Mark McGinnis - The Simpleton

“Hello. Yes, this is Jackie. Okay, I’m on my way.” Handing the receiver back to Momma, she said, “It’s my father… I need to get to the hospital right away.”

“We’re coming with you,” Momma said. “And then we need to find Kyle.”

Kyle, leaving town, was driving much too fast on the narrow country road. With high winds buffeting the car, he twice veered off the road and onto the dirt shoulder. The second time, he barely managed to bring the old Maxima back out from a tailspin. He didn’t care—he only wanted to get home, though he knew he was going to catch hell for taking Momma’s car without her permission. Hell, he didn’t even have a valid driver’s license. Catching his reflection in the rearview mirror, he noted the crusted blood, now dried brownish, on the inside of his nostrils, and that one eye was already turning black and blue. Slowing down for a sharp turn ahead, he then pressed the accelerator to the floor when the road straightened out. With his fists clenching the steering wheel at ten and two, he took in his scraped red knuckles and smiled. At least he’d inflicted more damage than he’d received back. Fucking Tony and fucking Gary, after all he’d endured the past year! Kyle wasn’t alone when he stole the car—one year, seven months, and three and a half weeks ago. In fact, it wasn’t even his idea, it was Tony Bone’s. Tony said Dr. Howard never drove the old Mustang, just kept it up at his cabin that he never visited. Their plan was to take it for a drive for an hour or two, then put it right back, and no one would be the wiser. But Dr. Howard wasn’t as old and decrepit as they figured and had set up some kind of video surveillance system in the garage. The old codger, watching them take the car in real time, was on the phone to the sheriff within five minutes. They were friends. In fact, the sheriff was his best man at his wedding. That, apparently, went a long way toward the retired doctor reporting he only saw Kyle take the car, not the sheriff’s son Tony.

Without knowing it, things went from bad to worse for Kyle. Held in jail, he found out old Dr. Howard was Judge Sorenson’s brother-in-law. Kyle thought back to that next morning. Nervously shaking in his cargo shorts and flip-flops, standing in front of the tall judge’s bench, he never had a chance. That shouldn’t have been a big surprise, since everyone knew the little town of Woodbury was as corrupt a town as it could possibly be. Hell—the cronyism that went on there was a well-known fact. After three minutes and the bang of a gavel, Kyle was sentenced to two years behind bars. Later, in low tones, the sheriff promised him he’d be out in one, but only if he never, ever, brought up the fact that Tony was with him on that fateful night’s joy ride. That he would do the time while Tony Bone skated—free as a bird.

Nobody messes with Cuddy and lives to talk about it. But he surprised even himself and kept his cool after that—for the most part. He owed Momma that much—not to be thrown back in jail just days after returning home. If prison had taught him anything, it was patience. So he bided his time and waited. But then Tony went one step farther, stealing old man White’s mustang, making it look like Kyle had stolen that one too. Kyle still didn’t know why Tony was going to such extremes to fuck with him. Hell, if anything, it should have been the other way around. In any event, that act was the last straw.

Kyle showed up at the sheriff’s house early that morning. Noticing his police cruiser wasn’t there, he went inside and found Tony and Gary sitting next to each other on the couch. As cartoons blared forth from the TV, they didn’t notice his presence while passing a bong back and forth. Kyle, coming around the side of the couch, pulled Tony to his feet and saw his nose still taped up. But Gary was apparently less stoned than Kyle had estimated. He jumped to his feet and connected with two solid hits—one to Kyle’s nose and one to his eye. As Kyle staggered backward, barely dodging a wild punch from Tony, he balled-up his fists until his knuckles turned white. With one year, seven months, and three and a half weeks of rage consuming him, he stepped in and elbowed Gary hard in the mouth. Two of his upper front teeth ended up somewhere on the carpet. Kyle next aimed for the two white strips of tape, striking Tony twice in his already ruined nose. As he doubled over in pain, Kyle kneed him in the balls.

“The second I get out of the joint you beat up my brother! What was that supposed to be, some kind of message?” Kyle yelled—infuriated. “What… you wanted to keep me quiet that you were there… along with me on that joyride? I should rip your head off your pimply neck!”

Both Tony and Gary were down for the count, though Tony was still conscious. Kyle knelt on the floor beside him and, putting his mouth next to his ear, said, “Can you hear me, Tony?”

“Fuck you… I’m going to kill you. My dad’s going to—”

“No, Tony, you and that idiot friend next to you did this to each other. That’s what you’re going to tell your father.”

“Fuck you.”

“There’s one thing I did gain in prison, Tony.” Tony didn’t reply.

“Friends. Friends like Olson Briggs. Remember big black Olson from our high school football days? He played right guard. Well, he’s a lot bigger now… must be three hundred and fifty pounds. Anyway, Briggs was in there for, I kid you not, ripping a man’s arm off. Tony… he ripped a guy’s arm right off at the shoulder in a bar fight for teasing him about his damn lisp. You remember Briggs’ lisp, right? I think you used to tease him about it too. Anyway, Briggs is out of prison now… got out a month before me. He and I are still pretty good friends. He liked me in there. I treated him like a regular guy. And he saved my ass, literally, while I was in there. Nobody messed with Briggs, or with me. Tony, I think I might want to give my friend a call. Have him drop by here sometime. But I have to warn you; he picked up some bad habits in prison. But we won’t go into that right now.”

Tony shook his head, his words coming out wet and nasally, “No… I remember Briggs. Yeah, Okay… Gary and I did this to each other. I promise.”

“That’s good, Tony. But if I even hear your name come up in a conversation, I’m sending pile-driver Briggs , that’s what everyone called him in the big house, over here. He’ll make both of you his bitches and you’ll be sitting on stacked pillows for at least six months. I kid you not.”

Kyle left them both lying on the floor. There was no guarantee Tony would keep his word, but he’d cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

Up ahead, he saw flashing red and blue lights coming off of the cruiser’s light bar. He slowed under the speed limit as three cruisers sped past, their sirens blaring. Next, he heard the distant firehouse alarm come alive—bellowing out back in town. Kyle switched on the radio, hearing nothing but static. Even changing the station made no difference. He looked up at the colorful sky and thought he saw something fly past in a blur overhead, pretty sure it was a helicopter. He’d heard about the situation with the nuclear power plant. Someone shit the bed , a colossal screw up, and now radioactive steam was venting into the air. He thought about Momma and Cuddy and stepped harder on the accelerator. Then he saw it again, this time in the rearview mirror, approaching low to the ground, and coming from behind. It flew right over the top of the car and Kyle reflexively ducked his head. What the fu… realizing that it wasn’t a helicopter. No doubt about it, it was some sort of spacecraft. Not some kind of military secret project, or something NASA had come up with. The craft was dark and looked threatening with all its sharp angles and edges. Weapons were clearly visible—mounted on the outer wings and along the underbelly. The outside of the vessel was a complicated looking assemblage of what looked like interconnecting pipes and junction boxes. Everything about the vessel was ominous.