Midday. Outside of the tool crib under the lingering sun, Fornier shoved a shovel into Hutch’s chest. Hutch gripped the handle and raised an eyebrow and voiced his concern. “The fuck is this?” he asked. The sheriff chewed his loose leaf tobacco and spat. “You ain’t never seen a shovel before?”
“I mean, I have. But I don’t know what I need it for.”
The inmates behind Hutch grew pissy as sweat poured down their brows. Before agitation could reach a boiling point, Moses spoke up. “It’s for yardwork you dolt!”
“Yardwork?” said Hutch. “I’m a prisoner. I don’t know anything about yardwork!”
Fornier shook his head. “Boy, you are a special kind of dumbass.”
“Just take the goddamn shovel and get in the truck!” Moses shouted.
Hutch did as he said and took his seat in the open air convoy truck. Other inmates poured in behind him. When the bed was filled, two deputies donning their pump action shotguns climbed in and took their seats. No words were spoken and the truck roared southward into the green lush bayou. The skies were clear. For the moment, the midday breeze provided a reprieve from the scorched sun. Hutch’s mind began to wander. He knew not if Oren was dead or alive. Then remorse sank in. If only he had ate more fiber, then that toilet in Arkansas would have never been clogged and they’d probably be in Florida by now. But the wheels underneath him kept spinning. It took him further and further away. Then the truck turned down yet another dirt road. Dry dust kicked up and the inmates covered their faces. The deputies lifted rags over their noses. When they arrived, it was a sprawling plantation stretching out onto the flat horizon. The only elevation in sight was a gentle sloping hill on which a colonial, almost gaudy, mansion sat. The deputies climbed out and opened the bed.
“Everyone out!”
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Internet Ruined Everything 