Royally Flushed

[Mike Handley]

I couldn’t say whether it was Old Spice, Brut or something Avon sold in a colored bottle the shape of a car or boot, but whatever cologne Sheriff-for-life Claude Stephens favored had permeated the foam under the cheap vinyl-covered seats of his unmarked cruiser. He pulled up beside me on the courthouse square one day, powered down his window and beckoned.

My eyes burned as I leaned on the Ford’s passenger door, and I was thankful to be done with the conversation, polite and strange as it was. With the longest string of words I’d ever heard him utter outside of the occasional arrest details, he grinned and announced, “Y’all are playing poker at my house Thursday.”

“Oh, he doesn’t want to play ... doesn’t know how, and doesn’t want to learn,” the district attorney told me and the mayor on the way to Claude’s split-level home in the country.

The sheriff, who wouldn’t know a jack from a king, simply wanted to fry catfish for us, to be a part of our gang for one night, and he broke out some of the best (confiscated) moonshine I’ve ever tasted, pulled up a chair and watched us get royally flushed.

[Peter McNiff]

Great characters in your neck of the woods, and the law sounds free and easy among friends.

[Joe Gensle]

This was just gooder than grits and made me pine for the South. Mebbe the nose-cloud was "Old Stench," my brother's term for the end-product of the Sheriff pouring the Avon and Old Spice and Brut and his other leftovers into one container and layin' it on liberally, even the scalp... a practice my brother and his college buddies actually performed ::: pewwww-EY:::

[Michael Brown]

Nice warm and homey tale of good old boys letting the big guy in for a little bit. I could smell (and practically taste) the catfish. For sure, that's one tasty treat I wouldn't have walked away from to have a smoke. The reference was very subtle to us Northerners (I know, I know, I'm further south at the moment), who have forgotten Ned Miller or even Jim Lowe for the nonce. Big fan of country--just don't hear it much anymore. I hope your fingers start sweating words again soon.

[Mike Handley]

Thanks all.
@Shauna: We Alabamians choke on our own fodder, if we can't escape or won't leave.

[shauna mcclure]

Hank Williams, WC Handy, my first college love affair, and now Mike Handley. What is it about Alabama?

[Jared Handley]

these characters are too rich for one story, even if that's all there was. great stuff.

[Jeanette Cheezum]

LOVE IT!

[Sissy Anderson]

Mike, these little stories are so enjoyable. I like the American slice of life, masculine feel to them. Super. Again, your details create "scent" very well.

[Mike Handley]

Who can explain muses? I go for weeks without the slightest inclination to write, and then the words dribble off my fingertips and onto the keys like sweat. I hope it happens again! The moonshine was very smooth. There's nothing with which to compare it. Not delicious. More comforting than anything. The flavor of warmth?
@Sandra: I didn't think anyone would "get" that song reference. So glad you did!
@Rob: You're right. While he was married, more than once, he didn't have many male friends outside of the law enforcement community, and that was business. We made much over the catfish.

[Teresa]

This was a fantastic story to read at 2:37 am in a state of insomnia. Your Alabama tale was well worth the "wake". But the moonshine didn't peel the lining off your esophagus?