Between Wrecks by George Singleton Read Free Book Online

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    â€œOkay. Fix me a triple scotch. Is that the most expensive drink there is?”
    Maime finished up the song, extending the word “pieces” into a trill of about twenty syllables. She said, “I won karaoke one night doing that song.”
    Prison Tat Pat said, “I’mo tell you what. You stay in touch with me, and I’ll get you a Nashville contract. Or at least one in Branson. I know everybody there is to know. Well, to be honest, there’s one record producer we can’t talk to seeing as I had him invest in a mutual fund called GUNK—they specialized in Guyana, Uganda, Nigeria, and Kenya. That didn’t quite work out like some people thought it would.” Prison Tat Pat turned to Brenda and said, “Well hello there.”
    Brenda took her triple scotch from Mal and threw it in his face. She said, “That was good. I’ll have another.”
    They all heard Windshield yell “No!” and gathered at the counter, looked out the window. Either the rope broke or the knot untied, and Windshield rammed into the back of the half-sunken Winnebago at thirty miles an hour. Rodney Sheets said, “If this were a movie, the post would’ve come loose downstairs, and all of us would’ve fallen down to the ground. Rising action, climax, denouement. Traditional development. I guess things don’t work out around this part of the South like they do in movies.”
    Mal poured his wife another scotch. He only poured two shots, though. “You need to pace yourself,” he said, laughing. He shook booze out of his hair. Mal said, “Go ahead and throw it,” but Brenda took a sip and placed the cup down. They all looked down at Windshield. He tested both arms, then felt his face. “When he comes back up here,” Mal said, “let’s all call him Bumper. Tailgate. I bet he won’t even notice.”
    â€œTraditional development,” Brenda said. “Where’s the film rolls? Give me the film and I’ll go get it done myself.”
    â€œI’ll do it right now,” Mal said. “I promise. Let me just finish this last drink and I’ll do it myself.” Brenda stuck out her hand. Mal fished in his pocket and handed her the rolls.
    Prison Tat Pat said, “I need him here to help me get my RV out of the water.”
    Brenda got up. She looked at Maime and said, “You should go to Nashville. From what I hear, there’s a lot more opportunities for karaokeists there.”
    Prison Tat Pat nodded. He said, “Let’s all live dangerously and try to pull my RV out of the water. It’ll be fun. I’ll buy drinks for everyone if it works out right.”
    Brenda didn’t respond. She walked out of the bar, got in her car, sat there a moment, then returned to Mal and his new comrades before they emerged from the bar to dislodge the Winnebago. Maime now sat at the bar next to Prison Tat Pat, the camera turned their way. Mal stood at the end of the counter, and Rodney used the bathroom. Brenda walked slowly so as not to spook her husband and said, “I might as well confess, even though I’m still mad at you for coming here.”
    Mal said, “What now? I’m just going to help these people, Brenda. That’s it.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, yeah. I was going to say, you didn’t need to get the pictures developed anyway. I changed my mind. That gris gray grout would’ve stained too much. I’m going to…”
    Was she going to tear up the tile and re-grout the entire project? Mal wondered. Brenda stopped in midsentence, for she overheard Prison Tat Pat’s conversation. Pat was in the middle of saying, “I can’t believe no herbiculturalist ain’t thought of it before. But I know a man in Nashville who’s right at the brink, and I’m investing all my money in him.”
    Brenda said, “Say all that again. Hey, man from Nashville, start your story