The Glass top Coffin (standard:drama, 2099 words) [5/12] show all parts
Author: Stephen-Carver Byrd	Added: Dec 31 2002	Views/Reads: 2459/1761	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
***Part 5*** The Antics Of Wally Perkins

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

come along and squash him, like steppin' on a puppy's head.“ Outside, 
Jordan raised his eyes and slowly shook his head. 

“What can I do for you, Wally?” Mr. Moore said in an irritable tone,
already losing his patience with the man. 

"Got a little somethin' to show you. Let me just put it out here on the
counter, but ya better stand back a little.” Jordan heard the bag 
rattle as Wally opened it. There was a brief pause and then a gasping 
sound. Jordan braced himself for the worse. The next sound he heard 
almost tore the old screen door from its rusty hinges. 

“Get that goddamn, half-dead, bloody rat off my clean counter!” Mr.
Moore boomed. 

“Rat,” Jordan said to himself. “It's a rat.” 

“Hold your pants up, Wendil, hold your pants up, let's just knock  ‘em
down here on the floor.” Jordan heard a soft thud. “Caught him this 
morning' in the basement,” Wally explained. “Damn trap near took the 
better part of his hind leg off. Heard it told an animal would ete its 
trapped leg off just to get away. Never believed it till today. But 
that's what this one was a doing when I found it. Eteing at it, eteing 
the livin' hell out of it.” 

“Damn you Wally, I just mopped that floor this morning. Now get that rat
back in the bag and out of my store,” His words echoed like cannon 
fire. 

“Here, help me get back it in.” Wally said. “Damn thing's the size of a
cat, ain‘t it, Wendil?” 

“Wally, Oh hell, now its getting away!” 

Jordan could hear Wally laughing as if he had gone insane. “Fast little
sucker for only having three legs, don't you say, Wendil?” 

“Get that damn rat out of my store! Just look at all that bloody mess on
my clean floor,” Mr. Moore howled. 

Jordan heard the rustling of the bag. “There he goes,” Wally said. “He's
good and safe now.” 

“Then get the hell out of here!” Mr. Moore roared in a bursting rage.
Wally staggered out of the door, his head held high to the sky, totally 
out of breath in laughter. Then he saw Jordan sitting on the vegetable 
create still eating his snack. The amusement grew soft and a strange 
little look came in one eye. Wally started toward Jordan. “Hey, Jordi 
boy, wanna see the biggest damn rat anyone ever laid eyes on?” Jordan 
scooted as far back as possible then waved a hand and shook his head. 

“Oh, come on boy, just a little peep, he ain‘t gonna hurt no one,” said
Wally while carefully opening the bag close to Jordan's face. “Now just 
peep carefully down in there, son. Caught ‘em this mornin‘, messing 
round in my basement.” Jordan lifted his chin slightly and peered in. 
Wally carefully continued to open the bag until it was exactly to the 
point where he wanted it. Suddenly he shoved the entire opening of the 
bag over Jordan's face. “Got ya boy, the damn rat's got ya!” Jordan 
yelled loud and fell over backwards, trapping one leg under his body. 
Above him, he could hear Wally howling in drunken laughter. Jordan's 
one free leg was sticking straight up in the air and waving around, 
making him very vulnerable. Wally immediately saw this and pushed the 
bag to Jordan's crotch. “Teeth big enough to bite your fuckn' pecker 
off.” 

“Help!” Jordan yelled out. “Get that away, get that away, please someone
help me!” 

“Snap - Snap -Snap,” Wally squealed in a drunken stupor, pushing the bag
harder to the boy's crotch. 

With the one free leg, Jordan cocked it tight then thrust it upward as
hard as he could manage. His shoe hit the bag perfectly knocking it 
clean from Wally's hands. The rat-in-the-bag went sailing through the 
air, landing about ten feet to the left. The brown sack bust open and 
the rat scampered out freely. Nevertheless, just as the half-dead 
varmint hit the gravel it lost all traction. Jordan, still on his back, 
could see it now. It wasn't the size of a cat but maybe a good-sized 
kitten. At first, it appeared as if it had two tails. Then Jordan 
realized that one of the tails was actually a long dragging leg. It was 
scarcely clinging to its body by only a thin, bloody membrane. The big 
boy was scurrying hard in the gravel but it was only going in small 
circles. 

Mr. Moore burst out of the store, his face the color of an inflamed
boil. The first thing he saw was Wally standing over Jordan‘s twisted 
body, laughing like a man who urgently needed to be admitted to Rex 
Hill. Then he turned and saw the rat darting around in a desperate 
circle. “Wally I'm going to give you thirty, no, twenty seconds to get 
away from that boy, get that rat back in the bag and get your ass off 
my premises or I'm calling the Sheriff!” 

Wally stood up straight, laughing so hard his eyes watered. His huge
stomach jolted up and down as if he'd recently swallowed a Volkswagen. 
He staggered over to the rat and informed Mr. Moore, “Might I remind ya 
Wendil that you ain't got no goddamn telephone. Hell, more than half 
the people rounds these parts ain't got no phone they'd be so god-shit 
poor.” 

Mr. Moore had seen and heard enough. “Then by-golly, I'll just throw
your drunken ass off myself,” said the old man, starting down the 
stairs and rolling up his sleeves. 

“Hold your shit in,” Wally said. “Just let me get my little friend here
and we's aboth be getten' off.” Wally kicked the rat hard to the head 
sending it flying lifelessly back into the bag. He picked it up and 
wobbled in the general direction of his truck. As he walked past 
Jordan, who was now sitting up and wiping the dirt from his shirt and 
tears from his eyes, Wally held the rat-in-the-bag his way. 
“Snap-Snap-Snap” he mocked one last time. Jordan engaged a fast kick at 
the bag, but the boy's worn out sneaker missed by a country mile. Wally 
opened the door to his truck and tossed the rat-in-the-bag onto the 
front seat then pulled out the whiskey bottle. He tilted it skyward 
taking several long gulps. As he drank, some of the hard stuff rolled 
down his unshaven face and soaked into his green tobacco stained 
overalls. “Hey Jordi?” he called in a slurred voice. “When ya gonna 
come sit with ole Wally in church again? Sort of like sitting up close 
to a pretty little boy on Sunday morning‘, makes me feel real close to 
Jesus-like.” 

Jordan wiped away some more angry tears then glared hard at Wally. His
pressure point had now reached full maximum and this was the perfect 
time to let it all blow loose. “Maybe I'll try it again in another 
fuckin' life!” Jordan shrieked, slightly hurting his throat. 

That remark even brought a light chuckle from Mr. Moore who was now
standing on the bottom step, tapping his watch. Wally took another long 
drink then returned to his truck. The old heap started quickly but it 
hissed and puffed then finally grinded into a random gear. Wally shot 
past Jordan then slid to a quick arrest in front of the steps. 

“Tell me Wendil, When's ya birthday?” 

“Early October, what's it to you, Perkins?” 

“Thought this year I'd make ya a little birthday cake, but ya otta be
careful with the cutting,” he laughed, pointing to the bag. “Might just 
use this as part of the fillin‘.” Mr. Moore looked at his watch one 
last time and nodded sternly toward the end of the driveway. 

Wally gunned the engine three quick times then punched the accelerator
to the floor spraying Mr. Moore and Jordan with dust, gravel and blue 
exhaust fumes. At the end of the driveway, Wally made a tight U-turn 
and peeled up the highway heading south. As he flew passed the store 
Jordan could see him grinning wildly and shaking the rat-in-the-bag in 
the air much the way a parent would shake a bag full of candy to a 
child---‘here you are sweetheart, it's all yours.' 

Jordan kicked the gravel in angry frustration. Mr. Moore simply walked
to the end of the store and disappeared around the corner. He returned 
a few minutes later pushing a mop and bucket that was filled with water 
and five or six disinfectants. On the steps he struggled a brief moment 
with the large bucket then he shoved everything into the store. 
Standing on the top step, he stared in the direction of Wally's 
departure. “Now that‘s what you call an idiot,” he said to no one in 
particular. “That's what you call one goddamn idiot.” 

Continued - See part 6 


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