The Recluse…new writing, unedited, incomplete…


Jocko was growing impatient. He conned Wilma into marrying him by offering the best of his stock. Hidden behind the vulgar tattoos that adorned his flesh, and the dead eyes, he possessed a brilliant mind concerning his criminal enterprise. 

His product was shipped from somewhere in Latin America. He dealt with the head honcho, and only the head honcho. To avert suspicion, his incoming shipments were small. That’s not to say that he didn’t receive many packages. 

The drugs sailed across the ocean blue, was picked up at a semi-busy port and loaded onto turnip trucks, and then dropped off at warehouse that was privately owned by a third party. Jocko rarely made an appearance. His name was often associated with drug deals, but almost no proof could be found to link him to the sale of said drugs. 

He licked his lips when he thought of young Belle. “I can’t wait to ruin that tender flesh for every other man.”

Davy tossed and turned on the couch all night. He dreamt of sand and blood, guts and wounds, he listened to the cry of those who suffered until Death removed them from this mortal coil. He woke to this thought: If you make yourselves sheep, the wolves will feast.

In the dark, he sat on the couch. Predators didn’t always prey on the strong. Sometimes, they feasted on the weak. It was a vicious cycle, one that God had put into motion to maintain balance. He thought of Belle. “Poor girl is trapped between an addict and a sleazeball.” Maybe she would come by today, and they would have the chance to speak at length concerning her situation. 

“It’s time for me to quit feeling sorry for myself and be the man that I was forged into. The helpless need protecting.”


Wilma woke to Jocko standing at the foot of her bed staring at her. He munched on a carrot. She brushed the hair out of her face and tried to smile. Her black toothed smile did little to improve her ragged looks. At one time, she was a beautiful woman. Back when everything was right with the world.

Now, she was the horse that had been rode hard and put away wet.

“Morning,” she said. Wilma reached for Jocko, but he ignored her. He finished his carrot and continued to stare at her.

“Get out of bed and get in the shower. We’re getting married today. I’m wrecking Belle tonight, and you are going to watch.”

Wilma whimpered and a single tear ran down her cheek. “He doesn’t love you, idiot. You’ve served up your daughter to an animal, to feed a habit that you should have shaken years ago.”

“No, I won’t marry you.”

Jocko looked at Wilma and laughed. He raised his eyebrows and took a menacing step toward her.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you?”

Wilma crawled out of bed and stood to her feet. If she was going to be beaten down or worse, by God, she would go out on her feet.

“I-am not-marrying-you. I will not serve up my daughter to an animal like yo-“

Jocko’s right hand crashed into her jaw. Rapid blows landed one after another, Wilma giggled. Her laughter drove Jocko’s blood rage higher. He soccer kicked her across the room and went to work on her ribs. 

“You’re a mangy dog, Wilma. You show your teeth, you get dealt with.” He kicked Wilma until she passed out. He stood over her panting, his breaths came in ragged gasps.

“You are a stupid broad. I don’t need you to get what I want. I’ll take it, by force if necessary.”

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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