Plaid Jacket Jackson

"I was there. That was some wedding, wasn't it?" PJ laughed, shaking his head. "Getting back to my problem, I know I need to see Sharkskin, but that just seems like it's such a final step. Like once I do that, there's no going back."

"My advice is to meet with him sooner rather than later. Do what he tells you to do."

"Okay, I'll call him. Now what about gathering evidence?"

"I've got a couple of guys that rotated back into the 405^th last month. They're due to take some leave, but neither one has family so this would be right up their alley. Put them up in a hotel, pay for their meals, and pay them cash under the table and if there is anything to be found, they'll find it. I hope you realize that anything you find is not going to be usable in any court. You'll get proof of an affair, but you're fucked if you try to use it in court."

PJ shook his head in disgust. "Yeah, I know. Fucking no-fault BS. But I need to know for sure. If there's even one-tenth of one percent chance that she's not cheating on me, I need to give her the benefit of the doubt before torching her ass."

+++

PJ sat down across from the two men after introducing himself. They had introduced themselves as Tim Jones and Tom Smith. Tom had a southern drawl, obviously from the deep south either Mississippi or Alabama; but Tim had an accent that PJ could not place. Vaguely British, it could also be Australian or Kiwi.

"None of the above, mate," Tim had replied in response to PJ's question. "I grew up in New Mexico on a ranch outside of a small town you've probably never heard of called Northfork. I was raised by my widowed pa with a little help from his friend, the town marshal. A wonderful old chap who only had the use of one arm."

PJ stared slack-jawed at the soldier. He wasn't sure if Tim was putting him on or was insane. He spoke with such sincerity, but PJ's internal voice was screaming at him, 'He's giving you the plot line to the old TV show 'The Rifleman' so he's either joking or crazy.'

"So, the Colonel says you may have work for us," Tom said, getting the conversation back on track as he looked askance at his partner. Tim's legal name was actually Mark McCain, the same as the character of the son on the old TV western, so this was not Tom's first time hearing his partner's fanciful recounting of his supposed background as the son of a rifle-toting New Mexico rancher. It actually got Tim laid a fair amount of time.

PJ hesitated as he peered doubtfully at Tim. "Yes, I think my wife is cheating on me and I want to get evidence. I've got a couple of motel rooms for you and these," PJ said as he handed each of the men a pre-loaded debit card. "There's a thousand dollars pre-loaded on each card and your rooms are already paid for."

The men settled on payment terms and what sort of evidence PJ needed them to obtain. He then handed the men photos of his wife and Elmer Hudson.

"Your wife is having an affair with this cunt?" Tim asked in surprise. PJ knew that the British had a much more casual view of the C-word than Americans; in his mind, further proof that Tim probably did not grow up on a fictional ranch in a fictional town in New Mexico.

"Don't rub it in," PJ replied. "I always thought of Elmer as just a roly-poly fussbudget. If he's having an affair with my wife, I want to burn him to the ground."

"Give us a week or so," Tim drawled. "If they're making the beast with two backs, we'll get you the proof."

+++

PJ was thinking about Róisín Baker as he noticed an SUV creeping down the road at a snail's pace. PJ recognized the dark blue Ford Explorer as belonging to Alma Rodriguez. PJ had personally delivered the SUV to her home last year after she purchased it from his lot—low mileage and fully loaded. For Alma to be crawling towards him at about two miles an hour, there had to be something wrong with the Explorer. She finally pulled into the drive and stopped directly in front of PJ.

"Morning Alma," PJ said as he approached her rolled-down window. "Problems this morning?"

"I mean to tell you there's a problem! PJ, I've never felt anything like it. This truck is shaking so bad I can't hardly drive it! It liked to scare me to death when I tried going to the store this morning!"

"Let me take it for a quick spin," PJ said as Alma slid out of the driver's seat and PJ slid in. He put the Ford in gear, tapped the accelerator, and Holy Shit what the hell is going on! were his thoughts as the steering wheel shook loose out of his hands.

"We'll put this in the air and see what's going on with it. Did you want to wait around while we check it out?"

"I don't think so, PJ. Just give me a call when you figure it out. I trust you." And to PJ, those three words meant everything. His customers did trust him just as they had trusted his dad and his granddad.

PJ inched along to the service door and when Billy saw him creeping forward, walked up to the vehicle to ask about the issue.

"Bad vibration. And I mean really bad. Completely undriveable over about two miles an hour," PJ said sliding out of the driver's seat.

"Okay, I'll rack it and check it out. By the way, the Copperhead is in your office."

"Goddammit," PJ said. "That's just what I need this morning. And you should call her Aunt Carol; not the Copperhead."

"She's mean as a snake and as long as you call her the Copperhead, I figure it's OK for me to call her the Copperhead."

"Yeah, but she's my wife," PJ said. "I've built up a tolerance to getting snakebit over the years. You haven't.

"' She's a copperheaded waitress, tired and sharp-worded. The common woman is as common

as a rattlesnake'."

"Huh?" Billy asked. PJ was always saying the weirdest things that made no damned sense. Billy knew that PJ was probably the smartest, most well-read person in the whole county, but damn...some of those quotes just made no damned sense. Aunt Carol wasn't a waitress, she was a schoolteacher.

"They're the first and last lines from a feminist poem, titled Ella in a Square Apron Along Highway 80. It's the sort of bullshit they make you read at UT, Billy," PJ said.

Billy rolled his eyes, glad that college was not in his future as he drove the Ford onto an open hoist. He had driven on Highway 80 from Mesquite, Texas to Terrell, Texas about a hundred times and he didn't remember any rattlesnake waitresses along the way. Well, maybe that one at the brisket counter at Buc-ees...

Billy popped the hood and took a quick look at the engine compartment before setting the lift legs and slapping the controls to lift the SUV into the air. As PJ watched, Billy walked around to the rear of the vehicle, ducked his head to look at the suspension, and immediately let go with a blood-curdling scream as he fell backward, stumbling and crabbing himself backward away from the SUV.

"Snake! Snake! Snake!" Billy shouted. "Biggest fuckin' snake I've ever seen!"

PJ jumped back, startled by Billy's reaction. He stepped forward, ducked under the rear fender, and HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK!!! PJ was confronted by the biggest snake he had ever seen. A Burmese Python had wrapped itself tightly around the driveshaft of Alma's Explorer with its head abutting the rear differential. PJ walked the length of the Explorer, stopping where the driveshaft was attached to the transmission. He gave a tug at the tail of the Python but knew as tightly as the monster was coiled around the driveshaft, there was no chance at all of removing the snake by himself. The Python watched PJ with its black snaky eyes. The malevolence it felt towards PJ came off its skin like heat radiating from a stove. PJ made his decision.

"Billy, go get my pistol out of my top right-hand desk drawer."

Billy grinned, "Fuckin'-A." He sprinted towards the showroom door and PJ's office. He jogged back less than two minutes later. "The Copperhead was sitting at your desk on your computer. She saw me grab your pistol and I told her you were going to shoot a big-ass snake. She freaked out and is coming up behind me," he said as he handed PJ his pistol

PJ groaned inwardly. The Copper—ur, Carol had joined up with several "progressive" organizations in order to spend less time with her husband. One of those loony organizations was PETA so he knew there was a shitstorm coming about his plans to blow the head off the snake. All he wanted to do was introduce Mr. Burmese Python to Mr. Colt Python and see who was going to win the day. His money was on the .357 Magnum round soon to be entering Mr. Burmese Python's head at a velocity of 1500 feet per second. That is until he heard the shriek of the Copperhead; a snake of an entirely different sort.

"Perry Jackson! If you so much as point that gun at an animal, I will cut off your balls! Where is this poor snake you plan on killing?"

PJ nodded his head towards the Explorer and said mildly, "Wrapped around the driveshaft. Take a look. It's not poisonous."

"All the more reason not to kill the poor thing," Carol said. She looked under the truck and immediately jumped back, tripping over her own feet and landing firmly on her ass on the polished cement floor of the service bay.

"You want to take him home with you Aunt Carol," Billy smirked.

"Shut up convict. No, I don't want to take him home with me. Call the zoo to come get him."

PJ gave his wife an annoyed look. "Haven't you read the papers? There's been several of these Python's captured around the state. The zoos don't want them. They say to call animal control. AC's just going to kill it, so we're just saving everyone a lot of time and trouble."

"We'll just see about that," Carol said as she stalked back to the office. No sooner had she sat back down at PJ's desk to make some calls when she heard a booming gunshot coming from the service department.

"Asshole!" she screamed to the empty office. She picked up the telephone and dialed a number from memory. "Hi, baby. You free this afternoon?"

+++

It took Billy an hour to clean the Explorer and the surrounding shop area. The Jackson City Police Department had put in an appearance because someone had reported gunfire, but Billy explained that no, a car he was servicing had backfired. The JCPD did not think there were any problems but they had to check it out anyway. PJ was on the town council as well as a county commissioner and was a respected member of the community so the odds of a gun being shot off at his place of business was pretty remote, but still, the report had been made and had to be looked into.

By the time the police had finished and gone, PJ noticed his nephew was getting pretty antsy.

"What am supposed to do with the Python?" Billy asked.

"How would I know," PJ responded. "Did you a sign on my door saying Snake Disposal Expert? Toss it in the dumpster or go put it on your mom's front porch."

Billy just rolled his eyes, something he found himself doing frequently since going to work for PJ.

"What's got you all atwitter anyway?" PJ asked.

"I've got a date tonight," Billy said. He had a huge smile plastered on his face.

"Really?" PJ asked with a grin. "Where does she dance?"

"Damn it, PJ; she's not a stripper. She works at the Dairy Queen in the evening and goes to the community college during the day. This is her only day off so we're going to dinner and a show. Her name's Annie."

"Good for you Billy." PJ reached into his pocket, peeled off a hundred-dollar bill from his money clip, and stuck it in Billy's shirt pocket. "Let me chip in for this date."

"Thanks, PJ. I don't know why mom calls you a miserable sonofabitch; you seem alright to me."

+++

"Jesus," Elmer gasped as he rolled off Carol. "I'm out of breath. That was great, baby. Is that pussy so tight because it's not being used enough? Ol' PJ not getting the job done?"

Carol rolled her eyes before putting a loving look on her face as she turned to face her paramour. "Not like you do. He just can't compete with your skills. You send me to the moon every time. With him, I'm like, 'Just get it over with'."

Elmer chuckled at hearing that. Since moving to Jackson City, he had always been a bit jealous of PJ and when he had the chance to cuck the used car salesman, he jumped at it. His affair with Carol had begun because she wanted his job as high school principal and was willing to fuck him to get it. He just wanted to get one over on the famous Plaid Jacket Jackson; star of about a hundred local TV commercials. Stupid fucking name.

"What's the latest with the school board?" Carol asked. "Are they finished with the interviews?"

"They have one more lined up for tomorrow. Someone named Róisín," he said, pronouncing the name as Roy-sin. "With that stupid name and being from Chicago, you know she's going to be some loud-mouthed, know-it-all ghetto bitch with an axe to grind. I don't know why the school board is even bothering to talk to her. Probably a diversity thing."

Carol nodded her head. Although he hid it while in public, Carol had been surprised at the casual racism Elmer exhibited in private. She did, however, agree with his assessment that the candidate from Chicago was probably a diversity interview. She had seen plenty of news stories about the Chicago school system and she sometimes wondered if any white students were attending Chicago schools. Carol felt confident that Elmer would be named permanent superintendent and that she would be promoted to principal of the high school. They should get the word by the end of the month or even sooner if tomorrow's candidate interview was a washout. Maybe the school board could make the announcements at the upcoming meeting. That would be perfect timing; to announce the joint promotions at the same time that Elmer's proposed changes were being shown to the town. Then she just had to come up with a plan to untangle herself from Elmer Hudson. Mediocre sex in pursuit of her dream job was one thing, but to keep it going and risk her marriage to PJ? Not on your life.

+++

PJ was in a pensive mood that night and Carol made note of it.

"What's the matter, baby?" She asked. It occurred to her that she used the same endearment with both her husband and her lover. She laughed inwardly as she commended herself on her daring.

PJ shrugged. "Just some things going on at the car lot I need to address. No big deal. Hey, do you know about these big changes that Elmer is going to propose in the meeting?"

"I know bits and pieces," she replied cautiously without volunteering any additional details.

"Well, what are they?" he finally asked.

"It's not my place to say. You should probably hear them at the same time as the rest of the town."

"You do remember I'm your husband, right? Are we keeping secrets now?"

"Are you keeping secrets from me? I heard that you had been talking to some tramp over at your car lot. Do you have something you want to tell me?"

PJ looked at his wife in shock. "Are you talking about Rose Baker? The candidate for the superintendent's job?"

"Oh, Rose, is it? I thought her name was Róisín," Carol said, pronouncing the name as Roy-sin.

"It's pronounced Ro-sheen, but she prefers Rose. She's been looking for a car in case she gets hired for the superintendent's position."

"Well, she can just go back to Chicago or Whoresville or wherever she came from because Elmer Hudson is getting that job," Carol snapped.

"You know," PJ said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his wife, "nothing's for sure in this life. Especially when it concerns a fat little turd like Elmer Hudson."

Carol harrumphed as she stalked towards the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

+++

Three Days Ago

The next afternoon, PJ was sitting at his desk when Wilma Harkrider, one of his sales managers knocked on his office door accompanied by Rose Baker.

"You have a visitor PJ," Wilma said.

PJ jumped to his feet. "Thanks, Wilma. Hi Rose; have a seat," PJ said, walking her towards a leather sofa that sat against a far wall perpendicular to his desk.

"How did the interview go?"

"I think it went pretty well. I spoke with them for a little over three hours."

"That's a good sign. No other interview went past ninety minutes."

"I wanted to thank you for giving me a heads up on the issues that the new super will be facing. I had some answers ready and the board president seemed to like my answers.

"The school board president seemed to have a firm grasp of some of the challenges the school district will be facing in the future. I was very impressed with her. The other three interviewers I feel had already made up their minds before I even sat down. Rose shrugged her shoulders, raising her hands, palms up. "I don't think they liked me very much."

"Was one of them a short guy with a buzz haircut? Looks like his parents might be on the same family tree?" PJ asked.

"That describes him to a T," Rose laughed.

"That's Bernie Woodhouse. He's Elmer Hudson's best friend and about as sharp as a bag of wet hair. He's been on the school board longer than anyone so Erin Hayes, the board president, has to let him interview with her. He's one of three votes that Elmer has locked up for the position. I'm guessing the other two were women? Both blonde? Looked like they could be on the cover of Frigid Bitch magazine?"

Rose quickly nodded her head. "What's their story?"

"Let's go to Naomi's Diner across the street for lunch and I'll explain to you why you just might have a shot at the job."

"How familiar are you with MUFF?" PJ laughingly asked a shocked Rose after taking their seats at the diner.

Moms United for Freedom was one of several groups that had popped up in recent years with the expressed intent of placing their members on school boards. The various groups of their ilk had been given nicknames such as Assholes with Casseroles, Crackpots with Crockpots, and Minivan Taliban. This particular group had been founded in Grapevine, Texas two years prior by Lucinda Neff-Dupree, wife of district court judge Nathan Dupree who was currently under investigation for bribery. To make matters worse, the family nanny had recently disclosed a long-term sexual relationship with the Duprees that had begun shortly after her eighteenth birthday and in which Judge Dupree had videoed sexual contact between his wife and the nanny. Lucinda had been forced to resign from the group that she had founded.

Neither Lucinda Neff-Dupree nor her acolytes had noticed the unfortunate acronym that the group's name engendered when they began. Perhaps it was a certain naivete, or as PJ thought, perhaps it was an ignorance born of arrogance that led to the group not understanding the significance of the acronym. Whatever the reason, it was not discovered until $250,000 worth of merchandise had been ordered and pre-paid. It was not until the bumper stickers reading "I 🖤 MUFF" started flying off the shelves that the founders of Moms United for Freedom understood what was happening, but by then it was too late; MUFF mania had spread.

"What sort of questions did the interviewers ask?" PJ enquired.

"The one that identified herself as Mindy started the questioning," Rose said, as she described the interview to PJ.

"In Chicago, you have to deal with a lot of minority kids, don't you?" Mindy Snyder asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'deal with' but I interact with children of all ethnicities as well as their parents," Rose replied.

"I'm concerned about someone bringing a Woke agenda into our school system," Mindy said.

"I'm not sure what you mean by Woke," Rose had replied warily.

"Woke! You know what Woke is! You hear about it every day!" Mindy had nearly shouted at her.

"Perhaps if you could give me an example..." Rose had responded.