J.T. Warren: Remains

Pete McPherson would never leave Placerville again.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. His force on my shoulder let me know that I couldn’t stop moving. Somehow, down inside me, I knew that as long as I kept moving, there was a chance. ‘A chance at what?’ I asked myself, but there was no answer.

“With him?” the Sheriff asked, and chuckled one single low laugh. “Well, I s’pose what I ought to do is run him out to the stop sign on Hitt road, and tell him to start walkin’. Thing is, I know exactly what he’d do; two, three weeks from now he’d set up shop in some other god-fearin’ town and begin to work his evil. Let me ask you somethin’, boy; did ol’ Albert ever teach you what to do if you got a snake in your backyard?”

He stopped pushing, so I didn’t move any further. I could see on Kevin’s face that he knew what we were talking about, though. He was trying to decide if he still had any fight left in him. He was thinking ‘if I just give up, this’ll be over quick’. “No, he didn’t say anything to me about it.”

He laughed to himself as if I’d just proven something, “Well, I guess there’s no accountin’. When you got a snake in your backyard, son, the thing you gotta’ do is to root him out. You gotta’ make sure he’s got nowhere left to hide. Then, what you gotta’ do is to kill him when he shows himself. When he pops his head up outta’ whatever god forsaken hole he’s found, you gotta’ get him right then. No waitin’. You catch my meaning?”

“You’re going to—umm—,” I started.

“Don’t you worry yourself about what I’m fixin’ to do with this here faggot, boy,” he said, and I felt the ice and steel in his voice. “Say, how is ol’ Albert, anyhow?” he said, and though the words were friendly, the tone never changed. He reached past me and opened the passenger side door. His hand went to my shoulder. I slowly sank into the seat. He closed the door, saying “Mind your fingers, boy.”

As soon as the door was shut, Kevin whined, “Mikey, you’ve gotta’ help me, please, oh god, he’s gonna’—”

“Shh,” I hissed, and kept saying, “Shh! Shut up! Gimme’ a second. I gotta’ think.” The closer the sheriff got to the driver’s side door, the more panicked I felt. The inside of the car smelled like stale tobacco and piss. On the radio, someone was twanging about Tulsa.

The door opened, and the sheriff sat down. He kept the door open for a second, and pulled a cigarette out from his shirt pocket. He pushed in the lighter on the dashboard. Holding the cigarette up toward me, he asked, “You mind?” I shook my head because I didn’t know what else to do. My stomach muscles were clenched so tight, I felt like I was doubled over.

The cigarette lighter popped, and I jumped. He smiled to himself and reached for it. With two small sucks on the end, he lit it, and put the lighter back into the dash. He leaned over and closed his door, starting the cruiser. He turned the radio up a bit, and I could tell that the singer was a female. She kept lamenting having to live on Tulsa Time, whatever that meant. The sheriff pulled the gear shift down into reverse, and looked into the rearview. I saw his eyes pull tight. I felt more than heard Kevin shrink, and my stomach flopped. I stifled a gag.

Death was in that look.

The Sheriff put the car in drive, and we moved forward. “So, when’s your flight leave?” he asked.

“Today,” I said.

“Fine, fine” he said, nodding to himself. “Tell ya’ what I’m gonna’ do—I’m gonna’ take you to the airport myself,” he said, and smiled large. I tried not to think of a shark. “Police escort, like. Won’t you feel mighty high on the hog.”

“That’d be great,” I said, my voice completely flat. I looked down at his gun. The holster was snapped closed; no way to grab it quickly. Part of my mind puzzled over ways to get him to unsnap it, or even pull it out so I could grab for it. The other parts of me were all screaming about how ridiculous this all was. Mostly I was just numb, all except for my mind, which raced.

On the road, I saw the town fire truck coming toward us, its lights flashing. It was flying. “Must be a fire somewhere,” the Sheriff said. He sounded not the least surprised.

“Shouldn’t you—umm—maybe call them on the—,” I started.

“S’pose I should,” he said, and continued to drive.

“It’s your house, Mikey,” Kevin said from the back.

Without looking, the sheriff slammed his hand against the small mesh cage that separated the front seat from the back. The sound made me jump. The sheriff’s face didn’t move. A chill ran through me.

“You shut your hole, back ‘ere,” he said, the word coming out sounding like ‘air’. His hand went slowly back to the steering wheel.

“What did he mean by—?” I started. My stomach was already sinking. My mind was fighting against it, but somewhere inside I heard the truth in it.

“Nothing. That little faggot ain’t got enough sense to shut up when he’s in trouble, ‘s all,” he said, and looked into the mirror again, “I ain’t kiddin’, there, polly anna. Speak up one more time and find out what I’m fixin’ to do.”

The fire truck screamed past us so fast the wind rush moved the car a little.

“But, I mean, why would he say that it was my house if it wasn’t my house?” I asked. Then, silence. No one talked. Even the wind outside the car seemed to die down.

“Well, son, I s’pose that it might very well be your mama’s house,” he said. Just then, the doors locked. It’s amazing where your mind goes in situations like this; I remember thinking that there was no way a car this old had power locks. My body went almost limp. “I s’pose it just might be at that. I cain’t be for certain, mind. But considerin’ how much gasoline I poured on ‘er, that might just be your mama’s house.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Come on, now; you know very well why. You little lovebirds been just a’ chirpin’ away, ain’tcha? You know very well why. Shame, though. Damn shame,” he said, and in his voice there really was a note of sadness. “Shame about Ol’ Albert, havin’ to go that way.” he said. My head was filled with the white noise of panic.

“Your daddy, son—your daddy was the meanest man I ever met, god’s honest truth. That ol’ boy was tough as nails. Thing was I didn’t think he had it in him. I wan’t in town but two months ‘fore he came stormin’ into my office. I’d seen him around, y’know? Saw he’d gotten all grown up since I’d left.

He came up to me, all puffed up, and started accusing me a’things. Things I didn’t do. Your sister was a dime store hooker, son,” he said, and my eyes got wide, “now don’t go shootin’ the messenger, boy; I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’ you don’t already know yourself. When she walked out of this town, I tried oncet to bring ‘er on back. She kept on truckin’.” he said, and went quiet for a time. My mind was starting to come back to me, but the only thing I could hear was his voice. “Your daddy tried to accuse me of diddling his little girl oncet she took it on the run. Now, there’s a lot a’things I done, boy, that’s between me and the lord. But I’ll tell you right here and now, I ain’t never, and I mean never in my life, diddled no little girl. You can take that to the bank. I tell you what, though; that cocksucker was the only man in this town ever stood up to me, and I mean ever. I hated having to put him down like ‘at. Was a shame. Thing was, it wan’t just you that got to snoopin’. Your daddy got a might bit nosey, too.”

“He killed them, Mikey, he—,” Kevin said, his voice quivering.