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have in mind. ~ Thanks. Waddie Greywolf
Him
Who Made The Seven Stars
By
Waddie
Greywolf
Chapter
36
"There
is
a
school
of
thought
in
biology(i.e. Adaptive bias)—and don't ask me
how widely this is accepted—that evolution favors Type II errors
("failing to reject a falsehood") over Type I errors ("failing to
accept a truth"). The argument goes like this: while there's not much
immediate consequence to believing that your dancing caused the rain,
there is probably a lot of selection pressure working against animals
that can't make the connection between hearing a rattle and being
bitten by a snake. This eminently practical adaption misfires
sometimes, and that makes us susceptible to the category of cognitive
bias. We are prone to find meaning in everything. Add a dash of salt,
stir, let simmer for a millennium or two and you get the Catholic
Church." ~ Dan McKinley
The work on the
Highland Shire Project was in full swing by Wednesday morning of the
first week. It was like a great tentacled monster growing off in all
directions at once, and Jethro became their big daddy, their patron
demon/saint, their traffic cop, cheerleader, dispute settler, procurer,
higher go-between, and tie breaker. Jethro spent his entire day
Wednesday morphed into his demon persona and everyone in the village
dropped by to get a look at him and wish him well. One might think the
children would be frightened, but they knew Jethro and knew beneath the
demon facade dwelt their favorite cowboy-angel. He became the mascot of
the project. Someone made a rubber stamp with his demon likeness on it
to use on plans which got final approval. After the following
demon-Saturday, he was so popular with everyone on the ship, they took
a vote and decided the following Wednesday he would morph everyday
thereafter until the end of the project on Easter Sunday. It seemed
their output doubled and tripled every day Jethro worked in his demon
form.
Billy and Nick
purposely stayed away from the ship. They got enough feedback from
Hank, Buck, Moss, Enoch, Tron, Nathan, Boomer, and the twins, to know
the project was going along fine. In every report, Jethro was spoken of
in reverent tones as being the heart and soul of the project. When
someone was down or feeling like they hit a brick wall, after a good
chat with Jethro, they would bounce back with an idea what would solve
the problem. As time went on Billy’s cowboy-angels talked less about
the project. When Billy asked, they would just smile, shake their
heads, and shrug their shoulders. Even his beloved twins, Cass and
Poly, wouldn’t tell him more than to assure him he would be pleased.
Billy didn’t know what to think until his pa straightened him out.
“They ain’t
say’n much, because they don’t wanna’ spoil the surprise. If it weren’t
going well, you would get negative feedback; shaking of heads,
shrugging of shoulders, and deep sighs; but, we ain’t heard nary a
discouraging word and the skies ain’t been cloudy all week. Jethro let
it slip while you’s in the shower the other evening, the project’s
advanced past what you asked for and are expecting. It’s grown into
something far greater than any of them might have imagined. Jethro said
your cowboy-angels won’t tell you because they don’t wanna’ spoil the
surprise, and quite frankly, don’t know if you would believe them if’n
they’s to tell you,” Nick explained, “And according to Hank and
Buck you got one man to thank what has become the driving force of
encouragement and stability for them temperamental creator types,” Nick
said.
“Jethro?” Billy
asked.
“Yes, Jethro,”
Nick replied.
“Hosanna!” Billy
said like a prayer.
“Hosanna in the
highest!” Nick answered in like manner, with a tad of relief and awe in
his voice.
Billy and Nick
kept Jethro close after his work sessions and tried to give him as much
sustaining love and encouragement as he could handle, but a couple of
evenings he would be called back to the ship for some crisis that just
couldn’t be put off until the next day. One night he didn’t come back
to the line cabin; he just stayed on the ship. Nevertheless, the times
they had him with them, they experienced a deepening in him; a sense of
personal pride and satisfaction which was more than just window
dressing because of his new appearance and abilities. Nick told Billy
it was like watching a mature man who never fully made the transition
from boy to man, finally grow up and blossom into a formidable adult.
They decided maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. There didn’t seem to be
any doubts; no starts and stops; no slowed progress while learning from
mistakes; taking three steps and sliding back two. With Jethro it was
more like watching the slow but steady progress of a new star in the
firmament. The more he worked and learned, the brighter he became and
the more assuredness he exuded until he was a pleasure and comfort to
be around.
* * * * * * *
Bubba took up
residence in his uncle’s house. He moved back into his old bedroom.
Brad never changed a thing. It was still the way Bubba left it when he
went away to fight in the Middle East. Since he lost his job as a
mechanic at the local garage, he was living in a bunkhouse with Earl on
Earl’s parents’ ranch. He explained to Earl he needed some time alone
to think. What he really wanted to do was find his uncle’s strong box
and go through his private papers, but he promised Brad he would do it
in secret. Bubba began to suspect his buddy Earl was the major conduit
of
feedback to Clarence Womack for anything and everything going
on in the community. Earl begged to be with him to help him in his
‘hour-of-need,’ to the point of tripping Bubba’s paranoid switch, but
Bubba firmly insisted there were some things he needed to do by
himself. His uncle warned him not to let anyone see what was meant for
his eyes only - almost like it was a sacred covenant between him and
Brad, and Bubba would understand afterward. Brad specifically named
Earl Hickson as one Bubba should never allow to know his personal
business. The afternoon after Brad’s funeral Bubba dropped Earl off at
his home and returned by himself to his uncle’s ranch, only to receive
a phone call from Womack a short time later.
The preacher
insisted on driving out that afternoon to ‘help’ Bubba look for any
documents Brad might have left. He neither mentioned his embarrassment
at his uncle’s funeral nor having left early in a huff. He simply
assumed Bubba was insensitive enough or just too damn dumb not to find
him at fault. By failing to admit one’s shortcomings is sometimes
looked upon as a personal strength, but in reality it is a subtle form
of dismissal implying Womack didn’t even accept the thought he might
have done anything wrong; let alone, a great personal injury to Bubba
himself. After all, he was the only true voice of the holy spirit in
the community; no matter what he chose to do or how he went about it,
his actions were always protected by his love of the 'Lord’ and the
Holy Spirit. Womack considered his lapse in judgment merely a temporary
setback in his crusade for his own personal vision of a heaven on
Earth, with the word ‘heaven’ and ‘wealth’ interchangeable.
Bubba never
really said much. He let Earl do most of the talking, but he
specifically remembered telling Earl the same day they found Brad’s
body, he would have to search for and go through his uncle’s private
papers to discover his wishes. He carefully planned to follow his
uncle’s instructions to the letter. He didn’t know about an afterlife
or the idea of ghosts, but he did know his uncle to be one of the most
determined and strong-willed men he ever knew in his life. If there was
anything to it, he reckoned if he didn’t follow his uncles wishes, of
all men, Brad Kirkendall would find some way to come back, haunt him,
and kick his cowboy butt up between his shoulder blades. He was
resolved to follow his uncle’s instructions -- just to be safe.
The next morning
early, Bubba went to the basement to discover what his uncle left
behind. Brad showed Bubba a set of small keys he kept setting on the
top of a two-by-four behind the top crosspiece of molding inside his
closet door. The molding was held in place by three Philip’s wood
screws. If you didn’t know what to look for, you would never notice
them. Every year, on Bubba’s birthday, he took Bubba to the closet and
showed him the top molding and the three screws to remove to give him
access to the keys he needed to unlock his strong box. Brad showed him
where the metal box was located. The strong box was in the basement
underneath a heavy metal storage cabinet you had to unload and
practically dismantle to move.
Bubba neither saw the keys nor the strong box, but his uncle assured
him they were there. Should anything happen to him, Bubba must retrieve
the strong box and open it. Inside, Bubba would find important papers
he would need.
Brad also went
so far as to warn Bubba against Clarence Womack. He told Bubba he
didn’t care if he wanted to go to with Earl to his church, but for him,
personally, to stay away from them crazy fundamentalist and Womack in
particular. Womack knew Brad was getting on in years and not in the
best of health. In typical Womack fashion he took it upon himself to
save
another soul who just might possibly be a source of potential wealth
and showed up, unannounced, at the Kirkendall ranch to proselytize in
hopes of bringing Brad into his fold so he could find a way to gain
control of Bubba’s legacy. Womack saw Bubba as a slow witted and dumb
local
rube who didn’t deserve to inherit money he could be enjoying himself;
all in the name of the ‘Lord’ of course. As strange as it
might seem, it never entered Bubba’s head his uncle might leave him the
ranch, but to Womack’s manipulative mind, it was a sure bet.
It didn’t take
Brad ten minutes to figure out what Womack was all about, and after
several probing questions, Clarence had no business asking, Brad
Kirkendall ordered the short squat preacher, with beady eyes and a
tongue like that of a serpent, off his property and told him never to
come back. Brad lived his life in loneliness and misery due to a
similar little god-bot Jesus huckster, and he could spot
disingenuousness and hypocrisy in Womack like a skunk’s smell precedes
the animal like a warning beacon. He told him if he ever showed up at
his ranch again, he would shoot him like a unwelcome varmint.
The last time
Bubba went to the ranch to spend some time with his uncle, Brad ranted
and raved about Bubba and Earl’s episodes trying to do Womack’s
bidding; not so much about what they did, but who they did it to, and
because they allowed Womack to control them. Brad sat Bubba down
and had a long talk with him. “I know I ain’t been on the best of terms
with the Daniels family over the years and as a result, I done cheated
you out of an opportunity to get to know and appreciate some wonderful
folks what are a cut above the rest of us ignorant rednecks who share
this county with them. There ain’t no finer people than the Daniels and
especially the youngest who should just be coming into his own as an
individual force to be reckoned with. I heard how he dealt with you and
Earl and not many men would be nearly so compassionate or forgiving. A
word of caution, Son, don’t push him.
"On the other hand, you can trust Billy Daniels to always do the right
thing by you if you go to him with your hat in your hand. He will be
generous and gracious to a fault, as long as you’s honest wiff’ him,
show him the respect he’s due, and don’t try to blow smoke up his ass.
If’n you git chore’self in trouble with him again, remember what I’m
about to tell you: don’t make the mistake of asking him for
forgiveness. He’s already done forgived you twice. Throw off all your
clothes, stand naked before him and his family, fall on your knees like
a slave would be expected to do, and humbly ask to pay homage to his
boots. If he gives his permission, don’t hesitate -- do it, Bubba! Make
love to and clean the man’s boots wiff’ yore’ tongue until he’s
satisfied; beg for his love and understanding, and ask him to take you
for his slave.
"Being his slave won’t be the end of your world; it will only be the
beginning. It will be like becoming his brother. Trust me, Son, he will
help you. He’s got a weakness for cowboys -- same’s you, and while he
has an enhanced intellect which provides him a healthy balance between
his adaptive and cognitive bias, his own druthers weigh heavily on any
decision he makes. It allows for greater empathy and compassion with
reason on his part, and in my humble opinion, stacks the deck in your
favor. In other words, he’s got a big pair of boots jes’ wait’n for you
to fill if’n you’s man enough to pull 'em on, wear ‘em, and follow in
his footsteps. Don’t never be too proud to learn from a younger man,
Bubba. Billy Daniels fills his boots well and wears them better than
you.
“Look at
yore’self, Bubba! You’re way past the age for doing stupid things or
sowing wild oats. Most men go through a disquieting period in their
lives, but by your age they usually get a glimpse of the bigger picture
and know if they want to survive or have anything for themselves worth
a damn, they got to begin to hobble the excesses of their youth,
knuckle down, and face the reality of becoming a decent human being.
There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch in life, Son. Life and your
happiness is what you make of it. Unless you’s born into wealth, it
means coming to grips with several constants: dedication, sobriety, and
hard work with a goodly dollop of compassion for your fellow man.
"I know’d you
ain’t got any immediate ambitions to settle down and have a family, but
I give you an extended consideration for your inexcusable actions
because of your sexual confusion and frustration,” Brad stopped for a
moment and watched Bubba blush, look down at his boots, and squirm in
his seat. When he was sure the young man wasn’t going to deny it or
bolt for the door, Brad continued, “I ain’t saying you’s dumb or stupid
‘cause you got a hitch in yore’ get-along, Bubba, but what I am saying
is, if you don’t take the elephant in the room by its tail and do
something about it what will bring you a modicum of happiness and make
your life a little better -- you's pretty damn pathetic.
"Get over it,
Bubba! Handle it! Y’ain’t the first cowboy in Texas what ever woke up
one morning and discovered another cowboy’s tackle was more interesting
to him than what a woman's got between her legs. Ain’t nothing wrong
with you ‘cause you prefer men to women, and don’t listen to no man
what tells you different. That fat ass little preacher will be the
first to condemn you no matter what you done for him or his church. If
he ever finds out, he will use it ever’ chance he gets to get money out
of you. He will blackmail you and suck your very life and soul from
you, Son. Trust me, I’ve had more than my share of his kind.
“Look at Oatie
Breedlove. He went through terrible embarrassment and was ostracized by
his family and community, but he held his head high and with the help
and encouragement of his granddaddy, he beat the odds, and made
something of himself despite his sexual druthers. He took on a Daddy
Long-leg for a slave and his mate. He runs the Breedlove ranch like a
family project. He works hard, keeps his nose clean, and has become a
pillar in the community. Wiff’ a little help, you can, too, Bubba.
Family is the anchor stone for most men’s lives. You ain’t no
different, Son, and you can have it, too, if you want it bad enough;
however, you gotta' listen to me and play your cards right.
“It’s high time
you took charge of yore’ life and began to work for somethings you want
for yourself. Goddamn it, Bubba! If you want a family, h’it don’t have
to be the standard mommy and daddy, leave-it-to-beaver,
daddy-knows-best, bible jump’n regressive missionary position,
brainwashed religious tommy-rot what’s been set down for generations as
a standard one-size-fits-all, Norman Rockwell false blueprint for
modern family life. You done already got chore’self the equivalent of a
tailor-made wife with Earl Hickson, but until you grab him by the balls
to get his attention, bend him over a saw-horse, tie him good and
tight, and fuck him in his man-pussy until he moos like a contented old
heifer, he’s gonna’ git chu’ into more trouble; because, right now he’s
like an out-of-control demanding harpy fishwife. He don’t have to put
out nothing -- not a damn thing, but he leads you around and
manipulates you by a big ring he thinks he’s got through your nose like
you’s his prize bull. You do ever’damn thing he tells you to do. You go
out of your way to please him because you’s afraid of losing him.
"Over the years,
I done kept track of the times you fell into despair, failed to have
any direction in your life, took up heavy drinking, dabbled in drugs,
lost your job ‘cause you couldn’t keep a regular schedule, hit bottom,
and it’s always traceable back to some trauma or influence you suffered
from your association with Earl Hickson. Your love for Earl and your
sexual frustration’s over him’s got you so fucked, your natural rhythms
of life don’t no whether they’s come’n or go’n. They sure as hell ain’t
come’n into either one of Earl Hickson’s fuck holes. You been madly in
love with that cowboy since Mother Nature visited puberty on you. Don’t
even try to deny in, ‘cause for years I done heard you cry out his name
ever’ time you’s alone in yore’ room play’n wiff’ yore’self and shoot
chore’ load. Twenty gotdamn years is a hell of a long time to harbor a
secret love, without doing a damn thing about it, Bubba. I don’t give a
big rat’s ass if’n you’s as gay as Aunt Hattie’s Easter bonnet wiff’
extra chicks on it, if’n a man ain’t satisfied and happy in his
bedroom, he won’t be happy with the rest of his life, neither. You got
a choice, Bubba. You can go through life half-ass or you can take
control and begin the journey to find yore’ bliss.
“And talk about
dumb? It was stamped on Earl Hickson’s head in inch high letters when
he done popped out his momma’ belly. You’s a frick’n Einstein compared
to him, boy. He never would a’ made it through school if you didn’t let
him cheat off your papers. He don’t even know he’s as much in love with
you as you are with him, but I guaran-damn-tee ya’ once’t you git that
huge weapon of mass destruction hang’n ‘tween yore’ legs up his fine
looking buckaroo butt, he’ll melt in your lap like a chocolate Easter
bunny on a hot afternoon what’s been left out in the sun. Do what he’s
done to you since you were kids, only you do it in the spirit of
compassion for a dumb animal and not his conniving self-centered
selfish way. Slap a big ring through his nose, keep him on a short
leash, never allow him to look above your waist or into your eyes
without your permission, and you’ll have yourself a faithful slave to
serve you and become a good mate for you.
“Think my words
are too harsh, Son? Don’t! Them crazy fundamentalist Christianist men
demand the same damn thing from their wives. They insist on controlling
ever’ facet of their lives like a draw string on a money purse. While
the words ‘marriage’ and ‘slavery’ ain’t necessarily synonymous -- in
reality, the way they believe and insist on the way them dumb-asses
think marriage should work, they might as well be. They’re problem is,
they become drunk with their imaginary power and forget to temper their
attempts at authority with love and compassion; sort of like a
dictatorship as apposed to a benevolent monarchy. How do they get away
with it? Religion. They preach Eve was the original sinner and Adam
only sinned just a little -- one bite -- after she talked him into it.
They believe Eve never would have been tempted if Adam kept her
barefoot, pregnant, and busy in the kitchen boiling him up some bacon
and some beans.
"The major religions of the world have kept women
suppressed for thousands of years with such nonsense and continue to do
so today. No man, or scripture, however sacred it claims or pretends to
be, has the right to tell a woman what she can or cannot do with her
own body. To do otherwise, is a major load of bullshit; however, unless
I don’t know some’um about Earl Hickson -- he looks like a man to me --
I promise, if it worked for them true believers all them years, it will
work with him, Bubba. Don’t believe me? Have him trained up right and
after a year living as your slave, give him his freedom, and see what
happens. Without you and your direction, he’ll melt faster than the
wicked witch of the West when doused with a bouquet of water.
(pronounced boo-kay)
"I hate to be
the
one what tells you this, Bubba, but Earl Hickson was born to be another
man’s slave, and that man could be you. No! That man should be you, Bubba. You’s the
only man what gives a damn about him and loves him enough to rein him
in, take care of him like a fine piece of livestock, ride him down hard
like you’s break’n a wild mustang, provide for him, and make sure he
has a good life. I think you should get something back for the many
years you invested in loving him unconditionally. It’s like you been
pouring your love and soul -- certainly your wherewithal -- into a
black hole for Earl’s consumption. I’d truly hate to see such a major
investment go to waste. If’n you don’t do it, and do it soon, he will
eventually do something crazy what will get him sentenced to a lifetime
of slavery and might not be so lucky to have a master what gives a
tinker’s dam about him.
"We all harbor
the idea, if we only love somebody enough our love will save them, but
it’s only partly true. Unconditional love is like any other lifeline.
It has to have a defined length. You can throw it to someone what’s
get’n sucked into the void, but it will only work if they grab hold and
make the effort to pull themselves out. It’s just a law of the
universe, Son, once’t a black hole or a man like Earl Hickson begins to
fold in on itself, there ain’t no pulling either back from the event
horizon. After years of investing in him, you won’t have a damn thing
to show for it. Earl would only last about year as some hard-nosed
rancher’s slave. If you truly love Earl, and there ain’t no doubt in my
mind you do, you’ll take charge of your lives for both your sakes,”
Brad said.
Bubba was shaken
by his uncle’s candor, but in his gut he knew his uncle was right. He
just didn’t know how he might go about making Earl his slave, but he
couldn’t fault his uncle for his words. Bubba couldn’t gainsay a word
Brad said. He was convinced, every damn thing Brad pointed out was
true. But you just can’t walk up to a man and tell him, ‘Okay, Earl,
cut the crap. I’m sick and tired of playing your manipulative games and
being the patsy for your crazy ideas when I don’t never get nothing
back but grief. I’m gonna’ make you my slave and you will obey me in
all things. Me Master; you slave. Understand? I’ll be calling the shots
from now on. You will do as you’re told or suffer the consequences. You
will suck my cock when ordered and keep your man-cunt clean at all
times for your master’s use whenever he snaps his fingers,’ Bubba
thought to himself.
Bubba had no
clue how he might go about it, but his cock was hard as a rock from the
fantasy. Down deep, Bubba knew he had it in him to become a successful
rancher and make money at it, but he didn’t want to live the solitary
life like his uncle did after his wife died. His uncle implanted a
small seed, and it was beginning to take root and grow in his mind.
Bubba imagined making a slave of his running buddy, Bobby Earl Hickson,
just might solve a lot of his problems. Brad was right. Bubba would
have a goal to work and strive for to make sure he and his buddy had a
better life. His uncle stressed, Earl never needed to know Bubba was
doing it to take care of him and keep him from harm’s way. Brad thought
it probably best Earl never knew. He was sure Earl wasn’t bright enough
to figure it out for himself. It took a bit deeper introspection than
Earl’s shallow bucket could carry.
Bubba retrieved
the keys and spent the entire morning unloading and moving the metal
storage cabinet to find his uncle’s strong box. It was no easy task.
The cabinet was four feet wide, two feet deep, and stood six feet with
heavy doors and a solid metal back. It had five shelves including the
top. Every shelf was loaded with buckets of old paint, heavy tool boxes
filled with hand tools, plumbing tools and parts on the bottom, and
more boxes of various truck parts on the top. When he finally got the
shelves cleared and could manage to move the metal shelving unit, he
discovered it sat on four heavy concrete pavers he couldn’t budge at
first. He found a large six foot long heavy iron wrecking bar in the
corner of the basement and manged to wrestle them away from the area
just enough to remove the one inch piece of waterproof plywood which
covered the hole to support the pavers. All in all, it was a daunting
task, and made Bubba pause to wondered if Fort Knox was as difficult to
get into.
The metal
strongbox itself was almost as large as the hole, with metal handles on
each end. He tried lifting it from the hole, but as large a man as
Bubba was, it was too heavy for him. His Uncle Brad told him many times
not to let anyone see the contents but him, and he would understand
when he opened the box. He unlocked the box and slowly raised the lid
wondering if a family of bats or some other creepy-crawlies would come
scurrying out, but the lid was fitted perfectly, and with a sharp tug,
gave way easily. Everything in side looked in order and was dry. The
top of the box was two feet wide by sixteen inches, and the interior
was eighteen inches deep. There were three stacks of heavy-duty
cardboard folders filled with papers and carefully labeled. There was a
letter on the very top with Bubba’s name on it: Echeb Bernard Raymond
Kirkendall.
Bubba took the
letter and set it aside. He wanted to see the complete contents of the
box before he decided what he wanted to do with everything. He felt
certain, if he unloaded the box he could wrestle it out of the hole and
put it somewhere more accessible. There was a total of about a dozen
file folders stuffed with papers and drawings. After he removed the
first layer his heart almost stopped. Beneath it all, were stacks of
hundred dollar bills carefully wrapped in packages of fifty and stored
in heavy-duty air tight ziplock bags. Bubba removed the
other folders and found more of the same beneath them. He made a quick
count and guesstimated there was a hundred or more of the packs. There
must have been over a half a million dollars in the bottom of the
strong box. He was stunned. Why would his uncle keep such wealth hidden
while he was always talking poor-mouth and insisted they were barely
getting by? What was most puzzling to Bubba was, they always seemed to
have enough money to live on and Brad was never stingy providing for
his nephew.
He gave Bubba an
allowance every month, but he expected him to budget his money until
the next month. He increased Bubba’s allowance every year for what he
called 'cost of living’ increases. If Bubba spent it all the first
week, he didn’t get anymore. Bubba never had to worry about lunch money
for school. Brad prepaid for Bubba’s lunches every semester. He knew
kids sometimes horded their lunch money to buy junk for themselves, and
he wanted to make sure Bubba had a good lunch everyday. Brad took Bubba
to town every September and bought him school supplies and enough new
clothes to last the school year. He got two new pair of boots a year;
at Christmas and his birthday.
Bubba considered
he lived in relative comfort compared to his buddy Earl and many of his
classmates in school. He gave Earl a lot of his older clothes he
outgrew and couldn’t get into any more. He also gave him several pair
of good boots over the years. Earl was glad to get them. He never
considered it beneath him to accept someone’s generosity; especially
his best bud. Most county folks don’t look on gifts of as charity if
given in the spirit of sharing. “Hey, Earl, I got these here pair of
boots I can’t wear no more, you want 'em, Brother?” Bubba would ask.
Bubba never had
a lot spending money, and he wondered if it was because Brad didn’t
want him becoming lazy and getting into trouble. Brad was heavy on hugs
but short on change; however, he never allowed Bubba to think he was an
unwelcome burden with whom he was unfairly saddled. All things
considered, Bubba knew he had a decent but unspoiled life with Brad.
Bubba sat at the table and wept for his uncle and began to feel an
emptiness he never felt before. He lived in the same house with his
uncle all his life and loved him, but now he was wondering if he ever
really knew Brad Kirkendall. Worse was his feeling of being alone in
the world.
Maybe the letter
or the information in the folders would shed light on his find. He sat
in an old wooden chair at a kitchen table stored in the basement to
gather his thoughts. He began to see that very moment as his coming to
a crossroad in his life. He could go on being the good natured,
somewhat oafish bumbling big man he saw himself, allowing the current
of life to carry him downstream like he, Earl, and their buddies used
to do during the hottest days of summer in inner-tubes. They would have
one of their Dad’s or sometimes Brad would take them
in the back of his truck miles upstream so they could spend all day
lazily floating down to the bend where their family’s ranches were.
They’d say their goodbyes and walk through the meadows and pastures to
their homes. It was idyllic. Their buddies were grow men now with
families and good steady jobs. They rarely saw them anymore, but when
they did, they realized they had little in common with them. They grew
up and moved on, but somehow Bubba and Earl were still floating down
the river.
Bubba decided he
didn’t want to float down the river anymore. He decided, right then and
there, he would make a concerted effort to become the man his uncle
suggested he could be. Bubba slowly opened the letter his uncle wrote
and read every word. It was several pages long, written on his uncle’s
computer and printed out on his printer. There was no reason for Bubba
to open the cardboard folders. Each one was described in detail in the
letter and told what they contained. Bubba couldn’t
believe what he was reading. It suddenly became clear to him why his
uncle kept the two barns to himself and never allowed Bubba in them. He
never allowed anyone inside them; certainly not Clarence Womack, who
tried to get a court order to have them ‘investigated’ by him and the
local constabulary to see if Brad Kirkendall was doing the work of the
devil. He got laughed out of court and was told just because he
suspected something didn’t warrant invading a man’s privacy. Brad’s
letter, as strange as it seemed to Bubba, explained why he had to keep
his two worlds separate in order to protect his nephew and allow him to
live a normal life.
Bubba no sooner
finished reading the letter when there came a loud banging on his front
door. He left everything as it was and climbed the stairs from the
basement into an anteroom off the kitchen used as a pantry and food
storage area. He exited the door, closed it, locked it with a key, and
carefully moved the huge freezer back in front of it so it couldn’t be
seen. The banging on the door came several more times. Bubba had a
suspicion who it was before he even got to the door. His suspicion was
correct, it was Clarence Womack. Bubba opened the door, but left the
heavy metal storm screen locked. “Yeah, what do ya’ want, Womack?”
Bubba growled, not pleased to see the preacher.
“I need to talk
with you, Bubba. Let me in,” Womack demanded.
“No. I don’t
want to see nobody today or for a while. I already done told you I
neither want your help nor do I need it; especially, after the way you
embarrassed me and made a mockery out of my uncle’s funeral. If the
Daniels family weren’t there to say good words about my uncle, I would
be more down right now than I already am. I don’t care to ever have you
come around again. My uncle was right about you. You ain’t nothing but
a money grubbing, hate filled, manipulative piece of white trash. Now,
leave and get off my property,” Bubba said and started to close the
door.
“I wouldn’t be
too hasty to dismiss the messenger of God almighty, if I were you,
Bubba” Womack responded, “I’ve done some investigating, and it ain’t
your property yet. You may be living here illegally, but I guarantee
you, with or without your cooperation, I will find out,” he added.
“Yeah, well you
ain’t the messenger of no god, you ain’t no lawyer, you can do any damn
thing you think you’re big enough to do, but right now, you’re making
an unwanted and unwelcome nuisance of yourself. I ain’t gonna’ get into
it with you, Womack. You ain’t worth my time. If you don’t leave, I’ll
call the sheriff and have him come out and settle this. You can stand
there on the porch and bang as much as you like until hell freezes
over, but I ain’t got no more time for you, Womack,” Bubba said.
“You’ll be
sorry, Bubba, I’m warning you. I have a staff of lawyers and there’s
been new inheritance laws passed which assures the church you belong to
is guaranteed a portion of your legacy. You’re required by law to
inform your pastor what that might be and keep him updated as to your
legal rights to your uncle's property, if any,” Womack said almost in a
satanic hiss, “And may I remind you, you and your buddy, Earl Hickson,
are on our roles as being members of our congregation,” he added.
“I never joined
your church. I ain’t never signed nothing. I come to your church with
Earl a couple of times, but that’s it. I was baptized by my parents in
the Methodist Church here in town. As far as I know, I’m still on their
roles as a member. Now go away and have the common decency to leave a
grieving man alone,” Bubba said and closed the door. Womack was furious
and banged on the door several more times. Bubba walked to the kitchen
to get himself a glass of milk to calm his stomach. He sat down to
drink it when the door buzzer sounded in the kitchen. Obviously, the
preacher found the buzzer and kept his finger on it until it was about
to drive Bubba crazy. He got up and stormed out of the kitchen in a
rage at Womack’s selfish inconsideration, but when he got to the door
there were two men standing there. Womack and a man from the local Post
Office. Bubba
opened
the
door
and
the
man
explained he had a special delivery letter
for him and it required his signature. Bubba opened the storm screen,
took the letter, signed for it, thanked the man, and wished him a good
day. He went to shut the screen door and Womack put his foot between
the screen and the jam. “If you don’t move your foot on the count of
three, Womack, you’re gonna’ have a very sore foot after I stomp it
with ma’ boot heel,” Bubba said quietly like he meant business.
“I want to know
what that letter says. It has an attorney’s return address. I have a
right to know!” Womack exclaimed.
Bubba looked at
the letter front and back. “Nope! Don’t see your name on it nowheres.
It ain’t none of yore’ business. Now that’s one, Womack!” Bubba counted.
Womack didn’t
wait for Bubba to count two more and removed his foot. Bubba closed the
screen, wished him ‘good day’ and closed the door again. He watched as
a very pissed Clarence Womack stormed off his front porch, got into his
expensive car, and spun out of the drive. He was not a happy camper
because the big soft spoken usually passively compliant cowboy dared to
stand up to him. ‘What was the world coming to when ignorant rednecks
he used to scare the crap out of with his hell-fire-damnation sermons
begin to grow spines and think for themselves?’ Womack thought to
himself. He wondered if he was losing his touch. The mere thought
scared the crap out of him. He wasn’t out of the picture yet. That dumb
country bumpkin didn’t know who the hell he was up against. He would
show him a thing or two. Clarence decided he would put in a conference
call with his team of crooked lawyers, Dewey, Cheetum, and Howe. He
hated to do it because they always charged him an arm and a leg. He was
sure there was a special place in hell reserved for lawyers where the
fires were much hotter than the common sinner endured.
Bubba was
shaking as he opened the letter from his uncle’s attorney. It was
addressed to Echeb Bernard Raymond Kirkendall. He began to read the
letter. Dear Bubba, So sorry to hear about your uncle Bradley
Kirkendall’s passing. I was Mr. Kirkendall’s attorney and hold in my
possession the notarized documents which transfers all his personal
possessions and financial properties to you in the form of a living
will upon his death. In this case, there is no need for probate nor a
final will and testament; although, your uncle left one for you in the
form of a video which he wanted viewed by you and I together. Please
call to make an appointment to come by my office at your earliest
convenience and please bring any duplicate documents you might have in
your possession. Your uncle said he left them in a file folder in a
larger document holder number one. There are only a couple signatures
necessary and everything your uncle owned becomes yours, free and
clear, without having to pay inheritance tax or tithes to any religious
organization. There will be a small charge for a filing fee of $35.00
with the court to change all documents to your name alone and my fee of
$50.00 dollars for a total of $85.00. It was signed, Jack
McCormack, Attorney At Law. Bubba breathed a sigh of relief. Someone
came to his rescue, but it wasn’t Womack or his god.
Bubba returned
to the basement and decided not to go through the rest of the documents
until after he got himself adjusted to the idea everything was his now,
and he could take his uncle’s keys and have a look at his secret lair
in the two barns. He took out one pack of the hundred dollar bills,
found the file folder with the duplicate documents the lawyer asked
for, and set them aside along with his uncle’s letter. He didn’t know
whether he should share it with the attorney. Some things, his uncle
explained in the letter were unsettling at best and borderline crazy
at worst. He decided he would take it with him but only show him if he
asked. Bubba returned the rest to the box, locked it, and spent several
hours returning it to its original state. No one would know where the
box was and would be discouraged from the amount of heavy junk in the
cabinet to ever consider looking beneath it. He had to give it to his
uncle, Brad was a clever man. Bubba only got a tiny glimpse of just how
clever his uncle really was.
* * * * * * *
It was late at
the line cabin. Jethro just arrived in his demon persona as Boomer,
Cass, and Poly were going off to the loft in the barn for the night.
Everyone was tired and Billy called it a night of rest. No fun and
games. That would have to wait for the weekend. Jethro was stunning in
his demon form, and Billy and Nick seemed to enjoy him that way. He
asked if Master Billy would mind if he morphed back to his slave form
for the evening. There was a vote on the ship and everyone wanted him
to work in his demon form for the rest of the week. Billy and Nick got
a laugh out of that choice bit of news and encouraged him to make
himself comfortable. He excused himself and headed for the shower. He
didn’t take very long because his master told him not to bother with
extras. There would be no need. After he returned, Jethro joined his
master and Captain Nick on the sofa.
“Will they be
ready by Sunday afternoon, Jethro?” Billy asked.
“I’m sure they
will be finished with the designs, but there’s still some disagreement
about presentation. I told them you wouldn’t expect miracles but enough
to give you a pretty damn good idea about what they want to build,”
Jethro said cautiously, “I’ve learned so much, Master Billy, I can’t
thank you enough for this opportunity. I’m gaining so much more for
myself and my master than just self-confidence. I’m gaining family, and
if you’re pleased with my efforts, sir, I would humbly ask a boon of
you,” Jethro said.
“Name it, good
slave, and it will be yours,” Billy said firmly.
“When you decide
to give me to my master, could we do it on Captain Nick’s ship? I want
my family to be there to share my joy,” Jethro asked.
“Done! I think
it’s a wonderful idea. I respect and encourage you to think of them as
family. I’m hoping things might work out where you will be working with
them for some time. While I plan to give you back to your master, I
also plan to talk with him about buying your services from him until we
complete this project. Feedback from several sources have been
superlative about your work. You started this project, and I don’t want
to change teams in the middle of a stream, Son,” Billy said, We need
you," he added. He looked over at his hard-nosed dad and caught him
wiping a tear away. Nick smiled and nodded his approval.
“That would be
great. I would have a job to come to, work with folks I come to think
on as family, and earn my master some money for my upkeep. He’s
unselfishly supported me the years I been with him, but I also worked
hard for him. I never really expected any pay. A roof over my head, a
warm bed, and decent grub is all I need. Then the day before I come
here, he told me he has my money in an account in both our names, and
it’s grown considerably. I don’t know why. A slave don’t have no reason
to have money beyond what his master provides for him, but I wouldn’t
mind earning him some. It would make me feel more valuable to him,”
Jethro reasoned.
“Oatie not only
accepted you as his slave, Jethro, I truly believe he loves you deeply.
He tried to do the right thing by you, but somehow he done lost sight
of the forest for the trees. Don’t worry, Son, I
put a bug in his granddad’s ear, and he’s talking with him,” Billy
said. “That old man knows how to be a master, and you can bet yore’
boots, he will teach his grandson to be a fine master for you," Billy
assured Jethro. “In the meantime, I got a suggestion for you to put to
your workers tomorrow. I’m mostly looking for a concept with drawings,
sketches, and idea presentations. Tell them to show me the cake they
plan to create, but they don’t have to bake it for me. Suggest they do
it
in stages if they can’t agree to everything right now. Come Sunday
afternoon, I will be satisfied if they have a decent artistic concept
and mechanical ideas for transportation, service needs, and systems
recycling. If I like what I see and approve their work then, the next
couple of weeks could be spent creating a working model. They will have
to do that anyway for the Shedus to work from,” Billy said.
“That would be
great, Master Billy. They’re about to panic because they want to do too
much, and I know they ain’t gonna’ be able to get everything done in
the time we got left. Do I have your
permission to veto some of the more complicated things they’re trying
to get done and get them to create drawings?” Jethro asked.
“You have full
charge, Jethro. You have my blessing and my confidence. Don’t be afraid
to rein in some of their more grandiose plans and go for a more simple
approach. We can always talk about improvements or corrections as we go
along. Just keep them on the same track, Son,” Billy said.
“Thanks, Master
Billy. It will make my job a lot easier. They been looking for an
answer. I just think I might have one for them tomorrow morning,”
Jethro allowed.
* * * * * * *
The next morning
after breakfast the phone rang in the kitchen of the main ranch house.
Kate answered and handed Billy the phone. “It’s the sheriff, Son,” she
said.
“Hey, Brother,
what’s up?” he asked.
“Remember Judge
LaFleur what presided at Orville’s trial?” Will Tate asked.
“Sure, we known
him for years. He and ma’ granddad were in the same Masonic Lodge
together,” Billy replied.
“He called me in
tears this morning before I left the ranch. Said his five year old
grandson come down with a rare childhood blood disease. They had him in
a hospital in Austin, but said they couldn’t do nothing for him. They
sent him home to die. He asked me if the rumors are true about some
miracles being done to help folks. He knew I brought my dad home, he’s
looking twenty years younger, and he heard about you saving Randy's
life. I swore him to secrecy on his word of honor as a Mason and told
him it
was true. Naturally, he ask about his grandson,” the sheriff said.
“Where’s the boy
now, Will?” Billy asked.
“At his parents
home, but he’s on oxygen,” Will said.
“Meet the judge
out to their place. You and him go into the boy’s room, but make damn
sure the parents stay in the living area. Take one of your deputies
with you to make sure they do. Close the door, take your uniform shirt
off, wing-up, and zap him with your healing rays like I done show’d you
how to heal them cattle with open sores. It will give him enough
strength to make the trip out here. Don’t stop until you’s sure the boy
can breathe on his own. Let his granddad hold him. Put them in the
backseat, hit the siren, and we’ll make sure the guard cows are out of
the way when you get here. We’ll be waiting,” Billy instructed the
sheriff.
“Will do,
Brother. I’ll give you a call when we leave their place,” Will said.
“Fine. See you
soon, Brother,” Billy said and hung up the phone.
Judge LaFleur
met the sheriff and his deputy at the home of his son. Will primed the
judge to convince his son, Wesley, and wife, Edna, to give them a few
minutes alone with the boy. They took the deputy off to the kitchen to
get him a cup of coffee. Will told the judge to latch the door, and he
did. Will quickly removed his hat and shirt and grinned at the judge.
“Excuse me for a minute, sir, I’ll be right back. Will vanished in a
flash of light and returned in another flash almost instantly, fully
fledged with his handsome wings and leather harness.
“Glory be to God
in the highest!” LaFleur exclaimed quietly, “Our sheriff is a holy
being,” he said, “Damn, Son, I always suspected you were an angel.
You's jes' too damn good hearted for a cop,” he added.
“Thanks, Judge,
but I'm only an angel in training, and I’m far from being holy.
I just had ma’ boot re-souled last week. I’s just a raw recruit, sir. I
ain’t fully earned ma’ wings yet, but I’s a work’n on it,” Will replied
in his best cowboy hyperbole and grinned.
He went to the
boy who got the sweetest smile on his face and stuck out his little
hand for Will to take. Will took his small hand in his, smiled at him,
patted his hand, and gently returned it to his side. The sheriff lifted
his huge wings over the boy and began to absorb the healing rays of the
universe. Will held his hands palms down just above the boy and began
to move them apart from each other and back together again while
emitting a bluish light which shown down on the boy’s frail body. Cody
LeFleur lost so much weight he was almost skin and bones and there was
a blueish cast to his skin. Will kept running his hands slowly back and
forth and up and down his body. The old judge watched in amazement as
his grandson began to respond and grow stronger. His frail little body
began to take on a pinkish hue and his lips began to look like two rose
petals. He looked better. Will didn’t stop until the boy reached up and
removed his oxygen cannula by himself. Will kept penetrating the boy’s
skin with his healing rays until the kid held his hand out to his
granddad.
The old man took
his little hand and was thrilled to hear him speak, “The sheriff is an
angel, Granddad. I could feel his love pouring into my body with the
light from his hands. I feel so much better. Am I going to live,
Granddad?” he asked.
“If I have
anything to say about it, you are, Son. Trust your old granddad and our
handsome young sheriff. We’re gonna’ take you to some other angels who
will help you even more, Son. You feel up to short ride in the
sheriff’s patrol car?” he asked.
“I’m ready to
go, Granddad,” he said.
Will stopped,
quickly put on his shirt, and hat. “Not a word to your parents, Son,”
Will said firmly to the boy.
“Our secret,
Sheriff?” he asked.
“You, me, and
your granddad, Son,” Will replied and grinned.
The judge called
his son and daughter-in-law in, and Will had the boy sitting up. They
were in awe and wanted to know what they did. “Don’t have time to
explain right now, Son, but we need to take him someplace and get him
there fast. The sheriff has agreed to drive us. I’ll hold Cody until we
get there,” the judge told his son. Will gathered him up and wrapped
him in a warm blanket.
“Where are you
taking him, Dad? What’s this all about? Give us something, Dad,” his
son asked and pleaded.
“Trust me, Son.
If you want your son to live you won’t ask questions, and you’ll let us
do what we have to do. I promised Cody he will live, and I promise you
and Edna the same. Now we have to go. I’ll call the minute I know
something definite,” he said.
“Can we go with
you, Dad?” his mother asked.
“Not this time.
What we’re doing for Cody is shrouded in secrecy, and it’s the way it
must be for now. You must tell no one. Remember the boy what one of our
local cowboy’s healed from a deadly disease in a WalMart parking lot in
Fredericksburg about a month ago?” he asked.
“Yeah, young
Billy Daniels. It was all over the news. We even thought about
contacting Mr. Daniels and asking if he could help us,” his son said.
“That’s where
we’re going. Pray for us, pray for Cody, and pray for Mr. Daniels,” the
judge said as they walked out of the room.
“We will, Dad,”
his son replied.
Will called Billy and told him they were on their way. The cows heard the
siren on the sheriff’s patrol car miles away and parted the road for
them. Will cut the siren off after they pulled into the ranch and over
the cattle guard. They drove up to the compound. Four handsome angels
were waiting for them and one was black. The judge was in awe. There
were other strange creatures standing behind the angels, but there were
also humans and several ladies. He recognized Kate Daniels, her son,
another rancher and his boy -- the name ‘Garrett’ came to his mind.
Billy had them quickly move the boy to the slave processing room. It
was the most contained, and Billy had a heater warming up the place so
the boy wouldn’t be cold.
“Come, junior
fly-boy,” Billy said to the sheriff, “We can use extra gathering
power,” he added.
“See, Judge, in
town I’m sheriff of the county, but out here, I don’t get no respect.
I’m just a junior fly-boy,” Will said and laughed to lighten the mood.
“Y’ain’t in my
book, Son,” the judge encouraged him.
Will winged-up
again and helped get the boy’s clothes off. They laid him on a soft
downy comforter on top of the processing table. Billy explained what he
must do. He had to draw a small amount of blood to get Cody's DNA on
file in his body. Little Cody didn’t even cry when Billy drew a few
cc’s of his blood. He squirted just a bit onto his finger, tasted it,
and
was ready to go. “Cody has a rare form of myeloid leukemia. We can
bring him back to good health, but we can’t totally defeat the disease
without repeated visits. You must bring him back to us every week for
three months, once’t a month for six months, and once’t every other
month for another six months; then, twice a year for two years and once
a year after that until he’s ten years old,” Billy said.
“Sounds good to
me, Son,” Judge LaFleur said.
Billy and his
posse, including the sheriff, rounded up them evil blood cells and
repaired the boys bone marrow to almost a sound, healthy state, but
there would be the hidden, lingering maverick cells what would
continually try to regain a hold; however, if they kept at it, their
power, was greater than the mutant cells. They also enhanced Cody
LaFleur’s own immune system and taught it how to recognize and destroy
the bad cells. They were at it for a little over an hour, but Cody was
talking and joking with them by the time they finished. The old judge
was in tears to see his grandson look so much better. He had a healthy
glow about him with rosey cheeks and healthy red lips.
“Are you hungry,
Son?” Billy asked.
“I could eat a
cow,” Cody replied in a slow cowboy drawl and smiled at his attending
angels. Everyone laughed.
“We’ll take
you up to the ranch house and rustle you up some breakfast, Son,”
Billy said.
“Do I dare ask
about you gentlemen? Are you here for a final Armageddon?” Judge
LaFleur asked.
“Naw, sir, we’s
just plum dumb as a box of rocks humble cowboys what’s been enhanced by
two separate species of aliens. We didn’t ask for it. They jes’ done
it. They’s taken an interest in our world and would like to see us be
kinder to one another and our planet,” Billy explained.
“And how is the
little boy you healed in the WalMart parking lot doing?” he asked and
grinned.
“Mr. Randy
Rutherford? Cowboy Randy? He’s doing great. He’s ma’ buckaroo buddy;
ma’ little bother. He’ll be here Friday afternoon with his family for
the weekend. Randy’s a special little cowboy. He and his family are
valued members of our greater family,” Billy said with unbridled
enthusiasm.
“That’s good to
hear, Son,” the judge replied.
“Uncle Nathan,
Mr. Garrett, will you be so kind as to take Cowboy Cody up to the main
house and get him some breakfast, and we’ll join you men in a bit. Now,
Judge, off with your clothes and hop up here on the table,” Billy
ordered.
“I didn’t ask
for anything for myself, Son. I’m more than happy with what you done
for my grandson,” he said.
“That’s why I’m
making the offer, Judge. You don’t need a lot. A minor tune-up will do
you for another fifteen to twenty years with no problems. It won’t take
as long as Cody, but it will make you feel like a new man what done
downed a bottle of spring tonic. I promise you’ll have an
uncontrollable urge to Texas Two Step through the rest of your day. Now
don’t argue wiff’ an angel when he offers to bless you with better
health, Judge,” Billy said firmly and smiled.
“All my
clothes?” he asked.
“Ever’ last
stitch. Cept’n you can leave yore’ boots on if’n ya’ont to. A cowboy’s
just plumb naked without his boots,” Billy poured on the vernacular.
If’n you’s shy we can take ours off if’n it would make you feel more
comfortable,” Billy added and smiled.
“A man shouldn’t
feel shy with his doctors,” Judge LaFleur reasoned.
“Nor his cowboy
angels,” Billy added, and they shared a laugh.
* * * * * * *
Kate and her
staff fell in love with little Cody LaFleur. They made him a big
breakfast and he ate every bit of it including drinking a tall glass of
watcher milk. He was going to be another healing child what Billy would
pledge to keep supplied with the wonderful, kid friendly, healing
milk from his herd of watchers who came regularly to be milked at the
ranch. When his granddad came into the kitchen, the boy set down his
fork and ran to his arms. The old Judge got tears in his eyes at how
well his grandson looked and lavished him with hugs and kisses. “I
almost forgot, Cody. I need to call your mom and dad,” he said. The
judge whipped out his cell phone and pressed the button for his son’s
phone.
His son Wesley
answered, “Dad?”
“Cody’s gonna’
be
fine, Son. When they’s finished with him, Mr. Daniel’s asked if he was
hungry. Cody told him he could eat a cow. He’s sitting here in the
Daniels kitchen stuffing himself with a good breakfast,” Judge Emil
LaFleur said. Everyone in the kitchen could hear the ‘whoop’ that went
up from his son. “The sheriff and I will be bringing him home in a
little bit,” he said, “You won’t recognize your boy, Son,” he added.
Cody kept
looking at Boomer. Billy didn’t figure he had to morph if the judge was
going to know other things about his family. Finally, he got up from
his breakfast and ran to Boomer’s arms. The judge was a bit taken aback
to see the giant beast take his grandson into his huge hands, lift him
into his arms, and cradle the boy. Without a word between them, Cody
went for Boomer’s tit and started sucking like a little pig. The judge
was amazed.
“That’s where
the milk Cody was drinking comes from, Judge. Best, most nutritious
food in the universe and somehow, Cody made the connection without
anyone explaining it. Bright young man you got there, sir,” Billy said.
“Is he a
Bigfoot?” the judge asked.
“Yes, sir,
they’s many what roam the thickets of the hill country and more are
choosing to live with humans. Their race is one of the two alien races
what chose to enhance me and several members of my family. We got about
two dozen what donate their milk for kids and people recovering while
healing. We’ll give you a couple of quarts to take with you. Have Cody
drink a glass in the morning and one at evening. Wouldn’t hurt you none
to drink a glass, neither,” Billy said and grinned.
“I’d like to get
to know your family better, Mr. Daniels,” Judge LaFleur said.
“No problem,
sir, as long as you keep an open mind -- no disrespect intended,
Judge,” Billy said and smiled.
“With what I’ve
seen and witnessed, to do otherwise would be folly, Son,” the judge
replied.
“Y’ain’t seen
ever’ thing yet,” Tron Garrett said and laughed.
“How much more
can there be?” the judge asked.
Everyone in the
kitchen broke up laughing. “They don’t mean to be disrespectful,
neither, Judge. It’s just they’s a lot of things what are unusual to
most folks. To us, they’s ever’day occurrences,” Billy tried to
explain, “What are you doing for Easter Sunday, Judge?” Billy asked.
“Spending
it with my boy, Wesley, his wife, Edna, and my grandson, Cody. My wife
passed away while my boy was in college,” he replied.
“Bring them out
for Easter Sunday dinner. We’re planning on going to church Sunday
morning and should be back here shortly after noon. We usually eat at
one, but depending on the number of folks going to church with us, we
may be late. If you come out earlier be sure to give your name to the
two big guard bulls at the front gate, and they’ll let you pass to
drive on up to the house. Their names are Zeus and Thor,” Billy said.
The judge looked
at Billy, then grinned real big, “I’ll be sure to do that, Son,” he
said, and broke up laughing like he thought Billy was pulling his leg.
“You’ll learn,
Judge,” said the sheriff, “I didn’t believe it either. Now, Zeus and
Thor are good buddies of mine. They’s better than having armed guards
out there. I bring them and their companions treats sometimes when I
come out. They love them carrots from the local feed store,” Will
added.
The judge didn’t
think he was going to get Cody back from the huge furry monster the boy
was nursing from. Cody cried and clung to Boomer’s neck like he never
wanted to let go. The judge looked at Billy. “He has that effect on a
lot of folks and kids in particular,”Billy explained, “Randy fell in
love with him. I ain’t no better. I fell in love with him the first
time I saw him when I’s only seven years old. He got his foot caught in
a bear trap. I managed to spring the trap and set him free. I spent
two weeks nursing him back to health. Since that time he saved my life
once, and I saved his another time. We decided we didn’t want to live
without each other and the Lord High Chancellors on the planet where
they come from gave him to me to be my slave. We’re more’n that to each
other, though, but I won’t go into that until we get to know each other
a
little better,” Billy said.
The judge
managed to talk Cody into going with him. His parents would be worried
and they needed to go home. Billy promised Cody he would send him his
very own furry monster to nurse him until he was better. The sheriff
drove the judge and his
grandson back to Cody’s home just North of town in a secluded area.
They had a beautiful home. There was great rejoicing when his parents
saw their boy get out of the patrol car and walk to them. The sheriff
left and the judge remained to tell his boy, Wesley, and his wife,
Edna, the wonders he witnessed and told them they were invited for
Easter dinner.
l
“We
have
to
go
to
thank
Mr. Daniels,” Edna said.
“Absolutely,”
Wesley agreed.
The next
afternoon, a huge burnt-orange giant furry watcher appeared in the
LaFleur
backyard. Before his parents could grab him, Cody ran as fast as his
little legs would carry him holding his arms out for the giant to take
him. The creature grinned as he caught Cody up, hugged, kissed him, and
cradled him in his arms as the boy hooked up to his left tit and began
to engorge himself with sweet watcher milk. Once in a while, Cody would
draw too fast and would have some slop over on his face or arms. Cody’s
mom and dad watched as the monster gently cleaned their boy with his
huge black tongue like a mother cat cleaning her kitten's whiskers
after feeding.
When Cody had enough, the giant gave him another big hug, kissed him,
turned the boy toward his parents, patted him on his little butt, and
sent him on his way -- then he disappeared into the thicket. He
returned every afternoon about the same time and Cody was always there
waiting for him. Cody named him Big Red. He became the LaFleur family
protector.
* * * * * * *
Bubba called the
lawyer and made and an appointment for the following day. The lawyer
urged him to go to his uncle’s bank, take a copy of Brad’s death
certificate with him, and if they had any questions to call him. The
nice lady at the bank smiled at Bubba and told him how sorry she was to
hear of his uncle’s death, but she didn’t need the certificate nor to
talk with the attorney. “You see, Mr. Kirkendall, your uncle’s account
has always been a joint account. All we need is your signature,
information for your new bank card, have you pick out your new checks,
and we will transfer everything to your name. She was very kind,
empathetic, and gracious. When she handed Bubba a printout of his
current bank statement, he found his uncle left him a little over a
hundred thousand dollars in his checking and savings account. There was
sixty thousand in Brad’s savings and forty thousand in his checking
account. Bubba brought five one hundred dollar bills to cash and have
spending money for the next several days. He left them in his pocket to
return to the other stack and cashed his first check for the same
amount in twenties.
He left the bank
in a daze. He was glad he didn’t have Earl along to learn his new
financial situation. He could just envision Earl bouncing off the walls
like the coco-puff bird from an old TV add he used to see as a kid
watching Saturday morning cartoons. Bubba grimaced to think Earl would
just assume Bubba’s legacy from his uncle was his own personal windfall
as well. The big man shared everything with Earl from grade school, but
Earl rarely had anything to share with Bubba. Bubba remembered why his
generous weekly allowance from his uncle never lasted very long. He
paid for everything for both of them. It was the same when they were in
the service together. Earl would dutifully send most of his money home
to his mother who never saved a penny for Earl, and he and Bubba lived
off Bubba’s pay. After establishing such a precedent, the big man
became locked into for so many years, could he now dry up the cash cow
he always was for Earl?
He was convinced
his buddy, his life long close friend, was telling Clarence Womack
everything about his personal business. Womack seemed to know
everything about him and Bubba knew it didn’t come from his uncle. He
became resolved not to have any contact with Earl until after he saw
the lawyer on Friday. The less Earl knew about his business, the less
likely Womack could concoct some nefarious plan to gouge him of his
money. It was almost like his uncle planned it this way and covered all
his bases just so’s the likes of Clarence Womack couldn’t get a penny
of his, and now, Bubba’s money.
The big cowboy
sat on a bench in front of the county courthouse for a good while
thinking about his life and where he wanted to go from here. His
uncle’s words from his most recent rant filled Bubba’s handsome head,
and certain phrases kept repeating themselves over and over again until
it became like a mantra to bring him an epiphany for a new day. Did he
love Earl? Yes. Did he love Earl enough to forgive him if he betrayed
Bubba to Womack? No! Well, maybe, if things changed, but he didn’t see
that happening. Could he continue living in the same stagnant
relationship with Earl he existed in like a state of suspended
animation for so many years? No. He was tired of floating down that
endless river with no physical satisfaction for himself other than his
own hand -- and he didn’t need Earl for that.
Bubba had a
strong, well defined body. As cowboys go, he was not as handsome as
some, but more ruggedly good looking than many. He had a fine, larger
than average cock, and it longed to find an exciting port-of-call; a
safe harbor in which to unload its heavy cargo. Bubba thought if he had
to pick one cowboy's ass to define the beauty of the species it would
be Earl’s. Every time he looked upon its glory or fantasized about it
in his thoughts, his tongue and cock would get roaring hard. Things
might have been different if Earl was putting out for Bubba to ride his
cowboy butt like his very own pretty little pony in exchange for
Bubba’s contribution to the relationship, but it never happened. Bubba
never got so much as a back-rub from Earl. Earl became so accustom to
Bubba paying for everything, it just became an accepted fact; a habit
with him, and he rarely said thank you for anything. Bubba decided his
dog was too damn hungry to hunt with a yappy little show dog like Earl
anymore.
That evening he
tore down the cabinet again and opened his uncle’s strong box to return
the five hundred dollars to his pack and look at one of the mysterious
folders and what they contained. One he found most interesting was a
design for a lighter than air flying car and from the drawings, looked
for all the world like a flying saucer. There were blueprints and fold
out intricate drawings and engineering specs for the craft and he
wondered what his uncle was doing with these plans, when at the bottom
he discover his uncle’s name and autograph as inventor, engineer, and
design creator. This was his uncle’s work. He studied the plans for
several hours, and decided to keep it out from the rest of the many
plans in the folder. He took them to his room and spread them out on
his bed.
His cellphone
rang and he looked to see it was Earl calling. He thought about just
ignoring his call, but then he considered Earl might try to come by,
and he wasn’t ready to see him until after the weekend. Bubba answered,
“Yeah?” he said.
“Hi, Bubba, it’s
just me, Earl. How ya’ doing, buddy?” he asked.
“As well as can
be expected I guess,” he replied looking at his uncle's plans for an
aero-auto.
“Have you found
what you were looking for?” Earl asked.
“A couple of
things but not the main items. I’ll find it. He showed me where he hid
stuff, but it was a long time ago, and I forgot,” Bubba said.
“Did your uncle
have an attorney?” Earl asked and a yellow flag of caution went up in
Bubba’s mind.
“No. At least I
don’t know if he did or not. We never discussed it,” Bubba replied.
“Well, I guess
if he did you’d have received something from him by now,” Earl allowed.
The yellow flag
turned into a red flag, and a claxon horn sounded in his brain. Bubba's
suspicion level suddenly jumped to defcon Ready Alert. Earl was
fishing. Bubba
froze for a minute, but kept his cool. “Yeah, you’d think so wouldn’t
you,” Bubba said without giving away anything.
“I talked with a
buddy of mine this afternoon who works at the post office, and he told
me he hand delivered a certified letter to you today from one of the
lawyers in town,” Earl said.
“Yeah, who was
he, Earl? What’s his name?” Bubba asked.
“Oh, you
wouldn’t know him. He’s new at the post office. I just met him last
week, and I was telling him about you. He saw me today and told me
about the letter,” Earl shuffled.
“Humm, that’s
strange. I didn’t get nothing. Tell me his name, Earl, and I’ll go by
the post office first thing in the morning to ask him about it. Maybe
he delivered it to the wrong address, and it was really meant for me.
Sometimes old folks sign for things what ain’t meant for them,” Bubba
pressed and his voice rose like his conjecture had merit.
“I can’t
remember, Bubba. You know me and names,” Earl said and Bubba could see
him squirming in his mind.
“Well, I’ll
drive over and pick you up in the morning, and we’ll go to the post
office together. You can point him out to me. This could be important,
Earl,” Bubba allowed his voice to rise like he was really serious.
“I won’t be here
tomorrow morning, Bubba. I gotta’ drive my mom to the doctor in
Menard,” Earl squirmed his way out of an embarrassing situation.
“Well, maybe we
can go later -- when you get back,” Bubba said.
“Yeah, I’ll give
you a call, Brother,” Earl said.
“You do that,
Earl. You know -- you’re a really a good son, and I sure hope your
momma appreciates it. I just wish’t you’d been half as good a friend to
me over the years, but I understand. Blood is thicker than the water
what flows through veins of the fool what paid yore’ way since we’s in
grade school together. Don’t chu' worry none about old Bubba. He’ll get
by. I gotta’ go now, buckaroo. I got me a pot-pie in the oven and the
timer just went off,” Bubba hung up without saying goodbye. He wondered
if there was the same deafening silence on Earl’s end of the line.
Bubba didn’t know what hurt him more, Earl lying to him or him
betraying his personal business to Womack. Was Womack paying Earl for
information? Bubba thought he wouldn’t be surprised but considered it
worse than the kiss of death.
End of Chapter
36 ~ Him Who Made The Seven Stars
Copyright ~
© ~ 2013 ~ Waddie Greywolf
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Reserved~
Mail to:
waddiebear@yahoo.com
01/07/2013
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