Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah (20 page)

Agent Wyser picked up his glass and examined it for a moment, condensation dripping from the glass like beads of sweat. Indecision floated in his eyes. Agent Wyser blinked as if he were setting a spell free, and he put the glass down. “Are you and Ms. Turner seeing each other?”

Hank paused. “I say yes, but she says yes and no. Depends on when you ask her.”

Agent Cody laughed, picking up his glass. He put the glass close to his nose, sniffing for a moment, but then put it back down before he took a drink. “Have you been seeing her long?”

“Not really.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Not long.”

“Hmm,” Agent Wyser, muttered. “Is it serious between you two?”

Hank didn’t understand their line of questioning. Where were they going with this? Why weren’t they asking more questions about the robbery? Unless…“Am I a suspect?”

“Of course not,” Agent Cody assured him. “We talked to your mother, June-bug, and we asked her why you wouldn’t want to talk to us. She had no idea. We asked her if you were seeing anyone and she said no.” He gave Hank a look that told him that he was acknowledging the discrepancies between his words and his mother’s. “But sometimes there’s more to it. Sometimes when people are in a steady relationship and are caught in the wrong place at the right time, they try to avoid us. You know the old story. It makes for an uncomfortable situation when the guilty party has to explain their whereabouts to us with their significant other standing by. Sheriff Sur Cotton told us you left to blow off some steam. We just find the situation a little…strange.”

“I understand,” Hank said, not really understanding at all.

“Why is it your mother doesn’t know about Ms. Turner?” Agent Wyser asked.

Hank got
the feeling
right then. Something didn’t sit right with Hank. They hadn’t even discussed the robbery. They kept directing their questions toward Delilah and their relationship. And not once had they mentioned Curly.

“I don’t tell my mother everything. She can get a little too motherly when it comes to me and dating.”

“How did you end up in Memphis?”

“I called Delilah to pick me up after I ran out of the bank.” Hank was so easy with the lies! They were flowing like wine and he was coming up with them with no trouble at all.

“Why?”

Hank knew this was the big one. “Here’s the truth. I told my mother I had a wedding to go to in Tupelo and I went, for a little while. I told her I wasn’t staying long. I was going to just offer my congratulations and then head to Memphis with a few friends. I was actually going to call Delilah, but I didn’t mention that to her—she can get testy when she gets motherly. But I lied to my mother. I lied to her because even though I was going to Memphis at some point, I wasn’t going right away. I had reason to believe my mother was having an affair with my biological father.”

Forgiveness come to him, he just threw June-bug under the bus. His own mother.

“I called her and told her I was on my way to Memphis, as we trailed her all the way to a hotel. I was so upset afterwards that I drank myself sick and passed out in the woods. The next morning, on my way to Sheriff Sur Cotton’s house, I stopped at the bank and that’s when it was robbed. I didn’t want my mother to find out that I lied, because I’d have to tell her why. I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. I left the bank and called Delilah, and like I said, she picked me up.”

The two agents sat back in their seats and looked at each other.

“Your mother is having an affair with your biological father?” Agent Wyser said, his tone disbelieving.

“Caught her red handed. It would be a disgrace to my stepfather if he knew—he is the district attorney of Tupelo. I didn’t want to bring any attention to him. Or have it come out before he heard it from my mother.”

“And your biological father, he’s a preacher, correct?” Agent Cody said, the dubious sound now in the tone of his voice.

“That’d be correct.” Hank took a drink of his iced tea. “In Memphis. It would be a disgrace for him too.”

“Mr. Rivers, your mother didn’t mention Memphis to us. She said you went to a wedding. Didn’t know why you were at the bank,” Agent Wyser said.

“I doubt she would. I lied to her and I’m sure she was wondering why.”

“Mr. Rivers, would you happen to know a Rosemary Law?”

“Who?”

Agent Cody opened a folder on the table. He slid a picture to Hank. Hank looked it over. It was a young woman with wild red hair, ruddy tinged skin, and dark eyes. She was ferocious looking. Her stare was penetrating. It almost made him want to look away. The picture couldn’t even keep it controlled in the stillness of its grasp; a living thing started back at him.

If Hank had seen her, he would have never forgotten her. She would have left a brand on his memory, that’s for certain. She had a rolling passion that one just doesn’t lose—even in a photograph.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize this woman.” Hank slid the photo back.

“Positive?”

“More than one hundred percent. Why?”

“We have reason to believe she is the leader of the gang who has been robbing those banks. They call her Pistol. Sometimes she goes by Little Sister. As of late, Pistollette.”

Pepsi stomped out of the house, slamming the porch door with a thunderous
clack!
Both agents looked at her with ice in their eyes. She returned the ice with heat, frowning at them the entire time she marched to the swing. She plopped down real hard, her eyes never leaving their forms, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I know my rights,” she said clearly. “Ya’ll just can’t come around here stinkin’ us out our own place.” She pointed at them separately. “
Mmmhmm
.” She gave a mighty push with her feet, the swing moving to her defiance. She cleared her throat loudly and then began to sing hymns from church about fire and brimstone.

After that they started asking legitimate questions about the robbery. Questions Hank knew they should have been asking from the beginning. Hank gave a true statement, but he made sure to mention that it was more like a show, and that some of the men seemed to enjoy it. He made sure to repeat a few times that they never hurt anybody. They were even polite to a certain degree.

Pepsi continued her swinging and
mmmhmm’ing
. Hank didn’t know why but she seemed to hate them. There were a few questions he thought were odd, going back to him and Delilah, and a few more questions about Rosemary Law. But they were thrown in, added easily, in an underhanded kind of way. The tactic may have trapped a simpler man, but there wasn’t a thing simple about Hank Rivers.

Finally, after what seemed like a long stretch of time, they got up to leave.

Agent Cody stood closest to the porch door. At the same time he went to stretch, Delilah walked out the door. The sequence of actions made it seem like Agent Cody was going to hit her. Freud jumped from his spot, a low growl vibrating deep inside his chest. He crept toward Agent Cody, head down, eyes firm, hackles raised. Agent Cody kept his arms up, moving back with slow steps. Freud pinned him against the house. His canine teeth mighty close the agent’s crotch. Agent Wyser put his hand on his holster.

Hank was about to call Freud when Delilah put herself in front of Agent Wyser. “Freud, it’s all right, baby. Come to mama. Come on now. It’s all right.”

Freud took slow steps back, his hackles still prickling with vengeance. His owner would take a bullet for him, but a gentleman would never allow it. He stood directly in front of Delilah, blocking anyone daring to get to her. She bent down beside him, rubbing his head. Now they were side by side.

Agent Cody’s hands were trembling. He searched his pocket for a cigarette and then lit up.

“Agents, if your work here is done, I’d suggest getting on up the road now. I’m afraid Freud won’t be very good company from now on,” Delilah said, watching the man suck in a lung-full of smoke, blowing it out of his nostrils.

Agent Wyser gathered their things from the table. He didn’t want to seem like he was hurrying, but it was clear that he was. “Why’d he do that?”

Delilah stood and looked him in the eye. “Freud mistook your partner’s stretch as threatening behavior. He thought you were going to harm me. Freud don’t take too kindly to men hitting women. Freud’s a gentleman, and gentlemen never stand by and allow a lady to be assaulted. You
gentlemen
might want to remember that.”

“
Mmmhmm
,” Pepsi went again. “I should get my hose out. Clean this porch of the filth.
Mmmhmm,
lower than whale shit.”

The two agents stopped when they were right in front of Delilah. Hank didn’t like the way they were looking at her. He stood next to Delilah and looked back at them.

“Mr. Rivers,” Agent Cody said, looking right at Delilah. “These robberies are getting out of hand. My boss is riding us hard. You know it’s getting almost like it used to be—wanted dead or alive kind of situation. A bounty may be cast upon the heads of those who participate in this heathenish sort of behavior. That little hell cat, boondock saint of a leader of theirs, she’s public enemy number one on the big man’s list. She’s a bad outlaw. It’s of the utmost importance we uphold justice, and those backwoods criminals are caught. Next time, it might be him you speak to, not us.” He winked.

“That’ll be fine. Now, if you two don’t mind…” Hank nodded his head toward their vehicle. “If you need me, you have my number and where I can be reached.”

Agent Wyser paused on the step. “Can we reach you here?”

“No, I’m going back to Tupelo. If you need me, you can find me there. Or your boss can find me there.”

“Very well,” Agent Wyser said, moving along with the inquisition in tow.

“We’ll be in touch shortly,” Agent Cody said. He looked directly at Pepsi and smiled, the devil hiding in the grin.

“Oh, I’m betting on it,” Delilah muttered loud enough for them to hear.

Pepsi maneuvered herself between Hank and Delilah, a loaded hose poised in her hands. Freud was licking the driblets of warm water that ran down the swollen rubber; the pressure was ready to be expelled in a stinging rage of showers.

“
Mmmhmm
,” she said again, shaking her head. She sprayed the car as they disappeared down the driveway. “Yes, indeed!” She exclaimed in glee, pressing the trigger even harder. “Yes, indeed! It’s cleansing to the soul to clean the filth. Cleanliness is close to godliness, so the Good Book says.”

Pepsi and Delilah walked back inside after the car had gone. Pepsi wanted to be thankful, to celebrate cleaning the filth by baking sweets. Such a positive energy that nice lady excluded.

Hank went and sat back at the table. Freud rested at his feet, taking respite from the brutal heat, panting in intervals while his tongue flopped out lazily. Hank stared at the full glasses of tea they wouldn’t touch. His mind became as still as the truth waiting for its chance to be set free. The truth, it was of a patient sort. Not like lies, eager and headstrong to be out in the world, causing destruction and misery, but burning as quickly as it tore in. Truth, no, it could wait, but once it was set free—it floated, retaining its value.

He leaned in closer, staring harder at the gold liquid, watching the sweetness float in little sugary fragments around specks of lemon, wondering how such a bad lie was believed by two skilled FBI agents. The lie about June-bug was told on purpose. And they ate it up, like pieces of an award-winning pie.

Something didn’t smell right. Yes indeed, something didn’t smell right at all. Hank took a deep breath. That ole stench of reeking southern politics was floating in the air.

Hank looked down and met the gentlemen dog’s honest eyes. Freud bayed and Hank knew he smelled it too.

Long before he ever did.

P
istol dialed the number and waited for an answer. It rang once, twice, and then she heard a breathy, “Hello, baby.” She could just imagine the big grin on the other side of the line. As mischievous as a sneaky ferret trying to steal cookies.

“Hey, baby,” Pistol answered back.

“What you doin’? Or should I say,
who
you doin’?”

Pistol laughed. “It’s what. I ain’t doin’ much, except thinkin’.”

“
Woooo
, I cain’t wait to hear this gossip.” Pistol could hear the phone pulling away. “No, I didn’t say tread
politely,
you nincompoop. I said, tread
lightly
. What do you take me for? A prim and proper? Sorry, Pis, people just don’t know how to listen anymore. What were you thinking about?”

“You remember those boys we went dancin’ with not too long ago?”

“Mmm…what were their names?”

“Billy and Mack.”

“Sure, now I remember. Idiots with small workin’s. Oh wait, that’s ninety percent of the male population. But I know whom you referring to. Oh, baby, take me higher, higher, make me float like a bee and pound like a jackhammer…or some manure along those lines.”

“Yeah, that’d be them. I’m a little disturbed by something. They been sniffin’ around Cotton Belle lately. That one, he never did anything for me. I didn’t even have time to roll my eyes before he jumped off thinking he was king. I think he might be wantin’ a second round or something. And then Big Daddy Slip goes and gets all jealous about it. He got all squirrely like. You know how he is. He threatened to call the nine-one-one and then dropped dead, right there.”