Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah (40 page)

She shook her head—
not here
. She took him by the hand and led him out into the rain, into another one of the houses. This one was a home. It still had decent furniture with patchwork quilts and nice pictures hanging on the walls.

On one of the tables was a framed black-and-white picture of a woman (who was almost the spitting image of Gladys Knight when she was with The Pips) sitting next to a bear of a man with a wide smile on his alabaster face.

Hank recognized that smile. It was Pepsi and her husband Moses.

When they were in the bedroom, their bodies started to move in a slow dance around the room.

“I hope you remember this,” Delilah whispered against his lips.

“You’re all I know now, Delilah Mae.”

She ran her trembling fingers through his hair, pulled his mouth down to hers, licked the sweat from above his lip. They danced a little quicker, a little closer, easily sliding into a perfect rhythm that was all they ever wanted to know.

“Why do you tremble when you touch me? Why, darlin’?”

“Lord have mercy, Hank. Because I feel everything with you and it terrifies me. I feel like I’m just a girl again, running in those fields, feeling the coolness of the breeze against my skin, and I’m not afraid of a damn thing, all because I know you’ll be with me one day. I can feel that old Louisiana sun, hot on my skin, and it feels so damn good ’cause you’re next to me, just holding my hand. I can taste the salt on your lips, and that makes me feel like the luckiest women alive. I can feel it when you smile on my skin, and my heart skips a beat. I’m terrified of you, Hank. I tremble when you’re near me because just by walking away from me, you could destroy me.”

Hank held her closer, whispering, “Tell me, darlin’, all those things you want to say. Mmm, I want to hear you.”

She told him all the love words that had been building up in her, and then she sighed as they started to sway and dance even quicker. Hank had figured out how to keep those storm clouds at bay. She had to be free to speak her mind.

“I’m going to apologize now. I’m not going to be too careful with you, darlin’.” Hank stopped the motion for just a second to look her in the eye. “I’ve missed you something short of not breathing, and I don’t think I can control myself.”

She rolled her tongue over his lip again. “You were never careful with me, darlin’. You’ve always hit me like a hurricane, Hank. I’m just the helpless coast.”

“Lie to me, darlin’. That’s it, just keep on lying to me.”

And they smiled against each other’s lips as they danced their way to the bed.

Hank knew he was playing it dangerous. He was playing more dangerous with her than he was with those thugs after him. The love game had him going insane with longing and want for his Delilah. He wanted nothing between them. He wanted Delilah to get pregnant with his child. Clack, clack, clack, he wanted to secure the most important thing in the world to him before that storm blew everything else away.

He wanted every man to look at her and know he’d done that. No more Joe Crackers. Delilah was his, and he was damn proud of that fact. He always wanted to be connected to her, and if she had his baby, she always would be. They’d always be connected through blood. The sensation of her ran deeper than his body. It ran through his blood, through his mind, through his soul, just like that ole poison, but she wasn’t poison. She was the healing remedy to all his troubles.

“Hank,” Delilah said, standing by the door. “I have to go now, baby.”

He shot straight up, his bare chest pale white in the night. He was sleeping so soundly, all those root beers burning away with his dreams. But he was still light-headed, his head mildly twitching. He could hardly remember anything. He remembered destroying parts of the house, her telling him about that mean ole devil, and them making love. He couldn’t remember anything else. He especially didn’t remember the part about her leaving again.

“Where to?”

“I meant every word that I said to you, Hank. But I have to go. If you trust me, you’re going to have to let it be, just for now. I won’t do you wrong while we’re apart. I’ll miss you more than you could ever dream of missing me. Just please, stay put, Hank. Listen to me for once. Stay put. Go home, and go to work. If you have a friend that’s a girl, take her out once or twice. It’s make believe, Hank. It has to be. For now. For your sake. Only for your sake.”

Hank rubbed at his eyes. “Is this because you and Pistollette are turning against each other? I’m sorry for that. If I could go back and do it over, I would do a million things differently.”

“Ah, Pepsi could never turn down sweets.” Delilah smiled. “And that’s all you are to her, just a big ole sweet. Yes, Pistollette and I, we have turned down separate highways. But it’s too late for regrets. Some things have been set into motion, and there is no turning back. Listen to me, Hank. I need you to promise me something. Promise me that you’ll always love me. I need to hear you say it.”

“Darlin’, I love you. I’ll never stop. I don’t want you to leave. Stay with me. Come back to bed. We can work everything out tomorrow. We can go home.”

“I can’t, Hank.” She sat beside him on the bed. “If something were to happen… Go and see Pepsi, all right? She has something for you. Let Freud smell it and he’ll take you where you need to be. I know…I know I don’t tell you everything I should. Sometimes I forget how to use my words, but I’ve written things for you. Things I didn’t know how else to tell you. If I’m not here anymore, my words will be.”

Hank took her hand and she brought his to her face, closing her eyes fiercely. Hank cleared his throat. “One of these days, after you burn all those miles on all those highways you travel, they’re going to come to an end, and you’re going to understand then that I’ve been the man beside you in your shotgun seat all along, always along for the ride. Those old highways don’t give a damn about you, darlin’. They don’t love you. I love you. I will always love you.”

“Only if all my prayers come true.” She kissed him again, her mouth lingering on his like warm fire. They froze when she pulled away.

He knew she was going to run. He went to grab her hand, but she was already gone. He ran behind her, making it to the porch just in time to see the red lights fade into the darkness. Hank stumbled over Dylan, all of the guys sprawled around the screened-in porch, half asleep. They looked like the mice the cats dragged in.

Dylan looked up at Hank. “You’re not going to go buggy again, are you? Wait, you did go buggy, right? You just about tore down that house. God, I can’t remember anything. Why are you missing your shirt?”

Hank was staring toward the empty road. “Dylan, can you give me a ride to Spell’s?”

“Sure, why?”

“I’m going to burn this son of bitch down. I have the matches. All I need is a few gallons of gas.”

“Hank, you sure you’re all right?” Dylan started slapping all the guys around him. Jesse was so tired only one of his eyes would open. “Hey, boys, it looks like not only are we going to be accessory to robbery crimes, we’re going down in flames. We’re about to add arson to our list. Perkie is going to kill this good boy.”

“Have mercy! Hank!” Jesse yelled. “What next? He’s going to kill that poor Doc fella. Somebody needs to warn him!”

“Not him,” Hank muttered, his eyes fixed on the road like hard stones.

“M-M-Man,” Tommy stuttered. “We s-s-should’ve done this back wh-when we were in-in h-h-high school. We d-d-did nothing compared to this. I thought st-st-stealing Christmas decorations was sending me straight to the p-p-pit.”

“I’m in,” Stroke said.

“Might as well.” Curly stood and stretched. “I could use another pickle.”

Hank took the gas from Spell’s pump, leaving money tucked underneath the door for it. He also wrote him a note, thanking him for the root beer and pickles, and told him no one had found his eye. When they returned to the fields, Hank went back inside that devil’s skeleton and removed all the pretty pictures off the walls. He had Curly tuck them away in the van. He wanted the one of Delilah more than any worldly possession anyone could offer him.

Hank smiled and whooped as he poured gas in the house. The deadly rich fumes filled the air in every room. Hank sent a small prayer up that, even though it was soaked, it would still catch like a wild fire. He wanted every memory, every beating, every tear and tremor to burn up with it. He prayed that mean ole devil was as superstitious as an Italian Catholic, because if he were, he would feel the heat coming for him.

He would burn up every horrendous memory he ever left there. Every harsh touch, every whipping and lashing and breaking. Hank was going to sit there and smile while he watched the devil’s home explode in flames. He wouldn’t own it any longer.

The time for reminiscing and reminding was over. She would never think about this graveyard again. She’d never see it again. He would buy the property, build whatever she wanted, fill it with designer dresses, sweat pants, and oversized sweatshirts, and fine china, along with chipped antiques, and he’d cover it in roses and a dozen other flowers, just for her. She could pick and choose whatever the hell she wanted.

Just then they saw a slumped-over shadow make its way toward them. Spell clapped his hands and kicked his feet together as he moved down the street.

“What do we have here?” He rubbed his hands back and forth. “I’d say it’s a mighty fine night for a camp out. A might fine night, boys! Let’s roast us some weenies! What do we have here?”

Every one of those boys dumped gasoline, spreading it like seeds of growth and freedom. Hank took two matches out of his pocket and struck each flame to life. He watched them glow hot in the darkness for just a moment before he flicked one toward the house. He flicked the other one right after, and they didn’t catch right away. He wasn’t sure if they would, but soon enough, the place was smoking.

It was a slow, steady heat. Hank’s favorite flavor—sweet with a bitter kick, something that melted deliciously slow in your mouth so you were sure to taste it.

The fire started like a bonfire with just a few sticks and then caught like fireworks in the night air. It was like a big torch for all those women who didn’t have voices. It smoked all those ghosts from the grave, sending them on their way to that mean ole devil’s bed, so he’d never forget them. As the flames started to rise higher and higher, Hank couldn’t wait for it to blow up. When the windows started to explode, what was left of them, it smelled like Christmas in autumn.

One memory, one fear, one beating, two beatings, three beatings, a hundred beatings, two hundred tears and three hundred fears…catch, catch, catch, whoosh, all up in flames.

Burn, baby, burn
, Hank chanted. The guys danced around it like Indians celebrating some spiritual ritual, putting an end to their visions and confusions. They had been purged of all those demons, those things that frightened them the most. They weren’t afraid anymore, and along with those women, whoever they were, they too were coming for those mean ole devils.

Hank was just getting started. Hank was marking his territory. He was going to write his name in the ashes and say:
Don’t worry. I’ll call you
. Hank was riding away, giving them the finger. He was pinning them down and gloating. He was putting them under his feet, taking everything back they stole from his Delilah Mae and every other in her shoes. The nice pairs and the busted ones. No separations for Hank. All were created equal.

As Spell walked down the street, kicking his legs in the air and hollering, “Glory, glory, Hallelujah,” he suddenly stopped and bent down.

“Well, lookie here,” he hollered and held his hand up. “I finally found my eye! I can see! Oh, and boys, don’t drink too much of that root beer…it can cause some awful bad forgetting spells.” He howled. “I sure did miss my eye! I can see…I can see…”

Hank could see right along with him, as clear as if he were looking through a translucent glass eye.

It didn’t matter anymore to him who she was. It was regardless, just regardless, a moot point in the midst of chaos. He vowed, while he watched those flames rise higher and higher, that he was going to love Delilah Mae Turner for the rest of his life. And come what may, he was going to save Pistollette.

He had plans to make, he had a few pictures to dig from the grave box, he had a few ghosts to have a long- time-coming chat with, and he had a few mean ole devils to pay him a visit to.