David Ohle - The Devil in Kansas

“Watch out,” Joe says, “there’s a lot of aliens around. They’re here for the wheat harvest.”

When Joe looks around, about half the patrons appear mildly alien to him.

Quite a few grasshoppers and other insects crawl on a nearby window.

The floor is littered with crushed-underfoot grasshoppers.

Kenny peels a couple of twenties from his roll and leaves them on the table. He gives Sherry another twenty. “Entertain yourselves. I might be gone awhile.”

Kenny’s rig pulls out of the parking lot. Moments later, Moe’s pickup pulls in, parks. He gets out, enters the café, quickly spots Sherry and Joe and slides into their booth. “Well, goddamn, look who I just happened to run into. My two favorite people.” He points his niner under the table at Joe. “Sherry, Baby, you do anything to draw attention over here and I waste young alien-brain. Then you.”

Sherry isn’t intimidated. “I’ve never seen you crazier, Moe. What are you doing? Stop this shit and move on with your stupid mullet life.”

Moe says, “I killed that guy in the diner, you know.”

Sherry says, “I don’t believe it.”

Joe says, “I do.”

Moe waves the weapon. “Believe this. I want the three of us to walk out of here all calm and collected…like a regular happy American family. Where’s Lenny?”

“ Kenny went somewhere,” Sherry says. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

Joe is petrified. From his point of view, Moe appears increasingly alien-like.

Moe stands up and motions toward the door. “All right, let’s boogie. Right now.”

The three exit, attempting to look calm and collected. Sherry has to pull Joe along.

In the pickup, Moe starts the engine, which runs poorly. The firearm is in his lap.

“Where was you headed to?” Moe wants to know.

Sherry pops chewing gum into her mouth. “Austin.”

Moe is interested in this idea. “Austin, huh? What’re you gonna do, put the maestro to work down there?”

“Maybe. Did you really shoot that guy?”

“I swear on my daddy’s grave I did.”

“God, Moe. That sure was moronic.”

Moe backs up, turns around, approaches the highway, looks west. “Nothing but trouble that way.”

He turns east. “We all goin’ to Austin.”

Joe says, “My saw’s in the big truck.”

“Fuck it,” Moe says. “We’ll git you one at the hardware store.”

“And my bow?”

“We’ll stop at a fuckin’ music store. Now, shut up and don’t start with any o’ that alien shit. I’ll open up a can o’ whip-ass on you.”

Wichita, Kansas, late afternoon. Sherry, Joe and Moe stand around a hardware store saw display. Joe bends the blades sharply and listens to the tone.

Moe says, “Git a good one. I’m payin’.”

Sherry chews gum anxiously, her eyes darting around, looking for an opportunity to do something about her predicament. She sees a security guard strolling slowly a few aisles down and tries to make eye contact. But he disappears into the plumbing supply aisle.

A music store in a shopping center. Joe plays the new saw with a violin bow. Employees and customers are enthralled. Sherry is more at ease, perhaps resigned to the circumstances, and equally smitten by Joe’s performance. Even Moe listens with a modicum of pleasure.

A flour mill outside Dodge City. Kenny watches as the last few sacks of flour are loaded into his trailer. He drives out and shortly pulls in to the Truck City lot. He jumps out and hurries into the café. Through the window he is seen looking around for Sherry and Joe, then conversing with the cashier, who points south, as in “They went thataway.”

Moe’s pickup roars past the Welcome to Texas sign.

Not long afterward the DeLorean roars past the sign.

Even later Kenny’s rig roars past.

In Moe’s pickup, he steers with his right hand, the gun in his left, Metallica on the tape deck. Joe sleeps with a spit-soaked handkerchief dangling from his mouth. Sherry punches the off button on the deck. “Grow up, Moe. You’re not sixteen anymore. Why do you listen to that shit?”

Moe cups his crotch with his right hand while steering with the gun hand. “Sixteen this, bitch.”

“Very creative.”

He switches Metallica on again, this time even louder. Joe stirs, but doesn’t awaken. Sherry turns it off. “Let him sleep.”

“Mamma’s baby need beddy-bye?”

“You’re scaring him to death. He thinks you’re the Devil.”

“Yeah, he’s artistic, I know. You still love me, don’t you? A woman like you can’t resist a Devil, can she? I’m the goddamn Devil from Kansas.”

“You are much, much crazier than I thought you were.”

“You tried to kill me twice that I know of, but I forgive you.”

“How many times did you punch me out? How many times did you kick my son like he was a football?”

“Ten, twenty, I don’t know. You forgive me?”

Sherry stares out the window at oncoming headlights. Fake tears well up. “Okay, Moe. I really do love you. Let’s give it another try.” She raises her arms to embrace him. They kiss. When Moe takes his hand from the gun to feel her breasts, she snatches it and holds it to his head.

“Aw fuck,” he says.

A rest area on I-35. Moe’s pickup pulls in. He stumbles out of the driver’s side with his hands up. The pickup drives away.

Kenny’s rig speeding on I-35. He listens to a newscast on the radio: “Authorities continue searching for leads in connection with Monday’s café robbery and homicide near Hays, Kansas.”

A rest area men’s room. Moe pisses in a dirty urinal. The man in the silk suit enters, uses an adjoining urinal. He gives Moe the once-over, dwelling on his penis. “You’re carrying a heavy hammer there, boy.”

“Thanks for noticing, faggot.”

“No, no. That ain’t it. I’m always on the lookout for big walleys. Name’s Jerry King. I own a couple of clubs in Houston. We run a male stripper thing three nights a week. All the pussy you can eat. Can you dance?”

Moe zips up, gives it a moment’s thought. “You serious?”

“Three large per show. Opportunity never knocks for little cocks.”

Outside, Moe and the King get into the DeLorean and it peels out.

Moments later, Kenny’s rig pulls in next to the outdoor telephone. Kenny jumps out and dials 911. “Listen, I don’t want to give my name or anything, but the man who shot that cook, his name is Moe something and he’s driving a ‘95 Ford pickup, black. He was seen headed south from Dodge City, Kansas and he’s got a woman and a teenage male with him, kidnapped. That’s all. There’s your lead. He’s armed and dangerous, of course.”

In Moe’s pickup, Joe plays the saw. Sherry drives, anxiously chewing gum and smoking a doobie. The firearm sits between them on the seat. The engine sputters worse than ever and makes odd noises. Sherry opens her last stick of gum, adds it to the wad already in her mouth. She passes the doobie to Joe, who stops playing long enough to take a hit or two.

“Joey, boy, we’re outta gum and gas. We gotta stop.”

A convenience store. Joe and Sherry enter. Joe heads for the men’s room, Sherry for the beer section of the cooler and a six pack of light beer. She also grabs some packs of gum.

The men’s room is a confined space with only a toilet stall, a urinal and a dirty sink. Joe pisses in the urinal. His face prunes up as he smells something terrible. He pinches his nose and glances beneath the stall partition. The long, narrow feet he sees are alien; the grunts he hears are too. When the alien empties its bowels, a loud hiss is emitted, along with a burst of steam that rises out of the stall. Joe backs out of the room.

As a clerk tallies Sherry’s charges at the checkout counter, Joe sidles up, jittery, looking over his shoulder toward the restroom.