Pgs 13 & 14

of A Crow in the Wheat

  “What’s your name, son,” Machado asked.

   “L-L-Leonard.”

   “Well, La La Leonard, we got ourselves into some kinda pickle haven’t we? Do you know who I am?”

   “The, the, Baron.”

   “Your Baron, that is surely true. Now let me ask you something Leonard…what section are you on? Or I guess in your case what section was you on?

   “319, b-baron.”

   “319. That’s…grapes isn’t it? Raisin grapes.”

Leonard nodded and went back to watching his boots. Machado eyed him up and down like a sick heifer at a sales yard.

   “What’d you do before all this unpleasantness…before you showed up looking for asylum? No, now let me guess. I’m pretty good at this.” The baron snapped his pudgy fingers together sharply.

   “Banker.”

   “Attorney…I was an attorney.”

   “Well, sheeeit. Makes sense. Pretty light duty on 319 ain’t it? Raisins? Not like digging potatoes or chopping corn. Jesus H. Christ, man, the sun does most of the fucking work. You got a roof over your head out at 319 don’t ya Lenny? Three meals a day? At least two, I know for a fact. You got a bunk. And e-lec-fuckin-tricity, don’t ya? And hell, ain’t but a twenty minute ride walk to Tulare Township is it?”

Machado moved close. Close enough for the man to to smell the Copenhagen on his breath, mood growing very dark.

“Man of your credentials…an honest-to-cripes lawyer…I bet them Mexican bitches in town probably fuck your brains out for free, right? Don’t even have the decency to charge you like the Pussy Wagon does. Am I right so far? I bet I’m dead-on-the-bubble right, ain’t I?”

Leonard swallowed hard. Machado pressed, now only inches from the man’s face. He hissed, “So, why. Did. You. Run.”

Wincing for a blow that didn’t come, the Wayf was barely able to croak, “I just wanted…I just, I needed out. Just…out.”

  “Out,” Machado said. “I see.”

He walked casually over to the Ford and pulled a worn spade out of the bed. Then walked back toward Leonard.

    “Well, Leonard, I find it pretty fuckin’ interesting, you being a lawyer before and all. You should understand the importance of rules in a civilized society. You of alllll people should know that running is not what we do here! We especially do not fucking run between territorial boundaries put there to keep the cock-sucking PEACE! You don't want to bring us to lawlessness do you Len? I mean, lawlessness brought down the Roman got-damn Empire, or did they not cover that chapter at law school?”

Machado, stopped to calm himself and draw breath. He spit a perfect line of tobacco juice onto Leonard’s left boot.

“Look at me counselor. When rules get broke, people get killed. The men in my shoes, Mr. Phong, fuckin’ Cheney down in New Baker, the hydro barons in the north, these are powerful men. Ruthless men. How many dead bodies do we need to see in this country in one generation? Ain't we seen enough? Worst than that when some dirtbag like you pulls shit like this I lose a little wealth. What with the cost of picking you up not to mention the cost of MY time!! And I really, really like being wealthy!

Shaking his head, Machado leaned on the bumper of the F150 and breathed hard. Leonard trembled visibly. A blooming spot of wetness began to form on the front of his grubby corduroy pants. The rednecks tensed their triggers just the slightest. Machado began again, more calmly this time. Unnervingly so.  

“You know what Winston Churchill once said? He said 'to be a great leader, every day you’ve got to perform one act of kindness and one act of terrible cruelty.' Every day. Follow me? That way, people will see that you are capable of both. Now, in a situation like this’un here, I’d have a choice to make, Leonard.”

“But today is different.” 

Machado put his hand on the wayf’s shoulder. “See, on the way over here….I was pretty well fucked-off angry at you, Len, I really was. Not like regular. Then I seen this three-legged puppy on the side of the road. Three-legged pup just sitting there like it was no big deal, tongue wagging. Feral. Mangy. No more’n six months old by my guess. Probably chewed itself out of a leg trap and lived, you believe that shit?"

"Anyway, I’m seeing red, not thinking real clear…I grab the 12-gauge off the rack behind me and just as we’re passin’, BAM, I blow that sonofabitch’s head clean off. Poof. Pink mist. Just like that. I don’t know what possessed me…truly I do not. But it felt good at that moment, I hate to say.”

The men…all but Phong’s….began shifting uncomfortably on their feet. Machado grabbed the Wayf by both shoulders now and turned to face him with a broad smile. The air itself seemed to come to a standstill. Suddenly, Machado began to chuckle. A deep, loud, guttural chuckle. Matthias was convinced it would end in a wet coughing fit, and it nearly did. But the mood on the dirt shoulder changed like a soap bubble popping. You could almost feel everyone easing back into their boots. 

Machado was actually grinning as he continued, “Anyhoo, guess that leaves me with only one extreme to cover off on today, don’t it? Lucky for both of us, hey Len? Well, simpler anyway. I tell you what, you never know when you wake up how shit’s gonna go am I right?. Here’s your shovel.”

Leonard practically slumped to his knees with relief. He never saw the spade headed for his face swung by Machado with every ounce of his might. The flat of the blade shattered his nose instantly. One edge caught his forehead and sliced open a four-inch gash which began to bleed profusely. Screaming, the man crumbled into a pile like a sack of stones. Manny leaned into Leonard’s face just before the waves of pain truly began to arrive, grin long gone.

“You look confused. Let me clear this up. See, killing that pup was a kindness Lenny. A three legged, young animal like that? Out in the open? Poor thing like as not woulda been gutted alive by coyotes. The gopher-crows’d pecked him blind by nightfall surely. I did that dog a favor. So it had to be fucking cruelty for you Leonard. Had to be. Winston fucking Churchill. Pretty smart for an Englishman.”

Leonard moaned for a final instant then blacked out. Machado waved Matthias over and spoke in hushed tones.

“319…they still fixing to burn those old-growth vines they pushed out last week?”

“Yeah,” the old Yachuts grunted.

   “Tell ‘em to light it up today. Take him over there. Tie him up good and tight, wake his ass up and toss him on one of them piles. Close to the road. So people can hear him. And Matty, don’t spare the kerosene. We’re not animals.”