THE DISTURBING BEHAVIOR OF SHERIFF BLEAKER
Disturbing Dinner Party (Part 2 of 3)
by Donny Mumford
I'm still handcuffed to the bolted ring in the sheriff's, but Dally got free. He's told me about his plan for our escape and I'm was nervous of course, but he once again had given me hope that there will be an end to my nightmare. Then, as a big bonus for us Dally's search of the house turned-up a big stash of money too. On top of that he discovered a box of personal belongings from the twenty or so boys pictured on the bulletin board. This is very incriminating evidence against the Sheriff and his sicko brother Skeets. Some very exciting developments, but I didn't want us to press our luck so I begin urging Dally to go back to his room and get his handcuff on. He was gonna do that except he found the tapes of the sheriff and Skeets doing nefarious stuff to the boys held prisoner here. There are fifty to sixty videos, all labeled. All the different boys who had spent time here under 'house arrest'. Dally returned the box with all the boys personal effects as we hear the truck's tires scrunching on the gravel in the driveway. "Hurry Dally! Hurry, please..." Dally quickly picks up the bag of tapes and it rips sending the videos across the floor. The truck doors slam and we hear the Sheriff say,"I'm starving Skeets. You go on ahead and get that boy of yours to start making those meat balls that I like, and don't forget I want plenty of hot chili peppers. I'll practice with these fucking crutches for a minute or two. Dally says to me, "Danny, sweep as many of the tapes under your cot as you can reach." I'm frantically sweeping my free arm along the carpet to move tapes closer to my as I hear Skeets walking down the outside hall from the car port. Dally's doing it too only he's pushing the tapes under the Sheriff's bed. Skeets is inadvertently giving us extra time because of his very odd way of walking. He turns each step into a mini drama, a slow swaggering walk indicating how important he thinks he is, but still he'll still be passing our doorway in about thirty seconds and he's bound to look in and see that Dally's out of his handcuff. My heart's beating faster than a Humming bird's heart. With each of Skeet's step his foot hits the floor much harder than necessary. Big booted feet hitting the floor, "CLUMP!", a pause, then another, "CLUMP!", another pause, "CLUMP!", very deliberate; what an enormous asshole.
With the sheriff still practicing with his new crutches, Skeet's is two 'CLUMPS' from the bedroom door and Dally is about to follow the tapes under the Sheriff's bed when we hear the Sheriff bellow out, "Skeets, I dropped one of these goddamn crutches! I need your help or I'm gonna fall on my ass again." Skeets bangs his hand against the hall wall in disgust, muttering to himself, "I shoulda left that drunk dipshit in town. Let him sleep it off in his own fuckin' jail." Skeets would never talk to the Sheriff's face like that, but he clumps his way back the way he came and when we hear the screen door slam we know we have time for Dally to get in his handcuff. From outside we hear quite a different tone coming from Skeets, he says, "You OK now Bart? I'll get that crutch for ya, but be careful 'cause I don't want ya to hurt yourself." The screen door slams again and down the hall comes Skeets toward our room again, muttering something under his breath. Same dumbs way of walking, "Clump," pause, then, "Clump." It'd be funny if we weren't so scared. All the tapes are out of sight, but in the wrong places and it's only a matter of time before one of those degenerates spots one. Dally's still in my room. He's whispering fast," I'm going out this window and run around the outside of the house to climb in Skeet's bedroom window, Danny. I can't get it all done in time unless you stall Skeets. Please do something to delay him for a minute or so, that's all I need.You can do it." He pats my arm, give me an encouraging smile and puts one leg over the windowsill, and then the other. He pull the window down from the outside and a half second later Skeets was walks by the door where I'm handcuffed. He glances in the room taking another of his infuriatingly deliberate steps past my doorway gawking at me with a mean look on his face. I think he'd caught a flash of Dally the last fraction of a second, but his mind couldn't process the possibility that Dally could have just gone out that window. My mind's going a mile a minute, but isn't working any better than Skeets'. We both came up a complete blank.
I'm petrified, but I need to stop Skeets from going to the next bedroom because Dally needs to run around the outside of the ranch house, open and climb in his window and then put on his handcuff before Skeets gets there. No way can he do it unless I slow Skeets down. He takes a clunking step towards the next bedroom and I decide to just yell out his name, it's something to try, better than nothing, but when I yell nothing comes out but a wheezy air sound. It's like trying to scream in a dream. Then I try again and it came out alright, but much too loud this time, "SKEETS COME HERE!!!".
I swallowed my own spit in panic and start coughing and hiccuping because us boys simply do not talk to the Sheriff or Skeets in that tone. Skeets said, "What the fuck....?" He forgets about his dramatic walk coming fast, "CLUMPCLUMPCLUMP!" and he's filling the door frame. This is the first time I've seen a dark red albino face. He's raging mad. I scrambled off my cot onto the floor trying to get in the corner of the room, but my handcuffed wrist prevents that. Skeets takes four fast steps into the room, grabs the front of the jeans jacket I still have on from when Dally and me were working the sage brush earlier in the day. Skeets picks me up off the floor with one hand and tried to slap my face with the other hand. I'm tethered to the floor with one wrist in the handcuff so there's no place for me to hide. Scared to death of this terrifying zombie, I pee my jeans while wiggling and ducking my head away from the slapping hand. The first slap brushes the top of my head as Skeets blows spit bubbles of rage snorting through his nose like a bull. He's swinging his arm haphazardly trying to slap my face as I'm praying the pee won't soak through the heavy jeans, i feel the pee running down my legs. He's slapping the top of my head, my shoulder, the side of my neck, any place he can reach. My body's in constant motion trying to avoid the full face slap. Then he finally did get a pretty good slap on the lower half of my face and I see stars. The slap cuts my bottom knocked in my teeth causing a spray of bloody spit to fly out the side of my mouth. I could feel my lip swelling up already. "What the fuck is going on now?" screams the Sheriff, who had finally made his way this far into the house on the crutches. Skeets took one more swat at me and caught the side of my head which starts my ear ringing. Skeets answers the Sheriff, "Didn't you hear this smart ass telling me to, "COME HERE!, didn't you hear that." The Sheriff mutters that he heard something, but could believe it was me yelling at Skeets. He gets my chin with his thrum and forefinger to jerk my face around to his, snarling, "What's your fucking problem, son?" I can hardly hear him through the ringing in my ears, but I come up with something I think's pretty good. I go "It's just that I was worried about you, sir. I just wanted to know that you're okay, Sheriff." This might have gotten me off the hook except I yelled it out at him. I yelled it because I can't hear too well and that caused me to speak too loudly. It sounded, even to me, like I was mocking him. The Sheriff got ripping mad at me too saying, "Don't you ever use that tone of voice with me! God damnit, you're getting a bull whipping. Think about that you little fairy. And keep your fucking pie hole shut from now on. You hear me?". I nod my head up and down mumbling, "Yes Mr Sheriff. Yes sir, I heard you Sir. I'm really sorry. Please don't whip me." Skeets roughly drops me back on my cot with the Sheriff ,who was now so pissed off he's breathing hard and grunting with the effort, holding a hand to his chest like he's having a heart attack. With a humble expression on my face, I'm thinking, "You fat fuck. I hope you have a heart attack and die a painful death, you piece of garbage, eat a shit sandwich and die you crazy asshole". The sheriff points his finger at me, saying through clenched teeth, "You'll be getting a bull whipping tonight, think about it!"
I'm scared shitless again as, outside the bedroom, I hear Skeets asked the Sheriff, "Ya want me ta handle the whipping Sheriff? You got the bad leg and all. I'd really like to get that smartass brat scurrying around naked on his hands and knees begging for mercy. And I'm thinking the sooner the better too". Both Skeets and the Sheriff are in the doorway groping their crotches with glazed looks in their eyes thinking about that picture Skeets mentioned; me naked on all fours getting whipped. The Sheriff nodding his head, muttering, "Yeah, yeah, good idea, you handle his whipping and we haven't done a real bad whipping like, forever. I'm gonna watch you do it of course. Lets put him in the barn where there's room for him to try and get out of reach of the bullwhip; more fun that way. Now, let's see. Oh yeah, get that god damn boy of yours to start dinner. I'm starving." The front of Skeet's lap is poking out by his boner as he says in a scary whispery voice, "Can't wait to hear his screams of pain." The sheriff mutters, "Me neither, but get that pussy boy of your's to start dinner or I'll hit ya over the head with these fuckin' crutches. Skeets goes in his room to get Dally, who's had more than enough time to get back in his handcuff. The Sheriff's trying to adjust the height of his crutches. It's apparently too tricky for him and it's pissing him off. He snarls, "This goddamn thing is broken! Jesus, my fucking blood pressure must be out of sight with all this aggravation! "
Skeets has a hold of Dally's neck as he comes to help the sherif. Dally and I dot dare look at each other. Skeets snaps at Danny, get the fuckin' dinner started and lots of chilies! The he helps the sheriff with the crutch problem as the sheriff continues his rant."My sprained ankle and knee is so frustrating, and that fucking Danny has me so mad I feel like having you bullwhip him right now! What gets into these boys? You suppose we're too gentle with em?" Skeets said, "Are you shitting me? Too gentle? Not a chance, but it just might be getting time for a trip to the dirt hole. Ya know, maybe get ourselves some new action, if you get my drift." I couldn't hear anymore because they walked towards the den, but it gives me a good feeling knowing I'd gaven Dally plenty of time to get back into his handcuff. Even with blood drying on my swollen lip and pee in my pants, I still feel really good I didn't let Dally down. But the really severe whipping Skeets is going to give me naturally has me petrified, but I'm thinking maybe they'll never get a chance to do the whipping if Dally's plan works. If it doesn't were dead anyway. The Sheriff and Skeets always drink too much before dinner so the earliest they could do the bull whipping is surely tomorrow morning and we'll be gone by then. I fantasize what I'd like to say to Skeets. Something like, "Well you retard, I hope you're good at bull whipping when you're all duct-taped-up like a fucking mummy, and your head half caved in from being hit with billy clubs. Hope you practiced whipping a helpless boy when you're in the condition I just described because that's the shape you're going to be in, you fucking piece of white trash." Jeez, now I'm thinking maybe Dally was right, maybe I do have a 'hero' inside me. Just thinking that brave, defiant thought made me smile. It's the first brave thought I'd had in almost two years. Yeah, Dally's right, the fucking Bleaker scum have messed with the wrong two boys this time!
Then I had a much darker thought remembering Skeets' comment about a dirt hole and 'new action' for him and the Sheriff. Since Dally and me were the 'old action', oh my God my knee start shaking again. Dammit! I can't let myself dwell on negative thoughts. As I'm trying to sort it all out and nursing my smacked face and split lip, Skeets does his weird deliberate walk straight back into my room. I cringed back on the cot up against the wall as he clumps slowly towards me, no brave thoughts in my head now. He comes over looking mean, but simply unlock my handcuff. "Do I smell piss?" I look at the ground saying, "no sir, Mr. Skeets." He swats at my nearly bald head, and goes, "Get your ass outside to the Sheriff's truck and take all the stuff from the passenger seat into the Sheriff's desk. Then help your girlfriend in the kitchen with dinner." I'm hunched over submissively saying, "Yes sir, Mr. Bleaker, sir." He swats at my head again, but misses, muttering, "I can't wait to whip your ass raw. I want to whip it down until I can see a little white spot of your ass bone. When I'm done with you boy you'll never tell me to "come here" again." Change out of those field clothes and get naked, then do what I tol' ya to do. I'm out of my clothes in a flash, looking at the floor mumbling, "I'm very sorry Mr. Bleaker, I'll never do it again. Please don't whip me, sir, I'll be good.." He pushes my naked self out the bedroom door and I hurry off to the Sheriff's truck, but I don't avoid Skeets big, callused hand whistling through the air to smack my ass, "S M A C K!!!" I yelped as my buttocks vibrates with a stinging pain, and try to run but that smack stops me in my tracks; it hurt like hell. I"m rubbing my ass, lifting my feet up, but standing trying to absorb the shock and the pain of that smack as winds-up and gives me with another whack that's even harder than the first one. That second smack picked my heals right up off the floor with the force of it, "S M A C K !!!" Tears in my eyes because those two smacks really hurt, but are love taps compared to the bullwhips power. "Get moving you pussy, you're worried about a couple of pats on your ass. Jesus, are you in for a reality check, when I bullwhip your ass"
I run down the hall towards the side door with my ass on fire; Skeets hits harder than the Sheriff and the spanking brought back all my old fears, bigger than ever. No more bravado from me, no more thinking-up things I'd like to say to the sheriff or Skeets. I'm just a scared little rabbit facing two hungry alley cats. How the hell am I going to go up against either one of them with a billy club? Maybe with a shot gun I'd have a chance, but certainly not with a fat stick in my hand. Fuck! A billy club isn't nearly enough against these madmen. My scaredy-cat heart is pounding too fast again as my naked body with it's red and sore ass hurries to do what I'm told to do. My mind is back to non-stop worry about everything including that whipping; that bull-whipping nightmare in my future. No more optimism because if even one little thing goes wrong with Dally's plan, if we don't get every lucky break too, it won't work because those two sickos are too strong. If the smallest detail doesn't go Dally's and my way, we're going to die a slow, painful death from bull whipping. My leg's shaking I feel like throwing-up; a familiar feelings for me to have. Running with an armload of the Sheriff's papers, I slow up and enter the study where the Sheriff's pouring about two inches of Wild Turkey in a highball glass. He looks up and his eyes seemed to take in all 5' 6" of my naked, shaved body. His voice mean spirited and as nasty as it can be, "Come here." When I do he grabs my hairless balls and plays with them a minute before squeezing them hard. I almost black-out, but I was expecting it so I manage to keep the scream of pain inside my head. He gruffly says, "Get me some ice, boy. I'm disappointed in your behavior lately, particularly after all I do for you too.You're ungrateful like all you prison boy's are! You need a hard whipping and you're sure as shit going to get one; now get the damn ice." He's staring at my body, groping his crotch openly by the end of his lecture. I see him boning up just anticipating my screams, my pleas of mercy at the whipping, and my agony. I have another emotion change, all of a sudden a calm feeling came over me. Fact is, we aren't dealing with human beings here, certainly not 'normal' human beings. These two are very dangerously sick in the head so Dally and me will not fail tonight; not against these sub human psychos. And, I just might ignore what Dally told me about us not being a murderer. I might keep hitting that fucking pant load of a sheriff until his brains are running down his ugly face. When I'm thinking those thoughts I don't feel afraid, I felt angry like Dally says he feels. My emotions have changed from one minute to the next today, but this is a historic day for Dally and me, and the end for the sheriff and his brother. The times they are a changin' for those motherfuckers!
I get the ice on the run because I don't want to act suspicious in any way, and I'm expected to be scared and run. The sheriff expects me to be weak and weepy and afraid enough to pee my pants; well, actually I already did pee my pants a little while ago, but now I'm feeling brave again and I'm just pretending to be scared. I think that's what I'm doing; it's such a new concept for me it's hard hard to tell. Dally is mixing his meatball concoction as I come into to the kitchen. Skeets is sitting at the kitchen table watching him so Dally and me don't even look at each other. "Get me a beer from the cooler!" is all Skeets has to say so I hustled to get it for him and then opened it too, with my eyes on the floor like a humble, obedient slave should do. He nods at the table next to his empty beer bottle mumbling, "Put it down right there and get the spaghetti pot started, then open some spaghetti sauce and get that fucking frozen garlic bread out of the freezer. One of you two asshole need to make us a salad with lots of onions. Most importantly, don't look at anybody or open that smart-ass mouth of yours or I swear to god I'll do you right here." My heart goes, 'thump thump thump'. Dally and I both know what he means when he said, "do ya right here," in this part of Texas it means "kill ya", not "fuck ya". Naturally I hurried to do what Skeets wants. Dally starts frying the meatballs, while I do another change of heart 'cause my bravado of earlier is gone again. Skeets and the Sheriff are simply bigger than life and they're so intimidating that half the time I can hardly breath in their company. Somehow Dally and I get the dinner ready while the Bleaker brothers continue to drink. Dally turns the heat down on the big spaghetti pot because I'm guessing he wants to delay dinner until the brothers have enough time to get drunk. When Skeets takes a piss, Dally whispers to me, "We have to do it during dinner, we can't take the chance they'll whip you tonight. Gotta get them drunker somehow." He looks at me sternly and I know we're very close to taking action and there will be deadly consequences if we fail. My humming bird heart starts up again...
My hand's shaky as I take another glass of ice to the Sheriff and pour him a BIG drink of straight Wild Turkey bourbon. With my head down I offered it to him, "Too late for sucking up, ya little cunt. You're getting that whipping. Just put the drink down and get your ass back out in the kitchen." I hurriedly bring another beer to Skeets, who says, "Get me one of the Sheriff's Wild Turkey shooters. And hurry the fuck up with that dinner." He's reading the newspaper and not paying too much attention to naked Dally and me at the moment. I put a new bottle of Wild Turkey next to Skeets along with a double shot glass and pour him a full one, then slowly begin making a big salad, watching Skeets out of the corner of my eye. That double shot of bourbon just sits there. He ignores it, but when I check in on the Sheriff in the study, he's finished that huge drink I'd made for him and he has a half of another one next to him. "Where the fuck is the dinner?" is all he says to me, slurring his words. Good! Back to the kitchen I see Skeets' double shot is gone so I take a chance and pour him another. He doesn't look up from his paper, just keeps smoking and swilling his beer. When we can't hold off any longer we put the dinner on the table. "Dinner is ready , Sir" Dally quietly tells Skeets. He grumbled that it's about time, but he's slurring his words too. I go in to tell the sheriff that dinner is ready and he's smashed, drunk as a skunk. He goes, "Robbie, help me to the table. My fucking ankle, my fucking knee...every fucking thing hurts." I knew that 'Robbie Dunlop' was the name under the 14th picture on the bulletin board. I say nothing about the name. He leans on me a little, but he didn't really need all that much help to get to his seat at the table.
In the kitchen as he transferred the sauce into a serving dish, Dally whispers to me that I need to put the food on the table and then go right into the bedroom and get my billy club. "Come out with a normal walk, Danny, don't run. Hold the club behind you and go right up behind the Sheriff and bring that club down on his head with all the force you got in your body. Don't think about anything Danny. Make your mind totally blank and just do what I say. Don't even look at me or Skeets. I'm going right in and get my club too and then I'm going right after Skeets." Acid reflux came up from my stomach and burned the back of my throat as I croak-out, "Okay, Dally." He nods at me and smiles to encourage me. With my hands and knees shaking, I carry the big plate of spaghetti and meatballs to the table. Dally slips into Skeets' bedroom to get the billy club. The sheriff and Skeets are shoving in mouthfuls of salad.They're both so drunk they'd forgotten about us saying grace, but that happens at dinner frequently of late; since their drinking's increased. They're both talking at the same time and they both are badly slurring their words. I'd helped them drink too much, but also there's the unusual circumstance of the sheriff's accident, plus the entire affair with my unusual behavior of calling them both out, although with the sheriff it was unintentional. Those factors, plus they're excited anticipation of bullwhipping me has them drunk, confused, pissed off, and not thinking straight.
All that planning Dally and me had done about getting out of our handcuffs wasn't going to be necessary; necessity means we do it this way. Of course, we're still counting on the fact that the Sheriff only has one leg, that's a big point in our favor. I put the plate of food down and mumble, "May I use the bathroom, please, sir?" The sheriff waves his hand at me and I go right in and got the billy club from under the chest of drawers. My arm is shaking like my leg usually does. I'm shaking all over actually. I try thinking of nothing, like Dally said. Puffing-out short little breaths and still shaking like leaf on a tree, I hear the Sheriff, his back to me, mutter, "What the fuck?" as I'm slowly walking up behind him. Immediately after the sheriff says, "What the fuck?" I hear "THUNK", and the Sheriff shouted, "Fuck you think you're doing?....watch it Skeets" The Sheriff was half up out of his chair watching Dally hit Skeets' over the head with the billy club. Then I heard another "THUNK" and I was right behind the Sheriff. My breathing so loud the sheriff half turns as I swing the billy club and hit him a slicing blow on his ear that travels down to his shoulder. Faster than I can see, the drunk's arm reaches up and takes the billy club right out of my hand. In the same motion he flicked it backward in my direction and the handle part slammed into the middle of my forehead and split the skin. A bump raises almost immediately as I sit down hard on the floor with my back up against the wall. A very loud bell is being rung near my head and the room is spinning. My mouth's open and the faster the room spins the dizzier I got. Leaning over I throw up a watery spurt and it's very hard to see because there's a hazy film all over everything, or maybe it was smoke, or tissue paper perhaps; how odd. From a long way off I hear the Sheriff say, "You got about 15 seconds of life left you little bastard." Looking up now I see he had somehow hopped around on one foot and is standing over me holding the billy club on his shoulder, real casual like. I squint my eyes seeing Dally running around the table, knocking over chairs to get here. He comes up behind the Sheriff. Even though still dizzy I wonder how the Sheriff could have forgotten about Dally? Oh, that's right, he's roaring drunk. Dally's here in a flash and without hesitating he brings the club down hard on the back of the Sheriff's head. AnotherTHUNK! as I blink trying to remember where I am.
It was interesting to watch; like a cartoon. Without a sound the Sheriff very slowly sits back in his chair that Dally pushed around to get to him. If he hadn't pushed the chair around the sheriff would have fallen backwards on the floor. Dally checks the Sheriff's eyes and then runs into the kitchen and comes right back with a plastic bag of ice. He lifts my hand so I'll hold the ice bag on my bumped forehead. Then Dally runs to the storage area and comes back with three big rolls of gray duct tape. I try to smile at him but I think I may have frowned. The ice feels good, but there seemed to be a vise tightening on either side of my head; the bell ringing is getting duller though. I hear the sound of duct tape ripping off a roll; a long ripping sound and then Dally, breathing hard, rips off another long strip. He's busy alright. Soon my head clears and I know what's going on around me. I heard Dally speaking. Dally asks Skeets, "How ya feeling now shit-for-brains? Can I get you something? How bout a bullwhip, would you like that? Feel like whipping anybody at the moment? Well, do ya?" I hear nothing from Skeets. Still sitting on the floor, I assume Dally has Skeets completely taped-up. I want to stand but my legs feel like the spaghetti we just cooked. From a seemingly unconscious state the Sheriff slowly stands up, and slurs, "Oh no you don't, Buster!" He obviously was not a hundred percent back to his normal self because "Buster" is not in his normal vocabulary. Dally walks quickly over as the sheriff's looking at me. He slurs, "Skeets is all tied up right now so I'll bull whip your ass myself, smart guy." Dally swings the billy club like he's doing a one-arm swing with a baseball bat and it connects full force on the Sheriff's strained, swollen knee cap. When it hits it sounds like a large, thick glass bottle had been dropped onto a cement floor. The keening shrill scream coming from the Sheriff woke me up some and I stupidly try shaking my head to clear the cobwebs some more, but the ensuing headache is a serious thing so I immediately stop shaking my head.
Dally's smiling standing next to the Sheriff listening to the sheriff's insane old lady's screech. A constant spray of spittle from the Sheriff's wide-open braying mouth lands on his shirt front as he's paralyzed with pain. I've never heard or seen anything like it. Obviously the pain is something from another state of consciousness 'cause the Sheriff just stands there and wails. I see Dally clearly now and he now has an annoyed look on his face, maybe because he can't knock this scary bastard of a sheriff out. Then Dally kind of shrugged to himself and swings that billy club one-armed again, but like a golf swing this time from way up behind his head and in a big arch he brings the club way down to impact against the Sheriff's swollen ankle. The Sheriff hit a high note in his scream and then dead silence follows as his eyes rolled up in his head and he finally collapses, first across his captain chair and then rolling off the chair landing on the floor. Very large thud. I need to scoot a few feet to my left or he'd have partially landed on me. Dally looks at me with a smile and a shrug, like, "What the fuck?...". Reaching for a big roll of duct tape then, Dally says, "I ripped open Skeets' shirt before I taped him up and I'm going to do the same with the lovely Sheriff here." With that he rips the shirt so that all the buttons pop off exposing the Sheriff's barrel chest and huge pot belly, both covered in that ugly gray hair. Dally said, "This can be a little extra present from us, Danny. The Bleaker brothers should have fond thoughts of us when someone is pulling this duct tape off along with all that body hair." Dally starts in by first duct taping the Sheriff's legs together, and then works his way up that large body. Two rolls of duct tape. He had to roll the Sheriff back and forth to get five or six strips all the way around the Sheriff stomach and chest catching the left arm in tight against the Sheriff's side. With Skeets it had been easier because he never fell out of his chair. Dally totally duct taped Skeets as he sat there unconscious right to the chair. Skeets is taped to the chair from his ankles, over his lap and all up his trunk with his arms tight up against his sides. We hear Skeets coming to, groaning and trying to say words too. We ignored him as I continue holding the ice bag to my forehead, wishing I wasn't such a wuss. The Sheriff is so big that Dally could only duct tape one of the Sheriff's arms to his body. He handcuffed the other one to the bottom leg of the China cabinet full of dishes and bottles of booze. Dally looks at me then, and says, "I hope he regains enough strength to pull that fucking cabinet over on top of himself. He ain't going anywhere no matter what he does".
Skeets was duct taped in his chair sitting up and therefore he can't see the Sheriff on the floor. In a foggy way, he asks, "Where's the Sheriff?" Dally ignores that and tells me, "You just stay there a little while longer Danny. I gonna collect the evidence." In short order Dally has the pictures of the lost boys, minus Dally's picture and mine. It took him some effort to get the video tapes from under the beds and into a pile. He then puts the box of "trophy" items from the murdered boys on a chair and using a magic marker to write in big letters on the wall above that chair. "WHERE DID THESE TWO PERVERTS BURY THE BODIES OF THESE RAPED AND MURDERED BOYS ?" Then on an adjoining wall he writes, "THESE TAPES SHOW WHAT THESE TWO PIECES OF SHIT DID TO THESE BOYS BEFORE KILLING THEM". and places the pile of sex tapes under the writing. Skeets read these messages with his lips moving, and then bellowed out, "You little worthless fucks better pray to God I never get my hands on either of you. You will die a slow and painful motherfucking death. You better be thinking of me every night because I'll be thinking about you and I'll be coming for you. Now answer my question, where is the Sheriff?" I couldn't help it, I backed up against the wall another inch to get that much further away from Skeets. The evil in his voice and his confidence that he might, somehow, someway have a chance to get us again is frightening. He scared the shit out of me, but not Dally though. Dally's arranging the evidence, as he says in an off-hand way, "Skeetsy, how'd you like another knock on that ugly head of yours with my little billy club here. How'd you like that?" Skeets screamed, "Come on over here you pussy boy and try it". As Skeets is screaming at us he lurches in his chair and it almost tips over backwards. Strong man for sure, but nobody could get out of the situation Dally had put Skeets in. Dally walked over and dropped the night stick on top of Skeets' head. Dally didn't swing it, just let it fall forward onto one of two large swollen, bloody bumps on Skeets head. He howls in pain 'cause his head must be aching quite a bit, what a shame.
Dally has a little lecture of his own, "Let me explain something to you, Skeets, and be sure you share this message with the Sheriff when he wakes up. You two assholes will have probably eight to ten hours to chat among yourselves before the cops drag you both out of here. Both of you are unfortunate mistakes of nature. You think you're better than everyone, but the reverse is true and all ten billion people on the planet would agree with that. Danny and me have just shit you, and the Sheriff, out of our lives forever." Skeets frowned at Dally as Dally continues with his lecture, "Yes, that's right Skeets...you're shit, and just like when someone takes a shit in a porta-potty, someone else will eventually come by and empty the shit out and flush it down some sewer. Same thing here with you two, someone will come and flush you down a sewer and my guess would be you'll get flushed down a prison sewer. You two are totally over, finished. Except for the flushing part. You'll lay in the toilet with the piss and the used toilet paper and the other turds for a time, but eventually you'll be flushed away. For right now, you best shut the fuck up or I really will hit you with this stick, repeatedly!" Skeets has nothing to say to that. His eyes just roll around in his head with his mouth hanging open; perhaps he's trying to figure out how this complete reversal of fortunes happened. Dally's done with him, so he says to me, "I'll load up the truck and get the extra gas and then come back for you. There isn't any reason for you to get up yet, Danny. Just stay there and let your head clear." I'm spellbound by Dally, and wouldn't think of saying anything, but, "Okay, Dally. Thank you for saving my life." He smalls at me maybe the sweetest smile anyone ever gave me, and then mutters, "You and me, Danny. We did it together," and he's off and running again, still naked as the day he was born. The sheriff is one tough old bird. He's come to already as just staring at me sitting here on the floor next to him. He still scares me, but I don't want to act like a baby. Dally's doing everything and I don't want him to have to help me move just because the Sheriff;s looking at me. Shortly the Sheriff moans and closed his eyes again anyway, so I'm glad about that. He may have fainted from the pain again without even recognizing who I was. His knee and ankle probably ache more than his head. I couldn't see how much more the sheriff's knee and ankle have swelled up after the whacks from Dally's club, and that's because the sheriff's completely duct taped from ankle to armpits.
Before long Dally is ready for us to go and he comes inside to get me. I'll be glad just to get away from the smell of my vomit. That delightful vomit smell would be another little treat for the boys to enjoy while they wait to be arrested. Dally has picked out some clean boxers, jeans and T shirts for us to wear. I stand-up, still a little shank, and manage to dress myself, thank God. We pull on socks and our old Nike sneakers and Dally grabs his "Cubs" baseball cap, the one he'd been wearing when captured. It's the clothes that belonged to us retrieved from the box of personal items from the victims. Not a peep out of either of the Bleakers as Dally helps me outside and up into the passenger seat of the truck. There's a pillow, compliments of Dally, for my aching head; he's thought of everything. He puts the satchel with the money behind the seat, checks to be sure he has the two cell phones from the Bleakers, and just like that we pulled out of the front gate of the BCR. We're leaving the Bleaker Cattle Ranch for the last time. Right outside the gate Dally says, "Oh, I almost forgot" and he stopped the truck and reaches over to puts a gold chain with a cross over my head, around my neck. It's the chain my mother gave to me on my last birthday with her, just before she was killed. She had given up drinking her beloved coffee for six months in order to save enough money to buy it for me. In a real tiny inscription it reads, "love, mom". The Sheriff had taking it off me the first day I was on the Ranch just before he bullwhipped me. Touching it and staring at it, after almost two horrible years, I bite my quivering bottom lip and silently weep, tears rolling down my face as Dally and me hug each other. We hug for maybe three minutes. The hug felt just as good as I thought it would all those times I'd fantasized about it. I was feeling the weeping so much I kept at it until I fell asleep. Dally spoke comforting things to me while he drove at high speed us further and further away from our living Hell. He spoke in a soft voice saying that I'd done fabulously and that I didn't need to cry. I told him I was crying with relief that I'd never have to see the Bleaker psychos again and because he and me were together and finally safe at last. The fact that maybe I had a concussion, also probably had something to do with the crying.
We left the ranch about eight pm and I fell asleep before eight fifteen. I've never felt so tired or so happy. As usual, Dally had to do the lion's share of saving us. He drove along the Mexico/Texas border from Laredo, Texas down to Mc Allen, Texas; a trip of about two hundred miles. After we drove off the miles belong to the ranch, Dally wasn't in any kind of hurry then. We pulled into an old motel named 'The Sombrero' before midnight. I'd been sleeping for most of the trip, but I woke up when Dally pulled the truck into the motel with the bright lights shining in through the windshield. Of course Dally has a plan; he'd been planning to escape almost from the first day he got to the ranch. He goes, "Stay out of sight, Danny. I'm going to tell the people at the registration desk I'm alone." I don't asked questions of Dally, just scoot down in the seat like he said. He paid cash for one night and then drove the truck around to the back parking lot where it'd be out of sight. Our small room has twin beds and a small bathroom with a shower. The Sheriff had his accident less than ten hours ago, the accident that started a domino effect ending with Dally and me sitting on squeaky bed springs in a motel in Mc Allen, Texas, with nervous half smiles on our faces. Look at Dally out of the corner of my eyes, he looks so cute and so proud of our escape. "Yo Dally, good job, man!" I said that in a flip manner to try and keep it light because I could sense the tension we both still feel. Dally put his arm around my shoulders, which feels real nice, and we talked about things. He warned that there was still much to do before we'd being totally safe. We're almost certainly safe from the Bleakers, but we're also anxious to stay completely free of the authorities too. We don't think we'd be "wanted" for any crime necessarily, but rather they'd want us as material witnesses or something along those lines and we're not interested in that. Dally said that the only two people in the world he trusted at this point were him and me. I put my hand over and Dally held it with his free hand for a little bit, and that felt real nice too, but we're hungry so it doesn't last long. Dally went back to the main building where they had a gift shop, which was of course closed at this late hour, but there's a little selection of items for sale outside the shop that you pay for at the desk. Dally got a toothbrush, toothpaste and a baseball cap that had a big "A" for Astros on the front. He scrunched the hat up and kicked it around the parking lot a little so it wouldn't look new and then he gave it to me to wear. I had to wear it back on my head because my forehead was very tender from that whack the Sheriff gave me with the billy club. Dally had his cap on too. We'd share the toothbrush tonight and get another one tomorrow because Dally wants these people, if ever questioned, to say only one boy stayed the night.
Our escape took place on a Monday so we'd both had the Monday treatment of enema, bath and body shave, as well as our hair buzzed to an eighth of an inch. Dally idea for the caps is to hide our haircuts. He may have been acting over cautiously, but we were in a cautious frame of mind. We walk a few hundred yards up the highway to an all night diner and have cheeseburgers, french fries and milkshakes. The first 'junk food' I'd had in two years; so fucking delicious. Yum! Yum! Back in the room we take turns showering. It's the first hot water I've had in two years. I wash off all traces of the BCR. Dally and me have of course seen each other naked every day for months so we were not shy about that and we walked around the room naked after the shower. more out of habit than anything else. We'll buy clean clothes and toilet stuff when we get out of Texas. The little TV is tuned to cable news just in case the impossible happened, but nothing was making headlines that we care about. Finally Dally begins making phone calls on the Sheriff's cell phone. He calls the Texas State Police first and spends fifteen minutes convincing the dispatcher this was a serious call regarding serial rape and multiple murders. Dally tells the two individuals he talked to that he was also going to call the FBI. The State Police could see from caller ID that the cell phone Dally was using did indeed belong to the Sheriff of Bleakersville, Texas. By letting the State Police know that the FBI would also be involved might insure that the State cops get their asses moving faster. A jurisdictional fight over who would be in charge of a potential major crime operation might motivate them. It's all about who gets the most headlines with these crime agencies; that's what they mostly care about. We don't care a twit why they hurried to the Bleakersville ranch..... just do it.
Dally called the FBI and went through the entire story again. Naturally the FBI, like the State Police, had tons of threatening things to say to Dally about obstruction of justice and other bull shit trying to intimidate Dally into turning himself in. Dally calmly told them to go fuck themselves. He also told them what an outstanding job they'd done protecting the children around Bleakersville, Texas. Dally was getting angry when he added, "Don't even think about stealing any of the personal effects of the boys who were raped and murdered. We left a box of those things behind as evidence. I have a list of all the items and the boy's families better get back every item." Then Dally got so disgusted about his two conversations with "the law" he threw the cell phone against the wall. We both know the cops wouldn't be interested in that pathetic assortment of items taken from the boys before they were killed, Dally was just breaking their balls because they didn't seem to care about the boys, or us. Their emphasis was on bureaucratic ass protecting and screaming at Dally. Dally had to talk them into even bothering to go check it out. If Dally hadn't found the money and the cops had found it instead, hmmm? Yeah, we kept it too, but we don't get paid to "Protect and Serve" like the police do. And we earned that money working as slaves on the Ranch. Dally and me stayed pissed off about the authorities' reaction in general for awhile, then got over it and concentrated on being free. We'll let the FBI and State Cops fight out who gets jurisdiction and all the glory of handling what's bound to be one of the biggest cases of the decade. Dally says, "Danny, we're done with all this now. You and me are going to worry about you and me exclusively for the foreseeable future." He then tells me the first order of business is to cover our trail and get rid of the truck, but for right now we need sleep. We both fall asleep quickly because it's very late and it's been a day like none other for us. We slept in separate twin beds and before falling asleep I thought a little about the possibility of changing that arrangement sometime soon.
to be continue.... (conclusion) by Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com