Chapter 5. The Calm
Some more from the continuing saga of Coy, Jr and Woody Povine...
Click here to read the last installment Chapter 4. The Rest of the Plan (part 3) or click here Chapter 1. How Things Came to Be to start at the beginning...
Woody and I worked for Johnny both Friday and Saturday painting the gin. Woody was better at painting than I was. He actually kind of enjoyed it, saying that he liked to see the “progress” he was making. I had never known Woody to be interested in progress of any type.
Monday morning Woody and I were standing at the end of my driveway at 7:00 a.m. sharp. It was already about 90 degrees and my week old sunburn had just about completely peeled now. It still itched like crazy, but the resulting tan seemed to be helping me tolerate the heat a little better. Woody was wearing a long sleeve shirt and, unfortunately, a sombrero that he’d won at the carnival last fall. What made it look worse was all of his hair sticking out and he kept the chin string pulled tight.
“Woody, I can not believe you would actually wear that god-awful hat. Maybe at lunch we can do a Mexican hat dance.”
“Laugh all you want little man, but I got sensitive skin and don’t want to end up looking like an old dried up prune like you. You’re just jealous cause I can make something like this look good.”
“Oh, yeah! You make it look good alright. You look like a reject from Remember the Alamo”.
“This hat ain’t nothing like the ones they wore. This hat is an identical replica to the one Cisco Kid wore on his TV show.”
“Now, I beg to differ. If I recall correctly, Cisco’s was kinda white with a little band around it...not the size of a truck tire with red and green and little yellow zigzag’s.”
“Naw, naw, naw. He wore one just like this in some of his shows.”
“Oh, I see...that must have been like his Christmas special or something.”
“Yeah, that was it...his Christmas special.”
About that time Johnny drove up. I could see him laughing through the windshield. When we got in, Woody jumped in the middle and his hat was mashed against the back glass of the cab. Johnny’s laugh had deteriorated into a serious coughing fit. It was one of those kind where he ends up with slobber coming out of his mouth and his head turning blood red. Obviously Johnny had smoked one cigarette too many and that was a shame because he was a really nice guy. He definitely had his faults with his drinking and stuff, but for my money he was just a good guy with a bad problem.
“You ain’t got TB or nothing do you?” Woody asked Johnny as he slid a little closer my direction.
I elbowed Woody in the ribs pretty hard and asked Johnny if he wanted me to get him a coke or some water out of the cooler. He was getting his breath back and after a couple of seconds, we headed out.
“Sorry about that, fellows. This cough seems to be getting worse. Must be those paint fumes,” Johnny said as he lit a cigarette.
“Paint fumes do that to you? Coy, Jr., remind me not to breath while I’m painting,” Woody was dead serious.
“Woody, why don’t you go ahead and stop breathing now?” I know he could see the disgust on my face. It was obvious that my cousin was not only an idiot, but he was seriously lacking in social skills.
We got to the gin and took all the painting gear out of the truck. Woody and I started painting on the west side of the building so we were in the shade. It wasn’t half bad this morning in the shade and Woody and I talked about girls a little. Of course he asked me about Ilene and if I was going to see her anymore. Then he started comparing her to Wanda Jo Suggs and said in his book, Ilene was the real keeper.
“You know, Coy, Jr., Ilene is the kind of girl that would fit right in the Povine family.”
“Woody, don’t say that! She’s a nice, sweet girl and hasn’t got a bad bone in her body so don’t be saying stuff about her!”
“I said she’s good enough to be a Povine. What do you want me to do, man? There ain’t no pleasin’ you!”
I thought about what he was saying and then realized that I had, in my own mind thought being a Povine was a bad thing. This was one of the basic differences between me and Woody. He was proud to be a Povine and I resented being a Povine.
“She’s a Crabtree, alright? Let’s just leave it at that.” I didn’t know exactly what I was feeling. It was like I would ruin her if she was my girlfriend, but I wanted to be around her. It was confusing because I know that I’m not a nice enough guy to give something up that I really, really wanted. But at the same time, I found myself not wanting her to get hurt when she realized I was just me and nobody special.
“Okay, okay. But we’re Povines and we’re rebels, remember? We fought the law and WE won! We’re notorus, right?”
“Notor-E-us. We’re notorious. Woody, being notorious ain’t always a good thing.”
“It gets the chicks, though! And I bet if little Miss Crabtree knew what we had done this past weekend, she’d be climbin’ all over you!”
“Speaking of that, have you been keeping your mouth shut?”
“Coy, Jr., I been standing out here in the broilin’ hot sunshine with you most of the time...who am I gonna tell, the pigeons?”
“Well, you’ve had some free time and you know you like to talk.”
“I ain’t said nothin’ to nobody. But I heard Mama say that Miss Tony down at the beauty shop said that Hannon had to pay to get his cop car fixed.”
“Now does that sound right? No Hannon ever paid for anything bad they done.”
“Well, we about out of paint, Coy, Jr. I’m gonna go around to the truck and get me a drink of water and another bucket of paint.”
“Alright, I’m gonna finish this up and move the ladder down some. We’re about done. It’s not gonna take us another two gallons to finish up.”
“Well then maybe we ought to stretch it out some so we can get paid for the whole day. Has Johnny said anything about our next job?”
“Nope. He did say he was trying to get the old cotton compress to do next, but I don’t know any more than that.”
“Well...I’m gonna get that paint and I’ll be back in a minute or two.” Woody walked off and was gone for about fifteen seconds. The next thing I knew he came running around the corner of the gin, the front of his sombrero was flipped back over his head and he was waving his arms like he was on fire or something.
“Coy, Jr., Coy, Jr. It’s them! It’s them. It’s them fellers!”
“It’s who? What are you talking about?”
“It’s the fellers in the truck. The truck what hit Hannon!”
I jumped down off the ladder and went to the corner of the building. I peeped around the wall and saw three guys standing by a white pick-up truck. I recognized the truck to be the same one that brought the jugs of whatever it was out to Barton the other day and one of the fellows standing there was, in fact, Barton.
“The one in the tee shirt and white pants is ol’ Barton,” I whispered.
“The one with the cowboy hat is the one what was driving the truck when it hit Hannon. They look like they’re fixing to fight Johnny! Coy, Jr., what we gonna do?”
“We ain’t gonna do nothing. Johnny was in Viet Nam, he can handle himself.” No sooner did the words get out of my mouth when one of them cold cocked Johnny and he went down like a slaughtered cow. They looked at him a couple of seconds and he didn’t move a lick. Then they turned and headed our direction. We jumped back behind the corner and leaned flat against the building.
“What we gonna do? What we gonna do?” Woody was getting that wild look in his eyes again and I knew there was only one thing we could possibly do.
“RUN LIKE HELL!” I had run fifty yards before I threw down my paint roller. I looked to my left and Woody was shedding his hat and shirt while running like a shot at deer. We did a high hurdle over a barbed wire fence, hit the cotton field and never let up. I know we must have run three miles before we got the courage to look back.
“Where in the world are we?” I said as I fell to my knees trying to catch my breath.
“I don’t have any idea. All I know is that I’m gonna die if I don’t get some air.” Woody lay down on the ground looking up at the sky, his chest heaving in and out as his color slowly washed back over him. He was still wild eyed and all, but we were too give out to run another step.
“That looks like a creek over there...must be Gunner’s creek. We can follow that south and make it back to town.”
“Reckon them fellers know where we are?”
“I doubt it. Why don’t we hide out here till dark and then head to town? We can call somebody to come get us when we get to the Phillips 66.”
We went over to the creek bank and sat down in a cane patch that was covering the side of a wash out. Woody and I weren’t saying anything. I was pretty sure we were thinking the same thing, but all we did was sit there and breathe. Then Woody let me know we weren’t thinking exactly the same thing.
“I know what I’m gonna do with my paycheck...I’m buying a pistol and a bunch of bullets. This here crap is gonna stop!”
“Aw yeah...that would be a wise investment. Start shootin’ folks. Then we could all rest easy. Somebody gives you some crap, shoot ‘em. Somebody looks at you cross-eyed, shoot ‘em.”
“Well, I tell you what, people would stop this kinda crap. I wouldn’t be settin’ out in a cane patch sweatin’ like a pig and getting’ covered in redbugs.”
“Naw you wouldn’t...you’d be settin’ in a cell in Parchman sweatin’ like a pig ‘cause they were fixin’ to put your butt in the gas chamber!”
“Coy, Jr., the way I see it I could of shot three people today in self defense and not had to run ten miles.”
“So you could just pack heat all the time and when somebody gives you some crap, you’d just shoot ‘em in self defense.”
“That’s about the size of it!”
“Then what would make you one iota better than them? You’d be the same! You’d be the bad guy!”
“Well little man I wouldn’t be hidin’ in a cane patch with you, shakin’ in my boots wantin’ my Mama.”
“Woody, you didn’t have to run...you could have stayed and fought the three of them. That’s what a BIG man would have done, right?”
We just sat and looked at each other for a while realizing how stupid we were and how ridiculous our situation was. It was so hot down in that hole I thought I was gonna pass out. But we stuck it out and waited till just about dark before we dared poke our heads out in the open air. When we came out, it felt like a late fall evening, the air was so cool against our soaking wet clothes. We headed south along the creek bank keeping an eye out for Barton and those other fellows. I knew we had at least two or three miles as the crow flies before we got to the road, but we walked forever. That creek has more twists and turns in it than I ever imagined.
“Man, my belly thinks my throat’s been cut! I could eat a horse right now.”
“You know, Woody, I been thinking about this... The other day those same two guys with Barton brought out two jugs of moonshine to the gin. Then, the day Barton quit, Johnny told me that Barton was buddies with a Fiveacre guy and that Fiveacre said he’d better watch me. Now we know that the guys that picked up Hannon after the wreck were the same two guys, so one of them must be a Fiveacre. Hannons and Fiveacres are a bad combination.”
“Coy, Jr., you remember when we was over at your house and watchin’ TV and the news said that a Fiveacre was escaped from jail?”
“Yeah, and they said he had been in jail because of selling liquor or something.”
“Yep. I remember that cause we were talking about them Fiveacres being such a bad bunch!”
“So...Hannon is making my grandmamma run a still and Fiveacre is selling it.”
“So then the guys that Hannon was meeting in Okaluka was the same guys that he hit in the car! Stinkin’ ass bastard!”
“Well I guess this pretty much explains everything. I bet Hannon let Fiveacre escape from jail.”
Click here to read the last installment Chapter 4. The Rest of the Plan (part 3) or click here Chapter 1. How Things Came to Be to start at the beginning...
Woody and I worked for Johnny both Friday and Saturday painting the gin. Woody was better at painting than I was. He actually kind of enjoyed it, saying that he liked to see the “progress” he was making. I had never known Woody to be interested in progress of any type.
Monday morning Woody and I were standing at the end of my driveway at 7:00 a.m. sharp. It was already about 90 degrees and my week old sunburn had just about completely peeled now. It still itched like crazy, but the resulting tan seemed to be helping me tolerate the heat a little better. Woody was wearing a long sleeve shirt and, unfortunately, a sombrero that he’d won at the carnival last fall. What made it look worse was all of his hair sticking out and he kept the chin string pulled tight.
“Woody, I can not believe you would actually wear that god-awful hat. Maybe at lunch we can do a Mexican hat dance.”
“Laugh all you want little man, but I got sensitive skin and don’t want to end up looking like an old dried up prune like you. You’re just jealous cause I can make something like this look good.”
“Oh, yeah! You make it look good alright. You look like a reject from Remember the Alamo”.
“This hat ain’t nothing like the ones they wore. This hat is an identical replica to the one Cisco Kid wore on his TV show.”
“Now, I beg to differ. If I recall correctly, Cisco’s was kinda white with a little band around it...not the size of a truck tire with red and green and little yellow zigzag’s.”
“Naw, naw, naw. He wore one just like this in some of his shows.”
“Oh, I see...that must have been like his Christmas special or something.”
“Yeah, that was it...his Christmas special.”
About that time Johnny drove up. I could see him laughing through the windshield. When we got in, Woody jumped in the middle and his hat was mashed against the back glass of the cab. Johnny’s laugh had deteriorated into a serious coughing fit. It was one of those kind where he ends up with slobber coming out of his mouth and his head turning blood red. Obviously Johnny had smoked one cigarette too many and that was a shame because he was a really nice guy. He definitely had his faults with his drinking and stuff, but for my money he was just a good guy with a bad problem.
“You ain’t got TB or nothing do you?” Woody asked Johnny as he slid a little closer my direction.
I elbowed Woody in the ribs pretty hard and asked Johnny if he wanted me to get him a coke or some water out of the cooler. He was getting his breath back and after a couple of seconds, we headed out.
“Sorry about that, fellows. This cough seems to be getting worse. Must be those paint fumes,” Johnny said as he lit a cigarette.
“Paint fumes do that to you? Coy, Jr., remind me not to breath while I’m painting,” Woody was dead serious.
“Woody, why don’t you go ahead and stop breathing now?” I know he could see the disgust on my face. It was obvious that my cousin was not only an idiot, but he was seriously lacking in social skills.
We got to the gin and took all the painting gear out of the truck. Woody and I started painting on the west side of the building so we were in the shade. It wasn’t half bad this morning in the shade and Woody and I talked about girls a little. Of course he asked me about Ilene and if I was going to see her anymore. Then he started comparing her to Wanda Jo Suggs and said in his book, Ilene was the real keeper.
“You know, Coy, Jr., Ilene is the kind of girl that would fit right in the Povine family.”
“Woody, don’t say that! She’s a nice, sweet girl and hasn’t got a bad bone in her body so don’t be saying stuff about her!”
“I said she’s good enough to be a Povine. What do you want me to do, man? There ain’t no pleasin’ you!”
I thought about what he was saying and then realized that I had, in my own mind thought being a Povine was a bad thing. This was one of the basic differences between me and Woody. He was proud to be a Povine and I resented being a Povine.
“She’s a Crabtree, alright? Let’s just leave it at that.” I didn’t know exactly what I was feeling. It was like I would ruin her if she was my girlfriend, but I wanted to be around her. It was confusing because I know that I’m not a nice enough guy to give something up that I really, really wanted. But at the same time, I found myself not wanting her to get hurt when she realized I was just me and nobody special.
“Okay, okay. But we’re Povines and we’re rebels, remember? We fought the law and WE won! We’re notorus, right?”
“Notor-E-us. We’re notorious. Woody, being notorious ain’t always a good thing.”
“It gets the chicks, though! And I bet if little Miss Crabtree knew what we had done this past weekend, she’d be climbin’ all over you!”
“Speaking of that, have you been keeping your mouth shut?”
“Coy, Jr., I been standing out here in the broilin’ hot sunshine with you most of the time...who am I gonna tell, the pigeons?”
“Well, you’ve had some free time and you know you like to talk.”
“I ain’t said nothin’ to nobody. But I heard Mama say that Miss Tony down at the beauty shop said that Hannon had to pay to get his cop car fixed.”
“Now does that sound right? No Hannon ever paid for anything bad they done.”
“Well, we about out of paint, Coy, Jr. I’m gonna go around to the truck and get me a drink of water and another bucket of paint.”
“Alright, I’m gonna finish this up and move the ladder down some. We’re about done. It’s not gonna take us another two gallons to finish up.”
“Well then maybe we ought to stretch it out some so we can get paid for the whole day. Has Johnny said anything about our next job?”
“Nope. He did say he was trying to get the old cotton compress to do next, but I don’t know any more than that.”
“Well...I’m gonna get that paint and I’ll be back in a minute or two.” Woody walked off and was gone for about fifteen seconds. The next thing I knew he came running around the corner of the gin, the front of his sombrero was flipped back over his head and he was waving his arms like he was on fire or something.
“Coy, Jr., Coy, Jr. It’s them! It’s them. It’s them fellers!”
“It’s who? What are you talking about?”
“It’s the fellers in the truck. The truck what hit Hannon!”
I jumped down off the ladder and went to the corner of the building. I peeped around the wall and saw three guys standing by a white pick-up truck. I recognized the truck to be the same one that brought the jugs of whatever it was out to Barton the other day and one of the fellows standing there was, in fact, Barton.
“The one in the tee shirt and white pants is ol’ Barton,” I whispered.
“The one with the cowboy hat is the one what was driving the truck when it hit Hannon. They look like they’re fixing to fight Johnny! Coy, Jr., what we gonna do?”
“We ain’t gonna do nothing. Johnny was in Viet Nam, he can handle himself.” No sooner did the words get out of my mouth when one of them cold cocked Johnny and he went down like a slaughtered cow. They looked at him a couple of seconds and he didn’t move a lick. Then they turned and headed our direction. We jumped back behind the corner and leaned flat against the building.
“What we gonna do? What we gonna do?” Woody was getting that wild look in his eyes again and I knew there was only one thing we could possibly do.
“RUN LIKE HELL!” I had run fifty yards before I threw down my paint roller. I looked to my left and Woody was shedding his hat and shirt while running like a shot at deer. We did a high hurdle over a barbed wire fence, hit the cotton field and never let up. I know we must have run three miles before we got the courage to look back.
“Where in the world are we?” I said as I fell to my knees trying to catch my breath.
“I don’t have any idea. All I know is that I’m gonna die if I don’t get some air.” Woody lay down on the ground looking up at the sky, his chest heaving in and out as his color slowly washed back over him. He was still wild eyed and all, but we were too give out to run another step.
“That looks like a creek over there...must be Gunner’s creek. We can follow that south and make it back to town.”
“Reckon them fellers know where we are?”
“I doubt it. Why don’t we hide out here till dark and then head to town? We can call somebody to come get us when we get to the Phillips 66.”
We went over to the creek bank and sat down in a cane patch that was covering the side of a wash out. Woody and I weren’t saying anything. I was pretty sure we were thinking the same thing, but all we did was sit there and breathe. Then Woody let me know we weren’t thinking exactly the same thing.
“I know what I’m gonna do with my paycheck...I’m buying a pistol and a bunch of bullets. This here crap is gonna stop!”
“Aw yeah...that would be a wise investment. Start shootin’ folks. Then we could all rest easy. Somebody gives you some crap, shoot ‘em. Somebody looks at you cross-eyed, shoot ‘em.”
“Well, I tell you what, people would stop this kinda crap. I wouldn’t be settin’ out in a cane patch sweatin’ like a pig and getting’ covered in redbugs.”
“Naw you wouldn’t...you’d be settin’ in a cell in Parchman sweatin’ like a pig ‘cause they were fixin’ to put your butt in the gas chamber!”
“Coy, Jr., the way I see it I could of shot three people today in self defense and not had to run ten miles.”
“So you could just pack heat all the time and when somebody gives you some crap, you’d just shoot ‘em in self defense.”
“That’s about the size of it!”
“Then what would make you one iota better than them? You’d be the same! You’d be the bad guy!”
“Well little man I wouldn’t be hidin’ in a cane patch with you, shakin’ in my boots wantin’ my Mama.”
“Woody, you didn’t have to run...you could have stayed and fought the three of them. That’s what a BIG man would have done, right?”
We just sat and looked at each other for a while realizing how stupid we were and how ridiculous our situation was. It was so hot down in that hole I thought I was gonna pass out. But we stuck it out and waited till just about dark before we dared poke our heads out in the open air. When we came out, it felt like a late fall evening, the air was so cool against our soaking wet clothes. We headed south along the creek bank keeping an eye out for Barton and those other fellows. I knew we had at least two or three miles as the crow flies before we got to the road, but we walked forever. That creek has more twists and turns in it than I ever imagined.
“Man, my belly thinks my throat’s been cut! I could eat a horse right now.”
“You know, Woody, I been thinking about this... The other day those same two guys with Barton brought out two jugs of moonshine to the gin. Then, the day Barton quit, Johnny told me that Barton was buddies with a Fiveacre guy and that Fiveacre said he’d better watch me. Now we know that the guys that picked up Hannon after the wreck were the same two guys, so one of them must be a Fiveacre. Hannons and Fiveacres are a bad combination.”
“Coy, Jr., you remember when we was over at your house and watchin’ TV and the news said that a Fiveacre was escaped from jail?”
“Yeah, and they said he had been in jail because of selling liquor or something.”
“Yep. I remember that cause we were talking about them Fiveacres being such a bad bunch!”
“So...Hannon is making my grandmamma run a still and Fiveacre is selling it.”
“So then the guys that Hannon was meeting in Okaluka was the same guys that he hit in the car! Stinkin’ ass bastard!”
“Well I guess this pretty much explains everything. I bet Hannon let Fiveacre escape from jail.”
Posted by TBF at 8/20/2009 8:15 PM 
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: Hannon fighting Johnny Cooper Barton Coy Jr. Johnny Ray Fiveacre at large
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: Hannon fighting Johnny Cooper Barton Coy Jr. Johnny Ray Fiveacre at large
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8/22/2009 1:46 AM
The Biting Fly wrote:
I'm not sure how many are following this, but I'll post some more for those who are. Some feedback would be nice! For the record, I would like to get rid of the email requirement with the comment box, but I can't seem to figure out how. Actually, I never even see the email addresses because your comment is unmonitored and goes straight online. Anyway, ask questions, make suggestions, do something to let me know that you're alive. ... -
8/21/2009 9:12 PM
The Biting Fly wrote:
I'm not sure how many are following this, but I'll post some more for those who are. Some feedback would be nice! For the record, I would like to get rid of the email requirement with the comment box, but I can't seem to figure out how. Actually, I never even see the email addresses because your comment is unmonitored and goes straight online. Anyway, ask questions, make suggestions, do something to let me know that you're alive. ...
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