Call Me Kid

by Billy Sharpe

  The Kid pulled Spiffy into the hall. “Been thinking, Spiffy, so much money has become involved in this pursuit, a fair number of gamblers might challenge the outcome should we win. We need witnesses that will stand up to any mention of fraud.”

  “Good point. Got any good ideas? “

  “Maybe Alotta for one. Let me mull it over. I’ll come up with someone. “

  His cell rang in Spiffy’s pocket. Spiffy answered. Without comment, Spiffy handed him the phone and nodded to the hall.

  “It’s me, Petty.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Things are worse with Ross.”

  “How so?”

  “He comes here because the sheriff’s office is no help.”

  “Why in heck not?”

  “He gave the department fifty thousand dollars for salaries. He keeps telling me he wants to tie me up in the basement.”

  “Give me his phone number.”

  “Got pencil and paper?”

  “Shoot. Thanks, Petty. I’ll make a call. Bye.” He leaned back inside the doorjamb. “Gimmie five more minutes for a couple of calls.”

  “Hello. I assume you are Mr. Slaughter.”

  “Yes and you are?”

  “A friend of Petty. The Kid.”

  “Goodbye. We have nothing to talk about.”

  “What? Wait!”

  The Kid thought. The line’s still open. Make this good. “For personal reasons, Mr. Slaughter, I must gamble. We’ll meet you sometime before sundown, Saturday afternoon, at Billy Goat Rock.” The Kid thought. Make conversation. Arouse his curiosity. “By the way, do you realize the authorities gathered some hair of Wong Lee’s killer?”

  “I heard about that murder. No, indeed I did not.”

  “Did the officers of the law ask you for a sample of something to obtain your DNA? Did they acquire your finger prints?”

  A pause.

  The Kid thought. The line’s still open. “Ross, are you still on the line? Ross—”

  “They can’t have the information, since I avoided capture for several crimes in other areas, but I steered clear of physically hurting anybody, except I fought in bars like you. My lawyer says the statute of limitations hasn’t run on a number of check forgeries, theft, con games, and conspiracies in various states, including North Carolina. On the other hand, I’m clean in Virginia.”

  “You ever killed a person?”

  “No, I told you I never injured anyone. Now be very careful. Don’t trust anybody but me.”

  “Couple more questions, Ross. Why did you buy the property?”

  “Hell, it’s beautiful here.”

  One more question Ross. How did a bracelet with the name of Gretchen end up in your house?”

  “I think you mean the one Petty stole to give you?”

  “Well...Okay…Go ahead.”

  “The back side of my property fronts on Briar Patch road. The teenagers used to use an old tobacco path, which leads off the main route for a lovers’ lane. I stayed after ‘em until they quit. Found the item about twenty feet off the highway right-of-way.”

  “Why didn’t you give the jewelry to the sheriff?”

  “Never thought of that. Ran an ad in the local paper trying to find the owner. Check the want ads out.” He hung up.

  The Kid thought. Ross guards the property. I didn’t ask, but he’s not going to mess us up when we hunt there. I just know that. He looked at the phone. He dialed Alotta. “Hello, old friend.”

  “Kid, how’s things going for you? Not so hot, huh?”

  “What do you mean ′not so hot′?” Samantha’ll bag a turkey Saturday.”

  “Oh, you’re a terrific lover, but you live in a dream world. Some say you’re going to end up in prison for fraud or whatever. You’re broke, too.”

  “The situation demands two reputable witnesses to her shot. Want to be one of them? It’ll land you a position on one of the big nets.”

  “You’ll fail, but I’ll meet ya. I’m off Saturday.”

  “Come to Pittsylvania County in Virginia. Go to Keeling. We’ll be at the intersection of Slatesville Road and Thistle, four a.m. sharp, no cameras.”

  “Okay.”

  He walked back. “Alotta’s coming as an eyewitness and we need one more. Let’s consider none other than Senator ‘Little Archie’ Winston.”

  Jim pulled at his belt buckle. “He ain’t poplar in this here state.”

  “Yes, but the thinking people believe he’s solid. It’ll assist him, too.”

  Spiffy scuffed the floor with his foot. “What’s the plan? Walk up to the senator’s door and say, ‘I’m the Tobacco Land Kid, I’m preparing to help a sick Native American girl fulfill her lifetime dream when she bags an adult wild turkey tom. I need you as a witness.”

  ***

  With the butt of his twelve-inch knife, the Kid struck the door one smack. In thirty seconds, the senator appeared. “I’m the Tobacco Land Kid, and I’m preparing to help a sick Native American girl fulfill her lifetime dream when she bags an adult wild turkey tom. I need you as a witness.”

  “Won’t you please come in, William?”

  He scraped against Little Archie when he crossed the threshold. “Call me ‘Kid.’ Swanky place you live in. Piped-in music, too.”

  “Beethoven—Kid, yes—who hasn’t heard of this silly quest?”

  “Inane, huh?” said the Kid. “Not half as ridiculous as the numbers in your polls. The smart people appreciate what a good, decent person you are. The rest will come along, with my help, of course. Stick with me, and the next stop for you is the White House. All I’ll ask is four little weeks in the Lincoln Room—well, make the total eight little weeks.”

  “Under no circumstances will I help you, Sir.”

  “Oh yes, Archibald.” The voice came from a high wingback seat facing a bay window. Arising from the seclusion of the chair, she faced them.

  The Kid thought. Hmm, she passes for a president’s wife.

  Little Archie approached her with his arms outstretched. His hands open.”I can’t, Winona.”

  Her palms went to her hips. “You can. You must. Mr. Hendricks, may I be the only one to refer to you as William, and not be corrected?”

  “Call me ‘Kid.’”

  “You’ve got guts, Kid. Archibald wandered into the forest as a child. He became lost. He’s been terrified ever since. I won’t utilize the P word, although he is one in several respects. Nor will I use the B term, even though I can tell you own large ones.”

  What must I call her? “Thank you, Winona.”

  “You’re welcome, Kid. I’ve always loved your voice. I shall retire for the evening. You four work out the details. Oh, Kid, if he bothers you or gets scared, slap him, hard!” She walked to the door. She stopped next to Jim. “A ladies’ man, not by my standards.” She departed.

  “Senator, we’ll be looking at ya at four a.m. sharp, Pittsylvania County, Keeling, Virginia, on the corner of Slatesville and Thistle, this Saturday. I’ll supply everything you need.”

  Chapter 24

  Saturday, May seventeenth. Last day.

  Spiffy and Jim sprung Samantha from the hospital at one in the morning. The plan worked because of Jim’s charm with two of the nurses on the floor.

  Not a hint leaked to the media.

  The four arrived at Slatesville and Thistle at three fifty a.m. Spiffy, after pulling to the shoulder, killed the lights and engine.

  Jim shook his head. “Will they come?”

  The Kid nodded. “They better. What Samantha does is no good without those witnesses. Anyway, I’ve been trying to reach a certain person for weeks. Stay here. The temp’s forty one degrees. Nobody needs to get chilled.”

  “Yup, don’t worry about me.”

  The Kid stepped outside. He walked a few yards for privacy. This will be a freaky day. By two, the thermometer’s going to eighty.

  He punched in Swampy Joe’s number.

  “Hello.”

  The Kid’s eyes fl
ared. “I’ve called you for weeks. Where in the heck are you?”

  “A swanky hotel in Miami with a hot chick. Been in the ‘glades for a while helping these folks get rid of them dern Burmese pythons. My cell battery went dead after the second day, but I weren’t worried none. This is the Kid, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah, need a little info.” He posed questions.

  Swampy Joe told him that he and Jim had been hunting in South Carolina when Gretchen Thompson vanished. Admittedly, he gave no proof of Jim’s presence in the state, but made indications that Jim had lied that night at La Comida. Swampy continued by saying Jim might commit murder, while he assured the Kid he himself would never hurt anyone. The last thing he mentioned was that Jim had never looked into his eyes.

  The Kid tried to puzzle this out. He couldn’t. The conversation, if anything, deepened Swampy Joe’s involvement. Maybe both were involved. Perhaps neither, since the real criminal might still be somewhere in Pittsylvania County. On the other hand, the original suspect, Ross Slaughter, might have been guilty, but he liked Ross’s voice and attitude. The circumstances grew muddier— if only some sense could be made of the state of affairs.

  The Kid thought. None exist…Take a chance… Well, a mistake here…Future friendships… Lawsuits…Just do what you believe is right— nevertheless, the shot will come from the hip.

  He bit the tip of his trigger finger.

  Wait. Make one more call to Johnny. Find out about recent activities.

  Johnny offered nothing.

  ***

  At four, Little Archie arrived. Spiffy snatched two spring camouflage suits from the back seat of the red king cab. He gave one to the senator. “Strip, Senator— put this on.”

  Archie did not budge. “The cold.”

  The Kid approached.

  Archie disrobed.

  Alotta arrived. He handed her the second suit.

  “Kid, I’m going behind my car to change. Wanta come?”

  “I don’t think so. Hurry up.”

  She glanced back. No one looked. She slipped a camera, capable of still or motion pictures, into a pocket.

  Spiffy, acting as quartermaster, distributed hats, gloves, and a small backpack, which contained food, toilet tissue, and a quart of water. With no light, he snapped open the gun cases and loaded the Kid’s twelve gauge and Samantha’s .410.

  The Kid and Samantha took their guns.

  He briefed the group. “The instructions are simple—starting right now, only whisper, and try not to fall.”

  Alotta cuddled up to the Kid. “If I think I’m going to trip, can I grab onto you?”

  He nudged her away. “One more thing—do what I tell you. Let’s go.”

  ***

  They walked. The path ended. Dawn cracked, helping the newcomers to become surefooted. The light, coupled with the previous day’s three-inch rainfall, ensured quiet footfall for all creatures. The team made no more noise walking than a plow mule in a field.

  The Kid stopped. He placed his index finger perpendicular to his lips. “Shh.” He pointed to an opossum in their path. The creature grinned, showing fifty teeth. From a gland in the rear, the animal discharged a foul odor. He took his pump shotgun, and upon feeling the butt plate on his back, the animal played dead. “He’s entered catatonia—he’ll come around.”

  Archie’s mouth dropped open; his head slumped forward and his eyes glazed. Jim shook him. Alotta giggled. The Kid squeezed her neck.

  They moved on. The sun, though hidden, rose, but a rumble of thunder cast unease into the group.

  Oh, no, here comes our ten percent chance of a thunderstorm.

  They carried no rainwear. What would he do?

  “Follow me.”

  Five minutes later, they arrived at the rock ledge where he and Samantha had escaped the snowstorm. He took her in first, stripped the roll blanket from his shoulder to construct a makeshift bed. Alotta lay with her. The others jammed inside. Deep thunder rumbled, but all slept. Due to rising early and walking hard, only the Kid, aware of the roars, remained awake. For two hours, rain pummeled the area, then slowed and stopped. “Listen. Everybody move outside but Samantha, Alotta, and me. Do not get more than twenty feet from here. Stretch your legs. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Samantha stared at him. “I can’t move anymore.”

  He brushed his fingers through her hair. “What’s wrong?”

  “The hunt’s over. You want to go past Billy Goat Rock, all the way to the bottom where the meadow lies. Evil is with us. They found murdered people buried here. I know these things from the newscast. I worry about you.”

  “I worry about you, too.”

  “Me? I’ll be dead soon.”

  “Don’t you want a tom?”

  “No, forget the turkey.”

  Alotta stroked the Kid’s cheek. “Go out with the others.”

  Five minutes later, Alotta emerged with Samantha. Alotta nodded at the Kid.

  “Okay folks. One behind the other, follow me.”

  They descended. About halfway, he called a halt. They placed decoys. He put on a performance with his mouth diaphragm. Later, they stopped again. This time, he used a wooden box call, but still nothing responded.

  At the next location, he tried an aluminum friction device with an acrylic striker and sent a cluck ringing through the forest. A sound came from the left. Everyone froze in place.

  A black bear appeared, paused, and tilted his head toward them. Archie shivered. From their torsos down, the low brush blocked the animal’s view. The Kid grabbed one of Archie’s legs and Spiffy the other. They squeezed. Archie sucked it up. The bear took two steps in their direction. He halted; rising to his full height, he investigated the air. But they lay fifty feet upwind, and thereby his superior nose did not smell them. Suspecting nothing, without ruckus, he dropped to all fours, turned, and left the area.

  Spiffy grinned. “Senator, need some toilet paper?”

  Archie gritted his teeth.

  The Kid gave Archie a knuckle haircut. “Pay him no mind, Flash Bulb Eyes.”

  The bottom and the meadow lay two hundred feet below. The Kid halted the group. He pointed to a spot two yards off the path. Archie took a step in that direction.

  Jim whispered, “Stop, Archie. Copperhead.”

  Alotta, Samantha, and Spiffy nodded.

  Archie’s upper lip curled, his eyes narrowed, and his head jerked backwards. “I do not see a snake, thank you.”

  Jim touched Archie’s shoulder. “He’s a′lying on them leaves. Dat camouflage done fooled you. Adjust them eyes. Notice them curved lines.”

  Archie squinted while his face contorted. He fell to his knees and vomited.

  The Kid didn’t laugh. The rest smothered laughter with their hands.

  Putting his mouth to Archie’s ear, the Kid whispered, “You’re a forty-year-old man. I can’t slap you because of the noise, but you listen here, get a grip. Spiffy, get a pill out.” He plucked one from the Kid’s backpack. He passed the capsule to Archie and grabbed his shoulders. “This’ll settle the butterflies. Pay attention. You are a good man. In Congress, you stand up to some of the worst trash ever. Behind your belt buckle lies a belly full of guts. Now, let’s see you reorient a few yards of those intestines into a different direction.”

  Archie swallowed the pill. He blinked three times and sucked a deep breath as a fire burned in his eyes.

  The Kid thought. Wow. Whatta face. “Saddle up, Archie.”

  Chapter 25

  The path to the complex of tobacco fields, not long before abandoned, wound down to the bottom where a five-acre rock-strewn area lay. These acres showed the traces of natural reforestation, the vicinity populated with thousands of pine, oak, and other species, all ankle-high. The rocks ranged in size from golf balls to some the size of living room chairs. The group walked to the middle of the parcel and admired the forty-year-old stand of mixed timber which stood on the opposite side of the field.

  Two images leape
d to the trained eye. Three male turkey droppings were unmistakable— the fishhook shape, larger than a person’s pinkie, moist, shiny, and deposited after the driving rain. A fierce shower would have obliterated them.

  The Kid eyeballed the tracks. A dollar bill long: my gosh, he is a huge tom.

  Like a butterfly, a sound fluttered, but it originated too far away to identify.

  The Kid thought. Cock your head. Put the sound together. Strain— a dog barking, a crow calling, or perhaps...No, wait. Keep listening. He held out his hands with palms up. “Anybody recognize anything?”

  All shook their heads.

  Another wave nudged his eardrum. “Detect the little flutter?”

  A ridge lay in front of them.

  Samantha tugged at his sleeve.

  He sprung on the balls of his feet and clapped his palms.

  Samantha’s shoulders slumped. She gazed down. She heaved a sigh. “It’s after five o’clock; the hunt’s over. I love you. Oh Kid, you’ve lost your cool. You’re a nut job, too. Let’s go home.”

  Twenty seconds passed.

  The sound repeated.

  Samantha dried her eyes. “A flicker came through, but the sound’s too far away for me to figure out.”

  He smiled. “You heard a tom yelping. Bet he’s listened to me all along. He keeps moving. He’s walked this meadow. I’ll bring him back.”

  From the Kid’s backpack, Spiffy pulled out a turkey call. “Kid, use Shively’s Super Yelper. Remember the times it’s made the difference.”

  He sent a cluck plunging into the forest.

  They waited.

  And lingered.

  A lanky crow lazily landed in a hickory tree, stretched one leg, spread its tail feathers, and cawed three times while hunching. With a burst of speed, the bird flew.

  “Someone moved and startled the creature.” He glared at each person.

  From due west, two hundred yards in front came a yelp too raspy for a hen.

  “Okay, folks, show time. The crow caught a glimpse of movement. Now, stay still.” He pointed. “The tom has flown from the ridge. He glided in without beating his wings to break his fall.” He led them thirty paces into the woods. He placed them, putting Jim with Spiffy, flat on the ground. The location prohibited observation from any angle. Alotta hid at the back of a red oak, which was three feet in diameter, allowing her to peep around, using one eye. The senator he arranged in a sitting position against a tree. He pulled his mask down.