Cold in July
“The one Russel hit in the kneecap was yelling his leg was broken, and the one Jim Bob swept the feet out from under was complaining of his ankle. You would have figured they thought we were the Red Cross.
The one I hit with the shovel wasn’t saying anything. He was out cold. And so was the one Ann popped with the Caddy door. She was standing outside the car now, leaning on the open door, looking over the roof at us. She waved at me and I waved back. It was all very pleasant.
“Sorry we had to whip the shit out of you,” Jim Bob said to the moaners on the ground, “but we didn’t have much choice. We’re gonna leave now, but first, just to clear up a little mystery, just what are you fellas doing here?”
Neither answered.
Jim Bob went over and kicked the man with the kneecap injury in the hurt leg and the man howled like a wolf. “Now let me rephrase that in exactly the same goddamn way. What you doing here?”
“A man hired us to come out here and see if anyone was messing in the graveyard,”
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