Huckleberry Brew

"Did you here the news?" says Sammy Parker, turning up his sharp nose from stubborn bug juice splattered on the tinted glass. A ring of dirt and sweat circled the neck and armpits of his gray tee shirt. Wavy lines of crusty egg yolk were visible on his unkempt red beard. The live flies must have been after the leftover breakfast he was wearing. He waved his meat hook sized paw as if it were an airy-fairy fan in an attempt to shoo them away as he hung-up the gas hose. Heat danced in waves from the red trucks polished hood. Slanting white clouds reflected from the newly clean front windshield.

"Ya, bad news travels fast in these mountains." said middle aged T. J. Cornpepper, his back against the side of the truck bed, his arms crossed at his chest, and one dusty boot heel resting on a ten-ply steel belted 75-16 tire.

"Whatcha ya gonna do Teddy?" ask Sammy not being able to mask the excitement in his voice.

"What makes you think I need to do something?" Tall and lanky Teddy Cornpepper bent his nimble frame at the waist, picking up several small round stones in the gravel and rolled them in his left hand like marbles.

"Come on Cornpepper, you ain't the kinda guy not get even. Whatcha gonna do? As God is my witness, I won't tell a soul. Whatcha gonna do?" Stroking his ratty beard, Sammy Parker picked at the yolk with his dirty fingernails.

Unbuttoning his oxford shirt collar, Teddy casually swallowed several times holding back a gag factor of that the locals would consider only a two, or three, on a scale of one to ten. At three o'clock in the afternoon, the roadside store and gas station was empty of any customers other than Cornpepper.

Earlier, seventeen-year-old Mary Jo McAllaster had sashayed through the front door of Shannon's Hodgepodge Mercantile, her Levi cutoffs revealing way more cheek than the preacher of the church on the hill could handle. Her low scissors-cut tee shirt was even more to the point. If old lecherous Henry Hues hadn't already died, the sight of Mary Jo bouncing to the beer locker would have killed him for sure. As for the preacher, his eyes were short circuiting between, ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no mountain low... sweet chariot. He sideswiped a cardboard display of candy bars at the counter, and knocked over a box of beef jerky sticks. His shaking hand missed his jeans pocket, sending nickels and dimes rolling down the store's dirty black and white checker floor.

"Leave it for the kids to pick up." said the preacher. "Gotta go-- I'm late for a wedding." Running both hands through his greasy blond hair, he paused for a moment before opening the squeegee clean double front doors.
Mary Joe had that kind of effect on men and she knew it.
The toothy grin on Sammy Parker's bushy buffet face at the preachers moral dilemma faded as Mary Jo strutted past the checkout counter. Ducking under the preacher's arm as he opened the door, and with Olympic perfection, Mary Jo casually vaulted into a cream coloured BMW convertible with a six pack of Sammy's most expensive imported beer. The other woman in the driver's seat smiled and gave what could be called, a most wicked wink before driving off in a cloud of dust.

"Humm, Humm, jail bait never looked so good."

"Roll your tongue in Sammy before you step on it. She's serious trouble with a capital T."

"I could sure use some of that kind of trouble." He said, as he quickly lifted the counter gate and started picking up the change on the floor.

"What if one of the Border Patrol guys had see that? She could cost you your Liquor License."

On his hands and knees looking for any change he might have missed, His head turning side to side, his eyes raking the floor. He snicked then laughed, "Boy don't you worry about me ever loosing my Liquor License."

The preacher Larry Vandyke stood outside the store still composing himself before walking across the street to his car. His classic 1967 Chevy II Super Sport had seen better days. In a fit of delayed adolescences, he fishtailed from the curb doing a one eighty U-turn, almost hitting Cornpepper's 1952 Ford pickup parked at the gas pump.

"Damn! That was close." said Sammy still smiling. So whatcha gonna do Teddy? Like I said, I won't tell nobody."

Teddy Cornpepper walked down the row of glass refrigerator doors, stopping at the bottled water section. On the lower shelf he pulled out two High Sierra's Best and returned to the counter.

"So whatcha gonna do? Small town like this, everybody knows a piece of the story. Bad news get people excited. Makes them feel good when it's somebody elses troubles. Do you know who did it? I mean Hell, people here will make up shit if they think they won't get caught. Whatcha gonna do?"

Cornpepper rolled up the sleeves of his clean blue shirt, he slowly turned from the counter and walked down the well stocked country store aisle.

"Oh Sam! I almost forgot. Been having gopher problems in my garden. Do you still carry that powder poison you sold to me several years ago?"

"Dang Teddy! That can of poison should have killed every gopher with in miles of your place."

"I don't like to keep it in the storage shed just in case the dogs get in there, so I tossed it."

"Ya, it's on top shelf in the livestock section." He waved his arm like throwing a baseball. All the way back, you'll have to use the ladder to reach it. Remember a spoon full of that stuff will kill a large animal, it's deadly so be careful with it."

"Don't worry Sammy, I'll be careful. By the way, when are you going to get the air conditioning unit fixed? It's hotter than hell up here."
Stepping off the ladder with a can of poison, Cornpepper takes his time in walking to the front counter, stopping several times to fiddle with several items on the shelves.

"I know, I know it's hot. That's why I'm closing the store at four o'clock instead of six-thirty. I gotta repairman is coming over from Wenatchee, it will be fixed sometime tomorrow morning. Guess you're my last costumer for the day. I'm locking the doors as soon as you leave."

"I know you usually drink beer Sammy, but have you ever tried one of these?"
Sammy rang up the two bottles of High Sierra's Best spring water and handed Teddy Cornpepper his change. Cornpepper cleverly twisted the plastic cap off the bottle, handing the ice cold drink across the worn Formica counter top to Sammy.

"Here try this, I think it will quench your thirst."

"Why thank you Ted, that's real thoughtful of you." Sammy said, as Cornpepper left the store.

Opening his truck door, Teddy Cornpepper grinned at the blast of heat from inside the old Ford's fully restored cab. "Damn! he said, it's hotter than the hubs of Dante's Hell-- how apropos.

Teddy Cornpepper may have been a cosmopolitan in his manners, but he had been schooled in small town ways from childhood. He knew from that day on, the local folk would never again make him the brutal butt of, "bad news."