Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel by Charlotte Banchi & Agb Photographics

Author:Charlotte Banchi & Agb Photographics [Banchi, Charlotte & Photographics, Agb]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B007MV5CSK
Publisher: Charlotte A Banchi
Published: 2012-03-19T16:00:00+00:00

=EIGHTEEN=

“This ain’t a good situation,” Floyd told Little Carl. The two men sat on the hood of his pick-up watching the fire ant procession in and out of a cone-shaped mound near the river bank. One hundred feet away, the Tombigbee River rode high, threatening to overflow its banks. “Billy Lee says our gal is holed up in Dr. Niggers clinic.”

Little Carl took a swig from the whiskey bottle in the brown bag. “Then we got to go over to there and drag that coon out by her Brillo pad hair.”

“You and what army?” Floyd sneered. “Remember what happened a few years back? Biggers shot those boys to hell and gone.”

“Lucky bastard. Betcha he couldn’t do it again.”

“You the only one in your family without a set of brains?” Floyd asked, thumping Little Carl on the back of his head. “Biggers fought in the war, for Christ’s sake. Got himself a star for bravery. I seen it pinned on his uniform when he marched in the Veteran’s Day parade.”

“Shitfire, I can go down to Ollie’s pawn shop and pick up one of those for two bucks. Betcha his ain’t real.”

Floyd smacked him on the head again. “It’s real, you horse’s ass. You ever hear of a place called Iwo Jima?”

“Yeah, and I seen the movie too, John Wayne starred in it. Now there’s a man that can really kick the shit out of people.”

“Biggers was a real goddamn Marine, Little Carl, not a Hollywood actor. And you can bet a month’s pay, a real Marine knows how to shoot. He could hit you right between the eyes at 100 yards.”

“Only if he can see me.”

Floyd turned his head slightly, and a blurry Little Carl came into focus. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I hear the docs been sleeping with the rest of the niggers down at Webster Methodist lately. So if he’s there, then he ain’t at his clinic.”

“And if he is?”

“Then we blow his head off with some TNT before he can grab his rifle.”

Floyd rubbed his chin. “If he’s gone, his bitch will still be guarding the door.” After a couple of run-ins with Lettie Ruth Rayson he knew she wasn’t a shrinking violet. Last time she’d given him a lot of sass and it came real close to being embarrassing. “Maybe I ought to teach her a lesson too,” he said smiling broadly.

“You mean his nigger nurse?”

“Yeah, Lettie Ruth. I’m thinking she might make a fine doormat for my boots.” Floyd slid off the hood. “Let’s get back and talk to the local klan’s King Kleagle. We got us some strategizing to do.”

* * *

Mitch didn’t know which he disliked more, riding in the back seat or the way Dreama Simms drove Taxi’s car.

“Uh, Miss Simms?” he said, when the light three blocks ahead turned yellow. “You might want to ease off on the gas a little, you have a light coming up.” He knew from first hand experience that the De Soto, like a jet plane, required a long runway to stop.

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