. Or he was trying to. He chewed hard on his gum.

  “Are you hungry?” She looked up at him, halting her paper searching.

  “No. I couldn’t eat if I tried.”

  “Something bothering you?”

  “Your sisters, they’re not going to kill my brother, are they?”

  Delilah looked like she wanted to laugh. She was struggling to keep a straight face. “Tell him to stay away from Jo for a while. He’s going to take some getting used to. The other girls, they’ll be more lenient. Uncle Hennessey will keep an eye out for him. I already asked him to. Are you ready?”

  Hank nodded and she met him at the door. He took her bag and slung it over his shoulder. Taking control for once, he grabbed her hand. She went to lead them out, but Hank moved his body in front of hers. He wanted to lead her for once. As they walked, Hank overheard two men talking.

  “Did you see the sugar on that woman?” The man whistled.

  “Yeah Buck, that’s why they call her Pistol Fanny.”

  Hank smiled. He sure loved the woman in those tight-fitting jeans.

  The parking lot was dark, only the slight glow from the neon lights buzzing around to cast shadows along their path. Hank was paranoid to the first degree. He felt like eyes were watching him. They were watching her, and because of it, he asked that she walk ahead. If they were going to grab someone, he hoped it’d be him. She could at least get away. Or shoot even. She had agreed, but Hank felt like it was for his benefit only. Freud was strutting around, sniffing everything ahead of them.

  Delilah stopped when they were in the middle of the parking lot.

  “Hank, how come you keep looking over your shoulder?”

  “This is a dark place. Anything can happen.”

  “We have Freud. He’ll tell me if there’s anyone around we can’t see. And look.” She pointed behind them. “Cash and Leroy are watching.”

  “I have to tell you something, Delilah.” Hank looked around again. “I might be in some trouble. It’s nothing that I did. Something happened a long time ago and I wasn’t supposed to be there. Maybe I should just stay here.”

  She wiped the sweat from his brow. “Trouble seems to find you, doesn’t it, Hank? If you’re in trouble, it’s best if we stay together. Now, let’s see how well you know me. Which one’s my car? Let’s see if the feeling is always spot on like you claim it is.”

  “What?”

  “You talk in your sleep. You were dreaming, I guess. You were talking to me and you said the feeling—” she sounded real James Brown like “—never steers you wrong. I want to see if this feeling is right.”

  Freud growled and hit her with his paw.

  “That’s right, Freud.” Hank laughed. “A lady would never mention that. It’s pretty rude. I would never expect that from a grits.”

  “Just ’cause I was a girl raised in the south doesn’t mean I don’t have a few wicked ways.”

  “Heaven Almighty, what a beautiful mess I’m in.” Hank shook his head.

  All right, he had to find her car. He looked around the lot. Hennessey’s truck was out. So was Jo’s Barracuda. That only left the Firebird, the pink Cadillac, the Lincoln, the Porsche, the AC Cobra or the funeral car—the black Cadillac.

  The firebird wasn’t her. It was a bit mischievous, but too forward. The pink Cadillac was too bubble gum. Delilah was feminine, but like a snow leopard was. The Lincoln, too, was out. He didn’t see her as a pearl, more like a sharp-edged diamond. He prayed it wasn’t the funeral car. It wasn’t the Cobra, either. He just had the feeling.

  It had to be the Porsche. It was her—sleek and small, but you wouldn’t push it because you knew it could do damage. It was like the Jimson weed of the car world.

  Hank walked over to the Porsche and laid his hand on the door. Delilah walked right past him, sliding easily into the driver’s seat.

  “You know me too well already. Dear Lord.”

  Hank laughed and was about to climb in when Freud growled at him. He wanted Hank to get in first it seemed, taking the ribbed seat in the very back. It was just big enough for Freud himself.

  “Freud,” Delilah reprimanded. “That’s not polite. We have a guest. He gets the big seat.”

  Freud shook his head and hopped in. He groaned as he plopped down.

  The lights to the Cobra turned on, two spotlights in the darkened parking lot, and the engine roared. Melody was behind the wheel, her face pale in the deep darkness. Hank couldn’t keep up anymore. They were here and then there, they were everywhere. The window came down. Melody’s laughter echoed before she revved the engine.

  “Do yourself a favor, darlin’,” she yelled out of the window. “Get rid of that foreign piece of pigeon shit and buy yourself an American-made car. Then maybe you can keep up. The fastest girl in town?” She howled with laughter as she sped out of the parking lot, tires squealing against the pavement, smoke rising from burnt rubber like fog.

  Delilah started the car and put it in gear, following in her sister’s tracks. She smiled a wicked little smile. “She’d have to get up mighty early in the mornin’ before she ever caught me.”

  Hank believed it.

  The small car sped down the highway, burning miles like it was setting the road on fire. Delilah asked Hank to hand her the cinnamon candies she kept in the car to keep her awake. She yelled for Freud to find gold, and the next thing Hank knew, Freud dropped a tape in her hands. She wiped it off and stuck it in the music player.

  “Sing with me, Hank. I’ll sing the lady’s part. Freud can give us some background vocals.” Delilah turned the music up.

  “Do you always listen to good ole cheddar country music?”

  “I love it! I love the old-time sound… ole Alabama, the works. This was one of my Mama’s favorite songs—‘Louisiana woman, Mississippi man.’ She used to make me take Conway’s part, though.” Delilah laughed, but her eyes glossed a little.

  Hank sang with her after that. And like he had dreamed, they made a beautiful duo, or trio. Even Freud was smoking his parts. They were taking this show on the road. It could be Delilah & Hank, plus Freud, the gentleman dog. It just
seemed to fit. Everything about them seemed to fit.

  “Next time around, I’m going to have to change the lyrics,” Hank said, still smiling after the impromptu music session. “It’ll have to be ‘Tennessee woman, Mississippi man.’”

  “I’m not from Tennessee. I just moved there a while back, when Aunt Katherine and Uncle Hennessey did. Uncle Hennessey is a born and raised Tennessean.”

  “Where are you from then?”

  “Louisiana.” She peeked at Hank from the corner of her eye.

  “How come you never told me that?”

  “You never asked.”

  She had him there. There were a lot of things he hadn’t asked her. He wanted to know more about her, everything about her, but what if he went too far? What if he asked her something that was too close to the burning question? Would she blow up? He wasn’t afraid of her, not at all. He was more afraid of losing her. And if that meant treading lightly, until she relented and let him in, he’d wait. He would wait forever.

  “Little Sister” started to play and she quickly skipped it. In fact, she skipped it so quickly, it actually screeched before the next song started to play.

  “You got something against ‘Little Sister?’” Hank took a peek in the rear-view mirror. He had a strong inkling that the Ford behind was trailing them. “Why do they call you that?”

  Delilah’s eyes were dreamy again. My, how her eyes could shift so quickly, Hank thought. Just like the direction of the wind. She was staring out the window, lost in her whirlwind of thoughts. She leaned forward, one hand around the wheel, turning the volume down a bit.

  “Hank, here’s the rules. No ‘I love you’s’ and no breaking the rule. That’s my terms. You can take ’em or leave ’em.”

  Hank looked around. There was nowhere for him to go now, even if he didn’t agree. But no I love you’s? Who smelled now?

  He leaned over a bit. “Careful now, Delilah. A little confidence goes a long way.” He meant to inhale her but was caught off guard by a horrific stench. It smelled like fresh manure mixed with ten-day-old pork and beans. Hank’s head was thrown back to his seat by the recklessness of it.