The Loan (2) Sylvia shook her head and continued to poke at the curlers. "For the life of me, I can't understand what that girl sees in him," she said. "If she bent over backwards any further than she's already done for that boy, they'd have to throw a saddle on her. She even agreed to name their daughter after his mama. Can you imagine that child going through life with a name like Beulla Bay? Sounds like a race horse to me." "Girl, you speak the truth," Erma agreed, "but nevertheless they're back together. He picked her up at her mama's in a brand new Lincoln, and took her all the way to Hattiesburg for supper. After that he presented her with an original painting by some French-Cajun artist from New Orleans." "Now that's strange!" Sylvia laughed. "The closest thing to art Jimmy's ever bought is a velvet Elvis from Stuckey's. I wonder where he got the money. Everyone knows he's broke." "Apparently not anymore," Erma said and then leaned forward in her chair and looked carefully around the room. "Can you keep a secret?" she whispered, settling back into the chair. "Of course, that's part of the hair dresser's code," Sylvia said crossing her heart. "Well," Erma began slowly, "Thurmond Thompson, who everyone knows has connections on the coast, says he has it on good authority that Jimmy has tied himself to the Mississippi mafia." "Mississippi mafia?" Sylvia asked. "I didn't know there was such a thing." "Oh yes, girl. Thurmond says they've about taken over the whole coast." "I declare, I had no idea," Sylvia said laying the pick back on the counter. "Yep, it's the gospel all right. Oh yeah, and Rubinie Carter says she saw Jimmy . . . ." Sylvia leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Shhhh, Bitsy Jane's at the front door." "She is!" Erma squeaked jerking her head toward the door. The front door bell jingled. "Howdy, ya'll," Bitsy Jane said walking into the room. "Bitsy Jane!" Sylvia exclaimed as if she was seeing her for the first time. "How's your mama and them doing?" "Oh, just fine, Miss Sylvia. Thanks for asking. Mama's got a touch of arthritis with the change in the weather and all, but other than that everyone's fine." "That's good. You sure are looking pert today," Sylvia continued. "You carrying some good news or something?" "You might say that . . . Jimmy and I got back together," Bitsy Jane said almost bashfully. "You don't say," Sylvia said feigning surprise. "Oh, Miss Sylvia, he's a changed man," Bitsy Jane said proudly. "I think I've heard you say that before," Erma cut in. "Oh, Miss Erma, it's different this time," Bitsy Jane pleaded. "He's changed. His luck has changed. He's gonna make something of himself . . . I know it . . . and best yet, he knows it!" "Child, I just hope he doesn't disappoint you again," Erma said. "Not this time, Miss Erma," Bitsy Jane said picking a Southern Living magazine from the center table and sitting on a green vinyl couch. "My Jimmy has finally grown up." Erma looked over her shoulder at Sylvia who just shrugged, picked up the pick once more, and went back to poking curlers. The front door bell jingled again. "Hey, Sylvia," Jimmy Camp said as he walked in the room, "have you seen Bitsy Jane?" "Right in front of you," Sylvia said pointing to the couch. "Finally," Jimmy said, "Bitsy Jane, I've been looking all over town for you." "What on earth for?" Bitsy Jane asked. "Last night I laid my pocket change on the kitchen counter before I came to bed, and this morning when I went to fetch it, it was all gone except for thirteen cents." Bitsy Jane laid the magazine on the table, "Beulla Bay needed lunch money this morning and I was a little short, so I borrowed some of the change you left on the counter." "But there was a copper colored coin about the size of a quarter; you didn't give it to the kid did you? Please, tell me you didn't." "I'm sorry, Jimmy," Bitsy Jane said looking confused, "but it all looked just like a bunch of pocket change. I didn't look at it very close." "Oh dear Lord, you didn't look at it very close!" Jimmy snapped. "How could you not look close at the most precious thing to ever come into our lives?" "Jimmy, what are you talking about?" Bitsy Jane pleaded, tears swelling in her eyes. "I’ll tell you what I’m talking about,” he yelled. “For the first time in our lives we're about to be on easy street and you ruin it! How stupid can you be?" "Please, Jimmy," Bitsy Jane sobbed, "what did I ruin? What did I do wrong?" "I oughta . . . ," Jimmy said angrily and drew back his hand. "Jimmy Camp!" Sylvia shouted. "You lay a hand on that girl and I swear I'll pluck your eyeballs out with this pick and feed them to Ermagene's chickens." "I ain't got no chickens," Erma protested. "Oh, hush, Ermagene!" Sylvia said. "At a time like this, who cares if you ain't got no chickens!" "Jimmy," Bitsy Jane pleaded, "please, tell me what I've done." Jimmy stood trembling, his hand drawn back glaring at all three women. The anger in his eyes had turned to something else. Fear. His eyes darted around the room like a trapped animal, and when Bitsy Jane reached out to touch his arm, he savagely brushed her hand aside and fled out the door. ******* "Mr. Camp," The steely-faced man smiled from behind the Frensham Caldron case, "I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten. It's almost time; in fact, in sixty-six seconds it will be." "I know, I know," Jimmy said breathing heavily. "But I've got a problem." "A problem?" the man asked. "I thought your problems would be resolved by now." "Everything was resolved, but then I discovered my wife had mistaken the coin for ordinary change and . . . ." "You haven't lost the coin, have you?" the man interrupted. "Not exactly," Jimmy said, sweat beading on his forehead. "My wife gave it to my kid for lunch money, and by the time I discovered what had happened school had dismissed for the day, and I was unable to get the coin." "This is bad, Mr. Camp," the man said, "very bad." "I'm sure I can get it back if you'll just give me a little more time . . . an extension." "I don't deal in extensions, Mr. Camp. I gave you a loan for forty-eight hours, which you accepted of your own free will. You made a contract." "But I didn't sign anything," Jimmy protested. "It was an actionary contract, Mr. Camp," the man said. "The moment you placed the coin in your pocket, the pact was sealed." Jimmy heard a movement behind him and turned to see an elderly woman shuffling toward him. She wore a long gray cloak over a green dress that dragged the floor when she walked. A red shawl covered her head and lower face. She carried a long staff topped by a large rounded knob carved with a shallow bowl like indention on its top. Eyes glowing fire red, she approached wailing, "Jimmy . . . Jimmy Camp." "What's going on?" Jimmy asked turning back to the steely-faced man. The man smiled at him, wiping a bit of dribble from the corner of his mouth. Suddenly Jimmy was aware of a vibrating rustling sound coming from behind the man. His black coat began to shake and rise off his shoulders. The coat pulsed and throbbed as if something was trying desperately to escape from within, and then it ripped exposing large black insect wings that buzzed to life like a possessed chainsaw in search of soft tissue in which to grind its teeth. The wings slowly lifted the man to the top of the case where he rested on the smoking hooves of a goat. His face twisted and compacted itself, and the skin of his ears peeled back to reveal the points of a demon. The demon opened its mouth and the forked tongue of the dragon shot forth and wrapped around Jimmy's throat. He struggled desperately to fight free, but the tongue held him fast. Slowly, the old woman unwrapped the shawl from her head and face. Hair as black as night streamed across her shoulders and rolled down her back into piles at her feet, "Jimmy . . . Jimmy Camp," she wailed. Lifting the staff, she placed the knob under Jimmy's jaw so his chin rested firmly in the shallow indention. His chin resting on the knob, the tongue wrapped around his throat turned to ash and fell from the mouth of the demon. The old woman wailed even louder and lifted the staff and Jimmy as easily as she would a feather high above her head. She balanced him momentarily then swung him toward an empty hook hanging from the ceiling. Aligning him with the hook, she maneuvered the tip of the hook under his chin and then jerked the staff free. Jimmy dangled from the ceiling, his face contorted and frozen in terror. ******* Red and blue Lights flashed in the street between the bank and the old burned out emporium. A car marked “Sheriff – Luxachaney County” sat next to a flashing fire truck and ambulance. A mob of people gathered outside the yellow tape hanging around the charred timbers of the emporium. "Gil, what do you have?" Sheriff Pete Rogers asked stooping under the yellow tape and walking up to Captain Gil Carter of the Willow Creek Volunteer Fire Department. "Dead body. We got as much as we could from the only eyewitness before she went into shock," Carter said, "but it looks to be self inflicted." "Suicide?" Rogers asked, examining the nasty bruised hole under Jimmy Camp's chin. "Are you sure about that? I'd never figure Jimmy to follow through on something as final as suicide.” "We’re about as sure as we can be at this point," Carter said. "The eyewitness, Sheila Browning, says she was in the bank when Harold Beecher turned Jimmy down for a loan. She said the way Beecher treated Jimmy was just not Christian, so she hurriedly finished her business in the bank and followed him outside to check on him. She never got a chance to speak to him though." "Why's that?" "Well, it seems things got kinda strange outside. According to Sheila, when she stepped out of the bank, Jimmy was standing across the street staring at the old emporium sign. She said she called to him, but he never acknowledged her. He walked into the middle of the rubble, picked up an old partially charred chair frame, and carried it back to the sign where he set it down. The next thing she knew he was standing on the chair and pulling the sign off the hook. He then grabbed the hook with both hands and lifted himself from the chair to a point where his chin hovered barely an inch above the point of the hook." "Lord, didn't she yell or something?" Rogers interrupted. "She yelled all right. She said he turned toward her, and she could see he was crying. Then he let go. When we got here, he was impaled on the hook, and Sheila was passed out on the steps of the bank. We revived her just enough to get her story." "Was there a suicide note?" Rogers asked. "No, just a note from his wife reminding him to bring home change for their daughter’s lunch money.” Rogers took the note and read it slowly. “This just doesn’t make sense. Has the coroner been notified?” “Yes, sir. In fact, he’s pulling up now,” Carter said pointing to the street. A white Ford F150 with “Ed Makepeace – Tri-County Coroner” stenciled on the doors pulled as close to the yellow tape as possible and stopped. “Perfect timing,” Rogers said extending his hand to Gil Carter. “Gil, I’m gonna leave this with you and Ed if you don’t mind. My boy has a game tonight over at Presterville, and if I leave now, I can still catch it. I’ll come by tomorrow and get your report.” “No problem,” Carter said shaking his hand. “Go watch your boy. No sense in all of us ruining our evening.” “Thanks, Gil,” Rogers said and turned to meet Ed Makepeace bending his long frame under the tape barrier. Carter knelt next to the body to examine it once more in case he had missed anything. He could not understand how a man could get so down that he could do something like this. It just did not make sense. An object that he had not noticed before lay partially concealed under the right hip. Pushing the body slightly to the side, he picked up the object to examine it. It was a copper coin roughly the size of a quarter. “Gil, what do we have?” Ed Makepeace asked. Carter looked up to see the talk lanky coroner standing over him. “A mess, Ed,” he said standing to shake his hand, “A pure-d mess.” He stepped aside to let Makepeace do his job. Rubbing the coin between his fingers, he watched for a few minutes then walked to the fire truck. He flipped the coin in the air, caught it, and pushed it into his pants pocket. If I had about a million of these quarters he wished, I would not have to be dealing with this mess. I could take Rubinie on that cruise she has always wanted. THE END
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