Cletus gave my shoulder another shake, pulling me from my internal pep talk. His next sentiment echoed my thoughts, solidified them.
“You take happiness, Duane. You conquer it.”
“That’s right. Conquer it.” Beau pointed at me and swiped his hand through the air with violent emphasis.
“And, when or if the time comes for her to leave,” Cletus shrugged, “you be the one to walk away first, with no regrets, because you captured that flag. You seized the day.”
***
Half of my bad mood and unnecessary wood chopping was because of Jessica.
… Actually, more like seventy-five percent.
The rest was because of Dirty Dave and Repo’s visit, and what I’d found on the thumb drive they’d given me. But I had to wait for Cletus to wander off before I could spill the story to Beau.
Beau and Cletus helped me place the newly chopped wood into the shed. We decided to grab dinner at Genie’s bar—Cletus liked her chicken wings—as they filled me in on their trip to Nashville and Cletus rambled for an hour about how he’d helped the district law enforcement office unjam their mail sorter. And then he paid a call to all the local police stations to assist with mail sorter maintenance.
He was very proud of his work with mail sorters. He’d been doing it for years, pro bono, and had a strange affection for the machines.
“They’re like the pre-Internet Internet, connecting the world and directing traffic.”
He was a nut.
It took both Beau and I several attempts to steer the conversation back on track. Turns out the car they’d set out to claim, a 1963 Mustang, was in better shape than we’d thought. As well, the junkyard owner had another Mustang about the same age, in much worse shape that we could strip for parts.
They were able to rent a vehicle carrier and load it up with a few other prospects as well. All in all, it was a productive trip.
On the drive back from dinner, Beau pointed out that one of us was going to have to negotiate a price with Jessica for her Ford F-350. We were bringing in enough vintage body work that it also made sense to buy a large carrier as well.
“Should we talk to Drew first, do you think?” I glanced over my shoulder at Beau, who was riding in the back of Cletus’s piece-of-shit Geo Prizm.
“I don’t think we can wait that long.” Beau shook his head. “It’s the middle of November now. He’s not getting back from the trek in the Appalachians until right before Christmas.”
“When does Jethro get back again?” I asked.
“After Thanksgiving I thought,” answered Beau.
“Drew won’t care about the purchases. We have the capital and he’s been in favor of all our investments so far,” Cletus chimed in. “The man is a Ph.D. biologist and a federal game warden. I’m sure Drew has things on his mind other than our purchase of a vehicle carrier. Besides, he likes being a fully silent partner and trusts me to make important decisions.”
Beau and I shared a look.
“You mean, he trusts all of us to make important decisions,” Beau sought to clarify.
Cletus laughed—actually, he guffawed—as we pulled into our driveway. I wasn’t really offended as I watched Cletus wipe tears from his eyes. “That’s funny, Beau. Real funny.”
Cletus parked, still shaking his head as he exited the small car, puffs of laughter following him as he walked to our porch. Beau unfolded from Cletus’s clown car and made to follow him into the house, likely wanting to argue the point. I stopped him with a hand on his upper arm and a staying look.
Beau gave me a questioning frown and I shook my head, indicating he should be quiet. We waited, listening to Cletus as he mumbled to himself until the sounds of his trailing hilarity were cut off by the front door closing.
I counted to three, then I turned back to Beau. “I need to talk to you.”
“What’s up?”
“Not here. Let’s go to the hangar,” I whispered and lifted my chin to the Quonset hut some paces from the house.
I led the way, not waiting to see if he’d follow. I knew he’d follow. We could discern even the subtlest changes in each other’s expressions, so I had no doubt he recognized the urgency in my voice.
A little known fact about the Winstons, we can see at night. My momma told us we were part Yuchi Indian on our daddy’s side, and local legends said the tribe could see clear as day even during the blackest of nights. I had no idea if this was truth or fiction, made up to feed little boys’ imaginations. Regardless, we could all see just fine in the dark.
Thus, neither of us had a problem finding the path to the hangar and navigating the obstacles along the way.