Page 30 of Rowe

When he approached the General Store, he was a bit surprised to see that it was in fact called, The General Store. It was larger than he expected with several recent additions to it. Surprisingly, it didn’t appear to be damaged at all, or it had been repaired already.

Either way, he was hungry, tired, and thirsty. If anyone knew the way to the hospital, it would be this place. He walked inside and felt the cold blast of air conditioning and smiled.

“Afternoon!” called the young man behind the counter. “Take a look around. Lots of local artists, we’ve got sandwiches already made but I can make you a hot one, and ice-cold sodas and water.”

Rossi nodded at the young man as he smiled his sickly-sweet smile like the rest of the hicks in this area.

Walking around the large space he did see some interesting artwork. He collected paintings and he had to admit that some of these were exceptional. He stopped in front of one and noticed the name – Cassidy Norgenson. He stepped closer, examining the signature.

“It can’t be,” he muttered to himself.

“Like that one?” asked Beaux from the corner of the room. Rossi jumped. He never jumped. No one ever snuck up on him. “She’s real famous. That one would cost you a pretty penny, but it looks like you can afford it.”

“This can’t be real. Why would she be selling her paintings in this place?” he frowned.

“Judgey much?” asked Tucker. He frowned and turned back to the painting, then noticed the necklace and earring set in the case. Spectacular. How in the world were these items in this hick store?

He turned to stare at the two men and gained an appreciation for their size and width. These country boys were big. Probably not very smart, but they were big.

“I’m looking for a local hospital,” he said calmly. “I believe my niece is there.”

“Is that so? Did the hospital call you?” asked Beaux.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Yes, they did.”

“And you didn’t ask which hospital? You didn’t ask for an address?” Rossi jaw ticked up and down as he stared at the man. “Seems a smart thing for a man to do.”

“I was surprised and concerned for her. I forgot to ask,” he said glaring at the men. He noticed the sign above the register and felt his stomach growl. “Can I have a roast beef po’boy?”

“Sure thing,” smiled Tucker. “Comin’ up.”

Rossi took a seat in an old wooden rocker and stared at his surroundings. Nothing looked inordinately suspicious, but it also didn’t tell him anything he needed to know.

When the food was ready, he paid for the drink and the po’boy and left, sitting in his car with the air on, trying to calm his temper. Something was fucking wrong with this place, but he couldn’t figure it out. Maybe his own men were the ones that got lost.

With his meal finished, he started to back out and immediately knew something was wrong. He stopped, stepping out of the car and stared at two flat tires.

“Fucking backwoods shithole!” he screamed. Beaux and Tucker were on the front porch, around the corner Jethro smirked. He’d let the air out of two of the tires, no marks, nothing left behind.

“Man, that’s bad luck,” said Tucker shaking his head. “We can call a tow truck.”

Rossi was seething. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the pistol. Neither man moved. That alone surprised him to the point of worry.

“You did this,” he growled.

“Didn’t do anything mister. Just two backwoods hicks workin’ the General Store. That’s all. We were in there with you the whole time.”

“I will fucking kill you. Do you have any idea who I am?” he yelled.

“A dead man,” said a voice behind him. He felt the cold steel against the nape of his neck and froze. A massive hand came around his shoulder, took the weapon from him, and released the clip, kicking it across the road into the canal.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said without turning.

“Just dumb hicks,” smirked Beaux. “But we don’t take kindly to folks harassing our neighbors, lying to our faces, and accusing us of shit we didn’t do. So. You call your own damn tow truck. Get your tires fixed. And if I ever see you, or that car around here again, I will make sure it never drives on these roads while I’m alive.”

“You won’t be alive for long,” he sneered.

“You are fucking ballsy or stupid,” said Tucker. “I can’t figure out which, but it doesn’t matter. Take your fucking car and leave. On flat tires.”