Going Home by Angery American Read Free Book Online

underling. It was obvious who was the brains here.
    One of the bystanders laughed out loud. “Lonnie, you dumb fuck, he’s a damn Muslim.” He stood there looking at Lonnie.
    “So the fuck what?” Lonnie fired back.
    “He don’t eat pork, you fuckin’ retard!” He was leaning over on his knees, laughing his ass off at Lonnie’s stupidity. Lonnie didn’t take well to that. He reached under his BDU top and pulled out a ten-inch Bowie knife from a sheath with an attempt at Indian beadwork on it.
    “Fuck you, Walt! You need to watch how you talk to me, you dumb son of a bitch!” Lonnie was holding the knife horizontally at eye level, looking down the length of the blade with a squinted eye.
    Walt just guffawed at him. “Whadda ya gonna do, Lonnie, scalp me?”
    “I’m warnin’ you, Walt, don’t start with the Indian shit today. I ain’t in no mood for it. You know damn well I’m part Indian.”
    This had all the earmarks of ending badly, really badly. I shouldered my pack and was making for the road. I didn’t want to get into whatever shitstorm was about to break loose here. Some stupid-ass squabble between the local yokels was nothing I wanted any part of.
    “Yeah, you’re Indian all right, part of the Skin Flute tribe. Indian my fuckin’ ass,” Walt fired back.
    Old Walt and his partner got a chuckle out this last one; it must have been what they were waiting for. This must have been going on for years. Thomas was still standing by the door; after the Muslim comment he stopped, probably waiting for further instructions from Lonnie. Lonnie, however, had tunnel vision. He was on the warpath, pun intended.
    “That’s it, you motherfucker, you’re gettin’ yours today!” He started to move toward Walt, who just stood there and let him take about two steps, and then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a chrome 1911 and rocked the hammer back and leveled it at Lonnie’s face. Lonnie stopped in his tracks and glared at Walt.
    “Lonnie, you always have been a stupid motherfucker, and I’m about tired of your shit. Matter of fact, I’m about tired of seeing your fuckin’ face. Take one more gawd damn step and I’m gonna shoot you in your ugly fuckin’ head.” He delivered this little diatribe in a calm and even voice. I didn’t know these two men, but even I could tell Walt was ready to do just what he said.
    Lonnie stood there for a minute, I assume weighing his options. Not wanting to be shown up in front of his underling, he said, “You ain’t worth the fuckin’ effort, Walt. You can kiss my ass. Thomas, let’s take the hawg down to that ole nigger thet’s got the still. He’ll damn sure take it.” Lonnie and Walt got into the truck and started it up. “You better not be here when I get back, Walt.”
    “Just when I thought you were startin’ to smartin’ up, you go and say some dumb shit again. I’ll be right here, Lonnie, and the next time I hear that piece of shit, I’m fillin’ it full of holes.” Walt let the hammer down on the pistol and dropped it to his side.
    “Yeah, well at least this piece of shit runs, motherfucker!” And with that, he was tearing out of the driveway while letting out a really shameful attempt at a rebel yell.
    While the dust was settling, I looked over to Walt. “Friend of yours?” I asked.
    He just laughed. “Hardly. He’s jist our village idiot. He been an asshole his whole life. No one likes him ’cept fer Thomas there, and that’s only ’cause he’s too damn dumb to know any better.”
    “Well, good luck dealing with him.” With that, I turned and started toward the road.
    Walking down the highway, I was gobbling down a Snickers and drinking my other Coke. The air was about fifty degrees; it had warmed just a bit, and the Coke was just right. About one click out of Lamont, I crossed the Aucilla River. The weather was clear and beautiful today; it made for a nice walk. I passed the occasional car on the side of the road; sometimes