East Jesus South by T. R. Pearson

Author:T. R. Pearson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barking Mad Press
Published: 2019-01-24T00:00:00+00:00

iv

I eventually met Phelps up on the Parkway at what passed for an overlook. He proved tough to pin down for a guy who was trying to pay me to leave him be.

He had hounds in the bed of his truck in cages. I heard them barking before I saw him. From the looks of that overlook, we’d have the place to ourselves until Old Milwaukee time. There were cans strewn all over and weathered, beat up twelve-pack boxes. Empty cigarette packs and hamburger wrappers. Condoms too, of course. Nothing says romance like a weedy pullout with a view. Apparently, there’d once been a map or a sign or something, but only the splintered posts remained.

Phelps roared in and braked hard. The hounds in their kennels got sufficiently jostled to leave off barking for a moment. Only a moment. They were at full yelp and bay by the time Phelps reached me at the block restraining wall. I was standing in a half-moon jut out built for soaking in the panorama. I could see a couple of sprawling estates, the county landfill in the distance, a straight piece of Interstate 64 between Ivy and Charlottesville.

Phelps smelled of tobacco and kibble.

“What made you want to raise hounds anyway?” It seemed like a decent enough icebreaker. We had to start somewhere.

“Property came with them,” he told me. “I thought you could give them away, but you can’t.”

“Where’s that?” I pointed. Something was burning. A column of smoke was rising, bent east by the breeze.

“Sawmill. Licking hole.”

“Place past the Sunoco?”

Phelps nodded. He turned to the sound of hounds snarling and shouted towards the parking lot, “Hey!”

We didn’t talk further for a bit, just watched a hawk together. When Phelps finally spoke he told me, “We wouldn’t have found her. Don't care what you think.”

Then Phelps sighed in a way that gave the impression he was ripe with regret. I’d heard it from cops before, usually the sort who’d wrung every penny they could from some wayward enterprise and then had started to wish they never did and wonder why they had.

“We caught a boy on the highway," Phelps began. "This would have been '95. He was running with bald tires and a headlight out. His truck look like the Clampets packed it. Lonnie lit him up. You know Lonnie?”

“Heard of him,” I said.

“It would have just been a ticket if the guy had acted like he had some sense. He had a few square bales of actual hay," Phelps said, "but it was mostly pot underneath. Then down in the bottom of the pile, Lonnie found some guns and stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Ammo. Suppressors. A grenade or three.”

“Ambitious for hillbillies."

Phelps nodded. "Especially our sort. Lonnie . . . quizzed him."

"I'll bet."

"He was heading for Philadelphia. Half down and half on delivery. Lonnie called me. We had a meeting of the minds.”

“How would he know to call you?” It was less of a question than an accusation.

For a passing moment, Phelps looked primed to complain about his

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.