Page 47 of Making His Bones
“Dad, dad!” yelled Upton from the trailer door. “What’re you doing here? I can take care of things myself.”
“Oh no you can’t,” rasped the old man. He had a cane he didn’t seem to need, as he brandished it at his son. “I heard there’s some anti-distilling trespasser on our land, and now it appears you’re just letting him go?”
DeFreeze shoved Upton in the doorway. He spoke from over Upton’s shoulder. “It’s an agreement previously agreed to, Bud.”
Bud pointed at me with the cane. “And do you know who his side bitch is?”
My spine bristled as a trickle of blood ran down my abdomen. “She’s not a side bitch,” I warned.
“Bud,” DeFreeze said. Both men appeared to be stuck in the doorway. “Leave it alone. It’s not important. Don’t stir the pot.”
But Bud paid no heed. “His side bitch is Elektra Spinoza! Ring any bells, you dumb reintardation of Gomer Pyle?”
Now this was getting interesting.
Upton must have gone limp, because DeFreeze busted on through, waddling down the steps. He held out two hands as though trying to keep a lid on a boiling pot. “Now, Bud. That has nothing to do with anything. Why do you want to go and bring that up? It gives us all bad memories.”
About four or five Mexican kids had now crept into the little valley and were watching avidly. Were these the kids they were preparing for the next truckload of hagfish slime? They came silently around sandstone formations like wide-eyed lemurs.
Upton stamped his foot in front of his father. “There are two chances—fat and slim—that his side bitch has anything to do with him flying into our camp.”
“How much you wanna bet?” roared Bud. “Dave, I want you to charge him up the poo hole, throw the book at him. Then when he pleads down, he can agree to leave us alone. Get a restraining order for our entire family.”
Our entire family. Hm. What other relatives had we overlooked?
“Now, now, Bud,” said DeFreeze, clearly remembering launching an ass rocket at the casino, “this kid’s done nothing wrong, really.” He turned to me. “If you agree to a restraining order, can we call this a day?”
I thought. If I was going to continue investigating that family, I was definitely going to be within a certain yardage of them. With DeFreeze backing me up, I must’ve gotten overly confident. I said something idiotic to Bud Pitchfork. “Here’s another deal. If you tell me what you know about Elektra Spinoza’s daughter’s murder, I won’t send in the Feds on your Barnyard Productions venture.” I’ll just have the state bust you. Or a motorcycle club.
Bud’s jaw dropped. He looked like he was deciding which calf to rope, hands outspread. He finally decided on me and tackled me with what turned out to be zip ties. “I’m making a citizen’s arrest if you won’t, Dave! This punk is way outta line. Insinuating some disgusting shit about that poor little girl!”
With Sal’s rifle leveled at me, I had no choice but to submit to Bud’s bondage. He zip-tied my wrists in front of me, apparently blind to the blood already dripping from one of them, which gave me a new idea.
“I need a fucking hospital!” I shouted. “Look! Look what you’re doing. This idiot shot me in the fucking wrist and rib. Who knows if the bullets are still inside me?”
Bud whipped the rifle from the kid’s grip and bashed me over the head with the stock, as if I were a whack-a-mole. It was so unexpected my knees buckled, and I wound up kneeling in front of the psychobilly. I looked, and felt, like I was getting ready for my execution. Upton whisked the rifle from his dad’s claws.
“Dad!” he said in a stage whisper. “We have nothing to fear, remember? You took the test for him.”
“Yeah!” Bud whispered back. “And it’s gonna make it look like I did it if they come back.”
Took the test for him…
“I’m taking him down to the station, Dave,” shouted Bud. “I don’t care what you say, he’s a goddamn criminal.”
Bud put his hand under my arm and tried to lift me. Another vehicle was roaring down the dirt access road. Great. More Pitchforks.
I’d never been so glad to see Calvin pissing on a Ford logo in my life.
A
