“We were just following orders! It was never personal. Please… just think…about this!! YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE!”
“Naw, the only folks that made a mistake tonight, was you and your friend there, when you decided to come after the King of Portland. We don’t play here in the ’Ville. Ain’t no Clyde pullin’ your puppet strings. The man who sent you is named Cymone. I saw your face when I said his name aloud. Your eyes told the truth, while your mouth bought you and your friend here some front-row tickets to the pyro-inferno show. That’s another word for firestarter in case you’re slow on the drawl.”
“I don’t know a Cymone! God! PLEASE!”
“Chestnuuuuts roasting on an open fire… Jack Frost nippin’ at your nose,” he sang. “Well, it’s been real nice chattin’ with you tonight, sir. May the flames hit you, where the devil split you.”
Axel took a few steps back, lit his cigarette, and puffed on it good. The man was yelling and pleading now, his voice carrying, but they were in the middle of nowhere. There would be no help for him or his friend dying in the back. Not now. Not ever.
“Okay! Okay! I lied! I’m sorry! His name is Cymone Louis! He woulda killed me, man! You have to understand! … AHHHH! AHHHH!!!”
Axel flicked his cigarette and enjoyed how the flames shot up like an orange rocket, bursting and crackling. The blood curdling screams went on for quite a while, and then… they subsided. Quiet. He watched for a spell as the men practically melted like candlewax. Smelling the commencement stench of burning flesh, he turned and walked away. He got in his truck, and made his way off the dark back road, heading to the main drag that was dimly lit from one street light post.
“Siri, call Donnie at the body auto shop.”
Donnie was a friend of his who worked on all of his trucks, cars, and motorcycles. King of the Dings.
“Calling… Donnie’s Auto Repair and Bodyshop…”
“Yello… This is Donnie.”
“Donnie, it’s Axel. I know you close in ’bout ten minutes, but my truck got all shot up from some damn kids shootin’ bottles nearby. Can you take care of it for me in the next day or two? I can drop it off tonight.”
“Damn you, Axel. Why would you wait until I’m almost out the door? How far away are ya?”
“’Bout twenty-five minutes. I’ll pay you a bit extra if you stay and take her in out of the cold. I don’t want her parked on the street. She’s too pretty.”
“You son of a bitch. Donna made lasagna tonight. She’s going to think I’m foolin’ around on her again on account of you… All right, man. Bring ’er in.”
“Comin’ through…”
He ended the call, turned on the radio, and tapped his fingers along the steering wheel to the sounds of ‘Fall In Love,’ by Bailey Zimmerman.
Chapter Fifteen
“You ain’t ever been out to a holler before? Really? Not even when you traveled to Tennessee or Virginia?”
“Not that I remember. It’s remote. I’m not really a nature person. It’s pretty though. Why is this lane so narrow?”
All he could do was laugh at that. English was sitting with her hands pressed against her body like a baby Tyrannosaurus Rex. Totally uptight. At least, she was trying to relax and live in the moment.
“They’re designed that way. This was coal mining land. A holler, or cove as the stuck-up folks call it, ain’t nothin’ but a narrow creek valley ’tween hills or mountains.”
“I know what a holler is, Axel.” She rolled her eyes, as if annoyed. “I’m from here, too. I’m not from L.A. or Paris. Just as country as you.”
“Then why did you ask why the road was so narrow? Did you expect it to be a six-lane highway with a roundabout in the middle of a bustling metropolis? Ask stupid questions, get simpleton answers.”
“You make me so sick!” She cackled.
“Way back then, people lived around here. Some still do, but the population has thinned a lot since the mines shut down.”
“Axel, slow down. You’re taking these curves too fast.”
“Is it me behind the wheel or you?” he asked sarcastically. “You got a big ass, but it ain’t big enough to sit in both of these seats.”
“Don’t sit there gettin’ smart.”
“You prefer I stand up? ’Cause either way, you know by now this is how I am, and this is the response you’re going to get. Now settle down, Miss Daisy. I’m doing the driving.”
“You about to find yourself tossed out that mothafuckin’ window like a used tissue, talkin’ to me like that! Then we’ll hear a real holler!”
He burst out laughing, despite her now looking mad as hell.
“All I’m saying is ants don’t tell bees how to make honey. I’ve been comin’ ’round here my whole life. I could drive these roads in the dark. No headlights. Blindfolded.”