Box

26

“What happened to the baby?” I ask.

“We ate it!” the man says. “How’s that for an answer?”

“Sadly, it was on my short list of probable responses,” I say.

“Heard you felt up the homecomin’ queen,” the woman says.

I wonder how it’s possible that sixteen hours ago I felt up a waitress in Clayton, Kentucky, and it’s already common knowledge in Ralston, two hours away.

“You felt up another woman?” Faith says. “You told me your car broke down!”

“Did he tell you he ran over a man and tried to run off with his wife?” the man says.

Faith looks at me.

“Get out of my house,” she says. “We’re through!”

“Neither of you are goin’ anywhere,” the woman says. “Except in a pine box.”

The man picks the door up and props it against the frame to block the view from the road. Not that anyone would be driving this remote stretch of road in the first place.

“Sit down,” he says.

I frown. “Why?”

“So I can shoot you, you dumb shit.”

“Look,” I say. “I realize I didn’t stop to help you a few minutes ago. But don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

“Am I, motherfucker?”

“It’s just an observation,” I say.

“Shoot him where he stands, Cletus,” the woman says.

He turns on her.

“What did you just call me?”

“Sorry. But when you kill ’em it won’t matter I used your real name.”

“What if I was just plannin’ to scare ’em, and steal their money?”

“I didn’t say your last name was Renfro, you dumb shit.”

Faith and I look at each other.

Cletus cocks his gun.

His companion says, “Wait. Get his money first.”

“Why? It’ll be easier to go through his pockets when he’s dead.”

“You might get blood on your clothes. Ever seen CSI?”

“Of course I have. I aint’ stupid.”

“Then get the money first.”

“You get his money. I’ll hold the gun on him.”

While they’re sorting out who’s going to do what, Faith flings something at them that explodes into a giant ball of smoke.

They scream, cover their eyes, and fall to the floor, shrieking.

What the fuck?

The gun hits the floor, discharges, and shoots the woman in the leg. Blood spews from her wound like water from a sprinkler head, which tells me the bullet lacerated her blood vessels. She’ll be dead within a minute. Faith makes a move for the gun, but the woman finds it first, and starts shooting blindly, while writhing in pain, until she’s out of bullets.

Five shots, five direct hits.

All into Cletus’s body.

Faith and I look at each other again.

“I’m not cleanin’ this mess up by myself,” she says.