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Sweet-Bottom screamed, her nails ripped through his
T-shirt and the skin on his chest. A car door slammed shut. Benny pulled back.
Dammit. He pulled up his pants. "Sweet-Bottom, freekin-A, lady." He
jerked her pants up and fastened them.
Bellowing loud enough to frighten the dammed, Boone
roared into the kitchen.
"What the hell did you do to my sister?"
Benny calmly finished straightening his clothing, then
hefted a limp Sweet-Bottom in his arms. Benny's face grew smug.
"She fainted."
John's mouth dropped open.
Bustling into the kitchen, Millie scowled. She glanced
at the protective way Benny was holding Terry Marie. The air was filled with the
scent of good things to eat. And a darker odor that belonged in the bedroom.
"Benny, Ron asks you to stay. Just a little
longer, please?" Millie grinned. "He also said if you're fooling
around with Terry Marie, he was going to shoot your . . . your manhood
off."
The young man blanched and almost dropped her
daughter.
Deep under the Pentagon, Cindy watched the circle of
miles tighten. Moyock? No, Benny was too smart to stay in town. Somewhere in
that shrinking light was her property. Charming Mike Donnelly would trap it for
her.
He probably had a dozen women by this time, hopefully
all of them were swelling with child. Cindy closed her eyes. The Cuban American
had tried to kill herself. A raven, of all things, had punched the alarm.
Perhaps the ugly birds had a use after all. If they could only be induced to
ferret out the women. It was a possibility that they could be used, but not even
the Boss would approve using agents to pinpoint gatherings of ravens.
She glanced in a mirror. Remarks on her beauty were
plentiful and true. Cindy VanTur smiled an unpretty smile.
A raven hissed from the gum trees. He cocked his head
and swooped down to investigate the bowl of skim buttermilk on the porch.
The man there smiled and offered him the sign of the
Eagle-Woman, the Tsi:Yu. Benny blew across the tip of his crossed fingers
and held them up to the raven.
It strutted over the shining boards of the porch as if
it owned the place. A second joined him, then another.
Benny rolled a smoke and watched the large handsome
birds squabble over the milk. That done, they dipped polished beaks in and
tipped back their glossy heads to drink.
He blew a puff of smoke at the sun. Not a real
offering, more like an afterthought, a sort of belated thank you. A jay dropped
to the porch rail and cocked his head at Benny. The ravens eyed it with cold
beady eyes and drank a little faster.
"Dohi:yi, already."
They all looked at Benny. He nodded at the bird. The
blue jay hopped down to the bowl and shouldered his way in.
More birds gathered and the bowl rapidly emptied.
Benny reached down and took the bowl. They moved to
the porch rail with a gentle flutter of wings. Benny scattered a sack of cracked
corn over the melting snow of the lawn. From the woods a turkey gobbled and
peered through freshly whitewashed fence rails of the pasture, his eyes both
suspicious and greedy.
The birds lunged after the corn. It was too much for
him and he joined them. Humpty Dumpty among the peasants.
"Are they tame?"
Benny looked down into a pair of wide blue eyes filled
with the wonder of magic.
He shook his head. "Nah. You can't tame the wild
things, little bro." The 'wolf' in his well-filled stomach rumbled
sleepily. A wry smile came onto Benny's lips. "Well, maybe not all
things."
"If they ain't- Aren't, tamed, then how'd jaw do
it?"
Benny glanced from the child to the adults all
standing by the doorway.
He grinned at Terry Marie. She scowled back and
blushed a hot pink under her tan. There, was another kind of magic.
No fear or disgust shown in the boy's eyes at the
bitter scars that marred his face. Adults could take lessons in humanity from
kids. Benny squatted and gravely offered his hand.
"I'm Benny."
The child grinned, took the hand and pumped it. Trying
to match Benny's solemn tones, the child said, "I'm Little John. I was
named for my dad. He's an editor."
"Yeah. You like to ride horses?"
The child brightened. He glanced around. "Can I,
Dad?'
John put his pipe in his mouth and lit it. "Not
up to me, Buddy. You go ask your mom."
Little John's face fell.
"Want me to ask her?" Benny said to John,
his eye innocent and guiless. Sweet-Bottom snarled at Benny's smirk and clenched
her fists. John stiffened. He scowled at Benny through a wispy could of
blue-gray smoke.
"Yo, maybe you can help me feed them. OK with
that, bro?"
A slow smile appeared and he hugged Benny.
Millie threw Benny a mischievous glance. "Better
let it wait just a bit. We're going to pick up Ron in an hour. Hear that,
sport?" she said to Little John. "None of your shenanigans. I want you
clean as a whistle."
The boy frowned and scuffed at the porch with his shoe.
"Oh, shoot." Benny yanked Sweet-Bottom from
the floor of the coach-house's tack room. "Your dad-"
"Oh lordy, no." Frantic, they raced to
dress. Slapping at pieces of bright straw, Terry Marie groaned.
"Let me use your bandanna."
"What?"
She hissed at him. "I don't have any tissues to
clean myself."
"So?" He was up now and stamping on his
boots. "Hurry up, durn it. You want him to shoot my pecker off? He already
threatened."
"Daddy wouldn't- And how dare you? A woman isn't
like a man. If I don't I could get sick or nasty."
Benny growled wordlessly. He looked around. One of a
dozen or so barn cats curled around Benny's ankles.
He snatched it up and scrubbed its back over her.
Terry Marie giggled wildly and clung to his shoulders. "What's so
funny?" he snapped.
"It tickles." She bit her lower lip to stop
it, but the laughter kept bubbling out. "Maybe Daddy should shoot you. If
he sees what you're doing now he will."
Benny glared up at her and felt moisture on the floor
under his feet. "Chrisake, no." A wide puddle caught his eye. He took
the abused cat and mopped vigorously until it was only a damp spot.
"Phew." He tossed the cat away and fumbled with the buttons on his
jeans.
The door slammed open and they jumped apart.
"Ron my man. What's up, ol' buddy?"
Suspicious, Ron gave them a wary look. He took Benny's
hand, and shook it, trying to see any sign of guilt in that bland, smiling face.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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