The Norphlet Mafia, Chapter 13, post 17

I could tell Marshal Wing really didn’t want to have anything to do with that Mr. Paul guy, but he just nodded and said, “I’ll open up around ten. I’ve got a little problem here I’ve got to take care of.” Naw, Mr. Paul sure didn’t want to wait to see the Marshal, but after Marshal Wing turned his back to him and started talking to Bubba and the crew of roughnecks, he shut the door, and started down the street muttering to himself. I could see the note in his hand, and it sure made me take a deep breath. After a few more words with Bubba and Big Six, and after Bubba went back behind the counter, Marshal Wing said to the roughnecks, “Now y’all mosey on back to the rig and calm down. Eating possum innards ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Well, with the Marshal waving his gun around that seemed like something the crew might want to do, and they piled in Big Six’s pickup and burned rubber. Marshal Wing sat down at the counter and ordered breakfast, three eggs over easy, and biscuits—no bacon. I could tell he wasn’t in any hurry to sit down with that Mr. Paul. I hung around for a little bit to be sure Bubba wasn’t gonna go off half-cocked. But what I figure was that Mr. Paul was gonna show the Marshal the note and ask him to arrest Bubba. Yeah, I figured the explosion was just put off a few hours… and I was right. Things just simmered at the City Café for the rest of the morning, and I wondered what was going on with Mr. Paul, the private investigator and Marshal Wing. I found out about 11:30 when I was downtown and noticed Marshal Wing walking down the sidewalk toward the City Café with Mr. Paul. Shoot, I had enough interest to tag along to see what was about to happen. Wow, when Marshal Wing opened the door to the cafe and stepped inside—followed by Mr. Paul—all heck started to break loose. Bubba was behind the counter and he glanced up. And then, when the private investigator stepped in, Bubba’s face just went into the worst look you have ever seen. ’Course, just that wouldn’t have been real serious, but when Bubba started around the counter he picked up his big, black skillet. The one he had used on Big Six’s head. Everyone in the place kinda said, “Uhooo, ooo” under their breath, and the folks sitting at the two tables between Bubba and Mr. Paul hopped up and backed out of skillet reach. Yeah, Bubba was like a runaway freight train heading straight for Mr. Paul, and he had already drawn the skillet back when Marshal Wing yelled, “Bubba! Put that skillet down now!” Well, just yelling at Bubba wasn’t near enough, so Marshal Wing pulled his big .45 and shot a round in the ceiling. Uh, yeah, that kinda scattered the customers, and old Mrs. Deason actually fainted, which caused her husband to start yelling, “Ohooooo! Momma has done had a heart attack! Y’all has killed Momma!” Naw, it weren’t his momma, but you know how folk talk; it was his wife, but yeah, it was somebody’s momma. Anyway, that kinda shut down Bubba’s charge, and everybody ran over to check on Mrs. Deason. ’Course, she wasn’t even out, but just upset, and when Bubba, who was the first one to reach her, stood over her with a big, black skillet in his hand, she came to pretty quickly. “Ahaaaaa! Bubba don’t hit me with that skillet!” And then Mrs. Deason stuck Bubba with her fork…in a very sensitive place. ’Course there was a bellow from Bubba:“Uhooooo! Ahaaaa!” and then some words that would have gotten my mouth washed out at home. Yeah, with Bubba bent over and Mrs. Deason wielding that folk, nobody was watching Mr. Paul, who pulled out the note I’d written and stuck it in Bubba’s face. “Here’s your note, you worthless….” Whap! Yeah, Bubba might have been wounded, but it was just like tormenting a bull elephant. They can still hurt you, and Mr. Paul can vouch for that. Bubba just made a swish-like move and nailed Mr. Paul’s elbow, which evidently smarted ’cause Mr. Paul made this kinda of Ahaaaaa! Uhhhhhhh! sound and said some other really, really bad words as Marshal Wing tried to step between Mr. Paul and Bubba. You know, back when I was about 10 years old, I tried to break up dogfight between Sniffer, my dog, and a big hound. It took me nearly three weeks to heal up. I don’t break up dog fights anymore, and I’ll bet Marshal Wing regrets breaking up the City Café brawl. Heck, the fight was just getting started, and as I watched, I was regretting causing it, ’cause things started to reach a new level. Bubba, who was fighting from a crouched position—I guess Mrs. Graves’ fork wound was still kinda hurting—was just swinging at anything within reach, and the skillet was just whapping kneecaps like nothing you have ever seen. Well, I haven’t been hit on the kneecap with a big, black iron skillet, but they tell me it kinda smarts. It was a roundhouse swing that cleared the table of three cups of coffee, three plates, and assorted silverware, before it whacked Marshal Wing’s hand and kneecap. Heck, the Marshal’s gun went flying across the room, bouncing off the wall, and went off, kinda nicking Blondie Barringer, who screamed, “I’ve been shot!” And the lick on the kneecap dropped the Marshal like he’d been hit with a Buick. Well, I guess Bubba had decided the Marshal was out of the fight, so he tried to raise up to get a good swing at Mr. Paul, who was trying to straighten out his arm, which he managed to do. Bubba was about to deliver a real swing, still bent double, when Mr. Paul grabbed a ketchup bottle and caught Bubba alongside his head with it. No, it didn’t stop Bubba, but when you splatter a big bottle of ketchup all over someone it really looks like a serial killer is in the room. Gosh, there were about eight other customers trying to get out of the way, and when the ketchup splattered on about half the people in there, along with a gunshot, it caused a panic and there was a run for the door…just as Doc from next door rolled his wheelchair in. Doc always eats lunch at the City Café at straight up 12, and he was right on time. Yeah, when Doc plugged the door with his wheelchair folks stacked up like pulpwood, and it looked like they might just trample poor old Doc, but Doc is kinda tough, and when the City Café customers tried to push him out of the door, Doc just cranked up that wheelchair and plowed into the whole lot. And then, just when I didn’t think things could get any wilder, Mrs. Davis, who owns the City Café, came running out of the kitchen screaming. “Stop this! Stop! You are tearing up my cafe!” Well, that was doing about as much good as telling a runaway train to stop, and after a few screams, she started looking for some way to calm folks down. She spotted the sink clean-out hose, which is used to rinse out the sink and sometimes clean the floors, and she turned it full blast on everyone in the room. Yeah, but that didn’t help much ’cause when that water hit the ketchup, which had splattered all over the floor, it made the linoleum floor as slick as owl poop. In about two seconds, most of the people in the cafe were sprawled out on the floor, and Bubba, who was still swinging the skillet, was trying to hit Mr. Paul as he crawled around on his knees. Of course, Marshal Wing was doing everything he could to stop the fight, and since he had lost his pistol, he whipped out his blackjack, and, wow, he started swinging like nothing you have ever seen. But slipping and sliding while trying to hit either Bubba or Mr. Paul was causing some missed hits, and after one wild swing, Mrs. Deason took a lick, and went spinning around like a dying duck. Well, Mr. Deason, who’s a pretty spry old man for 90, yelled out like some wild Indian. “You done killed Momma! You sorry *****!” and he tackled Marshal Wing, which gave Bubba enough time to swat Mr. Paul with the skillet. Because of the slick floor it was just a glancing blow, but it was enough to back off the customers who were still trying to get around Doc. Finally, Marshal Wing managed to untangle himself from old Mr. Deason and began to take control of the fight. Well, with a lead-weighted blackjack, he made short work of Bubba and Mr. Paul, who were really going after it, and they backed off. Then the Marshal checked on Mrs. Deason, and as he leaned over to see if she was all right she gave him a good slap that knocked his hat off. Heck, you could have heard that slap halfway down the street.