Free Sunset and Sawdust by Joe R. Lansdale Page B

boot, took it out back of the house, got down on her knees and buried it next to the chicken pen, crying as she did.
    Sunset and Karen, standing amidst Marilyn’s houseplants, watched her do this from the sleeping porch. The plants were tired-looking and slightly brown, needed watering. Sunset set it in her mind to water them and to clean up a dried dirt ring at her feet, the remains of a pot and plant now missing, probably dead and tossed.
    “I can’t believe it,” Karen said. “Daddy, and now Grandpa. He couldn’t live without her. She shouldn’t have kicked him out.”
    “Maybe he couldn’t live with himself,” Sunset said.
    “I think he loved her. I think he missed her.”
    “I think he missed having someone to hit.”
    Couple days after the funeral there was a camp meeting. As expected, it was held at the Jones house, though the church was briefly considered.
    But as Willie Fixx, the preacher, veterinarian and part-time doctor, pointed out, “It’s hot in there.”
    Henry Shelby called the meeting.
    After a short day at the mill, six in the afternoon, they gathered there. All the men came directly from work and they stunk like dogs that had rolled in shit.
    Sunset and Karen went around the house and opened windows, but it didn’t help much. The air outside was stiff and heavy with humidity. It seemed to hold the stink in the room as if it were plugging the windows with its weight.
    All of the men were white. Coloreds were not allowed at the meetings and had no say in the matter. Many of the men were shy a finger or two, and in some cases a thumb. The saws liked little sacrifices.
    Sunset stood at the back of the room with Karen, watching. She had on one of her mother-in-law’s sundresses and she had a big black belt around her waist, and the revolver was conspicuously poking in the belt. She knew it was silly, but she never let that gun get too far away from her.
    Sunset’s head turned as Hillbilly came into the room. Someone had hired him, maybe her father-in-law, or Henry. When he came in he entered like a king. You almost expected someone to roll a red carpet in front of him.
    He stood at the back of the room opposite her and Karen, leaning against a wall, giving it a sweat stain. Even dirty and sweaty, with sawdust in his hair, his cap in his hand, she thought he looked pretty good. She tried to decide if he was twenty-five or a beautiful thirty-five.
    Sunset watched the men idle about for a while, shaking hands, making sure to tell Marilyn how sorry they were about Mr. Jones.
    Henry Shelby went up front. He had a way of walking that made you think of a man pinching something vital with his ass. He had on a black suit that smelled of naphtha. All of his suits smelled that way. His white shirt looked yellow in the overhead light. His black tie was wilted and fell over his chest like a strangled man’s tongue.
    Henry said, “Let’s call this meeting to order.”
    The men sat.
    Henry looked about, eyeing the camp elders. He said, “We’re not going to bother with minutes or any fooferrah, we’re going to get right to it. Everyone knows why we’re here. With Pete gone, it’s time to elect a new constable. Things have got rowdy out in the community of late. Been a run on chicken stealing, for one. My chickens. And I want the hound that done it arrested.”
    A few men laughed.
    Henry grinned, feeling like he had made a pretty good joke.
    “Truth is,” he said, “the community is growing. I think in a year or so, maybe less time than that, we’re gonna come together with Holiday and make a real town. Holiday wants to expand, and they’ve found oil over there. Oil is bringing in money, just like the mill. And it’s bringing in all kinds of lowlifes too. Gamblers, whores—”
    A couple of men cheered.
    “Very funny,” Henry said, realizing a couple of them knew how well he knew the whores. “It’s also bringing in grifters, thugs, you name it. Things are gonna get more out of hand, and