He loosened the knob. The flame grew brighter and he unleashed it on the shack. A bright torrent of fire covered the shanty building and the wood cracked and popped before it collapsed in on itself. The priest was livid.
“What the hell?! I was living in that!” he shouted at DuPont.
“I’ll tell you boys what, when we’re through with this operation here, all y’all better stay the hell outta Louisiana,” the sheriff retorted. “If I see any of y’all again, I’ll kill you. If any of y’all claim I helped ya, I call yall a liar and then I’ll find ya and kill ya. Understood?”
There were no responses.
“Good,” DuPont continued. “Now the first rule: only I get to use the flamethrower.”
“Then what the hell are we gonna use?” asked Moses.
“Excellent question!”
Without missing a beat, Deputy Chaz came rolling down the dirt path in the beat up Honcho. Oren couldn’t believe his eyes. With all the windows busted out, Chaz parked in front of the gaggle and shouted at DuPont. “Hey Sheriff!” he said. “I couldn’t find a vehicle big enough to transport all this dynamite. So we just fixed the cab and threw all of it into the bed of this truck. Goddamn! Honchos are one hell of a vehicle!”
“Well boys,” the sheriff announced, “you have your answer. We’re gonna take this dynamite and blow the shit out of Castor’s house and collapse that cursed spring once and for all.”
TO BE CONTINUED…