The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 13, post 16

Chapter 13 A Note Explosion Yeah, I knew those notes were gonna set off a Norphlet explosion…and I was right. It started at 5 o’clock the next morning. I’d had a hard time going to sleep because I was worried about what was going to happen, and for once in about a year, I was at the newsstand right on time. Doc was really surprised, but I grabbed up my paper bag, and was out of the newsstand in a couple of minutes. I knew Bubba would be coming in right after 5 to open the City Café, and I was hanging around near to the cafe just waiting on him to show up. Of course, Bubba’s always late, but about 5:15 he walked up with a sack of sweet potatoes under his arm. I figured Bubba must have nailed a possum and sure enough, he pulled one out of a sack he was carrying. “Hey, Richard, lookie here. Somebody runned over this possum about an hour ago, and it’s still warm. Shoot, today’s special is gonna be Possum and Taters. Want me to save you a plate?” “Uh, well Bubba, I had possum just a few days back, and I hafta let my stomach settle for a while. You know possum is kinda greasy.” “Yeah it’s real greasy, but I pours the grease off, and uses the grease to flavor the turnip greens.” Bubba had started to unlock the door when he saw the note. “What's this?—Uh, it’s a letter of some kind. Let’s see... uh, “Your food is...” And then he had a kinda slow few minutes where I guess it sunk in, and after that—wow. Bubba went into this puffed-up I’m so mad I can’t say nothing phase, but that didn’t last but a minute, and he yelled out loud enough to make me put my hands over my ears. “I’m a gonna mop the floor with that sorry Yankee!” Yeah, the man was just from Little Rock, but that’s up north to Bubba. Heck, I had to calm him down, ’cause he had stopped unlocking the door and was about to take off after the guy right then and there. “Wait a minute, Bubba! You gotta open up! Big Six and his crew of roughnecks will be here in a few minutes!—And how do you know who it was that left you the note, anyway?” Well, Bubba kinda hesitated, and I said, “Go on in and get the stove hot and dress that possum. You can tend to whoever left that note later. Anyway, it’s just a few minutes after five, and nobody but me, you, and Doc are up.” Bubba kinda scratched his head, and I could almost hear him thinking. It took a few minutes, but he finally nodded, “Uh, well you know, Richard, it had to be that private investigator. Everybody else in town thinks my food is real good.” ’Course, nobody in town would ever tell Bubba how bad his food is after he hit Big Six with that big, black skillet. “Your food’s great, Bubba,” I lied. “Now you better get in there and take care of that possum. Heck, you gotta let it simmer in its grease for about four hours where the sweet potatoes can soak up the flavor.” “Yeah, you're right. Richard. I’ll get the kitchen going and the possum cooking before I take care of that no good Yankee.” “Okay, Bubba; I’ll see you later.” Shoot, I took off knowing I’d just put off one part of the explosion for a few hours. The paper route went fast since I was so nervous, and I was back at the newsstand in less than an hour. Well, I figured Bubba was still mad, and maybe I could calm him down a little more, so I stepped into the cafe. Bubba was just about to serve Big Six and his crew of roughnecks breakfast. “Boys, I done run outta bacon so I made a substitute. Y’all let me know how it is. Okay?” said Bubba. “Sure, sure,” mumbled Big Six. “Now get me another cup of that sorry coffee. We pulled a wet string last night and it was pure hell!” The comment “sorry coffee” had Bubba kinda glaring at Big Six, but he just grumbled and walked back behind the counter to pick up the coffeepot. Well, the crew went to cutting up their fried eggs, and while they were doing that, I took a good look at what Bubba was calling his bacon substitute. And it sure didn’t look anything like bacon. There were pieces of what I thought might be lizard and then there were some kinda half-moon-looking things and maybe something that I thought might be chicken liver. Heck, that crew of roughnecks were just chowing down when one of them asked, “Hey, Bubba, this meat you served for bacon ain’t bad. What is it?” Well, ”ain’t bad” is a real compliment from a crew of roughnecks, and Bubba kinda sauntered over, puffing himself up like you might see a chef in a New York restaurant do, and started to tell the crew what his bacon substitute was. “Y’all ain't gonna never believe it, but I got the idea from today’s special, Possum and Taters. And by the way, if y’all wants a plate you had better say so right now where I can put it aside. It weren't that big of a possum.” Well, there were no takers of the today’s special, so Bubba kept on talking. “Yeah, I’m cooking a whole possum just surrounded by sweet potatoes, and it’ll be in the oven all morning...” About that time Big Six mouthed off, “I don't give a damn about the possum! What in hell is this bacon thing?” “Grilled possum,” said Bubba. “Possum? This don’t look like no possum I’ve ever seen,” mouthed Big Six. “Naw, ’cause them’s the parts we usually don’t eat.” The last bite of the bacon substitute was just about to go into one of the roughneck’s mouth when Bubba said that. It was as if he was frozen in place, ’cause Bubba sometimes gets real creative with his cooking. “Yeah, you know I don't like to waste nothin’, and I read somewheres that some folks were eating parts of animals we usually don’t eat. That’s when I looked at that possum’s innards, and had an idea. Y’all are the first to eat my new grilled possum treats.” “Damn, Bubba! Grilled possum treats? Exactly what are we eating?” demanded Big Six. “Well, them little half-circles are possum kidneys, and that long thing you just put in you mouth, is the possum’s tongue. And that’s the possum’s liver on Zeke’s plate, which I done sliced up and chicken-fried.” Well, Big Six spit that possum tongue halfway across the room, and one of the other roughnecks who had just swallowed a last piece of grilled possum kidney gagged and then ran for the bathroom to throw up. Yeah, that broke up breakfast at the City Café, and if Marshal Wing hadn’t stopped in for a cup of coffee, there would have been the wildest fight you have ever seen. Heck, with all the threats and cussing going on, I figured Bubba would forget about tackling that private eye, and I was right. Marshal Wing had to stand between Bubba and the roughnecks—who were claiming they had been poisoned—and Bubba was trying to collect a $4.59 breakfast check. About that time, the private eye stuck his head in the door and called out to Marshal Wing. “Marshal, I’d like to see you in your office as soon as possible. I have some evidence about the person who did that stuff to my car.”