Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah (42 page)

Would the contents blow up in his face?
Tick, tick, tick
… Pull the trigger, Rivers.

An ultrasound picture stared back at him, black and white and grainy. Delilah’s name was written on it. It had the name of her doctor: Doctor Amelia Grenade. Her partner’s name was next to it: Doctor Benjamin Houston. The dates were all correct.

The gun wasn’t loaded. No, quite the opposite.

Hank ran his finger across the picture. He turned it over.

You’re not the only one with the feeling, darling. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist, or you’d remember something and come after me. Please, forgive me for this. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I’d have never dreamed this possible, but if I were to dream, this would have gone a million ways differently. It is true, though, no matter how you dream it. Here’s to going crazy in California and bringing back a souvenir.

Hank looked in the drawer; she had left him another pack of gum. Hank smiled a little, staring at the picture, running his hand over the hazy image, over her words. He was caught in that wind again, flying high, somewhere between reality and her. He stared at the words a little harder. He knew Pistollette’s handwriting. This wasn’t hers.

A soft knock at the door removed him from his revelry, but his eyes never wavered from the gift in his hand.

Pepsi stuck her head in and smiled. She asked if she could come in. Hank nodded. He was glad to have the company. It was a strange feeling to be filled with equal amounts of happiness and fear, fifty- fifty, making up a hundred percent of nothing certain.

She sat next to him and stared at the picture. “I think that baby looks like me already.”

Hank laughed a little. “Why couldn’t she tell me?”

“Because she’s Delilah and her strong point isn’t always spoken words.”

“How long have you known about this?”

“Just found out. She didn’t tell anyone until she had to.”

“Where is she now?”

“Wherever the wind blows, you’ll find that girl. If you can find her. I wouldn’t even bother trying. When her mind is set on something, there’s really no changing it. Oh, I know you have. More so than anyone else. But this time, I don’t think it’s going to happen.” She wrapped her warm fingers around Hank’s, squeezing. “You know I love you, baby. You know I do. I fall in love easily with sweets, like I mentioned before. I’m just worried, Hank. The stakes are mighty high, mighty damn high. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you, baby? You have to hold on tight now, because if you don’t, you might lose them both in that big ole storm that’s comin’.”

Hank tucked the picture in his pocket, heading down that uncertain highway again, leading them to the biggest mine of all, all that gold in Charlotte, North Carolina.

The same road that would lead him straight into the hands of the devil, an evil with a forked tongue, black heart, and murderous hands.

T
he plan was Hank, Curly, and Tommy in North Carolina. The rest of the posse would reside back in Tupelo. Dylan and Jesse were going to do what they could to find out anything more. Stroke went along just for the fun of it all.

The three of them were staying at a Holiday Inn, the insurance policy along for the ride locked down in the hotel’s safe. Tommy—pretending to be Barb—had called ahead of time and made the appointment. It wasn’t easy, but with Barb’s southern charm she got through.

The first appointment was for that afternoon, and Hank was as nervous as a one-winged rooster in a cockfight.

He paced the floor in his pale pewter vest suit, sans jacket, the baby’s picture tucked in his pocket. That baby was his lucky little ticket. He chewed on his spearmint gum, ran over every word that came bumping through his thoughts. How do you deal with thugs? Can they be blackmailed when they owned the system? Hank wasn’t sure. He was always on the right side of the fence. But today, he had to play their game, and play it right.

He thought about Pistollette plenty, thinking of how fierce she was. How nothing or no one could stop her. But she was also packing two pistols and could shoot a pill out of midair in magic seconds. Hank could punch, but it was like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

Dead, dead, dead...
Hank sped up a bit, hitting that pothole with enough to speed to rattle his bones.
Bump
. Move along.

Tommy was his come along, while Curly was the getaway driver. He was to patrol the area, calling Tommy at the first signs of anything suspicious. Tommy came out of the bathroom then, dressed in a tight-fitting black dress, with a pair of high heels strapped around his—or her?—ankles.

You’ve got to be kidding me,
Hank thought
.

“Before you get upset,” Tommy said in a voice that was his friends, but now a woman’s; smooth and home-grown country, with a big crimson smile to match her shoes. Tommy’s stutter was still present, but not as pronounced, for some reason, when Barb was in control. Hank figured it was because of the way Tommy had to use his vocal chords, lips, and tongue when he made his voice sound so feminine. “I made the appointment as Barb. They are expecting a woman and a man, a c-c-couple. Hank, you have to be my sugar daddy today.”

Hank wiped the sweat from his brow, fanned his underarms.

“I think it’s for the b-b-best, Hank. If they think you’re after their money and you have no interest in Pis-Pis-Pistollette, they’ll be more lenient. Remember, you ran after her because of the m-m-money. You wanted in on the loot. This has to be all about the money. Love is a weapon to these people. Hank, pay attention!

“Nothing but a weapon. Think of it as them holding a gun to Delilah, or Pistollette. You have t-t-to play on their terms…money and power, Hank. Now is the time, if there ever was any, to channel Pistollette. You see her through r-r-rose-colored glasses. So let me give you a c-c-clue. She commands the room.

“And not just because she has two pistols. She o-o-owns it. No money down, no credit, free and clear, it’s hers. It’s her a-a-attitude, the way she’ll stare you down without batting a lash. The world is hers, and if you don’t play along, she’ll take those h-h-heels and stick them so far up you’re a-a-ass they’ll be sticking out of your mouth. She’s the lightning keeper, Hank. And if you mess with her, she’ll electrocute the life out of you. It’s not just her. It’s all of them.

“Take Zoo Zoo and Wham Wham for instance. She gets the crowd into it, p-p-plays the music, and gets the show started. The other one, J-J-Jellyfish, she’s the watchdog. She keeps the joyous b-b-buoyancy to a minimum. She’ll stop the fight before it even gets to Pistollette. And this is why for the life of me I can’t figure out the California murder. Pistollette had plenty of chances to kill in the banks we were in—the one d-d-drunk who was being rowdy and mouthing off to her. The one you got into a fight with, she could’ve killed him, easy. She didn’t.

“But that’s f-f-fodder for another conversation. Now, thinking of Cheshire Cat. She’s an acrobatic genius. She exudes, to the most concentrated s-s-sexual degree, the mystique of a contortionist. She can move her body in ways a man could only dream of. I know. I tried for Barb, but no luck. The other, Boom Boom, she makes the biggest explosions, l-l-leaving a total mess of something they could leave so sparkly, you could eat off the floor. They play on their strongest attributes. Nothing wasted, Hank. Nada.

“Those pictures in your brief case, that’s your weapon. That’s your pis-pistol. I know you’re worried about your eye, but honestly, it’s good. It makes you look my-my-mysterious. Play on it. Don’t, however, fan your under-underarms or chew g-g-gum. It makes you look nervous, like you’re a rookie.” Barb stuck a manicured finger in his chest.

“That’s ’cause I am!”

“True, but they don’t know that. Everyone is a r-r-rookie when they first start out. You have to start s-s-somewhere. Why not with the two most dangerous men in the south? If you’re going to break the rules, might as well break ’em big, sugar daddy. Just p-p-pretend you’re in court. In your element. Now, let’s go save your Pistollette and get your b-b-baby mama back. It’s time to handle your business.”

Barb held her arm out to Hank. He shook his head and took it.

Booty’s office was located in a small converted house. It was light blue with a white picket fence lining the green yard. My how appearances could be deceiving. That purty little place housed a monster.

Barb wrapped her arm around Hank’s as they made their way to the door. She kept smiling at him and fixing his tie.

“You clean up real n-n-nice, baby,” she purred. “Damn, Hank, even though you’re sweating, you s-s-smell divine. I never thought I’d say this, but something about you, Hank, just silently screams, ‘
Don’t tread on me
.’ I t-t-think hanging out with out-outlaws has rubbed off on you. You got the attitude and you’re h-h-hotter than hell.”

Hank didn’t know what to do with her. She was his friend, and on so many levels, he wished she was just Tommy. He wasn’t used to him looking this way. It was still his friend, just layered in women’s clothing. Not that he objected to Tommy being Barb, if that’s the life he chose for himself, but Hank needed time to process all of the changes.

Damn, wasn’t anybody who they were supposed to be anymore?

Both of them so preoccupied with one another, neither noticed the ’62 black Cadillac trailing them in the parking lot. The door to the office flew open and a rush of assaulting aromas—onion, salami, ham, and pickled peppers—swam in the air. Hank and Barb took a step back together when Lenoir Cootie swam out with the stink. Heaven Almighty, this grave just kept getting deeper and deeper.

Lenoir looked at Hank, his eyes quickly scanning over Barb before taking off in the other direction. Hank caught his arm, and he stopped. They stared at each other the way two men would before a fight.

“What are you doing here, Lenoir?” Hank said, clearly striking flesh with his venom.

“I should ask you the same thing,” Lenoir struck back.

“You were the one who told him, didn’t you? You told him about your own son being in that tree house, knowing he was a cold-blooded killer. Didn’t you?”

Lenoir shrugged in his suit. “He swore he wouldn’t hurt him as long as I gave over the information. He just wanted a little insurance, that’s all. That you boys didn’t have anything on him. Why do you think he’s kept me alive all this time? I used you boys as my own insurance. Uncertainty was my only protection all these years.”

Hank took a step closer to him. “Stay away from my mother. Stay away from Curly. You don’t deserve either one of them. If you go near my mother again, I’ll tell him that I don’t have anything on him, and he’ll be burying your body right next to Pilgrim’s. I should’ve figured you as dirty. All these years, living in the same house with the devil’s helper.”

Lenoir laughed uneasily. “I’m not the only helper. You’re walking through those doors, just as I did years ago. You run behind a bunch of bitches in heat, stealing from the most powerful man in the south. You’re on death row here, Rivers. And I can’t say I’m too sad to see you go.”

“What did you call them?” Hank stepped closer, his noise touching Lenoir’s.

Barb took Hank’s arm and pulled him into the house. The smell saturated the whole house, and Hank’s stomach turned. He held tight onto the briefcase in his hands. Barb marched right up to the receptionist, who had to be at least seventy. The woman looked over her glasses, turning up her nose.

Hank stared at her for a moment. She looked like Booty, or Booty looked like her. It was the eyes. They had no feeling. Hank could see her wiping a bloody hand across her forehead, just like he had.

The woman told Barb that Booty wasn’t feeling well, and that he’d be out in a moment. Mr. Rivers, she said, could go in, but Barb had to stay in the waiting area. She stared at them, daring them not to agree. She searched them for weapons. Then she pointed to a seat for Barb to take. Barb winked at Hank and took it. She was full of cool control. Hank was hot and sweaty.

The old lady led him into Booty’s office, made funny noises with her mouth as she shut the door behind her. With only two chairs to choose from, Hank took the one to the right.