The reverend was turning pale and beginning to sweat under the hot lights. “That’s what forgiveness… ” He tried to cut Pinn off.
“Forgiveness my ass! I ain’t forgiving that punk. Hell, no. I find him one of these days and then we see who smacks who. ” He glared into the camera, staring straight at Smoke. “And let me tell you, someone knows where that snake in the weed is. You seen him, you call this toll-free number at the bottom of the screen and we send you a reward. ” He repeated the number several times. “He go by the street name of Smoke and is a plain-looking white boy with dreadlocks and what he calls a beard that got about as much hair as a possum tail. ”
“Hey!” Possum objected, tossing an empty beer can at the TV.
Smoke pushed Possum off the ottoman and ordered
him to shut up. “You bust that TV and I’m going to bust your head!”
“Now I don’t know what Smoke is wearing these days ’cause last time I seen him he was in an orange jumpsuit, but he’s a young white male ’bout twenty-one or -two and mean as a snake, ” Pinn went on. “I guarantee he ain’t doing nothing to help the neighborhood. Not hardly no way! Now you listen up. ” He searched the faceless audience behind the camera. “You want some snake in the weed slithering around your neighborhood?”
“We will absolutely keep an eye out in the neighborhood, ” Reverend Justice promised with a nod as he mopped his face with a handkerchief. “Sure is a lot of meanness out there. Just look at this most recent awful case of Moses Custer getting beat on and his Peterbilt being hijacked right there next to the pumpkin stand. ”
“He take the reefer or just the cab?” Pinn was momentarily distracted by the terrible story.
“I didn’t take no reefer. ” Smoke made a pun to the TV. “Wish it had been full of reefer, though, instead of fucking pumpkins. What you want to bet Pinn Head’s this Trooper Truth dude? Maybe he’s the idiot writing all that shit on the Internet. ”
“Yeah, he did, ” the reverend said, nodding. “A Great Dane reefer, ” which was trade talk for the top-of-the-line freight van that had been filled with pumpkins and hitched to the Peterbilt eighteen-wheeler truck. “I visited Moses in the hospital. ” The reverend shook his head sadly. “That poor man look like a pit bull got hold of him. ”
“What he say they did to him?” Pinn was getting edgy. He didn’t like it when a guest was better informed than he was.
“What make you think he Trooper Truth?” asked Possum, who was computer literate and responsible for checking out the Trooper Truth website every morning to see if there was anything on it that Smoke ought to know about.
Possum also handled all Internet transactions, which included searches for eighteen-wheelers that might be parked somewhere with a FOR SALE sign, and news stories about truck shows, truck rodeos, truck accessories and parts, farmers’ markets, piracy, smuggling, Canada, and a few of Possum’s own special interests such as the Bonanza Fan Club and any related conventions that he would, undoubtedly, never get to attend. There was a large volume of e-mail, too, of course, from Smoke’s criminal contacts, most of whom remained anonymous.
“Moses was sleeping in the Peterbilt,” Reverend Justice was saying, “when all a sudden this angel came to give him a unique experience, then next thing he knows, all these demons are throwing him down on the pavement, where they start kicking and beating on him and cutting him up.”
“He not have the doors locked?” Pinn said with a hint of judgment, for it was his habit to find fault with the victim whenever possible, and he was already reaching a verdict that Moses Custer might never have been attacked by demons, pirates, or anything else had he bothered to lock his doors.
“I guess not, but that don’t mean he’s to blame.” The reverend gave Pinn a severe look.
“Hey,” Cuda piped, “maybe he say what hospital he in and we go finish him off!”