Chapter 4. The Rest of the Plan (part 3)
Here is the final part of Chapter 4. Hopefully you've found this interesting enough to continue reading. To go to the last entry, click this link Chapter 4. The Rest of the Plan (part 2). To start at the beginning, click this link, Chapter 1. How Things Came to Be.
Thursday morning I was standing at the end of the drive way at 7:15. I knew good and well that Johnny wasn’t showing up. He’s probably laid up somewhere with a hangover or still drunk. When he hadn’t showed up by 8:30, I gave up on him and went back in the house. Luckily, Mama and Mama Pope were going to take care of some business this morning and she had already left. I went to my room and laid across my bed and before I knew it, I was sound asleep. About 9:30 I was awakened by somebody in the driveway just sitting down on their dad gum horn. I went to the kitchen and looked out the window and saw Johnny’s truck starting to back up the drive. I ran out, jumped off the porch and flagged him down waving my sack lunch.
“Boy, you gonna work today or not?” Johnny smiled as he flicked his cigarette butt out in the yard. I ran around and jumped in next to Barton. I remembered that I had to hold the door closed.
“How’s it going Barton?” He just sat there and acted like I didn’t even exist. “I ‘bout gave up on y’all,” I leaned forward and looked at Johnny who was opening a fresh pack of Picayune cigarettes. The cab of the truck wreaked of whiskey and cigarettes so much I thought about farting just to balance it out. Barton’s eyes looked like they were about ready to start bleeding.
“Yeah, we were running a little late this morning,” Johnny lit the first cigarette out of the pack.
“Rough night last night?” I asked. Barton looked at me with his big ol’ bloodshot eyes and it made me think about a horned toad shooting blood from its eyes. “Barton, I bet if you squinted real hard you could shoot blood out of your eyes like a horned toad.”
“I bet I could squeeze some blood out of yours if I wanted, no?”
“Oh, lightin’ up Barton. The boy’s right. Your eyes look like two slices of country cured ham.”
“Sorry, Barton. I was just kidding.”
“You don’t pay my troubles no mind, boy.”
“Okay Barton. That’s enough,” the smile was gone from Johnny’s face. “I don’t feel like a bunch of crap this morning, so just calm your coon-ass self down, got it?”
I sat silent for the rest of the ride to the gin. When we got there, I got out, got a bucket of paint, grabbed the roller I was using yesterday and walked toward the gin. I figured I would stay to myself today so as to not upset Barton any more. The last thing I needed was to get beat-up by some Dago sot.
When noon time finally rolled around I tried to stay away from Barton, but for some reason, he decided he wanted to come over and start some mess.
“Hey little boy! You think you be better than everybody, no? Well you get up from that bucket and I’ll show you something.”
“Come on, man. I don’t want to fight you. All I want to do is sit here and eat my lunch.”
“You better stand up or I’ll kick you ass settin’ right there.” The second I stood up, Barton knocked my sandwich out of my hand onto the ground. I looked down at it just as he covered it with his nasty boot and ground it into the dirt. I bit my lip a little and sat back down on the paint bucket. Two seconds later, Barton kicked the bucket out from under me and sent me sprawling across the ground. I scurried to get up, but he kicked me over before I could get to my feet. I was getting so mad I knew I was about to go berserk. That Pope temper was beginning to take over my mind. It just began to envelop my brain like a tow sack and I knew if it did, I might not live to regret it. I jumped up and grabbed my paint roller to use as a weapon. Barton’s nostrils were flared like a bull as he started to take on a wrestler stance. He was hunkering down and moving his hands around like he was fixing to put me in a headlock or something. I was trying to figure out what I was going to do with the paint roller when I heard Johnny start yelling.
“Barton! What in hell are you doing?”
Barton’s head spun around to look at Johnny and I saw my opening. I did my best underhand wind-up and smacked Barton right in the crotch with the blunt end of my wet paint roller. He let out a gasp then doubled over and hit the ground. Slowly rolling over he was holding his private area and starting to gag. Before long he was on his hands and knees puking his brains out. From the backside view that I had, you could see a big smear of silver paint right in the groin area. Johnny stood there shaking his head.
“Barton, what in hell were you trying to do? Coy, I’m sorry. He was drunk out of his mind last night and I guess he ain’t over it yet. Barton, I hope this teaches you a lesson.”
“What’s he comin at me for? I didn’t do nothing to him!”
“He’s an idiot, Coy. When he gets drunk he’s just an idiot. That’s all I can say. Barton, you’re going to apologize for all this crap or I’m gonna kick your ass myself.”
“Apologize? Why hell naw! That boy he thinks he better than everybody else.” Barton was getting back up on his feet and wiping the vomit off of his face with his shirt tail.
“I don’t think I’m better than anybody!” This guy was out of his mind. I had known him for two days and said about ten words to him and he thinks he knows me.
“Barton, where in hell did you get an idea like that? Coy here ain’t done nothing to you. All he had done is work like he was supposed to.”
“Okay, Johnny boy. You think what you want but I tell you he’s gonna be trouble. Mark my word.”
“Barton, I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about, but we need to get back to work. I don’t have time for this kind of crap so you go back over there and start painting. Coy, you come with me. BARTON, get back to work, dammit!” Barton was mumbling as he walked back around the side of the gin.
“Johnny, why is he starting a fight with me? I haven’t done anything!”
“Oh, some fellow told him that he better watch you because you were trouble or some such crap.”
“Watch me? Who said that? Watch me for what?”
“I don’t have a clue. He just said this guy told him to keep an eye on you. I told him he was crazy, that I’d known your Daddy for umpteen dozen years and you were good folk.”
“I want to know who it was. Who said to watch me?”
“Just some other nut. Look here, you want a sandwich?” Johnny opened the door of the truck and offered me a store bought sandwich out of his lunchbox.
“No...no, thank you. I’m fine. Kinda lost my appetite.”
“Tell you what, I’m gonna let Barton have a few days off to get his head straight. You tell your cousin Durwood if he wants to work some, be ready in the morning.”
“All right. He’ll do it, I’m sure.”
“Can I pick you both up at your house?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him to come over. We’ll be there. Seven o’clock?”
“Seven o’clock. Don’t say anything to Barton. I’ll take care of him after I let you out this afternoon. Now let’s get back to paintin’. We are WAY behind schedule.”
I went back and picked up my roller and tried to knock some of the dirt off of it. It had pretty much dried by now, so I figured nobody would see a little dirt and grass way up on the roof and I went and climbed back up top and went to work where I had left off. I went through about ten gallons of paint by day’s end and was more than ready to get down when I noticed that my ladder had been moved.
“That’s real funny. Yeah, really funny. Hey... Hey Johnny! I need the ladder back so I can get down!” I saw Barton standing by the truck just looking up at me. It was pretty easy to guess who moved the ladder. I saw Johnny walk over to Barton and say something to him. When Johnny turned his back and was coming over my way Barton flipped him a bird.
“That’s about right!” I yelled from my perch, “Yeah Barton, Shoot him the bird!” Then Barton looked up and raised his finger toward me holding it high over his head. And with that, Barton started walking down the gravel drive out toward the main road. Johnny and I got all the stuff loaded into the truck and left out for home. We passed Barton a good ways down the road but Johnny never let up. I looked back and Barton was holding both hands up in the air, once again flipping us off. I looked over at Johnny and could tell he was still pretty mad. I couldn’t tell if he was just mad or maybe his feelings were a little hurt. From what I had picked up in the past couple of days, Barton had been working with him for about a year or so. It seemed odd that all this came out of the blue like it did. I say out of the blue, the way things had been going for me lately, nothing should seem odd or out of the blue. Every time I turned around, I was finding out everything was related.
“Johnny, you said somebody told Barton to watch me ‘cause I was trouble...who said that?”
“Some ol’ guy that runs with Barton...one of those Goat Run Fiveacres.”
“Well that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You know a Fiveacre killed my Grand Daddy?”
“Naw! You got to be kiddin! One of those Fiveacres?” Johnny seemed to be totally shocked.
“Yep. One of them Goat Run Fiveacres.”
“I knew they were a trashy bunch but I didn’t know they were murderers!”
“Well, kinda. Just take my word for it...you want to watch those Fiveacres!” I laughed, thinking of the irony of what I had just said. Johnny started smiling and even chuckled a little bit as we headed on home.
We stopped in front of my house and Johnny asked, “Reckon your cousin’s still interested in working with us tomorrow, seeing how we’re going to be short handed?”
“Yeah, but I warn you, Woody will want to know what he’s getting paid before he does a lick of work.”
“I’ll pay him the same thing I’m paying you. See y’all in the morning.”
I nodded my head, got out of the truck and started toward the house. As the old pickup spun its maypop tire hopping back up on the road, it dawned on me...I had never asked how much I was getting paid.
“Yep. You gotta watch me...not only am I trouble, but I drive a hard bargain, too.”
Thursday morning I was standing at the end of the drive way at 7:15. I knew good and well that Johnny wasn’t showing up. He’s probably laid up somewhere with a hangover or still drunk. When he hadn’t showed up by 8:30, I gave up on him and went back in the house. Luckily, Mama and Mama Pope were going to take care of some business this morning and she had already left. I went to my room and laid across my bed and before I knew it, I was sound asleep. About 9:30 I was awakened by somebody in the driveway just sitting down on their dad gum horn. I went to the kitchen and looked out the window and saw Johnny’s truck starting to back up the drive. I ran out, jumped off the porch and flagged him down waving my sack lunch.
“Boy, you gonna work today or not?” Johnny smiled as he flicked his cigarette butt out in the yard. I ran around and jumped in next to Barton. I remembered that I had to hold the door closed.
“How’s it going Barton?” He just sat there and acted like I didn’t even exist. “I ‘bout gave up on y’all,” I leaned forward and looked at Johnny who was opening a fresh pack of Picayune cigarettes. The cab of the truck wreaked of whiskey and cigarettes so much I thought about farting just to balance it out. Barton’s eyes looked like they were about ready to start bleeding.
“Yeah, we were running a little late this morning,” Johnny lit the first cigarette out of the pack.
“Rough night last night?” I asked. Barton looked at me with his big ol’ bloodshot eyes and it made me think about a horned toad shooting blood from its eyes. “Barton, I bet if you squinted real hard you could shoot blood out of your eyes like a horned toad.”
“I bet I could squeeze some blood out of yours if I wanted, no?”
“Oh, lightin’ up Barton. The boy’s right. Your eyes look like two slices of country cured ham.”
“Sorry, Barton. I was just kidding.”
“You don’t pay my troubles no mind, boy.”
“Okay Barton. That’s enough,” the smile was gone from Johnny’s face. “I don’t feel like a bunch of crap this morning, so just calm your coon-ass self down, got it?”
I sat silent for the rest of the ride to the gin. When we got there, I got out, got a bucket of paint, grabbed the roller I was using yesterday and walked toward the gin. I figured I would stay to myself today so as to not upset Barton any more. The last thing I needed was to get beat-up by some Dago sot.
When noon time finally rolled around I tried to stay away from Barton, but for some reason, he decided he wanted to come over and start some mess.
“Hey little boy! You think you be better than everybody, no? Well you get up from that bucket and I’ll show you something.”
“Come on, man. I don’t want to fight you. All I want to do is sit here and eat my lunch.”
“You better stand up or I’ll kick you ass settin’ right there.” The second I stood up, Barton knocked my sandwich out of my hand onto the ground. I looked down at it just as he covered it with his nasty boot and ground it into the dirt. I bit my lip a little and sat back down on the paint bucket. Two seconds later, Barton kicked the bucket out from under me and sent me sprawling across the ground. I scurried to get up, but he kicked me over before I could get to my feet. I was getting so mad I knew I was about to go berserk. That Pope temper was beginning to take over my mind. It just began to envelop my brain like a tow sack and I knew if it did, I might not live to regret it. I jumped up and grabbed my paint roller to use as a weapon. Barton’s nostrils were flared like a bull as he started to take on a wrestler stance. He was hunkering down and moving his hands around like he was fixing to put me in a headlock or something. I was trying to figure out what I was going to do with the paint roller when I heard Johnny start yelling.
“Barton! What in hell are you doing?”
Barton’s head spun around to look at Johnny and I saw my opening. I did my best underhand wind-up and smacked Barton right in the crotch with the blunt end of my wet paint roller. He let out a gasp then doubled over and hit the ground. Slowly rolling over he was holding his private area and starting to gag. Before long he was on his hands and knees puking his brains out. From the backside view that I had, you could see a big smear of silver paint right in the groin area. Johnny stood there shaking his head.
“Barton, what in hell were you trying to do? Coy, I’m sorry. He was drunk out of his mind last night and I guess he ain’t over it yet. Barton, I hope this teaches you a lesson.”
“What’s he comin at me for? I didn’t do nothing to him!”
“He’s an idiot, Coy. When he gets drunk he’s just an idiot. That’s all I can say. Barton, you’re going to apologize for all this crap or I’m gonna kick your ass myself.”
“Apologize? Why hell naw! That boy he thinks he better than everybody else.” Barton was getting back up on his feet and wiping the vomit off of his face with his shirt tail.
“I don’t think I’m better than anybody!” This guy was out of his mind. I had known him for two days and said about ten words to him and he thinks he knows me.
“Barton, where in hell did you get an idea like that? Coy here ain’t done nothing to you. All he had done is work like he was supposed to.”
“Okay, Johnny boy. You think what you want but I tell you he’s gonna be trouble. Mark my word.”
“Barton, I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about, but we need to get back to work. I don’t have time for this kind of crap so you go back over there and start painting. Coy, you come with me. BARTON, get back to work, dammit!” Barton was mumbling as he walked back around the side of the gin.
“Johnny, why is he starting a fight with me? I haven’t done anything!”
“Oh, some fellow told him that he better watch you because you were trouble or some such crap.”
“Watch me? Who said that? Watch me for what?”
“I don’t have a clue. He just said this guy told him to keep an eye on you. I told him he was crazy, that I’d known your Daddy for umpteen dozen years and you were good folk.”
“I want to know who it was. Who said to watch me?”
“Just some other nut. Look here, you want a sandwich?” Johnny opened the door of the truck and offered me a store bought sandwich out of his lunchbox.
“No...no, thank you. I’m fine. Kinda lost my appetite.”
“Tell you what, I’m gonna let Barton have a few days off to get his head straight. You tell your cousin Durwood if he wants to work some, be ready in the morning.”
“All right. He’ll do it, I’m sure.”
“Can I pick you both up at your house?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him to come over. We’ll be there. Seven o’clock?”
“Seven o’clock. Don’t say anything to Barton. I’ll take care of him after I let you out this afternoon. Now let’s get back to paintin’. We are WAY behind schedule.”
I went back and picked up my roller and tried to knock some of the dirt off of it. It had pretty much dried by now, so I figured nobody would see a little dirt and grass way up on the roof and I went and climbed back up top and went to work where I had left off. I went through about ten gallons of paint by day’s end and was more than ready to get down when I noticed that my ladder had been moved.
“That’s real funny. Yeah, really funny. Hey... Hey Johnny! I need the ladder back so I can get down!” I saw Barton standing by the truck just looking up at me. It was pretty easy to guess who moved the ladder. I saw Johnny walk over to Barton and say something to him. When Johnny turned his back and was coming over my way Barton flipped him a bird.
“That’s about right!” I yelled from my perch, “Yeah Barton, Shoot him the bird!” Then Barton looked up and raised his finger toward me holding it high over his head. And with that, Barton started walking down the gravel drive out toward the main road. Johnny and I got all the stuff loaded into the truck and left out for home. We passed Barton a good ways down the road but Johnny never let up. I looked back and Barton was holding both hands up in the air, once again flipping us off. I looked over at Johnny and could tell he was still pretty mad. I couldn’t tell if he was just mad or maybe his feelings were a little hurt. From what I had picked up in the past couple of days, Barton had been working with him for about a year or so. It seemed odd that all this came out of the blue like it did. I say out of the blue, the way things had been going for me lately, nothing should seem odd or out of the blue. Every time I turned around, I was finding out everything was related.
“Johnny, you said somebody told Barton to watch me ‘cause I was trouble...who said that?”
“Some ol’ guy that runs with Barton...one of those Goat Run Fiveacres.”
“Well that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You know a Fiveacre killed my Grand Daddy?”
“Naw! You got to be kiddin! One of those Fiveacres?” Johnny seemed to be totally shocked.
“Yep. One of them Goat Run Fiveacres.”
“I knew they were a trashy bunch but I didn’t know they were murderers!”
“Well, kinda. Just take my word for it...you want to watch those Fiveacres!” I laughed, thinking of the irony of what I had just said. Johnny started smiling and even chuckled a little bit as we headed on home.
We stopped in front of my house and Johnny asked, “Reckon your cousin’s still interested in working with us tomorrow, seeing how we’re going to be short handed?”
“Yeah, but I warn you, Woody will want to know what he’s getting paid before he does a lick of work.”
“I’ll pay him the same thing I’m paying you. See y’all in the morning.”
I nodded my head, got out of the truck and started toward the house. As the old pickup spun its maypop tire hopping back up on the road, it dawned on me...I had never asked how much I was getting paid.
“Yep. You gotta watch me...not only am I trouble, but I drive a hard bargain, too.”
Posted by TBF at 8/13/2009 6:48 PM 
Categories: Humor
Tags: fishing job fighting moonshine jump off bridge Johnny Cooper Hannon wreck Coy
Categories: Humor
Tags: fishing job fighting moonshine jump off bridge Johnny Cooper Hannon wreck Coy
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8/20/2009 8:46 PM
The Biting Fly wrote:
Some more from the continuing saga of Coy, Jr and Woody Povine ...
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