“How the hell did he find out about the gun range?”, Claire whispered angrily as she leaned over the table at the Buzzard Station Café. Staring at Able Simmons, she continued. “I thought you took care of everything. You’re a lawyer! You’re supposed to know how to cover things up!” Mayor Anderson chimed in, “That’s right!” Claire’s head dropped forward. “Sugar,” she said in the most sarcastic manner she could muster at the moment. “We talked about this last night. Remember?”

“Yes, dear.” He made a zipper motion across his lips and threw away an imaginary key.

The Buzzard Station Café was the place to meet when you didn’t want people to see you meeting. It has seen its share of shady deals, clandestine rendezvous and political arm-twisting since it opened close to a quarter-century ago. It’s one of those places that you don’t pass by. It’s a place you have to be going to. Outside of prying eyes and gossipy townspeople.

Turning back to Able, Claire glared and said, “Well? How did Fricker find out and why did you talk to him about it. It’s all over town! It’s in the newspaper!”

Able put his hands on the arms of his chair, shifted his weight as he twisted in the seat, then, with an air of mental superiority, tugged down at the bottom of his freshly pressed suit vest. He stared into Claire’s eyes and as he tilted his head down just the slightest and said  in a menacing tone, “That’s none of your concern, fair woman.” He cleared his throat and turned to the mayor. “I must say, they make the best grilled cheese sandwiches here, don’t you agree?”

Mayor Anderson’s face lit up with a wide grin as he shook his head enthusiastically, all the while casting a side-eye glance at Claire, remembering not to utter a word.

Able glanced back at Claire with his own wide grin, revealing a gold capped incisor on his upper jaw. He noticed Claire’s eyes fixated upon it and ran his tongue across the gleaming tooth. She winced in intentional disgust. She loathed this man and his sense of vulgarity and slovenliness.

“Doc McClendon is an artist when it comes to dental repair, don’t you think so Claire?”, the prosecutor said as he stood. “I bet there aren’t more than three or four teeth in my head that he hasn’t worked his magic upon. God bless him.”

He reached for the check and looked at it for a moment.

“Since you asked me to come here, I feel it implies a contractual agreement that said meeting and the meal consumed be free of monetary contribution on the part of said party. Namely, me.” Handing the check to Claire, he added, “Oh, and by the way. I’ll tell the wonderful woman at the cashier’s desk that the pecan pie with which I shall depart be added to the cost of the meal as well. When she looks back at you, simply wave. Good day, madam.” He turned his attention to the mayor and nodded. “Good day to you as well, fine sir.”  Claire looked at her husband. He knew that look. He didn’t move a muscle. Not even a blink.

Able smiled and walked away, shoulders back, as if he was a gladiator strutting after killing the lion, or in this case, the lioness. Deftly scooping a pecan pie from the counter, he mumbled to the cashier. They both looked at Claire who waved and nodded.

The drive back to Jordan’s Bend was a quiet one for the Andersons. As usual, Claire drove.

She ran through the meeting in her head, analyzing how the conversation veered off track from her objective of silencing the prosecutor. He knew too much. But he also knew the depths to which Claire would go and the artful way he would not be seen it coming. Did she underestimate her opponent? Not likely.

She looked to the passenger seat. There it was. The anchor that slowed her ship from sailing. Clifford S. Anderson. Mayor in name only. She pulled all the levers, but he got all the credit. “Look at him.”, she thought to herself. “Licking the Cheetos dust off his fingers like a glutinous schoolboy.” Driving by the Welcome to Jordan’s Bend sign as they entered town, she softly uttered her mantra that brought her back to her plan. “At least he’s got money.”

“Hey! Look! I’ve got a gold tooth just like Able!” Claire saw the orange dust, now wet, stuck to her husband’s upper incisor as he smiled.

She took a deep breath and thought, “He’s not that bright, either. I can work with that.”

********

“Momma said could you come out ta talk ta her?”, Cloyd said as he reported for work the next morning. “She got sum questions I don’t got answers to.”

“I see you scrubbed Charlie. He looks very nice. My eyes aren’t watering in the least.”, said Walt. “I’d be happy to talk to her. When is she coming by?”

“Momma don’t go no more. Folks gotta come ta her. She ain’t got no car.”

“Ok. I’m happy to go to her. While I’m gone, start cleaning the walls and windows. Then sweep and mop the floors.” Cloyd drew a map for Walt to follow to his house.

On the drive to the Caple home, Walt thought back through the pages of information he learned last night going through back issues in the Rue Morgue. He learned about connections between families by reading the “Community News”, which wasn’t much more than gossip, but was interesting, nonetheless. Local members of the community would send in columns about their neighbors outlining who went where, who they say, who was sick, who was having babies, who was in the hospital, and, sometimes, which young lady left town to “visit relatives” but was gone for close to a year.

The road to the Caple home was mostly secluded backroads of dirt and sometimes gravel lined with pine trees. Fifteen minutes after leaving the office, Walt parked behind the ramshackled, small frame house. As he walked to the back door, a man ran toward him from the woods. He was thin and wirey with long hair as black as night matted together and dirty. His tattered clothes appeared not to have been cleaned in ages. Stains of dirt, mud, blood and who knows what else formed loose patterns. Walt thought this is what Charlie would look like if he was human.

“Who are you!”, the man yelled through the few teeth he had left in his mouth.

Ignoring the question, Walt asked, “Where is Mrs. Caple?”

“I’m in here”, a voice yelled from inside. “Don’t mind him none. Is you that Bricker guy?”

“It’s Fricker. Yes, ma’am. Walt Fricker.”

“Come on in.”

Walt glanced at the wild man, keeping an eye on him as he stepped inside onto the dirt floor. An old mattress, partially covered in a tattered blanket and dirt, was pushed up to one corner. Her surmised the wild stranger slept on it.

“Mrs. Caple?”, Walt asked as he stepped up into the kitchen.

“Yes sir”, she replied. “Have a seat. I got questions fer ya.”

Walt sat. He scanned his surroundings, hoping his face didn’t give away the assault on his senses.

“I hear ya hired Cloyd. Said all he had ta do was scrub that nasty mutt ta get the job. He didn’t say how much ya gonna pay him. Well?”, asked Edna.

“I wanted to talk to you first.”, Walt responded. “How about $4 an hour?”

“Hmmm.” Edna knew the minimum wage was $2 an hour, just raised this year. She wasn’t going to haggle. “Will ya put that in writin’?”

“Yes, ma’am. Even better. I’ll shake on it.” Walt extended his hand. Edna grasped it and shook it hard one time and let go.

“What’s the catch?”, she asked.

“None.”

Edna squinted. Walt barely saw her eyes under her Budweiser visor. “Ok then.”

“I would like to offer something else.”, Walt said.

“There it is. I knew it.”, Edna responded.

Walt laughed. “No, it’s not what you think. It was a long drive out here for me and I can’t imagine how long it takes Cloyd to walk to town every morning and then back each night after work. I have an apartment in the back of the newspaper office off of the press room. It has all utilities, a bathroom, bedroom, kitchen and small living area. If it’s ok with you, I’d like to offer it to Cloyd to live in. He wouldn’t have to concern himself with weather or other things to get to and from work every day. Do you think he would like that?”

Edna had a habit of pulling at the one hair on her chin  when she was thinking. This was one of those times.

“One bedroom, ya say?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Air conditionin’? Heatin’? Runnin’ water? Inside toilet?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“What’l it cost him?”

“Not a penny. He’d be doing me a favor. I’ve got my eye on a cabin up on the hill. I move out. He moves in.”

“Charlie goes with him?”

“If he wants. Yes. He’s a cute little pup when he’s all cleaned up?”

“Ya talkin’ about Charlie or Cloyd?”, Edna laughed her cackling kind of laugh. It reminded Walt of the fat lady at the county fair.

Walt laughed. “Both!”

Edna slapped her leg and cackled so loud, the wild man from outside ran through the door.

“Ya’ll ok? Ya need me to git him outta here, Miss Edna?”, he asked.

“Naw. We was jus’ havin’ fun.”, she said.

“Ok then. I’m heading out.”, he said. “My congregation is waitin”’. With that, the wild man sprinted out and disappeared among the pines.

“May I ask, who is that man?”, asked Walt.

“Oh, that’s Sir Lawrence. At least that’s what he calls hisself.”, Edna said.

“Excuse me for saying and I mean no harm, but that’s the strangest preacher I’ve ever met. Where does he preach?”

“On a pine stump way out there. The congregation he brags ‘bout ain’t nuthin’ but squirrels, coons and possums. He’s a loud one, tho’. I kin hear him when he gets all worked up with the Holy Spirit pumpin’ in him. I’m ‘prised ya don’t hear him all the way in town!”. There was that cackle again. At first it was annoying, but now it’s endearing.

Edna explained that Sir Lawrence helps out around her house plugging varmint holes, hauling fresh water in and hauling the “dirty water” out.

“Ever now and then he brangs me one of his congregation members to cook up fer him. We have a nice visit when he does.”

After the laughter settles, they sit in silence for a moment.

Sensing an opportunity, Walt says, “Well. It was a pleasure meeting you and I appreciate your agreement to let Cloyd move in. It will be a great help. I have so much room to fill down at the building, I don’t know what to do with it.”

Edna pulled at her chin hair.

“Say, I got a notion. Ya thank they is ‘nuff room fer a twin bed down there?”, Edna asked.

“Absolutely.”, Walt replied.

“Well, then. How ‘bout ya put one in that livin’room for Cloyd an’ I move in, too? He don’t need a big bed. I could keep an eye on him and cook for him. What ya’ say?”

Walt rubbed his chin. Edna smiled at his playful mockery. “Under one condition.”

“An’ that is?”

“That I hire you to be the receptionist. Answer calls. Help people who come through the door. Keep an eye on things when Cloyd and I aren’t around.”

“Is they any pay to it?”

“Yes ma’am. Same as Cloyd. Four dollars an hour.”

“Mister, you done got a deal!”. Edna extended her hand and shook Walt’s one hard time, just like before. “When do I move in?”

“At your leisure.”, Walt said.

“Huh?”, Edna furrowed her eyes.

Walt smiled. “Anytime you want. I can let Cloyd use the delivery truck at the newspaper.”

“I want all that in writin’.”, she said.

“I’d wouldn’t have it any other way.” Walt smiled, bid Edna a good day and drove away.

“Jackpot”, he thought to himself as the sweet scent of pine filled his car.

(To be continued.)