Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Just checkin’ in on ya.” Charlie Beaufort is a Southern boy. People think West Virginia has an accent? Fuck, Georgia is the mother of all accents. And down there, if you know how to finesse it in just the right way, no one thinks you’re ignorant and uneducated—if you drawl those vowels out just right, you’re not a hick hillbilly like us guys up here, you’re just a good ol’ boy. And if you’re from the South, being a good ol’ boy is a goal one aspires to. Sometimes.
It’s a confusing title, to be sure, because these days it’s almost lost all meaning. You see, if you are a traditional man in the South you are one of two things and both of those things are good ol’ boys. It’s how you present yourself that matters and Charlie here is the height of good ol’ boy aspiration, polished and rich. He doesn’t drive a pickup or a Jeep. He hunts, but only because we all hunt. But he’s not hunting for dinner, he’s hunting for sport. And not the way a man from Ohio might hunt for sport, either.
It’s all very nuanced. And maybe you just gotta be from here to get it.
Or care about it, for that matter.
I tried really hard to give up my accent. And I can turn it on and off—mostly. But it’s hard to do that when I can’t even hear it.
“Yeah, I’m good. We all made it OK.”
“So…” Charlie stops there and I already know what he’s gonna say before he can manage to spit it out. “Did you think about my offer?”
“I did. I did, Charlie. But the answer is still no. I’m runnin’ the business here. Someone’s gotta run it and that someone’s me. I need to be here, ya know what I mean? I need to keep tabs on shit because the guys we’re gonna be dealing with—the kind of guys you insisted we deal with—are gonna require a lot of supervision in various forms.”
“Well, you make it sound like I prefer murderers over good, honest men. And that’s just not true! I’m all about second chances, Collin. You know that, right?”
Do I? Uh. No. Let’s refresh our memories, shall we? Charlie Beaufort is a good ol’ boy of the highest caliber. He’s interested in power and money, order interchangeable. But do I say that? Fuck no, I don’t. I just agree with his delusions of grandeur because he signs the checks.
And anyway, I don’t mind the guys. I want them here. They deserve to be here.
“I know that, Charlie. And these men really do need a second chance. You’re a fuckin’ angel, you know that? A goddamn saint, as we say around these parts.”
“Oh, come on now. Don’t be blowin’ no smoke up my ass, Collin Creed. Son of a tent preacher. Goddammit, you’re so fuckin’ Southern. Have I told you how much I love that about you, Collin?”
He has. About a million times.
Charlie had never heard of Disciple, West Virginia, but when I told him how I grew up and what this town is about, he looked at me like I was some kind of mythological creature that just stepped out from between the pages of the New King James.
He’s the one blowing smoke up my ass, not the other way around.
Well, maybe it’s reciprocal.
“I just want to make sure you know how much I respect you, OK? Is that so bad? And I would like you to keep in mind that I would take you over any of those boys of yours in a fuckin’ heartbeat. And I would pay you the money you deserve.”
“Well, I certainly appreciate that, Charlie. But you know I’m not much of a money man.”
“I do, I do!” He’s chuckling now. “OK. Well, I’ll let you go. I just wanted to make sure you boys are settling in OK and that we’re on track for delivery by August one.”
“We are. It’s gonna go down smoother than a shot of Whistlepig.”
This makes him guffaw. The more hillbilly I act, the more he likes me.
So be it.
“You take care now, Collin.”
I end the call.
I set the phone back down in the floor, crawl into my bag, and turn off my little pop-up solar lantern before deciding to reach for the phone again. I don’t have her number, but I have my number. And that’s the number I call.
Lowyn answers on the thirteenth ring, all out of breath. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
There is almost ten seconds of silence. I don’t say anything, I let her work it out. Who else is gonna call her on the landline?
“Collin?”
“It’s me.”
“What… what are you doing? Are you drunk?”
I laugh out loud. “No, I’m not drunk. I just thought of something and I wanted to tell you about it.”
“It’s nine-fifteen at night.”
“Is it past your bedtime, Lowyn?”