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Under his breath, Benny said, "Speak of the devil and doth she appear."
"Going for a ride, Benny?"
She saw the guilt flash across his face. It was funny, but somehow she doubted he had taken anything.
"Well, you have a nice ride. Ron said to say hey." Ron was not going to like her allowing the boy to leave. How could she keep him here? Ron was the only reason Benny wasn't caged in the hoosgow on murder charges and they both knew it. If he left they'd track him down, and God knows what then.
"Oh, before you leave, could you please help me with these sacks of groceries? The people down at the Piggly Wiggly had my order all ready." She smiled, willing him not to go. The compulsion to obey jolted him.
Smiling, even when you hurt, was a hard-taught lesson from the Manse. Yes, ma'am. Will do, ma'am. I am the perfect teen-age boy, ma'am. Want to see me throw a ball or wear my football uniform, ma'am? Yes, ma'am, I really am yours for the night.
He dragged his bum leg over the saddle. Millie's head tipped.
"Thank you."
He grunted an affirmative. There were only two net sacks. He grabbed them, shaking his head when Millie reached for one.
Once in the kitchen fear and guilt overrode the compulsion.
"I . . . I'll s-see you later, ma'am." Closing his eyes, Benny winced and rubbed at the cold bite of shame in his chest. "I mean, Mrs. Donnelly. That OK with you?"
"Alright, Benny," she said, putting away the groceries. Millie hid the worry in her eyes. If he left, the DA would use it to make a jury believe he was guilty. "You . . . take care. We're expecting a bad sleet storm. It could start any time now."
Millie started humming a prayer. The door bumped shut and she sighed. He was leaving and she couldn't stop him. Benny didn't - wouldn't - take charity. Not many men like him left in the world. Not many men, period. And maybe there never had been. Not men with pride, real pride, not the arrogant, childish temper tantrums so many fools confused with pride. In that respect Benny was like a young stallion. Pride was important to him.
"Oh!" Millie's eyes lit. She threw open the door. "Benny? When you get back, I've a little job for you."
"Huh? I mean, ma'am. Mrs. Donnelly." He leaned over the gas tank.
She smiled, folding her hands in a thankful prayer.
"Well, with Ron laid up and all, I think we need to hire someone familiar with a farm. Are you?"
"Yeah," he said, cautious, "Kind o', Mrs. Donnelly."
Thank heaven for intuition. And a quick snoop through the Sheriff's computer files. Millie sighed in relief and suppressed a broad grin.
"Don't be long, Benny. I'm making buffalo wings. Seeing how Ron isn't here, I don't have to watch my calories." She patted her stomach. "For the life of me, I could never figure out why buffaloes have wings." She quipped, "They're too heavy to fly."
Eye on the rain-spotted headlamp, Benny nodded. He kicked the starter and tapped the
Uohali-Red Sun into first, careful not to disturb the oyster shell gravel too much. The open highway beckoned . . . wild geese called softly.
Benny took a right and headed north, away from Moyock, leaning into the wind, picking up speed. Freedom to follow the North Star. Follow the soft call of wild geese to freedom.
She needed him. It was plain in her voice, her stance, no matter how she tried to hide it. But he was the one wanted for murdering the Longs. The dark compulsion learned at the hands of callous, indifferent people slowed the Uohali. Cursing himself and railing at Millie, Benny looped around and headed back to the farm. The distant bark of wild geese faded and died. The sounds of freedom whispered softly before they were choked off by a sob in Benny's chest.
Millie left the garage door up. Benny clenched his teeth and shoved the big 'Sun into the garage. She had known, hoped, anyway, he would come back. The Uohali was covered with a tarp. He gave it a resigned pat before yielding to the inevitable. He would miss the old 'Sun when they arrested him. Maybe Mrs. Donnelly's kid, Boone would get it. Cops didn't waste anything much. The Eagle-Woman knows, Mom wouldn't want it. Not a 'Sun.
Relief strong in her eyes, Millie smiled a shade too brightly.
"The weather run you in already?"
Benny shrugged off his jacket. "Yeah. Kind o'."
"Go lay down for a few hours, Benny. You couldn't have gotten much rest today."
"I . . . ." He nodded, dragging off the boots and the ruined socks. Benny lay them near the kitchen's fireplace.
"Up the stairs, first door to the left," she said, already washing the wings.
Feet like lead, Benny padded up the stairs and into the bedroom.
"Urk."
He made a grimace of disgust. Boone's room. From the looks of things, the dude was a real (And now, class, what's another word for jerk?) foot ball he-ro. That slut, Angie O'Brian, her scuds boyfriend was a jock. Donald. Benny owed Donald for that time him and his buds pounded him senseless at Crestwood High. And for what? For letting the slut use and abuse him and not putting up with her crap. That, more than anything, taught him a good lesson. Angie wasn't much of a lay, not that he recalled a lot about her days as a buffalo gal. Both of them had been higher than kites and aching by the time old man Ryan had paid him off with Angie.
He glanced over the trophies and banners on the walls. His gaze came to rest on the bed.
It wasn't much to look at. A single, with one of those cheap maple headboards.
The bed told him as much about Ron as the trophies did about Boone. Nobody would make their kid sleep in a bed like that if they were meat-eaters, taking gelt on the sly. Now he knew he was on the dirty end of the stick. Crooked cops he had dealt with before, and that type doesn't like the spotlight. Honest ones were the heroes. Cops like Ron did the job out of a feeling for mankind and for the glory. They craved it.
With a soured eye he stared at the bed, liking it and the setup here less and less as minutes passed in dead silence. The ever-present sound of wild geese crashed in on him, their lonely cries pleading with Benny to leave, now, while he still had his freedom.
Benny shook his head. No way the compulsion would allow it. Not so long as Millie needed him.
Hey, red-nigger boy, . . . get your ass to the room, boy . . .
He eyed the bed. Gross. No way he was sleeping there. Too many beds. Months in a hospital bed. Before that, months in a prison hospital bed, fighting off an infection caused by Raleigh's unsanitary clinic in the Manse. Before that, 'working' for the Project. And before that, 'Spider' Ryan's parties. Geezis, all those old ladies and their weird appetites.
Get in here or I'll make a complaint do it anyway or your family will suffer because of you want to see your cousins in here with you.
Working for the Project. Man, but he had gotten so grossed-out over what he had to do, he was taking the women any-dammed-where but bed. Anywhere but his whoring bed.
Gigolo. Red-nigger boy. Whore. Hey boy come lay with me I paid a lot of money to use you this week-end boy.
"Carl, huh." Benny hid a grin. Carl always got the best and the worst at those parties. Leda had them both so doped up, who cared? But man, don't even think about asking Carl what happened. His fists would be in the only thing you saw.
No? Then wise up injun and fly right or else.
All his fault.
Friggin Chillin McAvoy, Rest In Hell, wherever you may be.
What would Carl do? Say to hell with it and get drunk. With an angry rasp of sound, Benny yanked the covers from the bed and onto the floor. He was under a roof, so he stripped, hiding his wallet under the mattress. Benny rolled up in a soft cocoon, sleeping in a light, fitful doze for several hours.
'Sue?'
Benny walked into the icy fog. At a warped green door he turned in and gagged at the blood and raw flesh on the girl's back. 'Sue?'
'Please, Benny. Help me.'
She was dying by slow inches and he was helpless to save her.
'Please, Benny. Oh, God, help me. Let me die.'
The slender, frail man laying on the girl looked up, shreds of skin between blood reddened teeth.
'Hello, Benny. Remember me? Judge Harrison. I loved you, Benny, at the Manse, but that bitch VanTur wouldn't let me. I still want you. I will have you.'
Harrison pulled Benny down, pressing his lips to Benny's. He sucked Benny's tongue into his mouth and fondled Benny's gentiles. Raw blood was a sour layer of hate in his mouth.
'Love me, nigger boy. Love me or I'll make you sorry. Please, just love me.'
Sirens wailed through the room. Blue lights flashed, shouted demands bellowed in the hoarse rasp of bullhorns.
A scream trapped behind clenched teeth and a bleeding tongue, Benny snapped out of the tangled covers. Cops. Downstairs. Warrants and agents fresh from Washington.
Come home, Benny . . . please come home
"Supper's done, Benny. Come and get it or I'll feed it to the cats."
A bitter wind sent knives of sleet hissing at the windows.
He fixed the bed with a military precision learned at the Manse and pounded down the stairs. Yo, but it was dark out.
Millie's smile greeted him. Benny smelled a sharp tang. He swallowed hard, his eye on the stove.
"Sit," she told him. "I'll get you a cup of Louisiana's favorite mud."
Benny grabbed a chair and feasted his eye on a platter of red-hot wings piled high enough to feed his old platoon. Curls of steam smoked up from them. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Benny wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand.
"Well," she said, placing a cup near his place, her eyes gleaming pure mischief, "I see I made enough for myself, but what ever am I going to feed you?"
"Mrs. Donnelly, that joke is as old as the crust in your underw - The bones, ma'am," he said, hoarse and blushing. "I'll lick off the plates."
An hour later Benny leaned back in the chair and belched. Face darkening, he covered his mouth. "'Scuse me."
Not glancing up from her last wing, Millie laughed. "Not bad manners, just good food." She smiled at the pile of bones on his plate. "I take it you enjoy my cooking?"
His head bobbed and Benny smiled back.
The phone jangled them out of their laughter. Fearing the worse, Millie leaped at the phone. Only Benny's quick grab saved her chair from clattering to the floor.
"Yes?"
Millie clutched the phone and shook in relief.
One hand over her eyes, Millie said, "No, no. It's all right. I'll be fine, Deputy. Yes, he's here, thank God. Yes, I'll be sure to tell Ron." Blasted wanted posters. She was so certain she had trashed the only one. Only fresh at being a sergeant, Johnny Lyndon was already bucking for a higher office.
Millie pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it, her expression puzzled.
"That Lyndon boy had best give up his infernal chew. He won't be able to make it over. He isn't feeling well, something about his tobacco making him ill." Millie frowned. "You know," she said more to herself than Benny, "I . . . won't swear to it, but I think I heard him swallow it just now." Still softer, she muttered, "Then this bullish voice crying out in pain, No, Ma. Don't. It hurts, Ma." Very gently, she replaced the receiver in its cradle and turned a stern eye to look at a choking Benny.
"Benny, do you know how to milk a cow?"
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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