A Southern Psycho

"Yeah, thanks."

"You get in shape, I'll get you that job. Yuh don't wanna be no trucker though. Mexican truckers flooding the fuckin' country, taking all the business from us Americans. Don't make enough money tuh begin with but purde soon won't be no money at all. They're unrestricted--no regulations. Cain't compete with 'em. No way. Cain't even buy my kids decent presents for Christmas. Shouldn't be smoking'. Money I waste on 'em could buy 'em presents, but I cain't break the habit. A man's gotta have something' tuh enjoy--or else what's the use of livin'?"

He glanced at Ben who had leaned back, his head drooped over, asleep.

Later, after he'd dropped Ben off at the junction to Kullhorn, the trucker picked up the pack of cigarettes left on the dash. There was a hundred dollar bill shoved inside.

~6~

The DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS was a two story brick on Main Street. Wooden outside steps led up to the second floor. Inside, entered through a glass-paned door, a young volunteer, with short, brown hair, in red sweats, was seated at a metal desk tapping out something on a computer. She stopped and smiled.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm supposed to check in with my parole officer, Susan Page."

"Okey dokey, and your name is. . .?"

"Ben None."

She punched some keys, mused over the screen for a moment.

"Ah, okay. Just grab a seat. You had three days to come in, Mr. None, but we're running light today, so I think Suzy will be able to see you right away."

She got up and disappeared down a hallway.

§

Suzy was a hot looking babe in tight-fitting western shirt and jeans, an off-white Stetson on her head. She was leaned back in a swivel chair, her pristine booted feet propped up on her cluttered desk, a .357 magnum holstered on her hip.

"Still raining I see." She nodded indifferently at the chair in front of her desk.

Ben dropped his duffel bag and sat down.

"Nice duds, Ben, for someone just out of stir." She turned blue eyes on him studiously. "Just heard on the news there was a big fire down at Sandstone. Clothing store. Owner's a crispy critter now."

She slid her feet lazily off the desk and leaned into it with a scoot of the chair. She pulled a manila file toward her from a loose stack and tapped it with a long pink fingernail.

"Haven't had time to get very far into this yet, but from what I have read it seems like you've been a pretty bad boy, Ben."

"No one's perfect."

"Well, that's what the good book says, isn't it?" She flipped idly through several pages musing out loud. "Killed three men in a bar fight over a game of pool with a shiv, h'm." She closed the file with a nonchalant flip then leaned back, propping her feet back on the desk, hands behind her head, breasts straining against the fabric of her yellow shirt.

On the wall behind her was a target from a firing range with bullet holes dead center; next to it a poster with the picture of a hand holding a revolver with words underneath that said, "Do gun crime. Do hard time. In federal prison."

"Well, Ben, there's not much to say. I don't make a lot of money, so I don't like a lot of complications in my life--and I'm sure you don't either. So, I'm gonna lay it out for you nice and sweet. You come in once a week so we can see how we're doing. After a couple of months--if everything's hunky-dory-- you'll only have to come in every two weeks. I, also, will be popping in on you unannounced, from time to time, so keep you nose clean, and if I catch you dancing with known types I'll have your ass back in the slammer before you can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." She eyed him critically. "You don't look like you're up to much heavy labor, so I'll get you a night watchman's job. I get twenty percent of your take."

"How much does the Man get?"

The employer? Don't worry. We always work out a deal that leaves the squirrels a few nuts. Got any questions?"

~7~

"Nice, huh? She'll do zero to sixty in four, tops out at two-twenty." Ben was pressed back against the suede-leather bucket seat as Page floored the sleek, black Viper down a lonely stretch of highway. She punched it, delicate hand working the leather covered gearshift expertly, coaxing out the maximum torque before each shift. The rear wheels suddenly side slipped, then fishtailed on the wet pavement. She cut the shift, cigarette dangling from her lips, as the Viper went into a slide, brought the steering wheel around toward the slide and leveled off--a hundred still showing on the speedometer. The windshield wipers slapped back and forth on full, the road a melted blur.

Ben punched the lighter and lit a cigarette, his hand steady.

"That didn't scare you, did it?"she said, tongue-in-cheek.

"Was it supposed to?"

"Hell yes, unless you're crazy," she grinned.

She slowed and turned onto a muddy road that wound through a wooded area. "It's been ten years, hasn't it?"

"Yeah." Ben scolled the window down enough to toss out the cigarette she'd given him. "Seventy-six acres. Belonged to my maternal grandfather. There's a small cabin on a hillside overlooking a lake."

"Anybody taking care of it?"

"Not that I know of."

"Gonna look like shit after ten years."

"It'll do." He looked at her gun. "Aren't you afraid I'll grab your gun and kill you?"

"No, you're like me, a realist. Only thing killing me would net you would be a return trip to the slammer. If you were like the lowlifes I deal with, though, I wouldn't be wearing it on that side."

"How do you know I'm not a lowlife?"

"I read your psych evaluation. IQ practically off the chart. No drugs, no priors. You don't fit the lowlife profile. You're a strange'n. Killing three lowlifes over a pool game doesn't jell."

"Jury thought so."

"Juries suck."

She lit another cigarette, drew deep and exhaled smoke through mouth and nose. "Must've been hard going without pussy for ten years."

"I survived."

"Yeah, you do, don't you?"

The rain-soaked dirt road had grass growing between ruts, trees close on either side.

"This is it," Ben said, as they came to a mailbox.

A small cabin, with a covered porch, set back among oak, pine and sycamore. A patch of a lawn had been neatly kept.

"Well, somebody's taking care of the place," Page said, pulling into a unpaved driveway up to a garage. As he got out, hoisting up his duffle bag, she said, "Be seeing you, Killer." She flipped the side of her nose with an index finger. "Keep it clean."

Ben stepped up on the low porch and watched her back the Viper onto the narrow road, then rumble off, wheels splashing through puddles. He stood, without moving, for ten minutes or so listening to the wet autumn leaves catch the swoosh of the rain and the wet drip and gurgle of crystalline drops off the porch roof. Above grey, woolly clouds, tinged with violet, rolled across the sky above the gently swaying tree tops.

Finally, he reached above the lintel and drew down a key. Inside was a living room-kitchen combo. To the right open steps led up to a loft overlooking it. A brown leather sofa faced a stone fireplace, diagonal to a matching recliner. At the back of the cabin to the right of the kitchen was a patio door opening on a elevated deck. Beneath the loft there was a short hall with a bath facing a bedroom.

He sat the duffel bag down on the bottom step and walked to the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. He unbuttoned his overcoat, glancing about. Everything was orderly, neat and clean. An open pack of cigarettes lay on the bar. He lit one and opened the frig, took out a can of beer and went to the fireplace. Wood had been stacked on top of newspaper in the grate. He lit the paper and sat down in the worn recliner. The rain tapped against the windows. Soon the fire was crackling, warming the cabin.

~8~

Page parked near the entrance to Barney's Bar & Grill. Inside, Sheriff Roy Knox was sitting in a side booth eating a ham sandwich, a frosty bottle of beer next to his plate.

"Well, hello, darling," he said, as Page slid into the seat across from him. He was a man in his forties. Too much booze had given him a florid face and a belly that strained against his striped western shirt. His wide-brimmed hat was slanted back revealing black, oily strands of thinning hair.

Page ordered a double with a beer chaser.

"Been getting' a lot of rain," he said. He washed down a bite of ham sandwich with the beer, belching. "Damn climate change."

"Whatever," she said, toying with the double. "Guess who my latest parolee is, Roy."

"I got no ideal, darlin'." Roy, swallowed the last of his sandwich, rubbed his hands on a napkin while sucking noisily on his teeth, then lit a smoke.

"Ben None."

Roy looked perplexed. "That Ben None? How the hell did he get out?"

"That's what I'd like to know. He was in for life. Somebody with a lot of push, pull and shove must've wanted him out."

"The governor?"

"Yeah, logically, but why would the governor want him out? It's not like a politically smart move, you know--releasing a mass murderer. And why not pardon him instead of paroling him?"

"What'd None say?"

"I didn't ask him."

"Maybe yuh ought'a. But yud ought'a be careful around'm, darlin'. None's a dangerous son of a bitch. I was the arresting officer when he kilt those three assholes in Jake's Bar. When I got thar None was shoot'n balls by himself as calm as yuh please. No fuckin' remorse. Dead bodies right next to'm. All bloody. He'd kilt'm with a switchblade. One of 'm he'd rammed a splintered cue stick through the eye."

~9~

Ben woke up listening to the sound of an '87 Vette pulling into the driveway. There was a scuffle of footsteps on the porch, then the door opened.

"Uncle Ben?" a tall, broad-shouldered youth said. Next to him was a pretty girl in jeans with a blue baseball cap and short black hair.

"Yeah, it's me, Merle. You've grown some."

"Uncle Ben. How the hell did you get out?"

"Don't know, but I have a strong suspicion I'll find out in a little while."

Merle looked confused. "We didn't hear anything about a breakout on the radio."

Ben got up and limped to the bar, fished a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. "And you won't. Who's your little buddy?"

"This is Janet. She's my girlfriend. We've been living here."

She smiled shyly.

"Mm." Ben stared at her for a moment. "I need to go to mama's grave."

"What, now, in the rain?"

"Mm, yeah. The ground'll be soft."

§

"I took good care of it," Merle said, as Ben backed the Vette out. Kept it in the garage. Rode out from town on my bike when I was little, started it up once a week. I knew it was your pride and joy." He hesitated. "After I dropped out of school, Janet and me came out here to live. Her old man raped her. I told her she could stay with me. He makes me give him five hundred dollars a month not to accuse me of statutory rape. He's the only son of a bitch who ever raped her."

"Where do you get the money?"

"Work for a diary farmer up a ways, mow grass at Ashley Cemetery--and flip burgers at Bob's."

"Doesn't leave much, does it?"

"Sure don't. I tried to send you a little every month but couldn't always, but it wasn't much."

Ben nodded. "Never got it. Who's her old man?"

"Marvin Rencher. A worthless asshole who stays drunk all the time. The mother's not any better. She would hold Janet down while he fucked her."

They went down the highway for a dozen miles, then turned up a narrow county road and pulled into a gravel parking lot next to a white frame Zion Baptist Church surrounded by trees. The rain was heavy and pounded the earth. They unlatched a chain link gate and made their way to a grey granite stone off in a corner.

Ben took the shovel Merle had fetched and started digging. A foot down there was a clunk. A little digging around and Ben pulled out a PVC tube. He leaned it against the stone.

"Let the rain wash it off."

§

When they got back to the cabin Ben stayed in the Vette and told Merle to saw the tube open.

"Is grandpa's cane still around?"

"In the closet."

"Bring it out."

"Leg bothering yuh?"

"Naw, it's just that stupid people think cripples are harmless."

When Merle brought out the cane, Ben backed the Vette out and roared off.

§

Marvin Rencher--thin-haired, bearded, skinny--was sitting in a fan-backed willow chair on the porch of a square white frame house. A fat sow was in a ladder-backed rocker next to him. A pint of Heaven Hill sat on the floor between them. Marvin was scrunched down as if his back bone had been defeated in a battle with gravity; a fresh cigarette drooped from between his gnarled, tobacco-stained fingers resting on a thigh. Sow sat like a queen on her throne, back rigid, imperiously surveying her domain, fists gripping the rounded ends of the armrests.

Ben got out of the Vette, limping with the cane, and opened the front gate, a rickety thing hanging from a single rusted hinge. Two hounds yelped, straining out from dog houses on rusty chains.

"Yuh might'n as well turn yurn ass around mister; we ain't buying anything," Marvin said.

"Why I ain't sellin' nuthin'." Ben said, stepping up.

"Don't recall anyone invitin' yuh up tuh the porch."

"Well, surely yuh don't mind a feller gettin' outta the rain now, do yuh? I sure don't wanna catch pneumonia."

"I don't give a damn what yuh get, asshole, as long as yuh get."

"Well, that's surely what I intend on doin', but I have sumpin' fer a Marvin Rencher, if that's you?"

"Yeah? What?" A wary look crossed his coarse, inbred face.

"Five hundred dollars."

The two mutants exchanged sly looks.

"Yeah, and why would that be?"

"I'm Merle's uncle."

"I didn't know Merle had an uncle."

"Well, I'm not really a close uncle; more like a distant uncle. He told me the deal between you and him; he's pretty hard pressed for money, so I offered to take up the slack; I surely don't want the boy goin' tuh prison."

"Well, since yuh got so much money maybe I ought'a raise the price some."

"Well, yuh got us over a barrel, surely; there's not much I can do."

The sow gave Marvin a smirky grin.

"That's right," Marvin went on. "You ain't got much choice, asshole. What say a thousand from now on and Janet comes back for a loving visit with her loving parents from time to time." Marvin grinned salaciously.

"Well, I don't have a thousand with me, but..." Ben reached in his overcoat pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. "but I've got five hundred and change. I can get the rest for yuh in a couple of days." He held the money out, took a step and stumbled dropping it.

Marvin bent over hurriedly scraping the bills up.

Ben brought the cane down with a loud crack on his head. He turned quickly and hooked the sow's neck, jerking her forward onto the floor. She squealed like a pig, as he hammered her knees when she rolled over. Marvin was scrambling to his feet. Ben hooked the cane behind a knee and jerked him onto his back with a crashing thud on the floor. He brought the cane down on his kneecaps, splintering them. Leisurely, he gathered up the crinkled bills and stuffed them back into his coat pocket.

He jerked Marvin's head up by the beard. "Now, we don't ask my distant nephew for money anymore, do we, asshole? Of course, you gotta understand this little altercation is nothing personal; it's just that I don't like competition; but if you do keep fucking around, I'll come back and hurt your ass, next time."

§

As Ben drove back lightning flashed across the sky. A few remaining leaves swirled down from the trees as heavy gusts of wind bore into them.

The electricity was off when he got to the cabin. Half a dozen scented candles illuminated the living room and the kitchen.

The PVC tube had been sawed apart just below the end cap, but none of the contents taken out.

"I wanted to see what was inside, but Midge told me it was none of my business, so I didn't."

"Right," Ben said, looking at Janet.

"Your overcoat is wet," Janet said. "Give it to me, and I'll hang it over the tub to dry out."

When she came back, she said, "How about I make some baloney and cheese sandwiches with chips. There's bacon left over from breakfast I can put on them, too. And I'll put a pot of coffee in the fireplace to heat up."

Ben nodded and sat down on the sofa, separating the sawed portions of the tube that were lying of the coffee table. There were several items wrapped in plastic storage bags over Bore-Store bags made of synthetic fleece. Ben took out his box cutter and cut open the heat-sealed plastic, then opened the fleece bags and began sliding out the contents. Merle whistled softly, and Janet paused in the kitchen to watch as Ben laid out a variety of weapons: a .38 revolver; a .357 magnum revolver; a custom made twelve inch double barrel shotgun with a pistol grip; a .25 automatic with silencer; a 9mm Micro Uzi SMG and a Desert Eagle .50AE semi-automatic.

"Damn, Ben, you planning on goin' tuh war?" Merle said.

"Guns are like money; you can never have enough." He withdrew two final packets along with boxes of bullets. The first packet contained three switchblade knives; the second a thick stack of banded hundred dollar bills.

This elicited another subdued whistle. "Where'n hell did yuh get that?"

Janet set down two plates with sandwiches and chips on the coffee table where it was clear of Ben's arsenal. "That's none of our business," she said, wryly.

"Ah, Ben knows I'm just askin'." Merle grinned. "Yuh wouldn't think a little runt like her would be so bossy, would yuh?"

"I'm not bossy." She gazed at the crisp stack of bills. "It would be nice to be rich."

"And she will be," Merle said. "if she has her way. She's as stubborn as a mule when she wants something. She's pestering me all the time to get my GED, work hard and make lots of money."

"People who work for a living work for a living," Ben said.

Janet looked struck. "What do you mean?"

"If you work for a living that's all you'll ever do; and, in the end, if you're lucky, you'll have just enough to bury yourself."

"But how can you get rich if you don't work?"

"Oh, you have to work, but some work is easier than other work and pays more. Listen, in any random group of people fifty percent will be stupid. They're the ones who clean the toilets. The other fifty percent own the toilets."

"How do you know what to do?" Merle said.

"You do whatever the government makes illegal, cause that'll be where the money is, and once you've got money you're above the law."

Ben handed Janet the stack. "Hide this somewhere." Then he put all the weapons back into the tube--except for the .357, the .25 and an ivory-handled switchblade. He glanced around the room, then picked up the tube and walked to the newel post at the base of the stairs. It had a pyramidal shaped cap with a slight rise from an overhanging base. Ben told Merle to get him a crowbar from the garage. When he came back, Ben pried the cap off. Inside, the post was hollow having been made by fitting four planks together forming about an eight inch square. Ben lowered the tube into it, then tapped the cap back on.

"Not as safe as a grave, but handier."

"I put your money in the cookie jar with cookies on top," Janet said, as they returned to the living room. She set a coffee pot among the glowing coals in the fireplace. "That'll be ready in a few minutes."

To the sandwiches, she had added juicy tomatoes, crunchy lettuce, mustard and mayonaise on top of the baloney, cheese and crisp bacon strips. The wind burst against the thick walls of the cabin, shaking and rattling the windows. Rain washed down from the darkening thunder-rumbling sky.

~10~

Sometime during the night the electricity came back on. The glare of the living room lights woke Ben who got up and walked to the railing of the loft intending to go down the stairs and turn them off but stopped when he heard the pad of bare feet. Janet appeared from beneath the loft going to the kitchen where she turned off the light in there. She was naked. Coming from the kitchen she stopped and looked up at Ben. She waited motionlessly, like a sculpture, allowing him time to look, to observe, her eyes fixed on his. She waited. Ben turned back. The light went off.