that.”
“Think they ended up in the deep end of Ned’s catfish farm?”
Lynyrd shrugged. “Let’s just say you won’t find me eating anything caught out of that pond.”
“Fuck, that Dillard’s a scary son’bitch.”
Jesse ripped the duct tape from his mouth and let out a gasp. He tugged and tore at the wad around his arm, working to free his hand.
Chet walked over. “Bit of advice, Jesse. Just you let Dillard be. You might think you got a handle on that motherfucker, but you got no idea what he’s capable of.”
“Ain’t none of your business.”
“No, guess not. But I’ve seen firsthand what he’s done to folks that’s gone and got in his way. It ain’t a game with him. He’ll make you disappear.”
Jesse ignored him, kept tearing at the tape.
“Don’t believe me? Ask yourself this, did anyone ever find a trace of his wife? Some folks believe she ran off. Well, I know different.”
“How do you know different?” Lynyrd asked.
“Ain’t gonna say.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Chet hesitated, seemed to be weighing something. “Seen a picture of her dead body.”
Jesse’s blood went cold; he stopped pulling at the tape and looked up at Chet. Chet held Lynyrd’s gaze; he looked serious, as serious as a man could.
“A picture?” Lynyrd asked. “You’re telling me you seen a picture of Dillard’s wife and she was dead?”
“I’d just as soon not have.”
“Where’d you see a picture?”
“Dillard showed it to me.”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Now why would he do that?”
“Fuck if I know. I still ain’t got that man figured. It was a couple months back when I was helping him move that old freezer into his garage. When we were done he asked if I’d like to have a beer with him. Of course I would. Well, one beer turned into two, then four, then I don’t rightly recall after that. I know we pulled down a couple of lawn chairs and got lit right there in his garage. I know after a bit he starts talking about his wife, how much he misses her. He’s getting all choked up, but I’m smashed by then so I just roll with it. He pulls a sewing box down off the shelf, a fancy one, painted with pretty red roses. Says it used to belong to Ellen, opens it up and there’s a wedding picture of her. Ellen was a right pretty woman in her day I might add. He’s staring at the picture like he wishes he could crawl right into it. I’d always heard she’d cleaned him out, so I muttered something about how sorry I was to hear she done him wrong. Then he says, ‘Yeah she’s sorry, too.’ And something in his tone made me pay attention. He pries the back off that frame and pulls out a Polaroid. He stares at it a long while, his face cold as stone, then shows it to me. It was her, his wife. She was dead. No doubt about that, and it looked like she’d died bad. He says to me, ‘Never was a woman more sorry about anything.’ And the way he said it . . . why, it chilled me right to the bone.”
“Damn,” Lynyrd said. “Ain’t that some creepy shit.”
“Yeah, you’re sure right about that.” Chet looked at Jesse. “And that’s why if I were you, Jesse, I’d stay the fuck away from that guy. Ain’t nothing good gonna come from messing with him . . . not for nobody.”
The blood drummed in Jesse’s ears. He’d heard the rumors, but hearing Chet tell about what he’d seen firsthand sent it home. A chill climbed Jesse’s spine—his little girl was living with a man capable of cold-blooded murder. What else was he capable of? Jesse yanked the last bit of tape off and pulled his hand free. A dark red hole about the diameter of a pencil sat between the bones of his index and middle finger, welling with blood. He opened and closed his hand. It hurt, but all his fingers moved as they should.
“Looks like you got lucky,” Chet said. “Missed your bones. Guess you’re gonna have to whack off left-handed for a while, though.” He snorted. “But who knows
“Think they ended up in the deep end of Ned’s catfish farm?”
Lynyrd shrugged. “Let’s just say you won’t find me eating anything caught out of that pond.”
“Fuck, that Dillard’s a scary son’bitch.”
Jesse ripped the duct tape from his mouth and let out a gasp. He tugged and tore at the wad around his arm, working to free his hand.
Chet walked over. “Bit of advice, Jesse. Just you let Dillard be. You might think you got a handle on that motherfucker, but you got no idea what he’s capable of.”
“Ain’t none of your business.”
“No, guess not. But I’ve seen firsthand what he’s done to folks that’s gone and got in his way. It ain’t a game with him. He’ll make you disappear.”
Jesse ignored him, kept tearing at the tape.
“Don’t believe me? Ask yourself this, did anyone ever find a trace of his wife? Some folks believe she ran off. Well, I know different.”
“How do you know different?” Lynyrd asked.
“Ain’t gonna say.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Chet hesitated, seemed to be weighing something. “Seen a picture of her dead body.”
Jesse’s blood went cold; he stopped pulling at the tape and looked up at Chet. Chet held Lynyrd’s gaze; he looked serious, as serious as a man could.
“A picture?” Lynyrd asked. “You’re telling me you seen a picture of Dillard’s wife and she was dead?”
“I’d just as soon not have.”
“Where’d you see a picture?”
“Dillard showed it to me.”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Now why would he do that?”
“Fuck if I know. I still ain’t got that man figured. It was a couple months back when I was helping him move that old freezer into his garage. When we were done he asked if I’d like to have a beer with him. Of course I would. Well, one beer turned into two, then four, then I don’t rightly recall after that. I know we pulled down a couple of lawn chairs and got lit right there in his garage. I know after a bit he starts talking about his wife, how much he misses her. He’s getting all choked up, but I’m smashed by then so I just roll with it. He pulls a sewing box down off the shelf, a fancy one, painted with pretty red roses. Says it used to belong to Ellen, opens it up and there’s a wedding picture of her. Ellen was a right pretty woman in her day I might add. He’s staring at the picture like he wishes he could crawl right into it. I’d always heard she’d cleaned him out, so I muttered something about how sorry I was to hear she done him wrong. Then he says, ‘Yeah she’s sorry, too.’ And something in his tone made me pay attention. He pries the back off that frame and pulls out a Polaroid. He stares at it a long while, his face cold as stone, then shows it to me. It was her, his wife. She was dead. No doubt about that, and it looked like she’d died bad. He says to me, ‘Never was a woman more sorry about anything.’ And the way he said it . . . why, it chilled me right to the bone.”
“Damn,” Lynyrd said. “Ain’t that some creepy shit.”
“Yeah, you’re sure right about that.” Chet looked at Jesse. “And that’s why if I were you, Jesse, I’d stay the fuck away from that guy. Ain’t nothing good gonna come from messing with him . . . not for nobody.”
The blood drummed in Jesse’s ears. He’d heard the rumors, but hearing Chet tell about what he’d seen firsthand sent it home. A chill climbed Jesse’s spine—his little girl was living with a man capable of cold-blooded murder. What else was he capable of? Jesse yanked the last bit of tape off and pulled his hand free. A dark red hole about the diameter of a pencil sat between the bones of his index and middle finger, welling with blood. He opened and closed his hand. It hurt, but all his fingers moved as they should.
“Looks like you got lucky,” Chet said. “Missed your bones. Guess you’re gonna have to whack off left-handed for a while, though.” He snorted. “But who knows
Similar Books
