The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 4, post 5

Chapter 4 More Danged Trouble Okay, now I know things are sounding kinda bad. You know, like I’m a kid John Dillinger. But you’d be wrong. I have three-year Royal Ambassador Perfect Attendance pin from First Baptist, and never ever have I swiped anything from Doc, even though he pays me hardly nothing for delivering those sorry papers. And what actually happened was me trying to keep from getting eaten up, and I just thought the watery bleach would just smell up the dogs. Who would have ever thought it would cause all those white spots? So I’m innocent as Jesus… Uh well maybe not quite that innocent, but I really didn’t mean to mess up those dogs, even though I said I would pull the switch if that momma dog was strapped in the electric chair. And it did bother me a bunch that Mrs. Graves was going to lose money because so something I did. I know what you’re thinking: If you’re so innocent why, don’t you just confess and tell folks what really happened? Listen up, and I’ll tell you why... “Yes, your Honor, I was just defending myself against flesh eating… Uh, Uh, Chihuahuas.” Yeah, that really don’t sound all that good does it, and I can just hear that judge: “Guard, put this juvenile delinquent on the next bus to reform school!” That’s why I’m not about to confess, and I’m really worried about where that water pistol went. Okay, what I’m thinking is just to act like I’m really upset that someone in my hometown of Norphlet would do such a terrible thing, and just about everybody I talked to would get from me, “That's sure a terrible thing about Mrs. Graves’ little dogs.” Actually, I was thinking, I sure wish it had been some kill-you-dead-as-a-sack-of-hammers poison. You guessed it: I think the only good Chihuahuas are underground ones—you know dead ’uns. But nobody, nobody—well except John Clayton and Ears—will ever know I pulled the trigger on that water pistol. Anyway, things were pretty quiet for a couple of days, but then another shocker-roo: I popped into the newsstand right on time, which I had started doing after ‘the Chihuahua problem” showed up in the local paper. But that morning when I picked up the papers Doc yelled, “Richard, Norphlet made the front page of the Arkansas Gazette… look!” Well, the Gazette is a Little Rock paper and it goes all over the state. Norphlet has never been on the front page. When I took a look and saw Chihuahuas, with tiny white spots on them, little drops of sweat popped out on my forehead, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. Not only that, but folks from all over the state had commented in a little side section of the paper. And then to top it off in big black letters the Governor had said, “I’m sure the attack was made by someone just traveling through. None of our citizens would do such a dastardly thing.” Yeah, and while I was swallowing my tongue Doc was just going on and on. “And Richard, Marshal Wing stopped by here earlier, and said the weapon had been found, and he expects he'll be arresting someone soon. He said the attempted murder weapon was a water pistol, and it still had some of the bleach water in it.” Okay, I couldn’t just scream “No! No!” but my first thoughts were to hightail it out of town, and live in the woods eating crawfish and berries for about 10 years... you know, until the whole thing blew over. But then I thought, No, just say something like “good”. They can’t prove it’s your water pistol. Dodge the dang bullet! Lie, lie lie! “That's wonderful, Doc. I hope they put that guy… Uh, wait a minute, Doc, it might be a woman or girl.” Yeah, that’s real good. Throw a log in the road. “What?” “Yeah, Doc, they really don’t know if it was a boy, girl, or an adult. Shoot, some of those eighth-grade girls are means as snakes.” “Richard, it was a damned water pistol! Only a boy would have a water pistol.” “I'm not so sure about that, Doc. I know a lot of girls who have water pistols, and they’re always squirting boys in the Ritz.” “It was some punk kid, Richard… a boy! And in this little town, where everybody knows everybody, that kid ain’t got a chance!” Yeah, now I know how one of the old Roman fighters felt standing there holding pointed sticks just as they pulled open a gate and let out about 20 lions. Maybe I ain’t got a chance, but by gollee, I’m gonna go down lying, crossed my mind.