Fat Assassins (5 page)

“A lot of folks have been apologizing to us lately, haven’t they Shasta? Everybody’s got a case of the ‘sorries’, maybe it’s a pandemic or something.” 

I nodded in agreement as she continued.

“Does it feel good to apologize after destroying someone’s life? Maybe everyone does it because it makes them feel better for their shitty situation . . . hhhmmm.” 

She took a step back and turned to face me. 

Rick breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You tired of folks telling us ‘they’re sorry’? Cause I am!” 

Damn. She’s got that crazy, redneck look she gets when she’s been shooting whiskey.
 

Quick as a flash, she spun back around and dropped a huge right fist into Rick’s nose. She must have channelled all of her rage into that single motion because his nose crumbled under her fist like play-doh. Bluish circles immediately appeared under his eyes and blood stained his shirt. 

He flinched as she leaned closer and whispered. “I am really sorry but . . . I’m sure you’ll bounce back.”

He sat stuttering, blood gushing from his nose. 

“One more thing, you try to press charges and I’ll tell Salvo you’re screwing Emma. Let’s just call it even.” 

Twenty minutes later, we sat nestled in the Pinto’s fuzzy, pink seat covers contemplating our predicament over Dairy Queen blizzards. 

“Well, we could try to find a job in Charleston. Nobody knows us there and it wouldn’t cost too much in gas if we carpooled,” Ulyssa said, in between bites of Cheesequake. “Charleston is a big city though and I have no idea where to start looking for jobs.” 

“Mitchell’s cousin got a real good job in Charleston as an image consultant using the Internet. I think he used Craigslist or something like that . . . what do you think?” 

“Couldn’t hurt. Any ideas where we could get a computer?”

“The only one I’ve ever used is at work and I don’t think Minnie would let me back in the office to use it to job hunt.”

“Ha. Same here. I won’t be welcomed back after blooding Rick’s nose.”

“Maybe an Internet cafe?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“We could ask Mitchell?” I was running out of ideas.

“Hmmm. Maybe.”

We sat for a few minutes lost in thought, scraping the last of the ice cream from the blue cups. The noise of the spoon dragging across the bottom of the cardboard cup reminded me of cutting class in high school. Most kids at our school would ditch class to go smoke pot in the woods, but we’d hide out behind the library eating Blizzards. 

“Hey! What about the library? They probably have a computer or might know where we could find one.”

“Nice!” Ulysaa handed me her empty Blizzard cup and started the car. “We’ll stop by there on Sunday!”

“We heading to Buck’s for a beer?” I halfheartedly asked.

“I don’t want to. You?”

“No. I’d rather save the money for the festival tomorrow.”

“Get a move-on!” Ulyssa banged on my door as she grumbled down the hallway after her shower. “We’ve got a three hour road trip ahead of us!”

I groaned and rolled off the bed. I wasn’t convinced it was worth driving all the way to Marlington for a RoadKill Cook-Off, but it was too late to change my mind. Sam had been nagging us about it since she saw it on a Food Network show last month. She’s hoping they’ll be serving the armadillo and roadrunner tacos. 

I hope they have funnel cakes.
 

I stood wrapped in my towel staring into my closet. What do you wear to a roadkill festival?

Jeans, t-shirt and cute purple jacket.
 

Ulyssa decided to go country chic too. Except she had added a giant feathered hair clip and matching earrings to top off her outfit. 

“Nice earrings!” I teased, giving her a backhanded compliment. “Reminds me of roach clips!”

“Whatever! I like ‘em. Mom got them for me at the Church flea market.” She caressed the black and tan striped feather hanging from her right ear. “I wasn’t sure at first, but they’ve grown on me.”

A light tap at the door interrupted our fashion debate. 

“Hey y’all!” Mitchell greeted us while Mitsy gave us a little wave. 

“Morning!” I greeted them. 

“This festival better be good or Sam is going to hear about it all the way back,” Ulyssa snarled, pushing me down the stairs closing the door behind her. 

Everyone murmured in agreement.

A few minutes later we arrived outside Sam’s apartment building. The red brick was covered with a layer of dirt giving it the illusion of a historic building. Sam was standing in front of the cracked wooden sign that read Parkview Apartments. I’m not sure how they picked the name since the only view from the apartments was the Piggly Wiggly. Sam waved a blue Igloo cooler in the air as we pulled closer. 

“It is too damn early!” she said, shoving the cooler into the back of the Pinto. “Wouldn’t be a road trip without a cooler!”

“Too early to start drinking!” Mitchell protested.

“It ain’t booze, you lush. Just some sodas and snacks!”

“Oh. Cool. Thanks.”

“I’m excited. I’ve never been to a famous place before. I wonder if it will be just like it was on T.V.” Sam’s definitely a morning person. 

“Being on the Food Network doesn’t make it a famous place,” Ulyssa argued.

“Name me another place in West Virginia that’s been on television?”

Sam pulled some snacks out of the cooler and passed them around, while we tried to come up with an answer.

“Mothman Prophesies?” Mitsy asked in between bites of granola bar.

“That movie was about West Virginia, but not filmed here,” Sam said chewing on her Slim Jim. “Anyone else?”

“Fine. I guess we are going to a famous place,” Ulyssa conceded. “I bet there won’t be any movie stars there though.”

I stabilized my Mello Yello cans as she swerved the car to miss a pothole.

“Y’all wouldn’t know how to act if we did see a movie star,” Sam joked.

“I’d know what to do if I saw Shania Twain!” Mitchell said.

“Seriously?” Mitsy asked.

“Hell yeah! She’s a hottie.”

“She’s Canadian!” Sam added.

“But she sings country music,” he defended. 

“Do you think there’s rednecks in Canada?” I asked.

“I bet they have trailer parks too!” Ulyssa answered.

“Wow. Imagine visiting a Canadian trailer park,” I continued.

“You’d have to have passports to go,” Mitsy said, “They’re bout $150 each.”

“What? $150 dollars?” Mitchell asked. 

“It’s thousands of miles away. Too far for a road trip in the Pinto,” Ulyssa said patting the dashboard.

“I would drive a million miles for a date with Shania.”

“You know she’s married, right?” Ulyssa asked.

“But she’s been married for almost twenty years. She might be looking for some young blood.”

“She’s already found some new blood. She got divorced in 2010 cause he was cheating on her with her best friend, some Swiss woman,” Sam retorted.

“Even better. Now she’s free and needing a shoulder to cry on.”

“For someone who’s so into her, you really don’t know much about her,” Sam scolded, “After her divorce, she got engaged to her best friend’s ex-husband.”

“Wait. Her best friend slept with her husband, so she divorced him and married her best friend’s husband?” he asked. 

“I guess they have rednecks in Switzerland too cause that’s some Jerry Springer stuff,” Mitsy added.

“Dang. That’s messed up.” I grinned at Ulyssa. “I would never try to steal Johnny away from you.”

She gave me an evil look. “He is not my boyfriend!” 

The entire backseat erupted in laughter.

Ulyssa tapped the brakes, slinging all of us forward and choking me on the seatbelt. “Oops. Thought I saw something in the road.”

“That sure is a lot of passion for someone you don’t like,” Sam said.

Ulyssa started swerving the car along the curvy, country road. Everyone started groaning as the granola, manufactured meat and soda started swirling in our stomach.

“What’s wrong y’all?” She kept exaggerating the turns, making us greener. “I thought you were joking about my love life. Please continue.” 

I opened my mouth to beg her to stop, “Bletch!”

“Tell ya what . . . you stop joking about Johnny and I’ll stop swerving.” 

Everyone nodded.

We all sat in silence with the windows rolled down for the next twenty minutes trying to calm our stomachs.

“Look!” Ulyssa pointed to a sign. “We’re almost there.”

I lifted my head off the cool doorframe just long enough to read the approaching sign. Ten miles to Malington. I laid my head back down into the wind and exhaled in relief. 

We scrambled out gasping for air before Ulyssa had finished parking the car, but the smell of slow roasting meat didn’t help my swirling innards. I pushed the thought of rotisserie possum from my mind and focused on funnel cakes. 

The sun was twinkling between the clouds, warming my face as we crunched across the gravel. A light breeze snapped the giant ENTRANCE sign taunt against the aluminum poles as we passed into the fairgrounds. Arriving mid-morning was a great idea. We were some of the first people at the festival, so we could amble between the booths without the crowds. 

The food booths were arranged down the right side, so we chose that route first. The decorations looked like something out of an Appalachian Broadway musical. Each section was designed around a unique roadkill theme. The first tent was decorated with awards from previous cook-offs. We stepped over the mock asphalt littered with vermin and peeked inside the tent.

“Howdy, there!” A twangy accent greeted us from under a straw hat.

“Morning!” We responded inhaling the thick scent of spices and unidentifiable meat.

She chuckled at our flaring nostrils. “It ain’t ready yet. Should be fit to eat after the parade.”

“Um. What is it?” Mitsy asked.

She pointed at the chalkboard propped against a reclining, fuzzy black bear.

BEAR BUTT APPETIZERS

“Bear butt appetizers?” Mitsy gasped.

Bletch. Bletch.

She chuckled, “I reckon this here is your’n first time to the festival.”

We all nodded.

“I tell ya what. Why don’t you’ns stop by here afore ya leave and I’ll give ya free samples. It tastes better’n it sounds.”

I gave her a thumbs up, so I wouldn’t have to open my mouth. I didn’t want to offend her with my gag reflex. She turned her back to us and finished unpacking some boxes at the back of the tent. The next couple booths were filled with more customary southern foods like venison, roast pig, and rabbit. 

“Hey Shasta! Look at this!” Ulyssa waved a can at me from the booth across the walkway. 

I walked over and she handed me the can. 

“It’s canned possum! Isn’t that awesome? We should get some as gag gifts. I asked her - it ain’t real possum. It’s spam!”

The sales woman caught me as I gave Ulyssa a weird look and her face tightened into an evil grimace.

Ulyssa put the can back on the table and grabbed a plastic bag. “What about a mullet wig?”

I rolled my eyes. I hope the sales woman wasn’t offended. The mullet looked good on her.

“Wind chimes?” Ulyssa pointed at a slice of trailer siding painted with a mountain scene dangling twelve Pabts Blue Ribbon beer cans like chimes. Mrs. Mullet ran her hand along the cans creating a clanging sound.

“I think you’re getting too caught up in this festival.”

“Maybe, but you have to admit that doorbell is funny.”

I looked around the plastic walls for the doorbell. “What doorbell?”

“That one.”

I turned my head to the right where a fake whitetail deer butt hung chained to the tent pole. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Shheeettt! Mmnutsurewhatyournbout, but thisunhere is one of our best sellers.” At least that’s what I think she said. Her Cajun accent was so thick, I easily imagined her speeding through the Bayou on an airboat with her mullet whipping in the wind. She mistook my confusion for interest and leaned over and stuck her finger into the deer butt, depressing the glowing button. “Ithasen four different doorbell sounds.” 

“Eeeerrrreerreeaaaarrreeeeee.” Erupted from the shaking, puffy whitetail.

I stepped back. “What the . . . ?”

“Angry doe.”

She flipped a switch on the side and pressed the doorbell again making the tail wiggle and triggering a series of burping and squeaking noises. 

“Urghh. Urghh. Urghh. Urghh. Errea. Errea. Errea.”

“Mating calls of a buck and doe.” 

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Fuh shore, for true!” she answered, leaning down to grab a bag for the doorbell.

“Has anyone ever been attacked because a real deer got confused?” 

She left the bag under the counter and squared her large frame into an aggressive stance. “I don’t rightly know. And you best not be planning one of them fancy lawsuits. I ain’t responsible if you get attacked because of this here doorbell. You chure are giving me a bad case of choux rouge!”

She smacked both hands on the table shaking her necklace loose from her tank top. I stared at the eerie accessory. It was a brown beaded necklace with with an odd assortment of trinkets suspended from it. One string held a swirled charm surrounded by shells of different sizes and colors. Another second string held a domino and an elongated tooth of some sort. On the opposite side, a chicken claw twisted against a yellow amulet. The last, and most creepy string dangled in the center of the necklace. It was leathery object with sticks shaped like human limbs waving at me.