Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah (14 page)

Hank felt ridiculous. Everyone stared at him while he gave Freud his name. The peculiar bloodhound looked at him with understanding eyes, which surprised Hank.
A dog, nothing but a dog
, he reminded himself.

Freud sat down, regaining his friendly stance, and then his paw popped up. Hank looked at Delilah and she smiled and nodded. Hank gave Freud his hand and they shook. Hank petted him without a problem after that.

Hennessey and Katherine started asking Hank and Curly questions. The usual ones at first, then the question Hank was dreading came up: why were they in Nashville? They laughed when he told them he ran behind a bunch of women bank robbers.

“Were you trying to catch them to turn them in, darlin’? Or did you want to join?” Katherine smiled politely at him.

“I wanted to join,” Hank said.

They all laughed, even Curly. But it was nervous, forced, and a little whiney.

“What do ya’ll do?” Hank asked the sisters.

“I own my own herbal company. I used to be a doctor, but modern medicine wasn’t really my thang,” Melody said, her southern drawl more sugary than sweet tea. “You have to take an oath to save everyone, give them a chance. I still believe in an eye for an eye. Modern medicine seems to save all those who might not need savin’ and lose those who need savin’ the most. I like homemade remedies.
For whatever a man sows, that shall he also reap.
”

Two of the girls from the back came by with trays, handing out cold beers. One of them put down bread with a sweet cinnamon flavored butter to go along with it. Hennessey went to stick his finger in the butter, but before he could, Katherine slid the butter to Jo, who slid it to Hazel, who threw it over her shoulder and into Delilah’s hand. In that instant Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Pride and Joy” started to play. It all happened like a planned skit.

“Oh, and I’m a sweet girl.” Hazel Darling giggled. “I bake sweets, that is!”

Curly sat back in his seat and appraised her. “Are you the face of Little Darling’s Sweet Cakes?”

She turned her eyes upward toward the ceiling, tucked her finger under her chin, and smiled. Then she quickly turned her face. “That’s me!”

“Your cakes are really good. My favorite is that chocolate one you have.” Curly licked his lips.

“Oh, the Coca Cola Spice Cake! Took me forever to formulate that sweet daddy! My personal favorite is the white chocolate sweet buns. They’re a big hit.”

Curly leaned over just a tad. “I smell the spicy chocolate on you.” He grinned. “Smells nice.” Then his eyes met Hank’s at the same time.

Heaven Almighty! Hazel Darling? Hank didn’t see that coming. He looked away from Delilah and sucked down the beer. Hazel Darling was Pistollette? Couldn’t be!

He looked Hazel in the eye and she smiled. When Delilah called her name, she averted her eyes to Delilah’s. Lordy be, not only was he in a love triangle, he was in love with two different sisters? He was going down in flames. He could already feel the fires of hell burning. If he wasn’t careful, he was about to get the pitchfork, or the pistol, right in the heart.

No, he refused to believe it. Delilah was Pistollette. He could feel it. Hank had
the feeling
again. He was experiencing so many feelings, but
the feeling
was much more—it was his magnet to the truth. His intuition screamed at him that this group of ladies was the
she
-devils on heels—they just fit the bill, without him even having to think about the logistics much.

Who was the woman he was in love with? Was Pistollette really Delilah? Oh, God Almighty, he hoped and prayed it was her. Hank, without drawing too much attention, started eyeing each one of them separately. None of them seemed to react to him, not until he got to Katherine. She looked him straight in the eye, then looked down, and then looked right at Hennessey.

Hank was in real trouble. They were playing games. He knew one of them was Pistollette for sure. He just knew. The problem was—which one?

The door to the bar opened, shining light in the barely lit space. A stocky man with a cowboy hat came stumbling in. He sat at the table behind them, snapping his fingers at one of the girls behind the bar. He searched his front pocket, looking for something. Finally, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He flipped his lighter and lit the cherry. Circles of smoke puffed out of his mouth, drifting over to Hank’s table with a reeking smell.

Hazel Darling moved with the speed of a pouncing cat, the chair moving behind her with no sound. She walked lightly to him, politely asking him to obliterate his smoking hazard. She pointed to a blimp of a metal sign nailed to the wall that stated: “Though shalt Not light up a Smoke under any Circumstances.” The man, not so kindly, slurred back that he could do what he pleased. He was a man! He had the equipment to prove this, if she was inclined to take a look.
Wink.

Hennessey started cackling and leaned over. “Watch this. I just love this part.
Ewee
.”

Hank looked to Delilah. She was staring at the man while her sister pulled something from the inside of her brassiere. The knife went spiraling through the air, stabbing and snatching the smoking hazard, nailing it to the wall with a loud and final thud.

“Do it again and that’ll be your head.” Hazel winked at him. Then she started cussing and marched into the back room. Once back there, they heard sweet singing. Church tunes, maybe.

Delilah whistled, the sound high-pitched before it went low. Freud went scrambling to the door, pushing it open with his large nose. The sun crept in, brightening the darkness once again.

The man got up and wisely, Hank thought, stumbled out the same way he came.

H
ank sat back in his seat. He was full from the food Delilah had personally served him and Curly: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, country green beans, hush puppies, cornbread, and sweet tea. The tea was served in mason jars that had the bar’s name and Freud’s picture etched on. It was the best meal Hank had ever had. He was almost drunk off the fullness of it.

Now that his belly was out of hock and his head a little light from the love he was experiencing, he decided sleuthing was in order.

Curly and Hennessey were sitting around chatting about the vintage cars in the parking lot. The Dodge Power Wagon was his, and Curly was asking endless questions. Hank pretended to be interested, asking questions occasionally for show, but his eyes were steadily roving.

Hank looked around for Delilah. She was doing odd things to get her place ready for that night. Freud wasn’t far behind her. Two of the bars bouncers arrived, Cash Bruiser and Leroy Blue. Freud mooched more pokers out of them, but other than that, he was Delilah’s shadow. If she were walking toward a door, he would run ahead of her and nuzzle it open.

He’d wait for her to walk through, and then she’d turn to him and say, “Why, thank you, Freud. You are a true gentlemen.” He would bay a bit and then wag that tail something fierce.

Hank never met a dog so polite. He was like the Rhett Butler of the bloodhound gang. He was so prim and proper when he wanted those porkers. He strutted around with such a low tolerance for impoliteness and rudeness, it was to the point of uncanny. Delilah taught him well.

Hank had no idea what came over him then. “Hennessey,” he said, interrupting the man’s steady conversation with Curly, “is Delilah a good shot?”

The conversation stopped.

“She’s decent.” There was understanding behind Hennessey’s whiskey-colored eyes. “Hank, do you have insurance on that heart of yours? If not, you better invest in some. You better nail it down, because she’s a storm ready to happen. And you know what Mama used to say about storms? Nail down only what’s important, ’cause if you don’t, you’ll lose everything all at once.”

A long, thoughtful pause stilled the air traveling between the men before Hennessey said, “I was thinkin’ about Wyatt the other day. He once told me, ‘Son, a woman is like moonshine magic. You know there’s logic there, but trying to find it is like tryin’ to keep sand between your fingers during a storm.’”

Hennessey opened his palm, pretending to snatch the air right from under Hank and Curly’s noses. He looked around for a minute as if he was about to share an ancient secret never been told before. When he opened his palm, sand fell onto the table. He reached over and pulled something from behind Hank’s ear, just like magicians do with quarters. It was a curvaceous, sandy-colored glass woman. He handed it to Hank.

Hank looked back at the table. All of the sand had disappeared.

Hennessey moved his mouth to the side. “See how sneaky that wind can be? See how quickly it can disappear with everything you thought you held in your hands? You think you have one thing, but you come up with another. Where’s the logic? All you have is mystery and magic. All you’re left holding is a strange creature you’ll never understand but love despite not knowing. Women and storms. Different stories, all the same point. Just given by two different points of view. And you know what they say about points? They can go either way.”

“Who’s been asking if Little Sister is a good shot?” Hazel Darling came bouncing over. Katherine followed right behind her. “She carries a gun, but she’s reckless, a true killer! Never trust her with a gun. She’s gotta carry one, though. You know, with killers out there and all. Just don’t sneak up on her if you can help it. She’s easily frightened.” Then Hazel became as still as a predator watching running prey. Her voice became cool, like mint. “Do you have a gun, Hank?”

“No,” Hank said.

“Hmm, can you even shoot if need be?”

“I’m decent.”

She leaned over the table, her bosoms squishing together. “You should take lessons. You should get one. One can never be too prepared, you know.” She winked and smoothly stood up.

Hank was feeling nothing but bravery. “Miss Katherine, your sister, does she have any boys? Or did she just have all girls?”

Katherine tilted her head to the side. “The girls share a sperm donor. Not the same mama.”

Curly nudged him from under the table just as Delilah and Freud were making their way from the kitchen.

“Whatchya’ll yappin’ about over here?” She hopped up on one of the tables, crossing her legs.

“Oh, Hank was just asking if you were a good shot,” Hazel ratted.

“
Snitches end up in ditches
,” Curly coughed out.

Delilah looked at Hank and her eyes hardened. Hank’s did too. They stared at each other.

“You could’ve asked me,” Delilah finally said, a note of warning whistling through.

All Hank could do was shrug. They continued staring, knocking marble against marble. She wasn’t backing down and neither was he. So what if she was the one who could shoot Dum Dums out of the air? He deserved answers. And if this was the woman he was to love for the rest of his life, and her and Pistollette were the same woman, he had to show her he wasn’t afraid of her. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life shivering and backing down because she had the ability to shoot his kneecaps out.

“Delilah, I found a prime piece of property that I think would be perfect for another Pistol Fanny’s location,” Katherine was saying to Delilah, but she and Hank were still staring. “You leave Monday. I booked your ticket already.”

“Where am I going?” Delilah said, her fury more evident than ever, but her eyes were still in control. Keeping that powerful storm bottled in a regulated space.

“Hitch up your wagons, Little Sister, you’re heading out West. California,” Katherine said.

Hank noticed they called her that sometimes.
Why?
Then his heart started to ache. He realized she was leaving again. All the color drained from his face. He was starting to suffer from a cold sweat.

“Where am I staying?” Delilah said, her leg bumping to the rhythm of her anger.

“Gillian has that place, somewhere close to the beach there. The property is two hours away, but it doesn’t seem like a bad drive for a day.” Katherine tapped her thumb against the table a few times, a futile attempt at getting either Delilah or Hank to look at her.

“I have property there?” Gillian said.

Hank didn’t see her walk over. He was too busy still not backing down. He picked his cup up, slow and easy like, putting it to his mouth for effect.

“You forgot you had property?” Curly said, sounding truly dumfounded by this prospect.

“Yeah, so what’s it to you, Curly?” Gillian bent over the table, her rear perched high in the air.

“I just don’t see how one can forget they own property,” Curly said.

“Easy. Some what’s his name who was two-timing his wife gave it to me. I hardly use it.” Gillian shrugged and then grinned.

“What is it that you do, Gillian?” Curly asked, very proper like.

“I’m a private investigator. I specialize in high-end cases, marriage disputes. Oh, you know, I catch men cheating on their wives. Usually with me.”

“You’re a setup. A trap.”

“Ahh.” Gillian smiled. “It’s all a part of the game. Most of the time the wife is cheating and she wants to catch the husband before he catches her. They want a fat slice of that decadent piece of pie. And if I’m real good, I get a bonus.”