A Hot Day Down South…new writing/continuation…unedited and incomplete…

Brandon Watterson stood 6’8 and weighed every bit of three hundred pounds. His weight was not fat but muscle. A long, jagged scar ran down the left side of his face as a testimony of his violent nature. He ripped off the helmet and threw it in the dirt.

Upon hearing no, Tomas and Wiggins backed up. Tomas was a solid 225, Wiggins weighed in at a buck fifty, if he wore concrete shoes. Watterson charged Tomas and swung a wild haymaker that collided with Tomas’s temple. Tomas crumpled to the ground. 

“You’re next, little man.” 

Wiggins dropped into a defensive position. Watterson charged him like a wild bull. He threw his arms wide to bear hug Wiggins. At the last moment, Wiggins deftly sidestepped the attack. He rabbit punched Watterson in the throat. The big man hit the ground. Wiggins took two steps and soccer-kicked him in the jaw. Watterson crumpled to the ground.

“You okay, Tomas?”

“Yeah, I guess. It felt like I had been hit by Thor’s hammer.”

“Well, we got him.”

“Where did you learn those moves? I always thought you were a bookworm.”

“Just because I’m a bookworm doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to defend myself.”

“Huh,” Tomas grunted. Wiggins handcuffed Watterson, and with Tomas’s help, they got Watterson in the back of the car. After another hour and a half drive back to Fredericksburg, Watterson was placed in interrogation room #3. Tomas informed Konan via phone and explained what happened.

Konan and the two detectives stood behind the glass and watched Watterson. Chief Janko joined them.

“Who is this monster,” the chief asked. 

“Chief, that’s Brandon Watterson. He resisted arrest until Wiggins got ahold of him,” Tomas explained.

“Asthmatic Wiggins took down that behemoth?” Chief Janko looked at Wiggins skeptically.

“Yes, sir. He did it with a rabbit-punch and a soccer kick.”

“Konan, get in there and get some answers.” Konan nodded. When he opened the door, Watterson looked up.

“Who are you?”

“I’m nobody, my mom is somebody, and my dad could be anybody,” Konan responded. Watterson glared at him. Konan sat across from him.

“You a pig,” Watterson snarled.

“Nope. Just a guy asking questions.”

“I ain’t got nothing to say to you pig. I ain’t answering your questions.”

“Yeah, you’re going to answer my questions. Because if you don’t, I’m going to get that 150-pound ankle biter that put you to sleep and turn him loose on you.”

Behind the glass, Wiggins grinned. Tomas slapped him on the back, Janko just shook his head in disbelief. Watterson clammed up.

“How long have you been out of prison, Watterson.” 

“I ain’t talking to you.”

“You know Watterson, when I was a boy, my dad always told me to never corner anything meaner than you are. You don’t want to get on my bad side.”

“Oh yeah, what are you going to do? Beat a suspect? Frame me? I ain’t scared.”

“You didn’t hear me, Watterson. I’m not a cop. How long have you done taxidermy work?”

“All my life.”

“How often do you go into town?”

“Rarely. Only when I need something.”

“Such as…”

“Supplies for my work.”

“Such as new knives? Glue?”

“No. I order knives and glue online. Things such as toilet paper and sugar for my coffee.”

“Do you know Amber Wainwright?”

“Do you know Lilly Thompson?”

“No, should I know them?”

Konan placed the pictures of the victims in front of Watterson. He pointed at the scars.

“Those wounds were made by a double-edged fleshing knife. Then, the victims were nailed to the floor with rusty nails.”

“And…”

“You have the skill and the temperament to commit these crimes.”

“So…? Are you accusing me?”

“No. We’re just talking.”

“I ain’t killed nobody, boss. Ever. I didn’t even kill the woman who landed me in jail.”

“Why did you assault an officer?”

“His face irritated me.”

Watterson stared at the photos. He pointed at Lilly’s photo. “I do know her. She was a cop.”

A slow burn worked its way through Konan’s body. The veins in his neck tightened and his breathing became shallow.

“How did you know her?”

“She was one of the good ones. There wasn’t an ounce of backdown in her. I tried to intimidate her once. It backfired.”

Konan guffawed. Watterson grinned.  “It doesn’t sound like you’ve had much luck running into officers.”

“Nah, man. She was looking into some murder or something. Asked me questions about taxidermy work. That was months ago though.”

“Where did you learn the trade, Watterson?”

“I learned it from this old man. He didn’t stay in one place very long, but he stayed long enough to teach me.”

“Did he have a name?”

Watterson scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure he did. I never used it, I just called him Pop-Pop.”

Published by frontporchmusings694846020

I am a good ole country boy residing in North Mississippi. I love to read, fish, hunt, hike and go to garage sales. Flea markets are a passion of mine. I read anything, but some of my favorites are: Dean Koontz, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, T.S. Eliot, Shakespeare, and I possess a fondness for the writings of William Faulkner and Mark Twain. If I am forced to choose, I prefer baseball to football. I enjoy Alabama football (Roll Tide)! My baseball teams include: The Colorado Rockies and Boston Red Sox. I am divorced, the father of two daughters and live by myself with Chunk and Roscoe (my dogs).

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