Twitch and Die!

Ch.10: It's a Good Plan

The dead zone was getting crowded. From his original vantage point, McCutchen watched a single rider on a donkey leave toward Gordon. After first light he’d caught a glimpse of a mysterious horse and rider skirting New York Hill, heading in the same direction. His line of sight had been blocked, so he couldn’t be certain how close the rider had come to the houses, or whether he’d dithered there. Nothing felt like a coincidence at this point.

On top of it all, he’d let an old, black housemaid pick his lock. “Shut up back there. I’m trying to stay undiscovered, sight and sound.” He redialed the knob on his binoculars in an effort to identify the man on the donkey.

“Oh, like you did last night? You was real sneaky, slipping around on dat roof like a greased black bear. Uh-uh, I would a barely known you was around.”

McCutchen ground his teeth.

“Not dat I’m judging, mind you. I’m just a fat, old black lady hobbling around on creaky joints like a farm house floor. No sir, I couldn’t sneak up on a dead dog.”

McCutchen shifted his gaze slowly to the right until the donkey and rider appeared in his viewfinder. It wasn’t Chancho’s lady friend. After a final adjustment to the lens, he was positive it was Chancho’s partner, the man who’d been in the stone house. But McCutchen still couldn’t get a good look at his face.

“Lest its name was J.T. Smarty Pants, of course.” Nanette guffawed as she snapped the clip into the receiver of her Model 8 Remington rifle, using it to load the magazine.

 McCutchen turned to face her. “Look, God knows why, but you made my father’s dying months gentler. For that I’m indebted. But I don’t need no fairy godmother flappin’ her gums faster than wings, no matter how quick she is with a Remington.”

“You noticed, did ya? That first fella seemed sorta slow, after getting punctuated and all. But dem others sure did light outta’ there like Br’er Rabbit outta Uncle Remus’ cabbage patch.” She shook her head while reloading the clip for maximum capacity. “Dat one done made his final journey I suppose, but those others might still be a running. Weren’t so dark, I could a buried a couple—”

“Why are you here, woman? Under different conditions I’m sure New York Hill would be a good place to look for new employ, but considering—”

“Considering da curse done either kilt all da white folk or run ‘em off screaming, I ain’t got nothing better to do than sit around and pick belly lint? We been over this, Junior.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Junior? What da hell else I supposed to call ya? ‘Cause you ain’t ever gonna be John McCutchen to me, not after your daddy.”

“J.T. will be fine.” McCutchen stood and whistled for Chester.

“Oh, dat’s right. You Mr. J.T. Smarty Pants, uh-huh.” She winked and tried to slap McCutchen’s buttock. He blocked her.

“Ooh, you still just as quick. But I’ll get you one a these days. Your daddy put up a fight too, but—”

McCutchen cut her off with a glare. “Ms. Bougere—”

“Oh, so we’s formal now.”

“Nannie. You were answering my question.” McCutchen slung his saddle onto Chester’s back and cinched the girth. 

“Yes I was, until you so rudely interrupted. Young’uns these days, I swear.” She shook her head. “As I was saying, J.T. Smarty Pants, I ain’t afraid a no curse, seeing how my soul’s as black as my skin. You think you da same way, but I see past all that bad boy nonsense. Oh, I understand. It's trouble that makes the monkey chew on hot peppers, but you got too much of yo daddy in ya.”