The Front Porch Prophet by Raymond L. Atkins Read Free Book Online

and flopped down, panting. He seemed tired, and A.J. supposed he had been killing something large. The dog eyed A.J. for a moment, dismissed him, and laid his head on his paws. In the distance they could hear the thrum of a freight train. The haunting sound of shave-and-a-haircut echoed as the engines approached a crossing.
    “I guess you need to be going,” Eugene said.
    “Yeah,” A.J. affirmed, “I don’t want to get caught in the woods after dark by your dog.” A.J. was feeling an overwhelming urge to place distance between himself and the general vicinity of doom. The clearing held too many problems for him to handle at present. He required time to absorb and consider.
    “I need for you to do me a couple of favors,” Eugene said, his halting cadence indicating the difficulty he had asking A.J. for help.
    “Sure,” A.J. said. “Anything you need.” It was uncharacteristic of Eugene to request an indulgence. A small dread settled on A.J., a premonition of crisis.
    “I would like for you would come back next week,” Eugene said. “I don’t get much company up here, and it gets a little quiet. You can take the Jeep so it won’t be so much trouble getting back up the road.”
    A.J. felt bad for Eugene.
    “Now, that’s odd,” he said. “I was just about to tell you that I might come up next week and check on you.” He was shaking his head as if he could not believe the coincidence. Eugene couldn’t believe it, either.
    “When it comes to lying,” Eugene said, “you really suck.”
    “You mentioned two favors.”
    “The other one is kind of large.”
    “The first one was kind of large,” A.J. pointed out. “What is it?”
    “When it’s time, I want you to kill me.” A.J.’s head snapped around as if he had been slapped.
    “Run that one by me again.” Maybe it was Eugene’s idea of a joke.
    “You heard me,” Eugene said. His tone was so flat A.J. knew it was no jest. They stared at one another momentarily. Then they both looked away. A.J. felt slightly nauseous, as if he had been hit hard in the solar plexus.
    “How the hell can you ask me to do that?” he asked.
    “I’m asking.”
    “You must be crazy. If you want to shoot yourself or blow yourself up, go ahead. But leave me out of it.” A.J. felt like he was breathing mud. “I know ten or fifteen people who would be happy to accommodate you. Hell, Diane’s daddy would
pay
you to let him do it.”
    “I’d do it for you,” Eugene said quietly.
    “I’d never ask you to,” A.J. said with certainty.
    “Never say never,” Eugene said with a small sigh. “You don’t know what might come up.”
    “I’ve got to go,” A.J. said abruptly. He had heard enough. He walked across the clearing to retrieve his bat from the porch. Eugene meandered toward the cabin and met A.J. when he returned. They stood like Lee and Grant at Appomattox. Eugene swayed. His pupils were dilated.
    “Are you coming back?” he asked.
    “Yes,” he said. “I’ll come back, but I won’t kill you.”
    “Well, I’m batting .500 at least.” Eugene said. “Take the Jeep. I’m high all the time, now, and I can’t drive it. If I wasn’t dying, I’d be having one hell of a good time.”
    “No, you keep the Jeep. You might run out of something to shoot. I’m going to borrow a bulldozer and clean up that road. Winter is coming, and it’s already a mess.” A.J. had decided on the spur of the moment that fixing the road was his best alternative to a series of long walks in the Georgia mountains.
    “I assume you’ll be borrowing the dozer from Jesus Junior,” Eugene said, referring to Johnny Mack.
    “He’s the only one I know who has one,” A.J. replied. Eugene seemed to consider this for a moment. Then a smile crossed his face.
    “Good luck with that,” he said as he walked back onto the porch. A.J. headed on across the clearing and down the trail. As he neared the Lover, he heard six shots ring out, and he knew that Eugene’s faithful Jeep,