General Fiction posted April 14, 2019


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No bowl a' cherries

by LIJ Red

The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
April took a break near the middle. Breezes ceased to be southern zephyrs. Chilly gales swept in from the northwest. Davy Mott worked late at the carpet mill. Eating at the Endoda Road Tavern appealed to him more than cooking his own. Food at the tavern was simple and deadly. Grease was its strong point. He arrived about seven PM. In the sagging white frame house, a handful of regulars were playing pinochle or drinking beer. Just as he stepped on the porch, a familiar jalopy slid to a stop behind him. Knowing his cousin Lutie and Bertie his bride were rowing again, Davy skipped on into the Endoda. Lutie tromped in behind him with a thunder of size sixteen brogans. Moag, the barkeep, sighed. No peace in the roadhouse tonight. Openly smirking, Davy ordered mugs for himself and Lutie. Parking his massive butt on the next stool, Lutie turned up his mug. Quickly, Davy grabbed the jar that looked like urine with two gray pickled eggs in it, and ate the eggs. Rotating the empty jar and glaring, Lutie snorted loudly. Smiling, Moag placed another jar of eggs on the bar. Turning to Davy, Lutie asked if he could kill Davy's cousin Bertie. Ugly, he called her, and cruel. Vicious as any razorback sow. Why in Hell had he married that big mean bitch? X-rated vocabulary and cottage cheese ass, that was Bertie. Yelled like a panther on a killing spree. Zoomed around in his damned pick-up, knocking fenders off.
Lutie's pocket played a few bars of Dixie. He pulled out his cell phone and listened to it for a few seconds. "Yes, Dear. I'll be right there."



Yes, this is just a slight twist on a scene from my old Blue World novel...just playing around, to see if I could do this...
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