Bobby Cole - The dummy line

The rear seat of the Tahoe was down, so when he threw her in the back, there was plenty of room. Moon Pie climbed on top of her, grinding himself into her. Her squirming only excited him more.

“We’re gonna have us a little party,” he whispered in her ear, then licked the tears streaming down her cheek. “But not here. I’ve got somethin’ special planned for yo fine self.” He lifted her shirt and licked her stomach. He got off her, closed the door, and then hopped into the driver’s seat. Pulling off his surgical gloves, he cranked up and drove off. He lit a Marlboro, taking a good long drag. Blowing the smoke out, he picked up the radiophone and hit Send.

Beep-beep . “Yo dog.”

Beep-beep . “Talk to me.”

Beep-beep . “Got her and she’s a gem. One fine piece of ass!”

Beep-beep . “Can you take her to Johnny Lee’s trailer?”

Beep-beep . “Sure. I’ll be there in about two hours. I gotta drive slow so I don’t get pulled over.”

Beep-beep . “The key’s on the ledge over the door. Call me when you get there.”

Beep-beep . “You got the guy yet?”

Beep-beep . “No, but we’re close.”

Moon Pie hung up and dialed his girlfriend as he rubbed his crotch. The line was busy. She was on the Net. That pissed him off. She’s in a chat room in the middle of the night with a bunch of freaks, he thought. She’d only surf the Net when he was gone. It drove him crazy. That’s it! I’m gettin’ rid of her.

No matter how many Walkie Talkies he drank sitting in the truck, Tiny couldn’t stop thinking how he’d gotten into this mess. A while back, his first cousin had promised him a job at the Indian casino. He could earn an honest living. Sure, he’d be a maintenance man, but it would be a new start and he could live with his cousin until he got settled. His cousin had a double-wide in a huge trailer park called Sunshine Village in Montgomery. Tiny liked the name. Why ain’t I gone already?

Johnny Lee was the reason. He had instilled a sense of worth in Tiny when the societal norms dictated the contrary. Johnny Lee convinced him that any day they were going to hit it big. Even criminals dream.

Tiny never thought twice about stealing stuff or selling illegal whiskey, but killing folks wasn’t his style. And he knew Sweat was going to rape that girl. That was bothering him more than killing Johnny Lee’s shooter. Tiny also knew that he was going to do what Reese asked of him, but he’d made up his mind that he wasn’t going to let Sweat hurt the girl. He crushed the beer can and threw it into the pile on the floorboard of the truck.

“After tonight, I’m movin’ to Montgomery and startin’ over,” he said aloud as he turned the truck around in the road and backed it up next to the Jeep, parking so close no one could have gotten out of his passenger’s side door. Tiny climbed out without taking anything and walked to the back of the truck. Like so many good ol’ boys, he had a four-wheeler in the back. But unlike most, he used his to haul moonshine. He unloaded it and left it idling. With the way the two vehicles were parked, the gateposts, and the big trees next to the road, it was impossible for any vehicle to pass. He had Johnny Lee’s killer trapped. Reese would be pleased.

“What the hell am I doin’?” he said, looking around. He closed his eyes hard. Tiny climbed on the Polaris 500, shifted into forward, and gave it some gas. He switched the lights on low beam and started looking for footprints.

Limbs were hitting Reese in the face, but he didn’t care. He walked with purpose-he was on a mission. All his life, his cousin Johnny Lee had been his best friend. Together they weren’t afraid of anything. Individually, they always tried to outdo each other. Johnny Lee, one year older, was always looking out for Reese. In fact, Reese always thought that Johnny Lee had failed the sixth grade on purpose so they could be in the same class. They played football together until Johnny Lee punched the defensive back coach in the eye for yelling at him. The coaches told Johnny Lee to leave the team. That was the eleventh grade and the beginning of his spiral downward. Two weeks after punching out the coach, Johnny Lee attacked his English teacher. So, rather than be suspended, Johnny Lee walked out of Booker T. Washington High School…but not before he shat in the principal’s desk drawer.

Reese somehow managed to stay in school another year. In the following football season, on a cool October Friday night, he chased a running back out of bounds and ran helmet first into the defensive back coach, knocking him out cold. Reese pointed into the stands after the vicious hit. Rumor was that Reese hadn’t actually passed the eleventh grade, but none of the teachers wanted another year of him, so they pushed him through. He was a smart kid; he just wasn’t the least bit interested in school, so he quit. He recognized that getting a GED would be the best deal for his career aspirations.

Johnny Lee had earned his GED and his commercial driver’s license the year he dropped out of high school and had started hauling chickens to the slaughterhouse. At night, he collected for a bookie and did whatever he could to make money.

Reese eventually went to work at a tire store and became quite efficient at stealing valuables out of customers’ cars. It became clear who the thief was, so the manager fired him. Before Reese left, however, he stole a key and made a copy. Later that week, in the middle of the night, he let himself into the shop and stole a set of rims and $367 in cash. That was the turning point in his career. He made $220 more that night than he had working the entire previous week, and he didn’t have to pay taxes or get greasy. Reese explained all this to Johnny Lee, and they decided right then and there that their fortunes were to be made as criminals.

Johnny Lee and Reese experimented with several different schemes but always came back to stealing. Their little enterprise made progress and at times had an impressive cash flow. This allowed them to branch out. The two were always together unless one of them was incarcerated, which was never for long. Johnny Lee and Reese appeared to be Teflon coated. With no mentor, they had to figure out the crime business the hard way. They were productive even in jail. They would listen to the other cons talk about their crimes. They paid close attention.

Reese figured he’d catch up with Johnny Lee’s killer on the Dummy Line, or Tiny and Sweat would. Either way, if he kept walking he would eventually get to extract his revenge. Then he would clean up this mess. But right now, he just wanted some one-on-one time with Johnny Lee’s killer. The rifle felt right at home on his back. Occasionally, he thought he heard a truck’s engine rev, and that just fueled his fire. The night was cool, and he was dressed for it, except for the pointed-toed cowboy boots he always wore. The boots were all show, and he could feel the water leaking through. He had a long walk, but he didn’t care. He thought about Johnny Lee. His cold body lying in the back of a truck. He got a tear in his eye.

Reese pulled the radiophone out and scrolled to Tiny’s name.

Beep-beep . No response.

Beep-beep . Again no response.

Reese, pissed off, folded his phone, jammed it in his jacket pocket, and walked on.

R.C. headed west from the camp and turned onto the first gravel road. It had been a couple of years since he had driven this part of the county at night, but he was pretty familiar with it. The hunting was great-just too many pine trees for him. The AM station he was listening to began to fade, so he hit Play on the cassette player. Barry Manilow roared to life singing “I Write the Songs,” and it just soothed R.C.’s soul. He secretly loved Barry Manilow. Once another deputy had gotten in the car and seen the tapes. R.C. was forced to think fast. He told him it was evidence. The deputy shook his head, saying, “We shore got some weird folks ‘round here.” R.C. reluctantly nodded in agreement.