The Gauthieux Twins pt 6

The curvy road ended at a T-intersection in the middle of nowhere.  Franklin Gauthieux came up to a stop sign suddenly and stomped on the brakes in panic as he saw there was only a stand of timber illuminated in front of him. 

         “Ahh shiiiit!” He cringed as the car almost slid through the intersection completely and ended up kissing a tree.  The Impala came to a screeching halt in the throes of scorched rubber smoke.  He backed up quickly and tried to make out the writing on the green road sign atop the red octagon.  Something in his rearview mirror caught his eye for a split second before the Bronco rammed him.

         He lurched forward, discombobulated for an instant.  The back glass shattered and pellets of it rained inside the car. 

         “Shit!” Franklin tried to collect himself. “Fuckhead!”  He never saw the lights of the car behind him. “You drunk ass motherfucker!  Turn your lights on!”  The car behind him backed away.  Franklin pulled his pistol and leaned over to open his door.  He knew the car was probably finished.  A new ride was in order.

         The Bronco lined up for an instant and then rammed him again.  It kept plowing into him, pushing the Chevy forward across the intersection.

         “Fuck!”  He stomped the gas and the car replied with a horrendous screeching sound.  Heavy, acrid smoke boiled from beneath the rear wheel well as the left-rear tire ground itself apart on the crushed frame.  The tire exploded as he tried to power out of the situation.  The Bronco backed away again.  His efforts only caused the Impala to smoke further and spin in a sparking circle at the desolate intersection.  Again, the Bronco plowed into him.  This time it caught him broadside and shoved him across the intersection and into the shallow ditch that ran parallel to the woodland.

         He gave up and grabbed his gun.  The Impala's lift kit popped loose on the damaged side.  The big car tilted toward the driver's side.  Grabbing the moneybag, he rolled out of the passenger door to put the car between himself and whoever was in the truck.  A shotgun blast tore through the interior as he fell to the ground.  One pellet ricocheted off of the doorframe and hit him in the cheek.

         The twin jumped up, laying the 9mm across the top of his car and unloading wildly.  One shot went through the Bronco's windshield.  The rest hit nothing but air.  To his horror, he saw headlights coming up the road from where he came.  It was the big black Suburban that he had seen outside of Vonshay's home as he hauled ass away.  The ride behind him was clearly not a Suburban and evidently not some random drunk.

         “Who the fuck...?”  He aimed at the Suburban and pulled the trigger again, only to hear the horrible sound of a dry fire.

         “Ooops, asshole!”  A young girl's voice spoke to him from beneath his line of sight.  Suddenly, he felt bullets hitting his thighs.

         Curio moved up to the driver's door silently as the Impala stopped its attempt to flee.  She looked at the crumpled winch and the front of the Bronco and winced.

         Sorry for the whiskey bump, Mo.

         She could see the guy crawling out of the far side of the car and sent a load of buckshot through the interior.  Saving the other barrel in case she needed it, she hunkered up against his car and pulled off the night vision system.  The target foolishly emptied his clip at unseen phantoms. 

         Her ears were ringing from the gunshots but she heard the drone of an advancing vehicle behind her.  There was no time for her to debate whether or not she was about to die by the hand of her unsuspecting employers.  She only hoped that somewhere in the black SUV was her man’s calm voice of reason to talk them down.  In the meantime, she crouched down at the Impala’s driver-side door and took aim.  Hearing a telltale click, she smiled.

         “Oops!”  Curio jumped up, firing her .380 through his open door.  She put two shots in both of his thighs.  He went down screaming.

         The sound of a giant SUV roaring up to a screeching stop made her stiffen.

         Looking over her shoulder, her tiny pistol firm in her grip, she saw the faces of three angry old men suddenly show up in the interior light.

         “Oh shit...”



         “They're shootin' it out!  Goddammit, Curio!” Moses floored the pedal when he saw the twinkles of muzzle flashes ahead after a wild spark spray from the spinning Impala.  The men were punched back in their seat as he accelerated wildly and then jumped on the brakes to park perfectly alongside the Bronco.

         And there his beloved was in an instant, her body clothed in black, bracketed by high beams.  Handgun cupped in a two-hand grip, short hair falling forward as she looked at the ground and away from the blinding lights framing her pale face.  She was wearing her blackout suit, skintight like Moses.  Barry White hung on its strap beside her waist, swaying slightly.  Curio dropped the gun to her side as Moses opened the door.  Seeing him, she smiled.

         He’s alive! 

         She could barely conceal her happiness as she saw Moses Holliday step from the driver’s seat.  It was all she could do not to run to him and hug him.  The countless talks they had shared about the need for her continued secrecy suddenly swarmed over her.  The Fontenots stepped out from the vehicle.  Her hand tightened on the grip of her pistol.  Immediately, she realized she was lit up, exposed without cover, and completely ill-prepared to face the danger she was certain she was now in the middle of.

         If it’s going down, let it be so… Curio Phelonie crouched slightly into a shooting stance and glared at the two brothers.

         The men said nothing as they got out of the SUV.  Moses took a few steps toward her and saw her arms twitch slightly toward the Fontenots.  His eyes widened when he saw the look of paranoid savagery on her face.  He could not blame her after all he had told her about the boss.

         “Mistah Fontenot, I presume?”  She suddenly yelled.  Moses smiled and cocked his head around to the SUV.

         “Yes.”  Both Cajuns answered in unison.  A man with long, dark hair limped forward.

         “I'm Bertrand Fontenot, mon cheri.  You be Moses' deepest, cutest secret I take it.  Yo name is Miss Curio?”  He folded his arms.  A large automatic pistol lay across a bicep.

         “Dat's me, Sir.  Look, I got one man down on the other side of this puke-green piece a-shit car.  I understand you been lookin' for him.”

         “He kinda on my to-do list, you may say.”  Another set of headlights rounded the curve behind them and stopped.  The lights cut off.  Curio saw the fatter brother mumble something into a walkie-talkie.  Moses slowly turned around to face the other vehicle.  She could see him stiffening up.

         “I shot this here motherfucker four times in his legs.  I winged him on purpose when I seen your lights comin’ up fast.  Moses told me you wanted a few personal minutes with him.  You can have dem minutes now.  He ain’t goin’ nowhere but hell.”

         “Dat a fact?  Well, ain't you just fuckin Saint Nick all done come early!”  He started limping toward her, his handgun by his side.  Pete muttered into the walkie-talkie again.  The headlights behind them reappeared but then the car turned around and drove back the way they had come.

         “We friendly?”  She tensed up as he approached. “Moses didn’t paint too fucking good a picture about when this day would come.”

         Grizzly Fontenot hobbled up to her.  She looked at him in awe.  He was not especially tall but he stood a head taller than she.  With his black mane and his cold eyes, he was a fearsome vision to finally have in front of her.  She never considered him to be the consummate boogie-man Moses made him out to be.  But as he finally stood in her presence with a gun in his hand, Curio felt nothing but edgy fear.

         “We friendly, mon cheri.  Ain't yo fault yo old man is a raving fuckin’ lunatic.”  He hobbled around her toward the car.  Pete and Moses were right behind him.

         Moses walked up to her and wrapped his arm around her waist.  She was trembling horribly.

         “It's okay.  They know.  I had a heart to heart.”

         “Heart to heart with the heartless?”

         “Kinda sorta'.  Anyhow, they know.”

         “They know…but do they accept?”

         “Not tonight.  But they'll have to.”

         “Do they, Moses?”  She looked as Grizzly turned his menacing glance from her to the twin on the far side of the Impala.

         “Yeah, baby.  They seriously do.”  Moses said, with a familiar finality that anyone who had heard it before was not around to question it any longer.

         “Where you crawling off to, you low-ass piece of shit?”  Grizzly walked up to Franklin Gauthieux, straddling him on the side of the dark road.

         “Please, man.  I ain't done nothin'.  They started shootin' up the place and shit.  I got scared and I made a fuckin' run for it.  That's all I did, man.  I swear!”  He lay on the ground with his arms up.  The moneybag was beside him.

         “Made a run for it, huh?  Okay.  I would buy dat and all, but I see you made sho you run with my money.”

         “Yo money?  Man, I don’t know shit about that.  These two niggas had the loot with them when they got up this way.  If it's yours, take it, man.  Please take it.”

         “Dat’s mighty generous.  So which one is you?  Franklin or Marvin?”

         “Who are they?  I don’t know nobody named that.”

         “Well, it’s da same person, I suppose.  Since twins start out as one and all.  Don't really matter, though, I guess.  Say good night, motherfucka.”  He was about to fire his pistol when Curio halted him.  She was walking toward him.

         “Hey boss!  Whoa!  Hold up!”

         “What!”  He glared at her. “You on thin enough ice, girlfriend.”

         “I’m sayin’ hold up because I still got a barrel left full in dis here shotgun.  Buckshot tends to make a little better statement, doncha think?”

         Grizzly looked at her and then looked down at the look of shock on Franklin's face.

         “Fuck her, man!  That bitch is crazy!  Please, man!”

         Grizzly looked at her and smiled mischievously.  “Yeah, lil’ Curio.  I suppose you raht.”  She handed Barry White to him.  Pete smiled smugly at her and then looked back at Moses.  Moses met his face and shrugged. 

         “That’s how she rolls, Pete.  She digs Barry.”

         “Man, who the fuck is she!  Please, boss!”

         Grizzly Fontenot looked at Curio as she leveled her pistol at Franklin.  “Shut the fuck up dead man.  Or I’ll empty this motherfucker into your dick before you die.”  The boss laughed.

         “I guess she’s my new employee apparently, you dipshit.  And ain't it da truth when dey say da last piece of pussy you ever git is the one dat's fucks you forevah?”  He pulled back both hammers and pointed the shotgun at Franklin's tear-stained face.

         “Dis is fo mah friend.  Fred Lemoine.  He ain’t gonna’ rest in peace, but you sure as fuck ain’t either.  See you in hell, you sorry piece of shit.”  He fired.  Spitting on the corpse, he handed the gun to Pete and limped around the Impala back to the SUV.  “Let's go, folks.  Dem shitbird cops ‘round nyah gotta’ be woke up by now.”

         Pete stooped down and grabbed the moneybag.

         Moses and Curio walked arm in arm back to the Bronco.  Pete passed them as he hurried to take his position on the driver’s side.  Leering at her, he handed the sawed-off to Curio as he passed.  He shot a look of casual antagonism to Moses and shook his head.

         “I guess you thinkin’ you need to fill out your W-4 as soon as I can dig up dem forms, huh?” He paused and looked her up and down.  “You raht, Tex.  She sho’ nuff one purty gal.”  Pete jumped in the SUV as Grizzly gave them a tiny wave before he got in.  It was a brush-off, not a fond farewell.  Pete rolled down the window.

         “We’ll have to talk about all this real soon, y’all.  You got some real nerve, Moses.”  Shaking his head, Pete rolled up the window and hurried away.  The SUV turned right at the T and disappeared into the night.

         “Well, that went well.”  Moses shook his head somberly.  “Was there nothing to watch on the TV tonight, baby?  Damn.”

         “I thought it went fabulous.  They really got a tax form?”  Curio kissed him on the cheek, walking back to the Bronco with a shotgun in one hand and her pistol in the other.

         “Sure.  Tons of ‘em, baby.”  Moses listened to the Fontenots as they roared into the distance.  He shook his head and forced a smile through his anxious mouth.          “And wouldn't the IRS like to get their hands on it.”

         Curio turned on the interior light and checked her face in the mirror.  “You really do worry too much.”  She lit a cigarette.

         Moses climbed in and cranked the motor.  The radio began playing, “It’s So Easy” by Guns-n-Roses. “Trust me, baby.  You have no idea how much we gotta’ worry now.”

         With a cloud of dust and death left behind, the two killers then disappeared into the moonlit Mississippi night.



The End



         

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  * Volume 2: The Fontenots begins with "Moses & Curio & The Table For Four"