damn if the old man ain't right. jerry smiles, turns and grabs the old man by the shirt.
let's get something straight. i don't like you. as soon as we're on our way, that's it.
keep yer' mouth shut.
don't want a buick. want a ford.
then take the buick.
what's your name, boy?
well, okay phillip. reach down and pick up that pistola.
shut yer' mouth. pick it up and bring it over here.
now say 'stick 'em up.'
put the gun down, old timer. you couldn't hit me anyway. probably shoot the boy. the phone rings.
leave it be. the twins wiping sleep from their eyes, wander into the room.
set it on the ground. cummings reluctantly obeys.
no.
we'll take the boy. silence. gladys can't believe her ears. then.
you'll get him back. i swear it.
we got a handful of caps and yer' shootin' water tanks. he's a smart guy, huh, phillip? phillip doesn't move or change expression. jerry smiles, almost to himself, and fires twice more for the hell of it. the roof of the impala explodes with two holes as the car speeds off down the highway.
you said you had a cousin near here.
so give him a call. see if we can shack there til' things cool down. jerry thinks it over, leans forward and, in one quick swipe, grabs the keys from the ignition. then he laughs and crawls out on his way to the phone booth.
so i won't leave him.
oh yeah. in the b.g. jerry rips the 20 page phone book in half and returns to the car, half pleased with himself. he tosses the keys to butch, who starts the car and drives off.
what?
you were in the middle of threatenin' me.
here kid, take the wheel. phillip, scared at the prospect, nevertheless does his best to see over the dash and keep the wheel straight. butch turns back over the seat to confront jerry.
in two seconds i'm gonna' break your nose. that's a threat.
 and that's a fact. instead of expressing outrage, jerry slinks back down in the seat wearing a look of pure hatred.
and that's a threat. beginnin' to understand the difference? somethin' catches butch's eye and he turns and slows down and turns into.
okay, phillip, listen up. i'm gonna' run in here and get some smokes.
here, hold it like this.  and point it right between his eyes.
if he so much as moves you pull the trigger .  right here.  put your finger on it. jerry snickers and then laughs maniacally. butch reaches over and cocks the pistol. jerry's guffaws stop on a dime.
and that's a fact. i believe yer gettin' the hang of this. butch steps out of the car and heads for the market.
how-do. where's yer' sodees?
this and a carton of chesterfields. are those .38 shells? gimme a box. the old man puts the cigs and shells on the counter and starts to tally the bill on a notepad.
used cars. buy 'em, fix 'em up. sold a cadillac down in madisonville this mornin'.
squatted down, who levels the revolver and closes one eye. jerry laughs.
thick as theives.
you got a phone?
then go inside and lie down til' we're gone. the old man meekly does so. butch goes to the car door, opens it and motions to a frozen stiff phillip.
well.  get in.
no. me'n you are friends.
if i was choosin' a runnin' buddy, i'd take you over him any day of the week.
whattaya' thinkin' about?
if i guess you tell me? phillip nods.
you thinkin' about yer mama? phillip sits still. that was it. butch brings the car to a stop. he points to the horizon. desolate.
i hear ya', phillip, but look around. i can't very well leave you here, can i?
lemme' ask you somethin'. you right or left handed? phillip meekly holds up his right hand. the car races forward.
then that's the way we'll go. you ever ridden in a time machine before? phillip shakes his head.
sure you have. whattaya' think this is?
yer' lookin' at this thing bassackwards. this is a 20th century time machine. i'm the captain and you're the navigator. butch points forward through the dash.
out there.  that's the future. butch taps on the rearview mirror.
back there.  that's the past. if life's moving too slow and you wanna' project yerself into the future you step here on the gas. see? he does so and the impala surges forward.
and if yer' enjoyin' the moment yer' in, well hell, just step on the brake here and you can slow it down.
this is the present, phillip. enjoy it while it lasts. then he laughs uproariously and steps on the gas.
yessir. time travelin' through texas! we got to find us a ford. my daddy always drove fords, you know that?
ok, phillip, we're gonna do some car shoppin'. you ever play cowboys n' injuns? see that ford sedan? now i want you to sneak on over there like an injun and take a peek and see if the keys is in it. phillip hesitates.
don't have to if you don't wanna.  but i'd appreciate it.  you bein' the new navigator and all. phillip thinks it over then opens the door and slips out.
hey, phillip, check for a radio, too.
good man.
what for?
this here's nature, phillip. pee in the ditch. phillip scrambles to the ditch to relieve himself while butch steps out of the impala, tosses the keys into the field and walks toward the ford.
start, you sonofabitch! the farmer runs faster, comes closer.
get in the car, phillip! the farmer, only 30 yards or so away, is racing toward them madder than a wet hen. phillip tries to hurry but the rc continues to run through him.
phillip! get in the car! phillip pulls his underwear up and races to the car. he leaps into the open passenger door at the same moment butch steps on the gas and the farmer arrives and grabs onto the door as it closes.
goddam, boy, how many rc's did you drink anyway?
one thing's for sure. you got one helluva set of chompers.
you got blue eyes don'tcha', phillip? never met a blue-eyed phillip before. who you named after?
you and your old man get along all right?
toss the ball around, play grab-ass in the yard, that sorta' thing?
why the hell not?
well he is or he ain't. when's the last time you saw him? phillip shrugs.
me'n you got a lot in common, phillip. the both of us got blue eyes, we both like rc cola and neither one of us has an old man worth a damn.
well.  she's lyin' to ya' pure and simple. he ain't never comin' back. disappointment registers on the boy's face.
guys like us, phillip, we gotta' be on our own. seek foolish destiny, that sorta' thing.
tell him your name.
see there! all you gotta' do is say your name and people are waiting on you hand and foot. like a goddam king or somethin'. phillip can't help but smile at the notion.
you ready to get out of those skivvies and into some britches? phillip nods.
well all right then. but first we gotta' come up with some a.k.a.'s, fake identities, ya' know. names to call each other when we're around other folks. go ahead and think one up. whatever name you want.
as a matter of fact. shoes and new skivvies, too. he'll tell you his size. go with the lady, buzz. phillip, still in somewhat of a daze, doesn't recognize his own "name".
buzz! phillip snaps to, cracks a smile at butch and follows the lady to the children's section of the store.
walks past the cash register, gives the clerk behind the desk a wink and proceeds to an aisle which features hardware, rope, tape, nails, etc. he stoops and grabs a shank.  .  with his hands he grips the rope tight and jerks it taut.
takes a roll of electrician's tape. he tears off a strip, attaches it to the back or his hand and tugs. it holds tight.
whattaya' think?
you folks are about the grinninest bunch i ever seen. paula laughs, then drops her grin, looks behind her to see mr. willits is watching, and whispers.
we'll get it next time. go get in the car, son.
pays paula, then stuffs a $20 in her blouse.
you are truly the friendliest clerk i ever met. she blushes a "thank you" as butch makes a hasty retreat to the door.
checks his mirror, looks ahead, spots phillip and blasts straight for the front door of the store. he skids to a halt and stares right at phillip.
up to you, buzz.
here, take them nasty skivvies off and put on yer' jeans. he spots phillip's not so successful effort to hide the costume box.
whatya' got there?
from the store? you kyped it? phillip nods, expecting the worst.
well, hell, phillip, put it on.
let's unnerstan' each other here.
stealin's wrong, ok? but if there's somethin' you need bad and you ain't got the money, then it's okay to take a loaner on the item. it's what ya' call an exception to the rule. phillip tears into the box, rips out the costume, looks at it, starts to take off his underwear then balks. butch notices.
what's wrong?
what? you don't wanna' get undressed, is that it? phillip shrugs.
you embarrassed caus' i might see yer' pecker?
what?
well hell, lemme' see. phillip still hesitates.
go on. i'll shoot ya' straight. phillip gingerly pulls off his underwear. butch smiles a broad grin.
hell no, phillip, it's good size for a boy yer' age! phillip, remasculated, smiles and starts to put on the costume.
here they come.
an inch is 24 miles. hold yer' pointin' finger along the line of the road. you got three lines on your finger, don'tcha'? each one's an inch. so how many inches to childress? phillip holds one finger to the map, then another.
yer' a helluva' navigator, phillip. a lot smarter than jerry. but i guess that's not sayin' a lot. something catches phillip's eye.
seen one of them in a magazine. it's called a motor home. they're new. kinda' like a house on wheels. butch honks the horn twice and waits for a retort.
phillip, you get in the back seat and lie down on the floor.
hell, i don't know. 'caus' i said so!
hold on, phillip!
started this road 20 years ago and it still ain't finished. appears to me we got a decision to make. phillip, aka casper, exits the car and, imitating butch, leans against the car.
it's up to you, phillip. we can backtrack to the highway or we can try it on foot.
it's alaska, phillip. last of the wild frontier.
it's beautiful!
naw. just got the one postcard. but anyhoo, back to our present dilemma. you feel like a hike?
can't be more'n, oh, say, fifteen hundred miles. phillip seems a tad apprehensive about the prospect.
yer' prolly' right. go give our supplies a check. phillip returns to the car and emerges with the paper bag once full of soda, candy and jerky. butch surveys the countryside.
how's it look?
rations for one at best. come on. butch strides straight into the rocky field. phillip lingers a moment, then sticks the half eaten moon pie in his mouth and follows, hurrying to catch up.
we're goin' trick r' treatin', phillip. phillip stops dead in his tracks. butch, sensing that the boy is no longer following, stops, spins and faces phillip.
what?
huh?
trick r' treatin'? why not?
against yer' religion. what kind of foolishness is that?
now, i'm askin' you, phillip. i ain't askin' yer' mother and i ain't askin' jehovah. do you wanna' go trick r' treatin' or not?
ok, phillip, all ya' gotta' do is knock on the door and when they open it you say 'trick or treat.' got it?
now wait til' they come. a farm wife, 65 or so, like something from a grant wood, only smiling, opens the door and looks out on the pair through the screen door.
now, phillip.
say it again, phillip.
never underestimate the kindness of the common man, phillip. butch reaches up and grabs the phone line, yanks it loose and tosses it aside.
you sure there's no meat in there? spam maybe, vienna sausages, anything like that?
well, i bet you can make us some mustard sandwiches, can't ya'?
well go to it. phillip breaks out the loaf of bread and lays out four slices on the dashboard.
many as you want. phillip lays out six more slices. the dashboard is now covered with bread. phillip pulls out the mustard but has no knife. butch pulls out a stick of gum and hands it to phillip to spread with. as they drive along they pass a large, happy family picnicking in the dip of a long hill alongside the highway. from the look of their brand-new loaded down station wagon they are on vacation.
be right back. don't be stingy with that mustard now. phillip nods and continues piling the yellow goop on each of the slices of bread.
walks ahead to the crest of the hill, the tallest hill in the county. he takes in the 360 degree view. his eyes settle on.
turns and sees the ford rolling backwards, picking up steam back down the hill.
step on the brake! put your foot on the brake! the middle one!!
comes to a heaving halt next to bob, who is near heart attack himself.
bad brakes.
edgar poe.
she's a beaut, all right. say, bob, what with my brake problem and all, i sure would appreciate a lift. me'n my boy live about five miles up the road here. i can pick up the car tomorrow. they notice the ford coming back down the hill and squint to see.
the brake, phillip! step on the brake! hard!
helluva job, phillip! never had a doubt.
no trouble at all, bob.
this will do fine right here, bob. but i do have one more favor to ask. 138 ext. road - day 138 the entire family bob is standing along the roadside, their luggage and belongings by their side. the looks on their faces say it all -- stranded. butch hands over the stuffed animal to patsy, pats bob jr. on the head and sticks out his hand to bob.
just a loaner, bob. not to worry. you'll get her back. bob reluctantly shakes butch's hand in an attempt to impress upon butch his most important concern of all.
you know i will, bob. butch gives a snappy salute and is off to the wagon.
wave, phillip. phillip does so. bob's kids wave back. phillip starts to giggle.
maybe, but bob did the right thing. what if he'd put up a fight? i mighta' had to shoot him, and where would that family be then? naw, bob's a fine family man and that's about the best thing a fella' can hope to be. butch floors the wagon and the car screeches rubber on the highway.
can't find a coonass waltz to save my ass. hey, phillip, that stuff you told me 'bout not trick r' treatin' causa' jehovah.  was you pullin' my leg?
what else ain't you suppose' to do?
yer' shittin' me?
you ain't never been to a carnival neither, have ya'?
not even one?
cotton candy?
pink.
roller coasters?
seen pictures.
you know, phillip, you have a goddammed red, white and blue american right to eat cotton candy and ride roller coasters.
amen. now dig in, buzz. call him that caus' he eats like a buzzard. if it's dead he'll swoop and chow.
you dottie?
never?
eat yer' food.
buzz, go ahead and chew on mine if you want.
i try hard but, ya' know, since his mama died.
okay now, buzz, you go on out in the parking lot and chunk some rocks or something.
well his biological mother is alive. gave him up for adoption to me and my wife. my dead wife, that is. she is, was phil, er buzz's stepmother, so she's his mom, was his mom, stepmom, but.  she's dead.
phillip!.
get in the car.
no. more silence.
jus' barely.
caus' it feels good. ain't you ever seen your mama kiss a man?
it's, well, uh, it's kinda' hard to explain. i know how it musta' looked. hell, i don't know how it looked.  as butch's voice trails off silence overtakes the car. after a few seconds butch seems happy not to have to answer any more questions. phillip fidgits with the door handle. several more seconds pass, then.
who?
yeah, phillip, i love her. kissed her butt didn't i?
you wanna' drive?
jus' kiddin', buzz. i'm just gonna' stop here for awhile and catch 40.
things go our way we'll be in alaska in four or five days. get the jump on winter. phillip looks a little sad.
what's wrong?
if you wanted to go home so bad, why didn't you stay at that store today?
caus' why?
same difference. we'll get you home soon. i swear, okay?
yeah, phillip?
done proved that ain'tcha'? there's lots and lots of stuff you can do, phillip. reach in that glovebox there. see if bob's got a notepad or something. phillip extracts a small ringed memo pad.
good old bob. can you write?
good enough. now i want you to make a list of everything you ever wanted to do but wasn't allowed to. okay?
like.  cotton candy.
hell i don't know. it's yer' list. butch settles in for a catnap. just as his eyes close.
yeah?.
me n' the boy was just catchin' some shut-eye in yer' field.
drove from texarkana yesterday.
said a mouthful there.
wouldn't want to put you out. 'sides we need to get back on the road.
aaaayyyyy!!!! cleve races into the kitchen and the apron strings of his grandmother, mack's wife, lottie.
no harm, ma'am.
mornin' to ya.
we left her at home this time. boy's night out kinda thing. butch spots an old phonograph.
say, lookie here. he gives it a spin with his finger and searches through a stack of 78s.
jeezus. now this is music. you know how long it's been since i heard this.
you dance, lottie?
here, jus' follow me. he takes her in his arms and slowly but surely adjusts her movement to his. after a few rough turns they're not too bad. phillip can't help but smile as he and cleve watch and giggle. butch and lottie dance, swirling around the room.
oughta be able to. was raised in a dime a dance whorehouse.
no, ma'am. my mama would dance their asses out of the fryin' pan and into the back room fire. butch spots phillip and cleve, watching, giggling.
get on yer' feet, buzz. you'n cleve shake a leg.
dance, boys! the little boys do their best to emulate the adults and soon they're laughing and dancing, too. the record stops. they all clap and laugh. butch hears something.  the radio in the bathroom.
we'll be leavin' soon enough. i'll kill all of you if you try anything stupid. mack swallows hard.
come on, buzz. time for us to hit the road.
why'd ya' wanna' go and hit cleve for? he didn't move fast enough for ya', is that it? or maybe he gets excited sometimes and don't hear everything ya' say? you make me sick to my stomach. butch spits in mack's face, then rises and walks over to phillip and hands him the revolver.
point it at 'em.
point it!
now, son, you wanna' flip? cleve shakes his head "no" between sobs. butch gently takes the boy and lifts him to a standing position.
go ahead. put yer' hands between yer' legs. i won't hurt ya'. cleve turns to mack and then runs to him. butch walks calmly over and pulls the crying child away from the old man and back to the center of the room.
he don't trust ya' no more. you gotta' earn that, ya' know? put yer' hands 'tween yer' legs, son. cleve, still sobbing, does so. butch reaches down and flips him, all the while staring at mack. each time he flips the boy, butch reaches down, grabs cleve's hands and flips him again. finally he allows the frightened child to go to mack and lottie.
buzz. go out to the car and get that rope. phillip stands frozen.
phillip!.  phillip slowly rises and walks away. he stops for a moment and turns his back.
now you hold that boy and tell him you love him. mack grabs cleve and sets him in his lap.
no, old man. say it like you mean it.
then say it.
nome', i ain't a good man. ain't the worst neither, jus' a different breed.
say it, mack. don't cost nuthin'.
gawd that's beautiful. butch spots phillip standing at the entrance to the living room with the bag. he takes it from the boy, empties the contents -- candy, cookies, bread, sugar and all -- and picks up the rope, takes mack's barlow knife from his pocket and cuts off a long shank. butch takes the rope and begins to tie up the three.
you can go wait in the car or you can watch. yer' old enough to think for yer'self. phillip, unsure what to do, stands his ground.
shut yer' eyes, cleve. mack, you and lottie hold the boy tight. shut yer' eyes, too. phillip, awkwardly aware that he's going to witness an execution, starts to cry out, then squelches himself. butch seems to be in another world now -- taken to another place and time. a slight smile finds its way to his face, then disappears.
shhh.  shhh.  shhh.
shhh.  shhh.
phillip?.
thanks for yer' hospitality. and walks away.
phillip?!.  no answer. he drags himself to the station wagon and, with much effort, slides himself into the seat. no keys. he opens the door, crawls out, leaving a trail of blood, looks out to the road and starts to walk.
makes his way onto the private dirt and starts walking back toward the main road.
phillip?!! i won't hurt ya', i swear!
that was a helluva' thing to do, phillip. you're a hero. prolly' be in all the papers tomorrow, how you saved those folks. truth is, i don't think i woulda' killed 'em. i only killed two people in my whole life. one hurt my mama and one hurt you.
what say we talk this over? settle things man to man. then we can be on our way. i'll even let you drive. knock that right off yer' list. how'd that be?
alaska, phillip. wild and wooley. man against nature. me personally, i like them odds. did i tell you my daddy lives there? he's the one that sent the picture postcard. listen here to what he says about it.  butch pulls the postcard from his back pocket and reads.
'dear robert'.  that's my real name, phillip. robert. jus' like old bob the family man. 'dear robert, i just wanted to tell you that me leaving has nothing to do with you.' phillip, still afraid, can't help but listen as butch suffers through his memories.
'alaska is a beautiful place. colder than hell most all the time.
someday you can come and visit and we'll maybe get to know each other better.' short and sweet. that's the old man's style. 'cold all the time' -- like that's a big sellin' point. he laughs to himself.
he useta' pat me on the head and tell folks 'that it's some that can live life without askin' about it and it's others has to know why, and this boy here is one of the latters.' that's why i wanted to go up there. to visit the old man, i guess. prolly' punch him one first, but then maybe we'd end up bein' friends, sit down, have a beer, talk things over.  butch groans. he pulls his hand from his side. blood is oozing all over the place. he returns the postcard to his pocket.
we'll jus' rest awhile. then you can make up yer' mind. how's that? phillip, still clinging to the tree, can't help but feel compassion for his friend.
one thing's for sure now -- i definitely believe in ghosts. never been shot before.
i know ya' are. truth is, if it had to happen, i'm glad it was you. as opposed to someone i don't know, i mean. all things considered, i feel pretty good, though. could use a beer, though.
oh, it's about the best thing there is. you'd better put that on the list. phillip's eye catches something. he stands up fearfully.
naw, phillip, i need me a time machine with a loud radio to take me where i'm goin'. walkin's for squares.
all this for me. i'm touched, but i'm afraid ya'll gonna' have to back it up a step or two. i'm headed to mexico. lyin' to 'em, of course.
beer. what'd i tell ya'. appreciate the offer, cap'n, but ya' know i can't do that. if you and yer' pals back outta' here, i'll drop the boy at the border. if you don't i'll shoot him in the head. i mean it! phillip, betrayed beyond comprehension, stares at butch.
don't look at me like that. i don't even have a gun. what did ya' do with the pistola' anyway?
good thinkin'.
see, phillip, dreams do come true. there's yer' rocketship.
today's the day.
what's wrong, phillip?
now that ya' got yerself a ghost suit, do ya' think she'll let ya' trick r' treat?
put yer' mask back on.
you ready to go home?
hey, cap'n, you got any candy? intercut back and forth between butch and:
candy! halloween candy! popcorn balls, caramel apples, gum, shit like that?!
you find me some candy and i'll deliver up a ghost.
one more thing. his old lady has to swear to take him trick r 'treatin' every year. phillip strains to look for his mom. he's upset, ready to leave.
gimme' yer' list, phillip.
gimme that list. phillip pulls it out. butch snatches it and reads it to himself, laughing. he's on a death roll of sorts, between losing blood and being in an impossible situation he almost seems to be enjoying the macabre scenario as it unfolds. phillip, on the other hand, is beginning to sob.
and she's gotta promise to take him to the fair for rollercoasters and cotton candy whenever he wants.  or at least once a year.
and when he gets older he gets to drink beer.
well it's on yer' list. and to go out on dates with girls! not on the list, but you'll thank me later for that little addition. done that, got to drive, gonna' ride that rocketship. that's about it. she's gotta' promise or i won't let him go!
don't kid a kidder, phillip.
make her say it! red looks to gladys as if to say, "go ahead". she seems reluctant. red's frustration is showing.
know jus' how ya' feel, phillip.
make her say it!
can we trust her?
when you get home, hide this. if she's lyin' you can buy yer' own damn beer. phillip quiets for a moment and stares at butch.
yeah. now, buzz, listen here. i want ya' to step out there real slow, keepin' yer' paws in the air. then strut right over to them cops and yell 'trick r' treat.' got it?
somethin'll come to mind. butch sticks out his hand. phillip shakes it, afraid.
'bye, phillip. it's been one helluva' ride. butch nods and smiles.
all right, cap'n. make way for casper the friendly ghost. the friendliest ghost i know. butch nudges phillip and the boy starts toward the field.
personally i think we negotiated a pretty fair deal, but if there's somethin' else you want.
so i guess that's it for alaska, phillip.
if i had a pistola i'd be headed the other direction. my partner here got rid of the evidence. do i know you, friend?
hmm. well, look i wanna' talk to the boy and then we'll take care of bidness. how's that? only take a second. red nods then looks over his shoulder at the patrol cars lined up like a wagon train, guns aimed, bobby lee peering through the scope of his rifle.
i wanna' give ya' somethin'.
mebe' someday you'll get to go.
tastes blood and sighs.
damn, buzz, shot twice in the same day. he collapses and falls into phillip's arms. phillip backs away two steps and falls to his knees. butch wavers for a second then topples on his back. phillip moans, sobs, as he watches butch, the gunshot still
his eyes don't close, still squinted but frozen.