The Bayou Trilogy: Under the Bright Lights, Muscle for the Wing, and The Ones You Do by Daniel Woodrell

Author:Daniel Woodrell [Woodrell, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 0316133655
Publisher: Little, Brown
Published: 2011-04-27T16:00:00+00:00

12

MOTHER NATURE was laying down some Law out there in the bayou night, and as befits the order of things, large feathered creatures dove off high branches, swooped low and stuck talons in smaller furry meals, and bandit-eyed coons came stealthily out of hollow logs and glommed finned, scaly chow from the still, brackish shallows, while all those things that slither waited, coiled, for the passing appearance of any prey absentminded, and where the bayou waters butted against land and a screened porch overlooked the boggy stage for these food-chain theatricals, Emil Jadick sat on the arm of the couch and wrapped up a lecture that had been real Type A in tone and content.

He said, “And if either of you fucks up because you ain’t been listenin’ to me, I’ll take you off the calendar myself, understood?”

Dean Pugh and Cecil Byrne sat on the couch, forearms on knees, heads down, sullenly nodding.

“We listened, Jadick,” Dean said, raising his head. “And we been here before, Mr. Boss Hoss.”

“You got caught before,” Jadick said. “I’d like to avoid that—so don’t fuck up.”

Pugh and Byrne were both essentially state-raised social problems, government-parented misfits. They’d lived the institutional life in different places, Dean from age eight in Maryland, and Cecil from age four in Florida, and met at what somehow seemed to them to be the bosom of their family—the federal pen. Both men moved with that odd, fearful underdog gait, jerking around like disoriented lizards, gawkily uncoordinated, stoically confused.

“We’re gonna back you up all the way,” Dean said. “ ’Cause what is it that always flies above the shit?”

“The Wing,” Jadick said in unison with Cecil. “The Wing soars above it.”

“There it is, brother.”

Wanda was in the kitchen where she’d listened to Jadick’s pep talk while doing the dishes. She began to dry the plates and silverware with a towel, and Jadick walked up behind her and cupped her breasts.

“Do all men do that?” she asked, not missing a stroke.

“Do what?”

“Get the hots for women in the kitchen.” She shook her head quizzically. “Every man I ever been around gets all touchy-feely when I do dishes or cook.”

Jadick backed away and sat at the table.

“I’d have to think about that,” he said.

Wanda put the dried dishes in the cupboard, then got herself a cup of coffee. She leaned against the counter, holding the cup.

“Is your gang up to it?” she asked in a low voice.

Jadick shrugged.

“They’re givin’ the right answers,” he said.

“Oh, man,” Wanda said, “I’ve heard beer farts that made more sense than them two.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jadick said. He studied her closely, eyes narrowed. “Don’t plant bad seeds, pun-kin. Don’t plant no bad seeds in me when you know we got a job tonight.”

She blew on her coffee and looked at him over the rim of the cup.

“I’m just concerned,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Now, look,” Jadick said, “the upshot is…”

“… Oh, I dread that,” Wanda said, turning away.

“Dread what?”

“The upshot. Man, I dread that motherfucker.”

At this moment Dean and Cecil came in from the porch, grinning and bouncing with criminal vim.

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