Generations in Agony...Texas: Chapter Thirty-one

31) One bad hombre…

Doyle’s man met Tyrone Stump as he walked out of prison. Ty gave the guy a look as he got into the rental, a typical black Ford sedan. “I’m gonna need wheels,” Ty said as he settled into his seat and Doyle’s man put the car into drive to pull out.

“I’m supposed to give you this one to take out there.”

Ty shook his head. “I drive into Agony in this, folks will know I’m not there for a social visit.”

The guy shrugged. “Suit yourself. What sorta wheels you want?”

“Old truck is best, maybe a station wagon, something no one will take notice of.”

“I see where you’re going, I think. Okay, we can arrange that, probably be cheaper too.” Doyle’s man handed Ty a thick envelope.

Ty opened it and saw mostly the same information that he had gotten on the inside.

“Your buddy Beau says you’re a good fella,” Doyle’s man said. “Beau’s a good one to have vouching for you.”

Ty nodded. He did not care if he never saw Beau Dawes again. He had his own agenda, and that was the reason he had taken this job, more than anything else. It just so happened that he was in a killing mood, and not specifically aimed at the Doc, who he had nothing against. Doc had delivered Ty. It was a difficult birth that nearly killed both he and his mother.

If he had to kill the Doc in order to do what he had waited fifteen years to do, so be it. His jaws flexed as he clamped down on his back teeth. He stared out the windscreen as the highway rolled out before them.

“You okay?” Doyle’s man said.

Ty nodded. “Just ready to get moving on this.”

“From what I hear, you ain’t missing much if you wanna day or so before you head out there. We could fix you up with some girls, down on the island.”

“No, just get me in some wheels and I’m outta here.”

“All business, huh?” Doyle’s man nodded.
~

An hour later, Ty Stump was driving off, headed west in a beat-to-shit International pick up truck. The engine rattled, but was sound enough. Smoke belched from the tail pipe whenever he started from a stop light.

In a small, black briefcase, he had two nickel plated forty-fives and three hundred rounds of ammunition. Under the driver’s seat, he had a pump action twelve guage; it was police issue, and would hold six shells. He picked three boxes of .00 buck-shot off the shelf of the small armory room the mob boys had in the back of the strip club they used as a headquarters. The buck-shot could bring down a good-sized deer, and even wreak havoc with an engine block.

“You going to war, or what?” Doyle’s man asked with an amused smile.

“Your boss has lost five men already. Bet none of them was expecting it to be a one way trip.”

“You gotta point…”

It was going to be a long, long drive. He had never driven much more than fifty miles out of Agony, before he was captured and locked away. He wondered if the people of the little town would remember him at all. If not, he planned to make sure they would never forget him again.
~