Highway action-new words-Coop and Billy exchange words-Mike gets pulled over
The truck was racing down the highway. The cop car was in hot pursuit, but the driver in the truck didn't give a fuck. He swerved left and right. The cop car matched it move for move. Then, the truck hit a ramp and somersaulted in the air. It flipped three times and landed and kept on trucking. The cop car attempted the same maneuver, but it flipped over and landed on the roof. The cop's fucking brains splattered inside the car as he shit his pants for the last time. . .
"Vroom. . ." said Eric as he pushed the truck down his imaginary highway.
"What game are you playing?" Granny Dick asked.
"This is Coop drinking beer and fucking with the cops," Eric said. Granny Dick frowned.
"You shouldn't use words like that," Granny Dick said. "Where do you learn to talk such filth as that?"
"One of the kids told it to me in Sunday School," Eric said.
Granny Dick was flabbergasted. She thought for sure that drunk Ernest Cooper had taught it to him. Punk ass fucking kids.
"Get your stuff together. I'm taking you home to mama. I will let her wash your mouth out with soap."
* * *
Coop got in the truck and cranked it up. It fired. The truck was shot to shit, but it would run.
"You just need some tires and glass in the windows," Billy Mullins said. Billy was a friend of Coop. "You also need to shoot the fucker that did this to your truck."
"I know it, and there was a time when I would have done it. But I can get a new truck. Getting life in a prison cell don't make no sense to me."
"You sound like a man with a family to protect, Coop. You ain't gone soft for that Anita chick, have you?"
Coop was silent.
"I reckon you have," Billy said. "And you let that bitch's boyfriend do this to your truck. You are one dumb son of a bitch."
A fist connected with Billy's face. Billy hit the dirt.
"I don't give a fuck about that worthless cunt," Coop said. "That bitch can fuck a hundred mules, and I don't care."
Billy held his jaw. "Then, why do you care?"
Coop wouldn't answer.
"It's that boy, ain't it?" Billy said. "That boy ain't yours, Coop. You're playing daddy to the son of a mama who don't want you. How do you think that is gonna play out?"
"I don't know, Billy. I just know that every boy needs a daddy. It ain't that boy's fault his daddy got killed by a psycho, and his mama is a damn whore looking for money."
"You're right, Coop. I'm hearing what you're saying. But you can't change any of that."
"How about shutting up, and let's change some tires."
* * *
The blue lights were flashing. Mike hadn't even got out of Buzzard County before he was pulled over. The deputy sheriff handed back his license and registration.
"You were seven miles over the limit, so I'm going to let you off with a warning," the deputy said.
"Thanks, officer. I really appreciate that," Mike said.
"But I smell something really funny in that car. I can't quite place it, but it smells bad. Plus, you look nervous as hell."
Mike thought about the shotgun in his trunk. He just wanted this cop to shut up and let him go.
"In Buzzard County, we call that smell 'probable cause.' Please step out of the vehicle."
Chapter 6
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