Dicky (Richard) Hatfield demonstrated perfectly: the epitome of “sayin’ something – doin’ nothing”.
With beady eyes and reptilian features, including obnoxiously yellowed-blonde hair that was reminiscent of a Bearded Dragon’s spiky scaled mane. His lower jaw was underbitten badly, and he had one, bright fluorescent blonde streak for an eyebrow that remained burrowed deeply in the center of his perpetually sunburned forehead. His voice was nasally and he always sounded to J as if he was begging not to be smashed in the face, no matter what he was actually saying. He was an idiot and a judgmental ass; a tattletale and a poor sport; a man nobody trusted or liked – only tolerated – because of who he was little brother to.
Dicky’s infuriating machismo and self-righteous attitude had found him the fat end of more than one Louisville in his time alive so far. Dicky Hatfield also happened to be what the guys (and J) from the shooting range referred to as a stereo-typical ‘BOB’, the acronym used among them in short for ‘Brother of Boss’. The brother that represented the son-of-a-bitch’s Lifetime Get out of Jail Free Card was the none other than the local face of the Law: Sheriff Mac Hatfield , a fair enough man…
J: Don’t act like you don’t recognize the name Hatfield, S!
S: Oh Ye! I do, I do! I…..do…..
J: Yes, Einstein! Now, it’s coming back to you isn’t it?…you fuckhead, shit!
Red the Undead turned slowly around to face the girls without the industrial strength flood lights from inside the shop blazing in his eyes, pulling a dirty rag saturated in grease and gear oil from his back pocket and wiping his brow before speaking in his drawling, matter-of-factly tone – one that bore so much bass that his final word of a sentence resonated between one’s eardrums for moments after he finished speaking; he said,
“Well, there’s only one thang we can do with this shiny little mo-chine now ain’t there?”
J: Red, we can’t take it back – don’t make us take it back, they’ll put us both away for eons and you know it!…
Red cut her off and held up his huge hand to silence her anxious plea, he whistled a sharp, shrill chirp loudly and his huge Malamute appeared behind him;
“We gotta get this Mini to the Chop Shop before sunrise, Ladies…” Red smacked a hand against his thigh and the dog snapped to attention when he addressed it, “Let’s go Bullet, get in the tow truck.”
J sighed as she watched the pinkish-red brake lights come to life through the motion amidst the busy parking lot; she eased out onto the road slowly, following every traffic rule she could think of at the moment, including the use of her blinker as she slowed again and pulled off to the shoulder to wait for S to snail-crawl the ancient Mini from its inconspicuous spot towards the rear of the lot.
Inconspicuous to everyone besides S…
J thought to herself, chuckling.
After several anxious moments of an unintentional, however – record-breakingly uncanny – imitation of a bobble head in the driver’s seat on the side of road waiting for her fairy-like partner in crime, the Mini at last appeared in the lineup of cars waiting its turn to pull out onto the highway. Before long, the two friends were in tight caravan formation and heading home, or so J thought.
The fog was sinking down onto the road with the setting sun, and J wasn’t sure but she thought she saw the Mini driving itself during several stretches of straight two-lane highway. Additionally, J mentally noted at least five separate cigarette butts flying out the driver’s side window in the deepening darkness of night: something she had to make certain to give S a good chastising for when they got home. Just then her phone rang from the passenger side door panel, where she has stashed it prior to indulging in her earlier catnap; the vibration rattled it down deeper in the door’s built in pocket as J imagined herself as Gumby or Inspector Gadget and tried in vain to lean far enough over to reach it.
Another red cherry butt of a cigarette exploded against the windshield.
J thought to herself, and tore to the right with her grip on the steering wheel with a few quick flashes of her high beams at the Mini in front of her. Oddly, her best friend is pulled over and out the Mini before J can even put the vehicle she is driving in NEUTRAL.
S: What’s the problem? Let’s just pull off up there at the next exit if your toes are cramped up, eh?
J: My toes are not cramped up, S…did you just try to call me right now?
S: Oh, ye…I did…I was going to suggest that we stop over at Red’s and let him take a look at it, see what he thinks, you know?
J: Now? Seriously? It’s white-hot, S…I think we need to cover it with canvas for a while in the junk pile out back or something; not flaunt it all over to our friends in a pissing contest…
S: So you’ll follow me over there, to Red’s?
J lets out the frustrated sigh that S has come to know and love the way a child associates a special blanket to comfort;
J: Yeah…S…yeah but let’s go! And stay off your phone no smoking while you drive!
S: Okay! Follow me!
S hops back to the archaic Mini and starts the engine with a fierce and victorious howl from her doll-sized lungs before pulling out into the traffic. J pulls out right behind her and matches her speed as they make their way to see Red the Undead – the best mechanic around.