Read Online Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Woodrell
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the porch and he flung her down the steps onto the scree of ice that had fallen from the eaves during the day. “Get up’n get your ass in the truck. Get your ass in there.”
Harold and Sonny stood in the doorway watching as she pulled herself to her feet. Harold had his mouth open and Sonny had his eyes narrowed. He stepped forward and said, “You don’t get to hit my sister.”
“Druther I hit you, Sonny? ’Cause I will if you want.”
“Boys! Go back in, boys. Cook those taters ’til they brown. Cook ’em brown, Harold, then be sure to turn the fire off. Go on.”
Sonny came down two steps, said, “Nobody gets to hit my sister who ain’t her brother.”
Blond Milton fairly beamed looking at his seed Sonny standing there defiant with fists balled and jaw set. He smiled a twisty proud smile, then stepped over and swatted Sonny flush in the face with an open hand. The swat knocked Sonny to his rump. Blond Milton said, “Balls is good, Sonny, but don’t let ’em make you into a idiot.”
Bubbles of blood puffed from Sonny’s nostrils and burst to speck his lips.
Ree said, “Dad’d kill you for that.”
“
Shit
, I whipped your daddy about twice a year since
he
was a kid.”
“You
never
whipped him as
a man
inyour
life!
Not when he wasn’t too fucked up to punch.”
Blond Milton grabbed her by the coat sleeve, pulled her toward his truck.
“Get your dumb ass in there. I got someplace to show you.”
He drove fast on the rut road, turned west on the blacktop. His bay rum smell filled the cab and Ree cracked a window. The truck was a big white Chevy with a red camper shell. There was a mattress in the shell. Blond Milton drove a truck with a mattress in the camper shell but he never went camping and his wife hated the very idea of the truck but never said so to him. He ran a crew of pot farmers and crank cooks that often included Jessup, always had cash, and folks said he was the Dolly who’d years before stepped forward and shot the two Gypsy Jokers who’d come south from Kansas City figuring their loud scary biker reputations would let them muscle in on the yokels and take control.
“Where’re we goin’?”
“Down the road.”
“Down the road to where?”
“To somewhere you need to see.”
They drove past deep woodlands and ranges of snow. The sun was behind the hills, the last western light made a sky of four blues, and the gaunt trees on the high ridges were stark in relief. Crows sat on limbs and looked like black buttons on twilight.
Just beyond the one-lane bridge across Egypt Creek, Blond Milton gunned the truck up a washboard rise and along a crooked lane. He drove until he reached the drive to a house in the near distance, then parked. The house had burned. Three walls and part of the roof still stood, but the walls were blackened and the roof was blown open in the center with sections slanted away in every direction.
Ree said, “What’re you parkin’ here for? Man, I ain’t gettin’ back there in that camper!”
“You think I’m wantin’ to fuck
you?
”
“If you are, you’ll be fuckin’ me dead! That’s the only way.”
“Jesus, but you’re sure ’nough twelve to the dozen, know it? Just quit kickin’ a minute and listen.” Blond Milton turned to face her. “Why I parked here is to show you that house.” Dark was near full but the snowscape had caught and held light, so the house remained visible. “That right there’s the last place me or anybody seen Jessup. The other fellas went off doin’ things’n when they got back that’s what they got back to, only it still had fire goin’.”
Ree looked at the ruined house, the splintered roof, charred wood, walls licked black by flame.
“He never blew no lab before.”
“I know it. But somethin’ musta jumped wrong this time.”
“He’s known for
never
fuckin’ up labs nor cookin’ bad batches. He’s known for knowin’ what he’s doin’.”
“You cook long
Harold and Sonny stood in the doorway watching as she pulled herself to her feet. Harold had his mouth open and Sonny had his eyes narrowed. He stepped forward and said, “You don’t get to hit my sister.”
“Druther I hit you, Sonny? ’Cause I will if you want.”
“Boys! Go back in, boys. Cook those taters ’til they brown. Cook ’em brown, Harold, then be sure to turn the fire off. Go on.”
Sonny came down two steps, said, “Nobody gets to hit my sister who ain’t her brother.”
Blond Milton fairly beamed looking at his seed Sonny standing there defiant with fists balled and jaw set. He smiled a twisty proud smile, then stepped over and swatted Sonny flush in the face with an open hand. The swat knocked Sonny to his rump. Blond Milton said, “Balls is good, Sonny, but don’t let ’em make you into a idiot.”
Bubbles of blood puffed from Sonny’s nostrils and burst to speck his lips.
Ree said, “Dad’d kill you for that.”
“
Shit
, I whipped your daddy about twice a year since
he
was a kid.”
“You
never
whipped him as
a man
inyour
life!
Not when he wasn’t too fucked up to punch.”
Blond Milton grabbed her by the coat sleeve, pulled her toward his truck.
“Get your dumb ass in there. I got someplace to show you.”
He drove fast on the rut road, turned west on the blacktop. His bay rum smell filled the cab and Ree cracked a window. The truck was a big white Chevy with a red camper shell. There was a mattress in the shell. Blond Milton drove a truck with a mattress in the camper shell but he never went camping and his wife hated the very idea of the truck but never said so to him. He ran a crew of pot farmers and crank cooks that often included Jessup, always had cash, and folks said he was the Dolly who’d years before stepped forward and shot the two Gypsy Jokers who’d come south from Kansas City figuring their loud scary biker reputations would let them muscle in on the yokels and take control.
“Where’re we goin’?”
“Down the road.”
“Down the road to where?”
“To somewhere you need to see.”
They drove past deep woodlands and ranges of snow. The sun was behind the hills, the last western light made a sky of four blues, and the gaunt trees on the high ridges were stark in relief. Crows sat on limbs and looked like black buttons on twilight.
Just beyond the one-lane bridge across Egypt Creek, Blond Milton gunned the truck up a washboard rise and along a crooked lane. He drove until he reached the drive to a house in the near distance, then parked. The house had burned. Three walls and part of the roof still stood, but the walls were blackened and the roof was blown open in the center with sections slanted away in every direction.
Ree said, “What’re you parkin’ here for? Man, I ain’t gettin’ back there in that camper!”
“You think I’m wantin’ to fuck
you?
”
“If you are, you’ll be fuckin’ me dead! That’s the only way.”
“Jesus, but you’re sure ’nough twelve to the dozen, know it? Just quit kickin’ a minute and listen.” Blond Milton turned to face her. “Why I parked here is to show you that house.” Dark was near full but the snowscape had caught and held light, so the house remained visible. “That right there’s the last place me or anybody seen Jessup. The other fellas went off doin’ things’n when they got back that’s what they got back to, only it still had fire goin’.”
Ree looked at the ruined house, the splintered roof, charred wood, walls licked black by flame.
“He never blew no lab before.”
“I know it. But somethin’ musta jumped wrong this time.”
“He’s known for
never
fuckin’ up labs nor cookin’ bad batches. He’s known for knowin’ what he’s doin’.”
“You cook long
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