Him Who Made the Seven Stars

Him Who Made the Seven Stars 36

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Him Who Made The Seven Stars
By Waddie Greywolf

Chapter 36

"There is a school of thought in biology(i.e. Adaptive bias)—and don't ask me how widely this is accepted—that evolution favors Type II errors ("failing to reject a falsehood") over Type I errors ("failing to accept a truth"). The argument goes like this: while there's not much immediate consequence to believing that your dancing caused the rain, there is probably a lot of selection pressure working against animals that can't make the connection between hearing a rattle and being bitten by a snake. This eminently practical adaption misfires sometimes, and that makes us susceptible to the category of cognitive bias. We are prone to find meaning in everything. Add a dash of salt, stir, let simmer for a millennium or two and you get the Catholic Church." ~ Dan McKinley

The work on the Highland Shire Project was in full swing by Wednesday morning of the first week. It was like a great tentacled monster growing off in all directions at once, and Jethro became their big daddy, their patron demon/saint, their traffic cop, cheerleader, dispute settler, procurer, higher go-between, and tie breaker. Jethro spent his entire day Wednesday morphed into his demon persona and everyone in the village dropped by to get a look at him and wish him well. One might think the children would be frightened, but they knew Jethro and knew beneath the demon facade dwelt their favorite cowboy-angel. He became the mascot of the project. Someone made a rubber stamp with his demon likeness on it to use on plans which got final approval. After the following demon-Saturday, he was so popular with everyone on the ship, they took a vote and decided the following Wednesday he would morph everyday thereafter until the end of the project on Easter Sunday. It seemed their output doubled and tripled every day Jethro worked in his demon form.

Billy and Nick purposely stayed away from the ship. They got enough feedback from Hank, Buck, Moss, Enoch, Tron, Nathan, Boomer, and the twins, to know the project was going along fine. In every report, Jethro was spoken of in reverent tones as being the heart and soul of the project. When someone was down or feeling like they hit a brick wall, after a good chat with Jethro, they would bounce back with an idea what would solve the problem. As time went on Billy’s cowboy-angels talked less about the project. When Billy asked, they would just smile, shake their heads, and shrug their shoulders. Even his beloved twins, Cass and Poly, wouldn’t tell him more than to assure him he would be pleased. Billy didn’t know what to think until his pa straightened him out.

“They ain’t say’n much, because they don’t wanna’ spoil the surprise. If it weren’t going well, you would get negative feedback; shaking of heads, shrugging of shoulders, and deep sighs; but, we ain’t heard nary a discouraging word and the skies ain’t been cloudy all week. Jethro let it slip while you’s in the shower the other evening, the project’s advanced past what you asked for and are expecting. It’s grown into something far greater than any of them might have imagined. Jethro said your cowboy-angels won’t tell you because they don’t wanna’ spoil the surprise, and quite frankly, don’t know if you would believe them if’n they’s to  tell you,” Nick explained, “And according to Hank and Buck you got one man to thank what has become the driving force of encouragement and stability for them temperamental creator types,” Nick said.

“Jethro?” Billy asked.

“Yes, Jethro,” Nick replied.

“Hosanna!” Billy said like a prayer.

“Hosanna in the highest!” Nick answered in like manner, with a tad of relief and awe in his voice.

Billy and Nick kept Jethro close after his work sessions and tried to give him as much sustaining love and encouragement as he could handle, but a couple of evenings he would be called back to the ship for some crisis that just couldn’t be put off until the next day. One night he didn’t come back to the line cabin; he just stayed on the ship. Nevertheless, the times they had him with them, they experienced a deepening in him; a sense of personal pride and satisfaction which was more than just window dressing because of his new appearance and abilities. Nick told Billy it was like watching a mature man who never fully made the transition from boy to man, finally grow up and blossom into a formidable adult. They decided maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. There didn’t seem to be any doubts; no starts and stops; no slowed progress while learning from mistakes; taking three steps and sliding back two. With Jethro it was more like watching the slow but steady progress of a new star in the firmament. The more he worked and learned, the brighter he became and the more assuredness he exuded until he was a pleasure and comfort to be around.

* * * * * * *
Bubba took up residence in his uncle’s house. He moved back into his old bedroom. Brad never changed a thing. It was still the way Bubba left it when he went away to fight in the Middle East. Since he lost his job as a mechanic at the local garage, he was living in a bunkhouse with Earl on Earl’s parents’ ranch. He explained to Earl he needed some time alone to think. What he really wanted to do was find his uncle’s strong box and go through his private papers, but he promised Brad he would do it in secret. Bubba began to suspect his buddy Earl was the major conduit of feedback to Clarence Womack for anything and everything going on in the community. Earl begged to be with him to help him in his ‘hour-of-need,’ to the point of tripping Bubba’s paranoid switch, but Bubba firmly insisted there were some things he needed to do by himself. His uncle warned him not to let anyone see what was meant for his eyes only - almost like it was a sacred covenant between him and Brad, and Bubba would understand afterward. Brad specifically named Earl Hickson as one Bubba should never allow to know his personal business. The afternoon after Brad’s funeral Bubba dropped Earl off at his home and returned by himself to his uncle’s ranch, only to receive a phone call from Womack a short time later.  

The preacher insisted on driving out that afternoon to ‘help’ Bubba look for any documents Brad might have left. He neither mentioned his embarrassment at his uncle’s funeral nor having left early in a huff. He simply assumed Bubba was insensitive enough or just too damn dumb not to find him at fault. By failing to admit one’s shortcomings is sometimes looked upon as a personal strength, but in reality it is a subtle form of dismissal implying Womack didn’t even accept the thought he might have done anything wrong; let alone, a great personal injury to Bubba himself. After all, he was the only true voice of the holy spirit in the community; no matter what he chose to do or how he went about it, his actions were always protected by his love of the 'Lord’ and the Holy Spirit. Womack considered his lapse in judgment merely a temporary setback in his crusade for his own personal vision of a heaven on Earth, with the word ‘heaven’ and ‘wealth’ interchangeable.

Bubba never really said much. He let Earl do most of the talking, but he specifically remembered telling Earl the same day they found Brad’s body, he would have to search for and go through his uncle’s private papers to discover his wishes. He carefully planned to follow his uncle’s instructions to the letter. He didn’t know about an afterlife or the idea of ghosts, but he did know his uncle to be one of the most determined and strong-willed men he ever knew in his life. If there was anything to it, he reckoned if he didn’t follow his uncles wishes, of all men, Brad Kirkendall would find some way to come back, haunt him, and kick his cowboy butt up between his shoulder blades. He was resolved to follow his uncle’s instructions -- just to be safe.

The next morning early, Bubba went to the basement to discover what his uncle left behind. Brad showed Bubba a set of small keys he kept setting on the top of a two-by-four behind the top crosspiece of molding inside his closet door. The molding was held in place by three Philip’s wood screws. If you didn’t know what to look for, you would never notice them. Every year, on Bubba’s birthday, he took Bubba to the closet and showed him the top molding and the three screws to remove to give him access to the keys he needed to unlock his strong box. Brad showed him where the metal box was located. The strong box was in the basement underneath a heavy metal storage cabinet you had to unload and practically dismantle to move. Bubba neither saw the keys nor the strong box, but his uncle assured him they were there. Should anything happen to him, Bubba must retrieve the strong box and open it. Inside, Bubba would find important papers he would need.

Brad also went so far as to warn Bubba against Clarence Womack. He told Bubba he didn’t care if he wanted to go to with Earl to his church, but for him, personally, to stay away from them crazy fundamentalist and Womack in particular. Womack knew Brad was getting on in years and not in the best of health. In typical Womack fashion he took it upon himself to save another soul who just might possibly be a source of potential wealth and showed up, unannounced, at the Kirkendall ranch to proselytize in hopes of bringing Brad into his fold so he could find a way to gain control of Bubba’s legacy. Womack saw Bubba as a slow witted and dumb local rube who didn’t deserve to inherit money he could be enjoying himself; all in the name of the ‘Lord’ of course. As strange as it might seem, it never entered Bubba’s head his uncle might leave him the ranch, but to Womack’s manipulative mind, it was a sure bet.

It didn’t take Brad ten minutes to figure out what Womack was all about, and after several probing  questions, Clarence had no business asking, Brad Kirkendall ordered the short squat preacher, with beady eyes and a tongue like that of a serpent, off his property and told him never to come back. Brad lived his life in loneliness and misery due to a similar little god-bot Jesus huckster, and he could spot disingenuousness and hypocrisy in Womack like a skunk’s smell precedes the animal like a warning beacon. He told him if he ever showed up at his ranch again, he would shoot him like a unwelcome varmint.

The last time Bubba went to the ranch to spend some time with his uncle, Brad ranted and raved about Bubba and Earl’s episodes trying to do Womack’s bidding; not so much about what they did, but who they did it to, and because they allowed Womack to control them. Brad sat Bubba down and had a long talk with him. “I know I ain’t been on the best of terms with the Daniels family over the years and as a result, I done cheated you out of an opportunity to get to know and appreciate some wonderful folks what are a cut above the rest of us ignorant rednecks who share this county with them. There ain’t no finer people than the Daniels and especially the youngest who should just be coming into his own as an individual force to be reckoned with. I heard how he dealt with you and Earl and not many men would be nearly so compassionate or forgiving. A word of caution, Son, don’t push him.

"On the other hand, you can trust Billy Daniels to always do the right thing by you if you go to him with your hat in your hand. He will be generous and gracious to a fault, as long as you’s honest wiff’ him, show him the respect he’s due, and don’t try to blow smoke up his ass. If’n you git chore’self in trouble with him again, remember what I’m about to tell you: don’t make the mistake of asking him for forgiveness. He’s already done forgived you twice. Throw off all your clothes, stand naked before him and his family, fall on your knees like a slave would be expected to do, and humbly ask to pay homage to his boots. If he gives his permission, don’t hesitate -- do it, Bubba! Make love to and clean the man’s boots wiff’ yore’ tongue until he’s satisfied; beg for his love and understanding, and ask him to take you for his slave.

"Being his slave won’t be the end of your world; it will only be the beginning. It will be like becoming his brother. Trust me, Son, he will help you. He’s got a weakness for cowboys -- same’s you, and while he has an enhanced intellect which provides him a healthy balance between his adaptive and cognitive bias, his own druthers weigh heavily on any decision he makes. It allows for greater empathy and compassion with reason on his part, and in my humble opinion, stacks the deck in your favor. In other words, he’s got a big pair of boots jes’ wait’n for you to fill if’n you’s man enough to pull 'em on, wear ‘em, and follow in his footsteps. Don’t never be too proud to learn from a younger man, Bubba. Billy Daniels fills his boots well and wears them better than you.

“Look at yore’self, Bubba! You’re way past the age for doing stupid things or sowing wild oats. Most men go through a disquieting period in their lives, but by your age they usually get a glimpse of the bigger picture and know if they want to survive or have anything for themselves worth a damn, they got to begin to hobble the excesses of their youth, knuckle down, and face the reality of becoming a decent human being. There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch in life, Son. Life and your happiness is what you make of it. Unless you’s born into wealth, it means coming to grips with several constants: dedication, sobriety, and hard work with a goodly dollop of compassion for your fellow man.

"I know’d you ain’t got any immediate ambitions to settle down and have a family, but I give you an extended consideration for your inexcusable actions because of your sexual confusion and frustration,” Brad stopped for a moment and watched Bubba blush, look down at his boots, and squirm in his seat. When he was sure the young man wasn’t going to deny it or bolt for the door, Brad continued, “I ain’t saying you’s dumb or stupid ‘cause you got a hitch in yore’ get-along, Bubba, but what I am saying is, if you don’t take the elephant in the room by its tail and do something about it what will bring you a modicum of happiness and make your life a little better -- you's pretty damn pathetic.

"Get over it, Bubba! Handle it! Y’ain’t the first cowboy in Texas what ever woke up one morning and discovered another cowboy’s tackle was more interesting to him than what a woman's got between her legs. Ain’t nothing wrong with you ‘cause you prefer men to women, and don’t listen to no man what tells you different. That fat ass little preacher will be the first to condemn you no matter what you done for him or his church. If he ever finds out, he will use it ever’ chance he gets to get money out of you. He will blackmail you and suck your very life and soul from you, Son. Trust me, I’ve had more than my share of his kind.

“Look at Oatie Breedlove. He went through terrible embarrassment and was ostracized by his family and community, but he held his head high and with the help and encouragement of his granddaddy, he beat the odds, and made something of himself despite his sexual druthers. He took on a Daddy Long-leg for a slave and his mate. He runs the Breedlove ranch like a family project. He works hard, keeps his nose clean, and has become a pillar in the community. Wiff’ a little help, you can, too, Bubba. Family is the anchor stone for most men’s lives. You ain’t no different, Son, and you can have it, too, if you want it bad enough; however, you gotta' listen to me and play your cards right.

“It’s high time you took charge of yore’ life and began to work for somethings you want for yourself. Goddamn it, Bubba! If you want a family, h’it don’t have to be the standard mommy and daddy, leave-it-to-beaver, daddy-knows-best, bible jump’n regressive missionary position, brainwashed religious tommy-rot what’s been set down for generations as a standard one-size-fits-all, Norman Rockwell false blueprint for modern family life. You done already got chore’self the equivalent of a tailor-made wife with Earl Hickson, but until you grab him by the balls to get his attention, bend him over a saw-horse, tie him good and tight, and fuck him in his man-pussy until he moos like a contented old heifer, he’s gonna’ git chu’ into more trouble; because, right now he’s like an out-of-control demanding harpy fishwife. He don’t have to put out nothing -- not a damn thing, but he leads you around and manipulates you by a big ring he thinks he’s got through your nose like you’s his prize bull. You do ever’damn thing he tells you to do. You go out of your way to please him because you’s afraid of losing him.

"Over the years, I done kept track of the times you fell into despair, failed to have any direction in your life, took up heavy drinking, dabbled in drugs, lost your job ‘cause you couldn’t keep a regular schedule, hit bottom, and it’s always traceable back to some trauma or influence you suffered from your association with Earl Hickson. Your love for Earl and your sexual frustration’s over him’s got you so fucked, your natural rhythms of life don’t no whether they’s come’n or go’n. They sure as hell ain’t come’n into either one of Earl Hickson’s fuck holes. You been madly in love with that cowboy since Mother Nature visited puberty on you. Don’t even try to deny in, ‘cause for years I done heard you cry out his name ever’ time you’s alone in yore’ room play’n wiff’ yore’self and shoot chore’ load. Twenty gotdamn years is a hell of a long time to harbor a secret love, without doing a damn thing about it, Bubba. I don’t give a big rat’s ass if’n you’s as gay as Aunt Hattie’s Easter bonnet wiff’ extra chicks on it, if’n a man ain’t satisfied and happy in his bedroom, he won’t be happy with the rest of his life, neither. You got a choice, Bubba. You can go through life half-ass or you can take control and begin the journey to find yore’ bliss.

“And talk about dumb? It was stamped on Earl Hickson’s head in inch high letters when he done popped out his momma’ belly. You’s a frick’n Einstein compared to him, boy. He never would a’ made it through school if you didn’t let him cheat off your papers. He don’t even know he’s as much in love with you as you are with him, but I guaran-damn-tee ya’ once’t you git that huge weapon of mass destruction hang’n ‘tween yore’ legs up his fine looking buckaroo butt, he’ll melt in your lap like a chocolate Easter bunny on a hot afternoon what’s been left out in the sun. Do what he’s done to you since you were kids, only you do it in the spirit of compassion for a dumb animal and not his conniving self-centered selfish way. Slap a big ring through his nose, keep him on a short leash, never allow him to look above your waist or into your eyes without your permission, and you’ll have yourself a faithful slave to serve you and become a good mate for you.

“Think my words are too harsh, Son? Don’t! Them crazy fundamentalist Christianist men demand the same damn thing from their wives. They insist on controlling ever’ facet of their lives like a draw string on a money purse. While the words ‘marriage’ and ‘slavery’ ain’t necessarily synonymous -- in reality, the way they believe and insist on the way them dumb-asses think marriage should work, they might as well be. They’re problem is, they become drunk with their imaginary power and forget to temper their attempts at authority with love and compassion; sort of like a dictatorship as apposed to a benevolent monarchy. How do they get away with it? Religion. They preach Eve was the original sinner and Adam only sinned just a little -- one bite -- after she talked him into it. They believe Eve never would have been tempted if Adam kept her barefoot, pregnant, and busy in the kitchen boiling him up some bacon and some beans.

"The major religions of the world have kept women suppressed for thousands of years with such nonsense and continue to do so today. No man, or scripture, however sacred it claims or pretends to be, has the right to tell a woman what she can or cannot do with her own body. To do otherwise, is a major load of bullshit; however, unless I don’t know some’um about Earl Hickson -- he looks like a man to me -- I promise, if it worked for them true believers all them years, it will work with him, Bubba. Don’t believe me? Have him trained up right and after a year living as your slave, give him his freedom, and see what happens. Without you and your direction, he’ll melt faster than the wicked witch of the West when doused with a bouquet of water. (pronounced boo-kay)

"I hate to be the one what tells you this, Bubba, but Earl Hickson was born to be another man’s slave, and that man could be you. No! That man should be you, Bubba. You’s the only man what gives a damn about him and loves him enough to rein him in, take care of him like a fine piece of livestock, ride him down hard like you’s break’n a wild mustang, provide for him, and make sure he has a good life. I think you should get something back for the many years you invested in loving him unconditionally. It’s like you been pouring your love and soul -- certainly your wherewithal -- into a black hole for Earl’s consumption. I’d truly hate to see such a major investment go to waste. If’n you don’t do it, and do it soon, he will eventually do something crazy what will get him sentenced to a lifetime of slavery and might not be so lucky to have a master what gives a tinker’s dam about him.

"We all harbor the idea, if we only love somebody enough our love will save them, but it’s only partly true. Unconditional love is like any other lifeline. It has to have a defined length. You can throw it to someone what’s get’n sucked into the void, but it will only work if they grab hold and make the effort to pull themselves out. It’s just a law of the universe, Son, once’t a black hole or a man like Earl Hickson begins to fold in on itself, there ain’t no pulling either back from the event horizon. After years of investing in him, you won’t have a damn thing to show for it. Earl would only last about year as some hard-nosed rancher’s slave. If you truly love Earl, and there ain’t no doubt in my mind you do, you’ll take charge of your lives for both your sakes,” Brad said.

Bubba was shaken by his uncle’s candor, but in his gut he knew his uncle was right. He just didn’t know how he might go about making Earl his slave, but he couldn’t fault his uncle for his words. Bubba couldn’t gainsay a word Brad said. He was convinced, every damn thing Brad pointed out was true. But you just can’t walk up to a man and tell him, ‘Okay, Earl, cut the crap. I’m sick and tired of playing your manipulative games and being the patsy for your crazy ideas when I don’t never get nothing back but grief. I’m gonna’ make you my slave and you will obey me in all things. Me Master; you slave. Understand? I’ll be calling the shots from now on. You will do as you’re told or suffer the consequences. You will suck my cock when ordered and keep your man-cunt clean at all times for your master’s use whenever he snaps his fingers,’ Bubba thought to himself.

Bubba had no clue how he might go about it, but his cock was hard as a rock from the fantasy. Down deep, Bubba knew he had it in him to become a successful rancher and make money at it, but he didn’t want to live the solitary life like his uncle did after his wife died. His uncle implanted a small seed, and it was beginning to take root and grow in his mind. Bubba imagined making a slave of his running buddy, Bobby Earl Hickson, just might solve a lot of his problems. Brad was right. Bubba would have a goal to work and strive for to make sure he and his buddy had a better life. His uncle stressed, Earl never needed to know Bubba was doing it to take care of him and keep him from harm’s way. Brad thought it probably best Earl never knew. He was sure Earl wasn’t bright enough to figure it out for himself. It took a bit deeper introspection than Earl’s shallow bucket could carry.

Bubba retrieved the keys and spent the entire morning unloading and moving the metal storage cabinet to find his uncle’s strong box. It was no easy task. The cabinet was four feet wide, two feet deep, and stood six feet with heavy doors and a solid metal back. It had five shelves including the top. Every shelf was loaded with buckets of old paint, heavy tool boxes filled with hand tools, plumbing tools and parts on the bottom, and more boxes of various truck parts on the top. When he finally got the shelves cleared and could manage to move the metal shelving unit, he discovered it sat on four heavy concrete pavers he couldn’t budge at first. He found a large six foot long heavy iron wrecking bar in the corner of the basement and manged to wrestle them away from the area just enough to remove the one inch piece of waterproof plywood which covered the hole to support the pavers. All in all, it was a daunting task, and made Bubba pause to wondered if Fort Knox was as difficult to get into.

The metal strongbox itself was almost as large as the hole, with metal handles on each end. He tried lifting it from the hole, but as large a man as Bubba was, it was too heavy for him. His Uncle Brad told him many times not to let anyone see the contents but him, and he would understand when he opened the box. He unlocked the box and slowly raised the lid wondering if a family of bats or some other creepy-crawlies would come scurrying out, but the lid was fitted perfectly, and with a sharp tug, gave way easily. Everything in side looked in order and was dry. The top of the box was two feet wide by sixteen inches, and the interior was eighteen inches deep. There were three stacks of heavy-duty cardboard folders filled with papers and carefully labeled. There was a letter on the very top with Bubba’s name on it: Echeb Bernard Raymond Kirkendall.

Bubba took the letter and set it aside. He wanted to see the complete contents of the box before he decided what he wanted to do with everything. He felt certain, if he unloaded the box he could wrestle it out of the hole and put it somewhere more accessible. There was a total of about a dozen file folders stuffed with papers and drawings. After he removed the first layer his heart almost stopped. Beneath it all, were stacks of hundred dollar bills carefully wrapped in packages of fifty and stored in heavy-duty air tight ziplock bags. Bubba removed the other folders and found more of the same beneath them. He made a quick count and guesstimated there was a hundred or more of the packs. There must have been over a half a million dollars in the bottom of the strong box. He was stunned. Why would his uncle keep such wealth hidden while he was always talking poor-mouth and insisted they were barely getting by? What was most puzzling to Bubba was, they always seemed to have enough money to live on and Brad was never stingy providing for his nephew.

He gave Bubba an allowance every month, but he expected him to budget his money until the next month. He increased Bubba’s allowance every year for what he called 'cost of living’ increases. If Bubba spent it all the first week, he didn’t get anymore. Bubba never had to worry about lunch money for school. Brad prepaid for Bubba’s lunches every semester. He knew kids sometimes horded their lunch money to buy junk for themselves, and he wanted to make sure Bubba had a good lunch everyday. Brad took Bubba to town every September and bought him school supplies and enough new clothes to last the school year. He got two new pair of boots a year; at Christmas and his birthday.

Bubba considered he lived in relative comfort compared to his buddy Earl and many of his classmates in school. He gave Earl a lot of his older clothes he outgrew and couldn’t get into any more. He also gave him several pair of good boots over the years. Earl was glad to get them. He never considered it beneath him to accept someone’s generosity; especially his best bud. Most county folks don’t look on gifts of as charity if given in the spirit of sharing. “Hey, Earl, I got these here pair of boots I can’t wear no more, you want 'em, Brother?” Bubba would ask.

Bubba never had a lot spending money, and he wondered if it was because Brad didn’t want him becoming lazy and getting into trouble. Brad was heavy on hugs but short on change; however, he never allowed Bubba to think he was an unwelcome burden with whom he was unfairly saddled. All things considered, Bubba knew he had a decent but unspoiled life with Brad. Bubba sat at the table and wept for his uncle and began to feel an emptiness he never felt before. He lived in the same house with his uncle all his life and loved him, but now he was wondering if he ever really knew Brad Kirkendall. Worse was his feeling of being alone in the world.  

Maybe the letter or the information in the folders would shed light on his find. He sat in an old wooden chair at a kitchen table stored in the basement to gather his thoughts. He began to see that very moment as his coming to a crossroad in his life. He could go on being the good natured, somewhat oafish bumbling big man he saw himself, allowing the current of life to carry him downstream like he, Earl, and their buddies used to do during the hottest days of summer in inner-tubes. They would have one of their Dad’s or sometimes Brad would take them in the back of his truck miles upstream so they could spend all day lazily floating down to the bend where their family’s ranches were. They’d say their goodbyes and walk through the meadows and pastures to their homes. It was idyllic. Their buddies were grow men now with families and good steady jobs. They rarely saw them anymore, but when they did, they realized they had little in common with them. They grew up and moved on, but somehow Bubba and Earl were still floating down the river.

Bubba decided he didn’t want to float down the river anymore. He decided, right then and there, he would make a concerted effort to become the man his uncle suggested he could be. Bubba slowly opened the letter his uncle wrote and read every word. It was several pages long, written on his uncle’s computer and printed out on his printer. There was no reason for Bubba to open the cardboard folders. Each one was described in detail in the letter and told what they contained. Bubba couldn’t believe what he was reading. It suddenly became clear to him why his uncle kept the two barns to himself and never allowed Bubba in them. He never allowed anyone inside them; certainly not Clarence Womack, who tried to get a court order to have them ‘investigated’ by him and the local constabulary to see if Brad Kirkendall was doing the work of the devil. He got laughed out of court and was told just because he suspected something didn’t warrant invading a man’s privacy. Brad’s letter, as strange as it seemed to Bubba, explained why he had to keep his two worlds separate in order to protect his nephew and allow him to live a normal life.

Bubba no sooner finished reading the letter when there came a loud banging on his front door. He left everything as it was and climbed the stairs from the basement into an anteroom off the kitchen used as a pantry and food storage area. He exited the door, closed it, locked it with a key, and carefully moved the huge freezer back in front of it so it couldn’t be seen. The banging on the door came several more times. Bubba had a suspicion who it was before he even got to the door. His suspicion was correct, it was Clarence Womack. Bubba opened the door, but left the heavy metal storm screen locked. “Yeah, what do ya’ want, Womack?” Bubba growled, not pleased to see the preacher.

“I need to talk with you, Bubba. Let me in,” Womack demanded.

“No. I don’t want to see nobody today or for a while. I already done told you I neither want your help nor do I need it; especially, after the way you embarrassed me and made a mockery out of my uncle’s funeral. If the Daniels family weren’t there to say good words about my uncle, I would be more down right now than I already am. I don’t care to ever have you come around again. My uncle was right about you. You ain’t nothing but a money grubbing, hate filled, manipulative piece of white trash. Now, leave and get off my property,” Bubba said and started to close the door.

“I wouldn’t be too hasty to dismiss the messenger of God almighty, if I were you, Bubba” Womack responded, “I’ve done some investigating, and it ain’t your property yet. You may be living here illegally, but I guarantee you, with or without your cooperation, I will find out,” he added.

“Yeah, well you ain’t the messenger of no god, you ain’t no lawyer, you can do any damn thing you think you’re big enough to do, but right now, you’re making an unwanted and unwelcome nuisance of yourself. I ain’t gonna’ get into it with you, Womack. You ain’t worth my time. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the sheriff and have him come out and settle this. You can stand there on the porch and bang as much as you like until hell freezes over, but I ain’t got no more time for you, Womack,” Bubba said.

“You’ll be sorry, Bubba, I’m warning you. I have a staff of lawyers and there’s been new inheritance laws passed which assures the church you belong to is guaranteed a portion of your legacy. You’re required by law to inform your pastor what that might be and keep him updated as to your legal rights to your uncle's property, if any,” Womack said almost in a satanic hiss, “And may I remind you, you and your buddy, Earl Hickson, are on our roles as being members of our congregation,” he added.

“I never joined your church. I ain’t never signed nothing. I come to your church with Earl a couple of times, but that’s it. I was baptized by my parents in the Methodist Church here in town. As far as I know, I’m still on their roles as a member. Now go away and have the common decency to leave a grieving man alone,” Bubba said and closed the door. Womack was furious and banged on the door several more times. Bubba walked to the kitchen to get himself a glass of milk to calm his stomach. He sat down to drink it when the door buzzer sounded in the kitchen. Obviously, the preacher found the buzzer and kept his finger on it until it was about to drive Bubba crazy. He got up and stormed out of the kitchen in a rage at Womack’s selfish inconsideration, but when he got to the door there were two men standing there. Womack and a man from the local Post Office. Bubba opened the door and the man explained he had a special delivery letter for him and it required his signature. Bubba opened the storm screen, took the letter, signed for it, thanked the man, and wished him a good day. He went to shut the screen door and Womack put his foot between the screen and the jam. “If you don’t move your foot on the count of three, Womack, you’re gonna’ have a very sore foot after I stomp it with ma’ boot heel,” Bubba said quietly like he meant business.

“I want to know what that letter says. It has an attorney’s return address. I have a right to know!” Womack exclaimed.

Bubba looked at the letter front and back. “Nope! Don’t see your name on it nowheres. It ain’t none of yore’ business. Now that’s one, Womack!” Bubba counted.

Womack didn’t wait for Bubba to count two more and removed his foot. Bubba closed the screen, wished him ‘good day’ and closed the door again. He watched as a very pissed Clarence Womack stormed off his front porch, got into his expensive car, and spun out of the drive. He was not a happy camper because the big soft spoken usually passively compliant cowboy dared to stand up to him. ‘What was the world coming to when ignorant rednecks he used to scare the crap out of with his hell-fire-damnation sermons begin to grow spines and think for themselves?’ Womack thought to himself. He wondered if he was losing his touch. The mere thought scared the crap out of him. He wasn’t out of the picture yet. That dumb country bumpkin didn’t know who the hell he was up against. He would show him a thing or two. Clarence decided he would put in a conference call with his team of crooked lawyers, Dewey, Cheetum, and Howe. He hated to do it because they always charged him an arm and a leg. He was sure there was a special place in hell reserved for lawyers where the fires were much hotter than the common sinner endured.  

Bubba was shaking as he opened the letter from his uncle’s attorney. It was addressed to Echeb Bernard Raymond Kirkendall. He began to read the letter. Dear Bubba, So sorry to hear about your uncle Bradley Kirkendall’s passing. I was Mr. Kirkendall’s attorney and hold in my possession the notarized documents which transfers all his personal possessions and financial properties to you in the form of a living will upon his death. In this case, there is no need for probate nor a final will and testament; although, your uncle left one for you in the form of a video which he wanted viewed by you and I together. Please call to make an appointment to come by my office at your earliest convenience and please bring any duplicate documents you might have in your possession. Your uncle said he left them in a file folder in a larger document holder number one. There are only a couple signatures necessary and everything your uncle owned becomes yours, free and clear, without having to pay inheritance tax or tithes to any religious organization. There will be a small charge for a filing fee of $35.00 with the court to change all documents to your name alone and my fee of $50.00 dollars for a total of  $85.00. It was signed, Jack McCormack, Attorney At Law. Bubba breathed a sigh of relief. Someone came to his rescue, but it wasn’t Womack or his god.

Bubba returned to the basement and decided not to go through the rest of the documents until after he got himself adjusted to the idea everything was his now, and he could take his uncle’s keys and have a look at his secret lair in the two barns. He took out one pack of the hundred dollar bills, found the file folder with the duplicate documents the lawyer asked for, and set them aside along with his uncle’s letter. He didn’t know whether he should share it with the attorney. Some things, his uncle explained in the letter were unsettling at best and borderline crazy at worst. He decided he would take it with him but only show him if he asked. Bubba returned the rest to the box, locked it, and spent several hours returning it to its original state. No one would know where the box was and would be discouraged from the amount of heavy junk in the cabinet to ever consider looking beneath it. He had to give it to his uncle, Brad was a clever man. Bubba only got a tiny glimpse of just how clever his uncle really was.

* * * * * * *
It was late at the line cabin. Jethro just arrived in his demon persona as Boomer, Cass, and Poly were going off to the loft in the barn for the night. Everyone was tired and Billy called it a night of rest. No fun and games. That would have to wait for the weekend. Jethro was stunning in his demon form, and Billy and Nick seemed to enjoy him that way. He asked if Master Billy would mind if he morphed back to his slave form for the evening. There was a vote on the ship and everyone wanted him to work in his demon form for the rest of the week. Billy and Nick got a laugh out of that choice bit of news and encouraged him to make himself comfortable. He excused himself and headed for the shower. He didn’t take very long because his master told him not to bother with extras. There would be no need. After he returned, Jethro joined his master and Captain Nick on the sofa.

“Will they be ready by Sunday afternoon, Jethro?” Billy asked.

“I’m sure they will be finished with the designs, but there’s still some disagreement about presentation. I told them you wouldn’t expect miracles but enough to give you a pretty damn good idea about what they want to build,” Jethro said cautiously, “I’ve learned so much, Master Billy, I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity. I’m gaining so much more for myself and my master than just self-confidence. I’m gaining family, and if you’re pleased with my efforts, sir, I would humbly ask a boon of you,” Jethro said.

“Name it, good slave, and it will be yours,” Billy said firmly.

“When you decide to give me to my master, could we do it on Captain Nick’s ship? I want my family to be there to share my joy,” Jethro asked.

“Done! I think it’s a wonderful idea. I respect and encourage you to think of them as family. I’m hoping things might work out where you will be working with them for some time. While I plan to give you back to your master, I also plan to talk with him about buying your services from him until we complete this project. Feedback from several sources have been superlative about your work. You started this project, and I don’t want to change teams in the middle of a stream, Son,” Billy said, We need you," he added. He looked over at his hard-nosed dad and caught him wiping a tear away. Nick smiled and nodded his approval.

“That would be great. I would have a job to come to, work with folks I come to think on as family, and earn my master some money for my upkeep. He’s unselfishly supported me the years I been with him, but I also worked hard for him. I never really expected any pay. A roof over my head, a warm bed, and decent grub is all I need. Then the day before I come here, he told me he has my money in an account in both our names, and it’s grown considerably. I don’t know why. A slave don’t have no reason to have money beyond what his master provides for him, but I wouldn’t mind earning him some. It would make me feel more valuable to him,” Jethro reasoned.

“Oatie not only accepted you as his slave, Jethro, I truly believe he loves you deeply. He tried to do the right thing by you, but somehow he done lost sight of the forest for the trees. Don’t worry, Son, I put a bug in his granddad’s ear, and he’s talking with him,” Billy said. “That old man knows how to be a master, and you can bet yore’ boots, he will teach his grandson to be a fine master for you," Billy assured Jethro. “In the meantime, I got a suggestion for you to put to your workers tomorrow. I’m mostly looking for a concept with drawings, sketches, and idea presentations. Tell them to show me the cake they plan to create, but they don’t have to bake it for me. Suggest they do it in stages if they can’t agree to everything right now. Come Sunday afternoon, I will be satisfied if they have a decent artistic concept and mechanical ideas for transportation, service needs, and systems recycling. If I like what I see and approve their work then, the next couple of weeks could be spent creating a working model. They will have to do that anyway for the Shedus to work from,” Billy said.

“That would be great, Master Billy. They’re about to panic because they want to do too much, and I know they ain’t gonna’ be able to get everything done in the time we got left. Do I have your permission to veto some of the more complicated things they’re trying to get done and get them to create drawings?” Jethro asked.

“You have full charge, Jethro. You have my blessing and my confidence. Don’t be afraid to rein in some of their more grandiose plans and go for a more simple approach. We can always talk about improvements or corrections as we go along. Just keep them on the same track, Son,” Billy said.

“Thanks, Master Billy. It will make my job a lot easier. They been looking for an answer. I just think I might have one for them tomorrow morning,” Jethro allowed.

* * * * * * *
The next morning after breakfast the phone rang in the kitchen of the main ranch house. Kate answered and handed Billy the phone. “It’s the sheriff, Son,” she said.

“Hey, Brother, what’s up?” he asked.

“Remember Judge LaFleur what presided at Orville’s trial?” Will Tate asked.

“Sure, we known him for years. He and ma’ granddad were in the same Masonic Lodge together,” Billy replied.

“He called me in tears this morning before I left the ranch. Said his five year old grandson come down with a rare childhood blood disease. They had him in a hospital in Austin, but said they couldn’t do nothing for him. They sent him home to die. He asked me if the rumors are true about some miracles being done to help folks. He knew I brought my dad home, he’s looking twenty years younger, and he heard about you saving Randy's life. I swore him to secrecy on his word of honor as a Mason and told him it was true. Naturally, he ask about his grandson,” the sheriff said.

“Where’s the boy now, Will?” Billy asked.

“At his parents home, but he’s on oxygen,” Will said.

“Meet the judge out to their place. You and him go into the boy’s room, but make damn sure the parents stay in the living area. Take one of your deputies with you to make sure they do. Close the door, take your uniform shirt off, wing-up, and zap him with your healing rays like I done show’d you how to heal them cattle with open sores. It will give him enough strength to make the trip out here. Don’t stop until you’s sure the boy can breathe on his own. Let his granddad hold him. Put them in the backseat, hit the siren, and we’ll make sure the guard cows are out of the way when you get here. We’ll be waiting,” Billy instructed the sheriff.

“Will do, Brother. I’ll give you a call when we leave their place,” Will said.

“Fine. See you soon, Brother,” Billy said and hung up the phone.

Judge LaFleur met the sheriff and his deputy at the home of his son. Will primed the judge to convince his son, Wesley, and wife, Edna, to give them a few minutes alone with the boy. They took the deputy off to the kitchen to get him a cup of coffee. Will told the judge to latch the door, and he did. Will quickly removed his hat and shirt and grinned at the judge. “Excuse me for a minute, sir, I’ll be right back. Will vanished in a flash of light and returned in another flash almost instantly, fully fledged with his handsome wings and leather harness.

“Glory be to God in the highest!” LaFleur exclaimed quietly, “Our sheriff is a holy being,” he said, “Damn, Son, I always suspected you were an angel. You's jes' too damn good hearted for a cop,” he added.

“Thanks, Judge, but I'm only an angel in training, and I’m far from being holy. I just had ma’ boot re-souled last week. I’s just a raw recruit, sir. I ain’t fully earned ma’ wings yet, but I’s a work’n on it,” Will replied in his best cowboy hyperbole and grinned.

He went to the boy who got the sweetest smile on his face and stuck out his little hand for Will to take. Will took his small hand in his, smiled at him, patted his hand, and gently returned it to his side. The sheriff lifted his huge wings over the boy and began to absorb the healing rays of the universe. Will held his hands palms down just above the boy and began to move them apart from each other and back together again while emitting a bluish light which shown down on the boy’s frail body. Cody LeFleur lost so much weight he was almost skin and bones and there was a blueish cast to his skin. Will kept running his hands slowly back and forth and up and down his body. The old judge watched in amazement as his grandson began to respond and grow stronger. His frail little body began to take on a pinkish hue and his lips began to look like two rose petals. He looked better. Will didn’t stop until the boy reached up and removed his oxygen cannula by himself. Will kept penetrating the boy’s skin with his healing rays until the kid held his hand out to his granddad.

The old man took his little hand and was thrilled to hear him speak, “The sheriff is an angel, Granddad. I could feel his love pouring into my body with the light from his hands. I feel so much better. Am I going to live, Granddad?” he asked.

“If I have anything to say about it, you are, Son. Trust your old granddad and our handsome young sheriff. We’re gonna’ take you to some other angels who will help you even more, Son. You feel up to short ride in the sheriff’s patrol car?” he asked.

“I’m ready to go, Granddad,” he said.

Will stopped, quickly put on his shirt, and hat. “Not a word to your parents, Son,” Will said firmly to the boy.

“Our secret, Sheriff?” he asked.

“You, me, and your granddad, Son,” Will replied and grinned.

The judge called his son and daughter-in-law in, and Will had the boy sitting up. They were in awe and wanted to know what they did. “Don’t have time to explain right now, Son, but we need to take him someplace and get him there fast. The sheriff has agreed to drive us. I’ll hold Cody until we get there,” the judge told his son. Will gathered him up and wrapped him in a warm blanket.   

“Where are you taking him, Dad? What’s this all about? Give us something, Dad,” his son asked and pleaded.

“Trust me, Son. If you want your son to live you won’t ask questions, and you’ll let us do what we have to do. I promised Cody he will live, and I promise you and Edna the same. Now we have to go. I’ll call the minute I know something definite,” he said.

“Can we go with you, Dad?” his mother asked.

“Not this time. What we’re doing for Cody is shrouded in secrecy, and it’s the way it must be for now. You must tell no one. Remember the boy what one of our local cowboy’s healed from a deadly disease in a WalMart parking lot in Fredericksburg about a month ago?” he asked.

“Yeah, young Billy Daniels. It was all over the news. We even thought about contacting Mr. Daniels and asking if he could help us,” his son said.

“That’s where we’re going. Pray for us, pray for Cody, and pray for Mr. Daniels,” the judge said as they walked out of the room.

“We will, Dad,” his son replied.

Will called Billy and told him they were on their way. The cows heard the siren on the sheriff’s patrol car miles away and parted the road for them. Will cut the siren off after they pulled into the ranch and over the cattle guard. They drove up to the compound. Four handsome angels were waiting for them and one was black. The judge was in awe. There were other strange creatures standing behind the angels, but there were also humans and several ladies. He recognized Kate Daniels, her son, another rancher and his boy -- the name ‘Garrett’ came to his mind. Billy had them quickly move the boy to the slave processing room. It was the most contained, and Billy had a heater warming up the place so the boy wouldn’t be cold.

“Come, junior fly-boy,” Billy said to the sheriff, “We can use extra gathering power,” he added.

“See, Judge, in town I’m sheriff of the county, but out here, I don’t get no respect. I’m just a junior fly-boy,” Will said and laughed to lighten the mood.

“Y’ain’t in my book, Son,” the judge encouraged him.

Will winged-up again and helped get the boy’s clothes off. They laid him on a soft downy comforter on top of the processing table. Billy explained what he must do. He had to draw a small amount of blood to get Cody's DNA on file in his body. Little Cody didn’t even cry when Billy drew a few cc’s of his blood. He squirted just a bit onto his finger, tasted it, and was ready to go. “Cody has a rare form of myeloid leukemia. We can bring him back to good health, but we can’t totally defeat the disease without repeated visits. You must bring him back to us every week for three months, once’t a month for six months, and once’t every other month for another six months; then, twice a year for two years and once a year after that until he’s ten years old,” Billy said.

“Sounds good to me, Son,” Judge LaFleur said.

Billy and his posse, including the sheriff, rounded up them evil blood cells and repaired the boys bone marrow to almost a sound, healthy state, but there would be the hidden, lingering maverick cells what would continually try to regain a hold; however, if they kept at it, their power, was greater than the mutant cells. They also enhanced Cody LaFleur’s own immune system and taught it how to recognize and destroy the bad cells. They were at it for a little over an hour, but Cody was talking and joking with them by the time they finished. The old judge was in tears to see his grandson look so much better. He had a healthy glow about him with rosey cheeks and healthy red lips.

“Are you hungry, Son?” Billy asked.

“I could eat a cow,” Cody replied in a slow cowboy drawl and smiled at his attending angels. Everyone laughed.

“We’ll take you  up to the ranch house and rustle you up some breakfast, Son,” Billy said.

“Do I dare ask about you gentlemen? Are you here for a final Armageddon?” Judge LaFleur asked.

“Naw, sir, we’s just plum dumb as a box of rocks humble cowboys what’s been enhanced by two separate species of aliens. We didn’t ask for it. They jes’ done it. They’s taken an interest in our world and would like to see us be kinder to one another and our planet,” Billy explained.

“And how is the little boy you healed in the WalMart parking lot doing?” he asked and grinned.

“Mr. Randy Rutherford? Cowboy Randy? He’s doing great. He’s ma’ buckaroo buddy; ma’ little bother. He’ll be here Friday afternoon with his family for the weekend. Randy’s a special little cowboy. He and his family are valued members of our greater family,” Billy said with unbridled enthusiasm.

“That’s good to hear, Son,” the judge replied.

“Uncle Nathan, Mr. Garrett, will you be so kind as to take Cowboy Cody up to the main house and get him some breakfast, and we’ll join you men in a bit. Now, Judge, off with your clothes and hop up here on the table,” Billy ordered.

“I didn’t ask for anything for myself, Son. I’m more than happy with what you done for my grandson,” he said.

“That’s why I’m making the offer, Judge. You don’t need a lot. A minor tune-up will do you for another fifteen to twenty years with no problems. It won’t take as long as Cody, but it will make you feel like a new man what done downed a bottle of spring tonic. I promise you’ll have an uncontrollable urge to Texas Two Step through the rest of your day. Now don’t argue wiff’ an angel when he offers to bless you with better health, Judge,” Billy said firmly and smiled.

“All my clothes?” he asked.

“Ever’ last stitch. Cept’n you can leave yore’ boots on if’n ya’ont to. A cowboy’s just plumb naked without his boots,” Billy poured on the vernacular. If’n you’s shy we can take ours off if’n it would make you feel more comfortable,” Billy added and smiled.

“A man shouldn’t feel shy with his doctors,” Judge LaFleur reasoned.

“Nor his cowboy angels,” Billy added, and they shared a laugh.

* * * * * * *
Kate and her staff fell in love with little Cody LaFleur. They made him a big breakfast and he ate every bit of it including drinking a tall glass of watcher milk. He was going to be another healing child what Billy would pledge to keep supplied with the wonderful, kid friendly, healing milk from his herd of watchers who came regularly to be milked at the ranch. When his granddad came into the kitchen, the boy set down his fork and ran to his arms. The old Judge got tears in his eyes at how well his grandson looked and lavished him with hugs and kisses. “I almost forgot, Cody. I need to call your mom and dad,” he said. The judge whipped out his cell phone and pressed the button for his son’s phone.

His son Wesley answered, “Dad?”

“Cody’s gonna’ be fine, Son. When they’s finished with him, Mr. Daniel’s asked if he was hungry. Cody told him he could eat a cow. He’s sitting here in the Daniels kitchen stuffing himself with a good breakfast,” Judge Emil LaFleur said. Everyone in the kitchen could hear the ‘whoop’ that went up from his son. “The sheriff and I will be bringing him home in a little bit,” he said, “You won’t recognize your boy, Son,” he added.

Cody kept looking at Boomer. Billy didn’t figure he had to morph if the judge was going to know other things about his family. Finally, he got up from his breakfast and ran to Boomer’s arms. The judge was a bit taken aback to see the giant beast take his grandson into his huge hands, lift him into his arms, and cradle the boy. Without a word between them, Cody went for Boomer’s tit and started sucking like a little pig. The judge was amazed.

“That’s where the milk Cody was drinking comes from, Judge. Best, most nutritious food in the universe and somehow, Cody made the connection without anyone explaining it. Bright young man you got there, sir,” Billy said.

“Is he a Bigfoot?” the judge asked.

“Yes, sir, they’s many what roam the thickets of the hill country and more are choosing to live with humans. Their race is one of the two alien races what chose to enhance me and several members of my family. We got about two dozen what donate their milk for kids and people recovering while healing. We’ll give you a couple of quarts to take with you. Have Cody drink a glass in the morning and one at evening. Wouldn’t hurt you none to drink a glass, neither,” Billy said and grinned.

“I’d like to get to know your family better, Mr. Daniels,” Judge LaFleur said.

“No problem, sir, as long as you keep an open mind -- no disrespect intended, Judge,” Billy said and smiled.

“With what I’ve seen and witnessed, to do otherwise would be folly, Son,” the judge replied.

“Y’ain’t seen ever’ thing yet,” Tron Garrett said and laughed.

“How much more can there be?” the judge asked.

Everyone in the kitchen broke up laughing. “They don’t mean to be disrespectful, neither, Judge. It’s just they’s a lot of things what are unusual to most folks. To us, they’s ever’day occurrences,” Billy tried to explain, “What are you doing for Easter Sunday, Judge?” Billy asked.

“Spending it with my boy, Wesley, his wife, Edna, and my grandson, Cody. My wife passed away while my boy was in college,” he replied.

“Bring them out for Easter Sunday dinner. We’re planning on going to church Sunday morning and should be back here shortly after noon. We usually eat at one, but depending on the number of folks going to church with us, we may be late. If you come out earlier be sure to give your name to the two big guard bulls at the front gate, and they’ll let you pass to drive on up to the house. Their names are Zeus and Thor,” Billy said.

The judge looked at Billy, then grinned real big, “I’ll be sure to do that, Son,” he said, and broke up laughing like he thought Billy was pulling his leg.

“You’ll learn, Judge,” said the sheriff, “I didn’t believe it either. Now, Zeus and Thor are good buddies of mine. They’s better than having armed guards out there. I bring them and their companions treats sometimes when I come out. They love them carrots from the local feed store,” Will added.    

The judge didn’t think he was going to get Cody back from the huge furry monster the boy was nursing from. Cody cried and clung to Boomer’s neck like he never wanted to let go. The judge looked at Billy. “He has that effect on a lot of folks and kids in particular,”Billy explained, “Randy fell in love with him. I ain’t no better. I fell in love with him the first time I saw him when I’s only seven years old. He got his foot caught in a bear trap. I managed to spring the trap and set him free. I spent two weeks nursing him back to health. Since that time he saved my life once, and I saved his another time. We decided we didn’t want to live without each other and the Lord High Chancellors on the planet where they come from gave him to me to be my slave. We’re more’n that to each other, though, but I won’t go into that until we get to know each other a little better,” Billy said.

The judge managed to talk Cody into going with him. His parents would be worried and they needed to go home. Billy promised Cody he would send him his very own furry monster to nurse him until he was better. The sheriff drove the judge and his grandson back to Cody’s home just North of town in a secluded area. They had a beautiful home. There was great rejoicing when his parents saw their boy get out of the patrol car and walk to them. The sheriff left and the judge remained to tell his boy, Wesley, and his wife, Edna, the wonders he witnessed and told them they were invited for Easter dinner.
l
“We have to go to thank Mr. Daniels,” Edna said.

“Absolutely,” Wesley agreed.

The next afternoon, a huge burnt-orange giant furry watcher appeared in the LaFleur backyard. Before his parents could grab him, Cody ran as fast as his little legs would carry him holding his arms out for the giant to take him. The creature grinned as he caught Cody up, hugged, kissed him, and cradled him in his arms as the boy hooked up to his left tit and began to engorge himself with sweet watcher milk. Once in a while, Cody would draw too fast and would have some slop over on his face or arms. Cody’s mom and dad watched as the monster gently cleaned their boy with his huge black tongue like a mother cat cleaning her kitten's whiskers after feeding. When Cody had enough, the giant gave him another big hug, kissed him, turned the boy toward his parents, patted him on his little butt, and sent him on his way -- then he disappeared into the thicket. He returned every afternoon about the same time and Cody was always there waiting for him. Cody named him Big Red. He became the LaFleur family protector.

* * * * * * *
Bubba called the lawyer and made and an appointment for the following day. The lawyer urged him to go to his uncle’s bank, take a copy of Brad’s death certificate with him, and if they had any questions to call him. The nice lady at the bank smiled at Bubba and told him how sorry she was to hear of his uncle’s death, but she didn’t need the certificate nor to talk with the attorney. “You see, Mr. Kirkendall, your uncle’s account has always been a joint account. All we need is your signature, information for your new bank card, have you pick out your new checks, and we will transfer everything to your name. She was very kind, empathetic, and gracious. When she handed Bubba a printout of his current bank statement, he found his uncle left him a little over a hundred thousand dollars in his checking and savings account. There was sixty thousand in Brad’s savings and forty thousand in his checking account. Bubba brought five one hundred dollar bills to cash and have spending money for the next several days. He left them in his pocket to return to the other stack and cashed his first check for the same amount in twenties.    

He left the bank in a daze. He was glad he didn’t have Earl along to learn his new financial situation. He could just envision Earl bouncing off the walls like the coco-puff bird from an old TV add he used to see as a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons. Bubba grimaced to think Earl would just assume Bubba’s legacy from his uncle was his own personal windfall as well. The big man shared everything with Earl from grade school, but Earl rarely had anything to share with Bubba. Bubba remembered why his generous weekly allowance from his uncle never lasted very long. He paid for everything for both of them. It was the same when they were in the service together. Earl would dutifully send most of his money home to his mother who never saved a penny for Earl, and he and Bubba lived off Bubba’s pay. After establishing such a precedent, the big man became locked into for so many years, could he now dry up the cash cow he always was for Earl?

He was convinced his buddy, his life long close friend, was telling Clarence Womack everything about his personal business. Womack seemed to know everything about him and Bubba knew it didn’t come from his uncle. He became resolved not to have any contact with Earl until after he saw the lawyer on Friday. The less Earl knew about his business, the less likely Womack could concoct some nefarious plan to gouge him of his money. It was almost like his uncle planned it this way and covered all his bases just so’s the likes of Clarence Womack couldn’t get a penny of his, and now, Bubba’s money.

The big cowboy sat on a bench in front of the county courthouse for a good while thinking about his life and where he wanted to go from here. His uncle’s words from his most recent rant filled Bubba’s handsome head, and certain phrases kept repeating themselves over and over again until it became like a mantra to bring him an epiphany for a new day. Did he love Earl? Yes. Did he love Earl enough to forgive him if he betrayed Bubba to Womack? No! Well, maybe, if things changed, but he didn’t see that happening. Could he continue living in the same stagnant relationship with Earl he existed in like a state of suspended animation for so many years? No. He was tired of floating down that endless river with no physical satisfaction for himself other than his own hand -- and he didn’t need Earl for that.

Bubba had a strong, well defined body. As cowboys go, he was not as handsome as some, but more ruggedly good looking than many. He had a fine, larger than average cock, and it longed to find an exciting port-of-call; a safe harbor in which to unload its heavy cargo. Bubba thought if he had to pick one cowboy's ass to define the beauty of the species it would be Earl’s. Every time he looked upon its glory or fantasized about it in his thoughts, his tongue and cock would get roaring hard. Things might have been different if Earl was putting out for Bubba to ride his cowboy butt like his very own pretty little pony in exchange for Bubba’s contribution to the relationship, but it never happened. Bubba never got so much as a back-rub from Earl. Earl became so accustom to Bubba paying for everything, it just became an accepted fact; a habit with him, and he rarely said thank you for anything. Bubba decided his dog was too damn hungry to hunt with a yappy little show dog like Earl anymore.

That evening he tore down the cabinet again and opened his uncle’s strong box to return the five hundred dollars to his pack and look at one of the mysterious folders and what they contained. One he found most interesting was a design for a lighter than air flying car and from the drawings, looked for all the world like a flying saucer. There were blueprints and fold out intricate drawings and engineering specs for the craft and he wondered what his uncle was doing with these plans, when at the bottom he discover his uncle’s name and autograph as inventor, engineer, and design creator. This was his uncle’s work. He studied the plans for several hours, and decided to keep it out from the rest of the many plans in the folder. He took them to his room and spread them out on his bed.

His cellphone rang and he looked to see it was Earl calling. He thought about just ignoring his call, but then he considered Earl might try to come by, and he wasn’t ready to see him until after the weekend. Bubba answered, “Yeah?” he said.

“Hi, Bubba, it’s just me, Earl. How ya’ doing, buddy?” he asked.

“As well as can be expected I guess,” he replied looking at his uncle's plans for an aero-auto.

“Have you found what you were looking for?” Earl asked.

“A couple of things but not the main items. I’ll find it. He showed me where he hid stuff, but it was a long time ago, and I forgot,” Bubba said.

“Did your uncle have an attorney?” Earl asked and a yellow flag of caution went up in Bubba’s mind.

“No. At least I don’t know if he did or not. We never discussed it,” Bubba replied.

“Well, I guess if he did you’d have received something from him by now,” Earl allowed.

The yellow flag turned into a red flag, and a claxon horn sounded in his brain. Bubba's suspicion level suddenly jumped to defcon Ready Alert. Earl was fishing. Bubba froze for a minute, but kept his cool. “Yeah, you’d think so wouldn’t you,” Bubba said without giving away anything.

“I talked with a buddy of mine this afternoon who works at the post office, and he told me he hand delivered a certified letter to you today from one of the lawyers in town,” Earl said.

“Yeah, who was he, Earl? What’s his name?” Bubba asked.

“Oh, you wouldn’t know him. He’s new at the post office. I just met him last week, and I was telling him about you. He saw me today and told me about the letter,” Earl shuffled.

“Humm, that’s strange. I didn’t get nothing. Tell me his name, Earl, and I’ll go by the post office first thing in the morning to ask him about it. Maybe he delivered it to the wrong address, and it was really meant for me. Sometimes old folks sign for things what ain’t meant for them,” Bubba pressed and his voice rose like his conjecture had merit.

“I can’t remember, Bubba. You know me and names,” Earl said and Bubba could see him squirming in his mind.

“Well, I’ll drive over and pick you up in the morning, and we’ll go to the post office together. You can point him out to me. This could be important, Earl,” Bubba allowed his voice to rise like he was really serious.

“I won’t be here tomorrow morning, Bubba. I gotta’ drive my mom to the doctor in Menard,” Earl squirmed his way out of an embarrassing situation.

“Well, maybe we can go later -- when you get back,” Bubba said.

“Yeah, I’ll give you a call, Brother,” Earl said.

“You do that, Earl. You know -- you’re a really a good son, and I sure hope your momma appreciates it. I just wish’t you’d been half as good a friend to me over the years, but I understand. Blood is thicker than the water what flows through veins of the fool what paid yore’ way since we’s in grade school together. Don’t chu' worry none about old Bubba. He’ll get by. I gotta’ go now, buckaroo. I got me a pot-pie in the oven and the timer just went off,” Bubba hung up without saying goodbye. He wondered if there was the same deafening silence on Earl’s end of the line. Bubba didn’t know what hurt him more, Earl lying to him or him betraying his personal business to Womack. Was Womack paying Earl for information? Bubba thought he wouldn’t be surprised but considered it worse than the kiss of death.

End of Chapter 36 ~ Him Who Made The Seven Stars
Copyright ~ © ~ 2013 ~ Waddie Greywolf
All Rights Reserved~
Mail to: waddiebear@yahoo.com
01/07/2013
WC = 13395