Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ransom didn’t get much sleep. With the toilet flushed, the smell had at least died down. That didn’t stop him from worrying about Bo waking up. He nodded off a few times leaning against the wall, and it was during one of those times that Bo must have been roused enough to pull his pants up and move to the bunk.

When he finally came around, it was early morning. Matty was cleaned up and seated behind the desk. He was twirling a pencil between three of his fingers as best he could, but kept dropping it. Undeterred, he would pick it up and start again.

“You need the law and to follow it boy. This jail is for you. Don't think it's a cupcake. That's why I'm in charged of it.” Obviously Matty had noticed that Ransom was awake and decided to initiate conversation.

“I will keep that in mind, Matty. When do I get to make a phone call?”

As Ransom finished his sentence, the door opened. Mayor Barton and Tommy entered, looking surprisingly spry for such an early hour. Tommy had what Ransom now considered a third appendage: a spit-cup. The Sheriff’s mouth was packed with a fat wad of tobacco.

“Get me the key Matthew. Ransom is coming with us.” Mayor Barton commanded.

“OK. He's been the last hour crying from the scent in the can.”

Paul took the key from Matty and opened the cell door, giving Ransom a harsh look, although he didn’t say a word. The reporter recognized it, and hurried out the door, also silent.

“Jeez... you never get used to smell.” Paul said, closing the cell door. Tommy spit a stream of brown juice and grinned ear to ear.

“That was the single most horrible night of my life.” Ransom asserted.

“Well, it can only get worse from here Ransom, unless you make the right decisions.” Paul seemed willing to negotiate some kind of truce.

“Bo give you his usual surprise boy?” Tommy was still smiling and upon hearing his name, Bo awakened.

“I'm hungry!” the large man said, finally hoisting himself up to a seated position.

“Imagine that.” Ransom rolled his eyes.

Paul asked Matty to scrub the place down when he handed the key back. After a few more jokes and a make-shift lecture from Mayor Barton to Bo on the dangers of public intoxication, Ransom was loaded into the squad car outside.

Tommy once again drove, and Paul took the passenger seat. It didn’t take long for all the men to notice the smell of the goat and because he sat in the very spot the bag had rested last night, Mayor Barton smelled it first.

“Jesus it stinks in here Tommy!” He cried.

“That'd be the goat. Matty cleaned it up for me last night if you want some.” Tommy replied.

“I see.” Paul leaned back to speak to Ransom. “Bo and Matty stay in the jail since we don't have much crime. They've got no other place go really. In spite of this being a dry county, Bo manages to find booze. He gets drunk too often and gets himself locked up in his own bed in spite of all our hospitality.”

“Kind of like Otis on The Andy Griffith Show?” Ransom asked.

“I never thought of it that way... that's too funny.”

“So what's wrong with them anyway?”

“Bo and Matty? No lifeguards at the gene pool if you know what I mean.”

Tommy cleared his mouth of saliva. “That family tree don't split.”

“Well I'm glad you both got a kick out of my torture. I never got a phone call you know.” The two men just looked at each other, so Ransom continued. “Where are you taking me? I have right to know.”

Mayor Barton shifted his posture and his tone. “I figure you have two choices here Ransom. One, we take you out in the woods and shoot you, then dump your body out by Jackson's field. 52 acres, not a soul would ever find you. Or two, you pack up your crap and leave while you still can. We'll take this whole breaking and entering thing off the records.”

“I'm voting for option two.” Ransom fired back quickly.

“The condition there is that you forget about your tumor story. You didn't hear or see a thing about Old Man Philpot. I don't want my town becoming another Graceland for all the freaks that read your paper, and quite frankly, all the commotion could kill Philpot.”

“I can do that. Not a problem.”

“Good. I'm a decent man, Ransom. I never wanted to hurt a soul, but Caleb almost died last night because of your meddling. Imagine what would happen if people reading your story really believed it? Surely you can see my point of view.”

“Yeah, I understand. I wonder if I might be allowed to write a story on the Beethoven here in town. Maybe make that my focal point?” Ransom asked.

“I suppose that’d be alright. Everyone around these parts knows how much this town loves the music. And our tumor would still be safe. But remember, you gotta leave here and if I find out that you wrote about our tumor, I will track you down and Tommy here will put a bullet in your brain like some wounded goat. You got it?”

“Hey, I said I'll leave, you'll never see or hear from me again.”

Sheriff Tommy peered back at Ransom through the rearview mirror and fixated his eyes in a lock-stare toward Ransom. While doing so he nearly clipped a parked car.

“Jesus, Tommy! Keep your eyes on the road!”