Pick o' the Day: Oh, Montana! (Chapter 6- The One That Took More'n a Year to Write)

     A surge of anxiety finger-walked its way up Hank Wendt's spine as he watched the driver's side door of the mysterious black car slowly open.  A moment later, a huge, hulking man in a full-length fur coat and matching fur cap rose up behind the door.  His face was partially concealed behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, but the part that wasn't was yellowish, and wrinkled, and ugly-looking.  The man glared in Hank's direction for a moment, then reached back into the car and pulled out what looked like an iron bar.  He then slammed the door shut, and leaning against it, gingerly sidestepped towards the rear until he could open the backseat door, from which he pulled out an aluminum walker.  This he set down in front of himself and used to move to the back of the car.  He then lowered the "cooter scooter" to the pavement, got onto it, and motored himself and his walker around the car to the front passenger door.  He then got off, opened the car door, and assisted an obviously elderly, yet equally as massive, grim-faced, and grizzled man get out and onto the scooter.  Both then started slowly making their way towards the front door of the donut shop.
     "Hank, look at me."  His father's face was serious now, but calm.  "What you see there is more than 600 pounds of trouble comin' for to get me.  Now, I don't think they know who you are, so you should be fine.  But they damn sure know who I am, so we're gonna have to get the hell outta here.  I'm gonna slip out the back of this place and sneak around to the car.  I want you to stall 'em for a few minutes to give me a good head start."
     Alarmed, Hank asked, "How'm I going to do that?"
     "I want you to tell 'em I'm in the john.  That should give me enough time.  And when you see me get into the car, you come a runnin', you hear?"  Le'von drained his coffee cup with one long, last gulp, wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve, let out a long, putrid-smelling belch, then took off like a jackrabbit into the kitchen area.  A moment later, the sound of a cowbell and a blast of cold air announced the opening of the front door, and in came the two menacing-looking man-mountains.
     First to enter was the scooter pilot, since the other was holding the door for him, and once they were both inside, they made a slow, methodical, and mechanical-sounding beeline for Hank, who was desperately trying to pretend not to notice them.  At last they loomed up beside him and stopped.
     "Can I help you?" asked Hank, looking up rather timidly.
     "Yeah," replied the one who was standing beside him with the crowbar in his hand.  "You can tell us where your friend is."
      "My friend?"
     "The guy you were talking to just a minute ago."
     "Oh, yeah.  That guy.  I think he went to the bathroom," lied Hank.  "I'm sure he'll be back in a minute or two.  If you want, I can go get him for you."  He started to get up out of his seat, but the enormous hand of the fur-coated man bore down on his shoulder and shoved him back into his seat.
     "Don't bother.  We got this."  The one in the scooter gunned it and made straight for the door to the men's room, with the other guy clunk-clunking behind him with the walker.  They both took up positions at the door.  At that moment, Hank's peripheral vision detected movement outside.  Trying not to turn his head, he saw that his father was moving stealthily to the driver's side door of the Pinto.  Hank looked at the man with the crowbar, who was now looking back at him, so he smiled and nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging way.  The man turned his gaze back to the men's room door.
     "BEEP!"  Hank exploded out of his seat when he heard the honk of the Pinto, and he dashed for the front door.  Once outside, he ran towards the car, and as he did so, he saw his father rolling his window down.
     "I'm gonna need a push again, dammit!" the old man shouted.  "Let's go!"
     Hank knew exactly what needed to be done.  He put all his weight into pushing on the front end of the car first in order to get it out into the parking lot.  He then ran to the back and gave every ounce of what he had left into getting the car moving forward.  Looking back to the donut shop, he saw that the two furious goons were struggling their way out the donut shop door as fast as they could.  Hank redoubled his efforts until he was running at a full trot.  His father popped the clutch, and the little car jolted to a start, then slowed, but didn't stop.  Hank ran to the the passenger side door of the moving car and jumped in.  Le'von floored it before he had a chance to shut the door, and Hank nearly fell back out, but a sharp right turn out into the main thoroughfare brought Hank back in and slammed it shut for him.
     "Hee-Heeeeeeeee!" the old man cackled as they accelerated away.  Hank's heart was pounding in his chest like a maniacal carpenter driving handfuls of 16 penny nails at break-neck speed into fresh-cut pine 2 by 4 studs with a framer's hatchet, both from the exertion of pushing the Pinto by himself as well as from the excitement of narrowly escaping two murderous (albeit severely disabled) and (no doubt) blood-thirsty thugs.  His saliva tasted like blood, and it was a full five minutes before he was able to catch his breath enough to speak again.
     "What in the name of heck is going on?" he gasped as soon as he could sputter some words out.  "Was that really Tony and Larry back there?"
     "You're dam straight it was," replied his dad, the smile disappearing from his lips.  "I told you they don't let up.  They never have, and they never will!"
     "But how many years have they been chasing you?"
     "I dunno.  I sorta lost count."
     Hank shifted his gaze out the car window.  The city had disappeared, and they were now driving through the countryside, passing field after barren field where corn had once grown.  "So where are we going to now?"  He hadn't been this far out of town in a long time, and a feeling of mild alarm began to grow in him.
     "Well, Hank," drawled Le'von, "You and me are gonna take a little road trip.  We gotta find out where your mom has gone off to.  You see, I figure she's got legal custody of you and the other kids, and, well, I'm sick and tired of bein' alone and all, and I figure she ain't gonna willingly share custody with me unless I can find a way to make it right with her, and I figure I got a better chance if I got you with me.  So, long story short, I'm abductin' you.  Hell, you're face might just end up on a milk carton at school, and you'll be famous!"
     "But Dad, I... I don't think you really have to 'abduct' me.  And I don't even go to school any more.  I'm fifty-four years old!"
     Le'von looked looked at him in surprise, and they almost went off the road.  "What'd you say?"
     "I'm fifty-four years old, for gosh sakes!  I haven't seen you for more'n 50 years!"
     Le'von looked upset.  "It ain't been that long, has it?  Well, I be go to hell!"
     They drove along in silence for a bit.  Hank couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something that was extremely important, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was.  And there was something about leaving his hometown that was making him feel sad, even though he was thrilled to be reunited with his father.  He finally spoke up again.  "So we're going to see mom?  Where is she?"
    "I don't rightly know myself," sighed Le'von.  "But I've got some clues.  I've been doin' some snoopin' around, and, though I don't exactly know where she's livin' right now, I do know where her sister Flower is.  She's up in Denver, and I got her address right here."  He patted his shirt pocket.  "I figure she'd know, seein' as how her and your mom was pretty close.  And if you're with me, I don't think she'll clam up about it, 'cause she'll probably feel bad for you, you bein' just a kid and all."   
     Hank could see that his father had it all figured out, and he looked genuinely earnest about  reuniting with his mother.  "I suppose you're right.  Aunt Flower will tell us, if she knows."  He sat back in his seat again and forced himself to try to relax.
     "Looks like we're bout sixty miles from 'Wacko', and then it'll be on to 'Fort Worthless' from there," his father observed as he lit up a Lucky Strike.  Out of consideration for his son, he cracked the window down about a half inch so the smoke could escape.  "We'll be in 'Armadillo' by mornin', uh, as the song goes."  The sun was below the horizon now, so he pulled the knob on the dash to turn on the headlights.  "I suggest you sit back and enjoy the ride, boy!  We're on our way to Coloradah!"
                   

(Next time: Oh, Montana! continues as Le'von and Hank make a questionable decision to pick up a hitchhiker who may, or may not, be a vampire!)

Pick o' the Day: Random Thoughts While at Cracker Barrel

As we walk towards the front door, I notice the license plates on the cars parked outside reveal that the people within this fine establishment have driven here from all over the country.  This can mean only one thing: their butts must hurt as bad as mine.

Old geezers are attracted to Cracker Barrel like moths are attracted to a naked light bulb.

Man, oh man.  Looking around me, all I see are old, gray-haired people.  What the heck am I doing here?

Could it be that the display of rocking chairs outside is a clever lure meant to attract the geezers to come inside and part with some of their money?

Grits?  What the hell are grits?

I'm apparently never going to be smart enough to win at "Peg Solitaire".

It occurs to me that my favorite meal at Cracker Barrel (tender roast beef, mashed potatoes, and a double order of macaroni and cheese) does not actually require teeth to eat it.

A lot of the "antique artifacts" hanging on the walls and ceiling are actually tools I have used or toys I enjoyed playing with as a child.  What does that mean?

The stone fireplace reminds me of the one my mother would stand in front of for hours cooking up homemade biscuits and prairie chicken stew in our sod house on the old homestead.

My wife sure is beautiful!

There's nothing like a hard, wooden chair to sit your sore, aching butt on after driving a thousand miles.

In all my visits to this place over the years, I don't think anyone has ever offered me a cracker.

Sitting and relaxing in one of the bathroom stalls is probably the best place to enjoy the country music being played over the loud-speakers.

As I am trying to pay the cashier, she actually has the nerve to ask me if I want to buy some little scented candles and other crap she has in a basket next to the register.  Me!  I am so taken aback by her rudeness, I can hardly choke out my answer of, "Hell, no!"

The rule is, after eating you have to give your wife some time to look around the store and do some shopping and stuff.  It's best to accept this and not give her a hard time about it.  Don't follow her around the store looking bored and disgusted and checking your watch and whatever.  Just go outside and enjoy one of the rocking chairs (for free) until she finally comes out with her sacks full of bargains that saved you so much money.