Three Sides of the Tracks (7 page)

Jessie sputtered obscenities then realized he wasn’t going to get
anywhere with Franklin. He turned around, and Caroline stood in front of him,
blocking his path.

“Daddy, please go back home. You know how you get when you’ve been
drinking. I don’t want to have another fuss with you.”

“Then start doing as I tell you,” Jessie screamed as he pushed Caroline away
and ran toward Danny.

Michael Dunn lunged at him, but Jessie sidestepped and pushed Dunn to the
ground as he continued toward Danny, who stood at the front of the Mustang.

“I told you what was going to happen next time I saw you with my
daughter,” Jessie growled. He swung his right hand and caught Danny a glancing
blow as Danny raised his shoulder to ward off the punch.

Jessie and Danny were about the same height—both a little over six feet
tall—but Jessie was 40 pounds heavier, although most of it was fat. Still, 250
pounds is a lot of weight, and the blow knocked Danny sideways.

Danny deliberately maintained a passive posture, hoping not to fuel
Jessie’s anger. But the blow knocked him off balance, and, when Jessie swung
again, he caught Danny full on the jaw.

Danny’s head snapped back, and Jessie hit him again before Danny gained
his bearings. Danny threw up his arms to protect his face and stepped in closer
to avoid any long punches. He didn’t want to hit Jessie, not in front of
Caroline.

The security guard came back outside. He called for more help on his
radio then ran at Jessie and dove for his legs. A clean tackle brought him to
the ground.

6

Graveyard

Tombstones lay toppled over. Others leaned precariously among the
broomstraw and weeds, some barely large enough to contain the essential
information. Small saplings grew over the older graves, the oldest dated 1879.
Splattered mud dotted the occasional glass vase that held a collage of plastic
flowers left by a relative many years earlier, although one had to look hard to
see them among the grass.

A 100-yard dirt roadbed—weeds grown up between the seldom used tracks—skirted
a small grove of pine trees with patches of briars and weeds that grew in the
middle.

Jason pointed to a three-inch-thick pine tree along the edge of the
grove. “Cut that one, Ricky. About half way.”

Ricky started hacking.

“Put the rope on it first, imbecile. How’re you gonna climb it if it’s
hacked in half?” Jason yelled.

Ricky slung down the hatchet, grumbling, sick of being yelled at all the
time. He clenched the end of the nylon rope in his teeth and started climbing,
and, when he was a couple feet below the top, he tied a strong knot between two
branches to keep it from slipping off.

“Now, do your Davy Crockett thing,” Jason said with a sneer then walked a
few yards and began hacking on another tree.

Some of the graves had sunk, and Tim and Chuck scraped out more dirt from
one of the few graves that still had an upright gravestone; there was even an
angel with outstretched wings on top.

The teenage boys scraped until Jason came over. “That’s deep enough, I
think. Lay down in it, Tim. Let’s see.”

“I ain’t laying in no grave.”

 “Chicken shit,” Jason said, looking at Tim with disgust. “You gonna do
it, Chuck, or will I have to do everything? Thought y’all wanted to have some
fun.”

Chuck didn’t much want to. He’d been a regular church member until
thoughts of girls, cars, and Saturday nights filled his head. But he didn’t
want to look small in Jason’s eyes, so he stretched out in the depression, his
five-ten frame barely fitting.

Jason stepped back a few yards and looked. “Needs to be a little deeper.
Just to be sure you can’t be seen from the road.”

“You mean you want me to be the one in the grave?”

“No, I want Tim to, but he might freak out and wet his pants. Can’t have
him smelling up the car later,” Jason said with a smirk.

 Tim looked at the ground.

“Think you can push that tree over?” Jason asked the smaller Tim. “You’ll
ruin the whole thing if you can’t.”

Jason was six-feet tall, heavy, and muscular—physically more mature than
the other 16 year olds in the group. Tim weighed 150 pounds, 50 pounds less
than Jason, and it was either go along with Jason or challenge him, which would
only end in more humiliation.

Tim mustered as much bravado as he could and looked up. “
Yeah
, I
can push the tree over.”

Jason’s lips curled. “You’d better.”

The four boys worked for another hour, chopping at the saplings and
scooping out dirt.

“That’s good enough. Let’s go get something to drink,” Jason said.

 Jason opened the trunk and threw in the hatchet and shovels then they
all piled into the ’87 Chevrolet clunker. Jason cursed when the key turned and
the car didn’t start. He jumped out, opened the hood, and beat on the battery
connections with the hatchet. “Try it now.”

The motor turned a few times then sputtered to life. Jason cursed again and
sat back behind the wheel.

The boys drove down the dirt road to the blacktop and headed farther from
town, toward Nate’s Grocery.

 Nate groaned when he saw who entered.

 Jason glared at the old man when he passed the register and headed for
the cooler. He grabbed two twelve packs of Old Milwaukee bottles and set them
on the counter.

“I.D.,” Nate said though he knew it was useless.

  “Why you go through this every time, old man,” Jason said.

“ ‘Cause the law says I got to,” Nate replied, anger and frustration
fighting for room in his eyes.

“Which one you think you’re likely to have the most trouble from, me or
the law?”

Nate sighed and rang up the beer. “Nineteen twenty-one.”

Jason flung a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change . . . since you
were so nice about it. Put it in a bag. Don’t want it gettin’ hot before I
drink it all.”

The boys went back to the cemetery to drink the beer and finish up.

They hid the Chevy, and, now, darkness covered any signs of what the boys
had done Saturday afternoon. They sat in the middle of the cemetery among the
pines trees and brush, drinking more beer from a return trip to Nate’s. Empty
cans and cigarette butts littered the ground. They talked and teased each other
until headlights swept across the graveyard.

 They waited 10 minutes then Jason said, “Okay, Chuck, go to that grave
with the angel. You’re gonna have to cross the road here and sneak down so they
can’t see you. Be quiet now.”

 “Oh, crap. Don’t worry ‘bout that. They’re probably so hugged up, they
couldn’t hear a bulldozer coming through,” Chuck said and laughed.

Jason thumped Chuck’s head with a knuckle. “Just be careful and don’t
ruin it. This is gonna be a hoot. You got the flashlight?”

“Yeah, I got it. Okay, I’m gone.” Chuck pushed through the bushes,
walking carefully to avoid stepping on dry sticks. He bent low when he crossed
the road even though he was not in view of the car, which was parked farther
up.

Chuck stepped among the graves and entered the woods on the other side,
just inside the tree line. He worked his way toward the car until he saw the
tombstone with the angel. He dropped to his stomach and slithered over the
ground till he came to the grave then lowered himself in and positioned himself
so his face could be seen when he raised up.

The parked car was swaying back and forth when the couple inside heard
the first sound.

“Hooooo, hoooooooooo.”

The girl pushed her partner up. “What in the world is that? Did you hear it?”

“Oh, just some critter, an owl maybe; come on.”

“Hoooooooooooooooooooo.” The sound was louder now.

The young man jumped up and wiped off the condensation on the window. “I
don’t see anything.”

“Well, you heard it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I heard something . . . but it’s probably nothing.”

“I don’t know. We are in a graveyard, you know,” the girl replied.

“So what. There’s nobody else here. That’s why
we’re
here,
remember?”

“Hooooooooooooo, hooooooooooooo, Whooooooooo’s innnnn here wid
meeeeeeeeee?”

The young lady pushed her amorous lover off and pulled up her
undergarments. “Get your butt up and get us outta here.”

They collided trying to climb over the back of the seat.

“I can’t see. Wipe off the window,” he said as he fumbled for the keys.

The girl snatched a roll of paper towels from the floorboard and frantically
wiped the windshield.”

 “Hooooooooooooooooooooo,” came a moan from just ahead.

The couple looked toward the sound, and the young man turned the key.

“Hooooooooooooooo, hoooooooooo.” A pale face rose slowly from the grave.

The girl screamed.

The car lurched forward.

“Hoooooooooooooooooo, . . . you arrrrrrr mine now. You can’t get
awaaaaaaaaaaay.”

A tree fell across their path, and the light inside the grave grew
brighter. An eerie hand pointed straight at them.

“Ha, ha, ha,” the voice cackled, “yessssss, staaaay with meeeeeeeeeeeee.”

“To hell with this,” said the young man. He gunned the car and rammed the
tree, pushing it in front of the car.

Bam
. The car slammed into another pine tree bordering the road,
slowing only briefly as the tree broke in half and crashed onto the roof. The tires
bounced onto the hardtop road outside the cemetery and skidded sideways before
straightening and roaring off, leaving the top half of the broken pine far
behind.

 Chuck jumped up in time to see the car slam into the tree. He and Jason
embraced, then both doubled up laughing. Tim and Ricky joined them.

 “Did you hear her scream?” Jason howled, slapping Chuck on the back. “I
thought he was going to drive straight through the woods for a minute there.
You did great, man, great. Heck, you almost scared me. Hoooooooooo, hoooooooo,”
Jason cooed. “That was worth all the work. Come on, let’s get back in the
grove.”

“You little squirt, you did great too. Pushed that tree down at the
perfect time,” Jason told Tim.

Jason reached in the sack and pulled out a six-pack of beer. He gave one
to each of the others then opened one for himself and lit a cigarette.

“To the Graveyard Gang,” he said and banged his beer can against the
others in a toast then tilted it up and drained the can in long gulps.

Tim was glowing after Jason’s praise. “Reckon how long it’ll be before we
get another one?”

“Shouldn’t be long; it’s Saturday night,” Chuck said.

“Oh, y’all are real bad asses now, huh?” Jason said, with a look at the
others to let them know they weren’t as tough as him.

He smashed the beer can against his forehead, bending it in half. “Let’s
see you do that, Rickey.”

“No, thanks. I know I can’t do it.”

“How ‘bout you, Chuck, Tim?”

Chuck took a couple of swallows to finish the beer and slammed the beer
can against his forehead. It bent a little, which drew laughter from Jason.
Chuck smashed it harder, cutting his head in the process, but the can did bend
all the way.

“That’s the way, brother. You’re getting there, dude,” Jason said, reached
down and popped another beer.

“Hey. Here comes another car now,” Jason said and chugged the beer.

“Get ready, Chuck.”

Chuck grabbed the flashlight, and they all crouched low as the car glided
a quarter way around the loop and stopped.

“They can’t see you from that same grave. You’ll have to work your way
around to another one,” Jason said.

“No problem,” Chuck replied confidently.

“There’s a cut tree close to the car. I’ll take that one, and you and Tim
take these other two. When they take off, y’all let go. We’ll give them a
reeeeal scare,” Jason said and chuckled.

Chuck once again ducked low and crept across the dirt road. He worked
through the tree line and underbrush, found the grave they’d dug out and scooted
in.

He waited a few minutes, then began moaning. “Hoooooooooo,
hoooooooooooo.”
Thirty seconds passed, and Chuck called out in a haunting wail, “Whooooo’s
therrrrrrrre, hoooooooooooooooooo?”

Chuck turned the flashlight on and slowly raised his torso, cupping the
flashlight so that the light shined dimly from chin to forehead, making his
features appear grotesque.

As soon as Chuck began moaning the second time, Jason let go of his tree.
Instead of crashing in front of the car, it crashed on the hood.

The car’s headlights came on, and the driver’s door opened. A tall man
with a strong angular face and jet-black hair combed straight back stepped out.
Jason recognized the broad-shouldered, slim willowy body at once. Nobody else
in the Benton area was built quite like this man, and, when he walked, he moved
in a smooth motion as if he were wearing skates. People called him “Slink.”

The beer in Jason’s stomach now felt like a rock. His hands were the
first to tremble, then his entire body shook.

The man pushed the tree off his car and straightened the bent radio
antennae, which hung precariously over the hood. He took a deep drag on his
cigarette, leaned against the car, and crossed his legs. The black tee shirt
and blue jeans contrasted with the red paint of the immaculately restored 1966
Plymouth Barracuda. He smoked casually on the cigarette for a few moments then
opened the car door and took the keys from the ignition, walked to the trunk
and unlocked it. He leaned into the trunk and pulled out a blanket-wrapped bundle
then closed the lid.

Slink walked back to the side of the car, and the blanket dropped.

Boom, boom, boom shattered the quiet of the night air as the sawed-off
shotgun blasted the pine grove with buckshot, Slink pumping the shells into the
chamber in practiced motion that took less than three seconds. Tree limbs
crashed through the grove, ripped apart by the balls of lead.

“Y’all come on out from there, or I’ll come in after you,” he said in a
loud voice but not shouting.

The night seemed suddenly still.

“Not gonna tell ya’ again.”

“Slink,” a voice called out from the grove, quivering so much it was hard
to discern the simple word.

“We didn’t know it was you, I swear,” the quivering voice managed to say.

“Please don’t shoot us, p l e a s e. I’ll fix it. I’ll paint it if the
paint’s scratched. I’ll wash it even,” the voice pleaded.

The latter plea brought a little smile to Slink’s lips.

“Git your asses out here; all of ya’,” he said. “Right now.”

Bushes and small trees rustled as Jason, Tim, and Ricky stepped from the
grove.

Jason began pleading. “Please, Slink, we was just cuttin’ up. Havin’ some
fun. We didn’t know it was you; I swear. I swear.”

“Where’s the other one. This all of ya’?”

Jason bit his lip for a long second. “C’mon out, Chuck,” he yelled.

Chuck pushed himself out of the grave and dusted off the dirt as he
walked to the car. He kept his eyes on his pants as he continued dusting
himself off, afraid to look up.

Slink eased his long frame down, picked up the blanket and laid it on the
hood all in one fluid motion, then, before any of the boys had time to react,
Slink broke off the bent antennae and began beating them with it.

He took one swipe at Tim, Chuck, and Rickey then concentrated on Jason. The
antennae swooshed through the air, again and again.

Jason went to his knees at the first blow, screaming with pain, covering
his head with his arms. He twisted and rolled on the ground as the antennae
whipped into his back and sides.