It was closer to three hours before Billy Joe saw the BMW come over the hill. By then he had enough bass to last a month. He reeled his line in, put the fish and his tackle in the burlap bag, and waited in the shade of a pine tree for the men to walk down to him.
The tall one wasted no time. “Where’s our stuff, hayseed?” he asked. The short one just scowled and opened and closed his hands. Trying to look menacing, Billy Joe supposed.
Billy Joe shrugged his shoulders and played the country bumpkin. “I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about. If you lost something, I’ll be happy to help you look for it. Is there a finder’s fee for the person who finds it for you?”
“Don’t be stupid, kid,” the short one said, rolling his shoulders and moving forward zigzag like a boxer. “I’ll knock your ass out, and you’ll wake up on the bottom of that lake.”
Billy Joe held up his right hand to stop him. “Before you do anything rash, I think you ought to take a look behind you.”
The short one kept his eyes on Billy Joe while the tall one looked. Sheriff Hamilton’s car was sitting at the top of the hill.
“Okay, kid. We play it your way,” the tall one said. “How much of a finder’s fee do you want? Five thousand enough?”
Billy Joe thought for a minute. If he was willing to offer five thousand, he’d probably be willing to go higher. “No, I want ten thousand dollars to help you find what you’re looking for.”
The two men looked at each other. Then the tall one said, “All right, but it’ll take us a couple of hours to get the money together. How about we meet back here at midnight?”
“Fine,” Billy Joe said. “You have the money; I’ll have your stuff.”
They went back to their car and drove slowly back up the hill past Sheriff Hamilton. While the sheriff was watching them, Billy Joe slipped into the woods that bordered the lake and started making his way back to where he’d left the bag. He didn’t want to run into the sheriff again.
The sun hid behind a cloud, and a spring shower soaked Billy Joe as he ran through the woods. He rushed up to the hollow tree only to have his dreams come crashing down around him. The plastic bag and the paper sack it had been in were lying on the ground at the base of the tree, ripped to shreds. The rain had already washed away most of the powder, and what was left wasn’t worth trying to save.
“Damn!” Billy Joe said. He must’ve trapped the coon in the tree, and the coon tore the bag to pieces getting out.
Billy Joe was not one to cry over spilt milk, but he knew those two guys were going to be mighty upset when he told them what happened to their powder. Come to think of it, they might not even believe him. Billy Joe thought for a few minutes and came up with what he figured was a pretty good plan to get himself out of this jam.
He set out for home at a jog. There was no time to waste. It was twilight and he was covered with sweat by the time he jogged into the yard. A few of the hounds barked halfheartedly at him. As he approached the house, he heard a low rumbling growl coming from under the front porch and he came to an abrupt halt.
“It’s me, Boss. Good dog, good dog.” Ignoring the hounds was one thing, but ignoring Boss was something nobody in his right mind did. Boss was Pa’s catch dog, and Billy Joe along with half the surrounding county was scared spitless of him. Boss came out from under the porch and shook the dust from his short brindle coat. A massive brute, Boss was mean as a snake and feared neither man nor beast. A fact attested to by his tattered ears and the scars that decorated his muscular body. All the hounds gave Boss a wide berth.
Billy Joe stood without moving and let Boss sniff him to his heart’s content. Boss had walked into the front yard two years ago, and while he acknowledged no owner, he showed no inclination to leave either. Visitors had to stand and be sniffed the same as Billy Joe. The only exception to this rule was Pa. And the only time Boss and Pa acknowledged each other’s presence was when they hunted wild hogs together.
When Boss went back under the porch Billy Joe darted into the house and plundered through the cupboard until he found a brown paper bag like the one the coon had tom apart. But try as he might he couldn’t find any of the large plastic storage bags.
He ran back outside, dragged his rusty old bicycle from behind the barn, and started pedaling down the road to town. Pa usually stopped off at Lonzo’s for a drink after work or he could’ve probably borrowed his truck. It was just as well, Pa would’ve given him the third degree about why he wanted to borrow it. And if Billy Joe told Pa he needed to go into town to buy a box of gallon size storage bags, Pa would quite naturally want to know what he needed them for. It was not a discussion Billy Joe wanted to have.
Twenty minutes later and out of breath, Billy Joe dropped his bicycle outside Cutter’s IGA Foodliner and rushed inside just as Mr. Cutter was getting ready to lock up. Fortunately, Mr. Cutter was in a hurry to get home to his supper and didn’t bend Billy Joe’s ear with stories of his youth as he normally did.
Billy Joe fidgeted while Mr. Cutter counted out his change and then, after what seemed like an eternity, he rushed back outside. With the storage bags clutched under his arm, he pedaled home by the light of the full moon. As he pulled up into the yard and stood for Boss’s inspection, it dawned on him that he had forgotten to buy anything to replace the powder with.
Billy Joe tore through the house looking for something, anything, white and powdery, silently thanking God that Pa still wasn’t home. Finally he found an unopened sack of flour in a cabinet and filled one of the plastic bags with it. The weight felt right. Maybe in the darkness, the two men wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
Pa still wasn’t back at eleven when Billy Joe headed for Cedar Lake. Much to his dismay, Boss came out from under the porch and decided to tag along. Billy Joe didn’t want to chance angering Boss by trying to shoo him back.
Billy Joe got to the lake about eleven thirty and got out of sight in the shadow of a large oak tree. The moon illuminated the clearing where the men would park their car, and from where he stood, Billy Joe had a good view of everything. Boss wandered off down by the lake sniffing the ground.
While he was waiting, Billy Joe had a disturbing thought. What was to keep the men from killing him and just taking the powder back? He racked his brain. How could he switch the powder for the money without getting himself killed?
The car topped the hill and pulled into the clearing. God! What could he do? Billy Joe could feel sweat trickling down his side. The two men got out and looked around for him. The tall one had a white cloth bag in one hand. Seeing the bag, Billy Joe decided to take his chances and stepped out of the shadows.
“Give me the stuff,” said the tall one, pointing to the bag under Billy Joe’s arm.
“The money first,” said Billy Joe, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
“Guess again, kid,” the short one said and pulled out a pistol. “Don’t screw around with us if you know what’s good for you.”
“I’m-m-m not alone,” said Billy Joe. “My friend is in the shadows. He’s got a gun too!” Both men grinned and Billy Joe knew he hadn’t fooled anyone.
The short one pointed the gun at Billy Joe. Billy Joe cursed himself for being such a fool and started praying.
Then from the shadows came a familiar low rumbling growl. Billy Joe stiffened. The two men turned toward the sound and the tall one said, “What the hell—”
Boss came out of the shadows running full speed, his hackles raised, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. He left the ground from ten feet away and hit the short man in the chest, knocking him into the tall one. Both men tumbled to the ground, and the cloth bag flew out of the tall man’s hands.