Free PIGGS - A Novel with Bonus Screenplay by Neal Barrett Jr Page A

steak fingers and fries, a Vanilla-Coke malt.   That was the thing about Dairy Queens, they'd make about anything you want.   Grind up a candy bar, any kind you like, mix it right in or pour it on the top.
    There were only four people inside, three girls in cheerleader suits, two of them cute, the other maybe not.   An old man sitting by himself.   The old man was reading a paper, holding it high so he could check out some teenage leg.   Kenny knew what he was doing; he'd done it a couple times himself.
    The food was real good.   Kenny got extra fries to go.   Outside, the heat hit him hard.   You're under the A/C, it's worse when you get out again.
    The phone booth was right by the door.   They couldn't put the sucker inside, right?
    Hutt didn't want to make the call, didn't want to talk to   Junior now, later, any time at all.   He dropped some coins in, listened for the tone.   Nothing.   Looked at the thing in his hand, saw it didn't have a cord.
    "Fuck you," Hutt said, pissed off a little, mostly relieved that he couldn't make the call.   Pissed off again because Ma Bell had swallowed all his quarters, wouldn't give them back.
    The Buick was baking, heat waves rising off the roof.   He opened the door to let the hot air out.   Leaned in and opened the far side too.   And when he looked up, he saw the trooper in his brown uniform, in his cowboy boots, in his Smokey Bear hat.
    "Shit," Kenny said, and knew, at once, the trooper had parked out back, and walked around the side.   Which didn't mean a thing, cops were always doing that, looking for a freebie, talking up the high school girls.   This one, though, wasn't doing either one.   This one walked right up and said,
    "Afternoon, how we doin', sir?"
    "Fine," Kenny said, "how are you?"
    "Shoot, I could do without this heat."
    "Me too," Hutt said, and wondered, his mind working down a little list, wondered if he had anything in the car, any shit that shouldn't be there, anything a cop would like to see.   Decided he was fine, there was nothing there but an empty Coke can from the trip coming up.
    "I like the Dairy Queen better'n any place in town," the cop said. "The food's good, they keep the place clean."
    "I see one, I'm going to stop there," Hutt said.   "I won't stop some place I don't know, something says EATS or BARBECUE, you don't know what you'll get there."
    "That's the truth," the cop said.
    "I like to be careful what I eat."
    "Yes sir, more people ought to do that."
    "Some of these places, you see on the road, they oughta close them down."
    "That's why a Dairy Queen always has plenty of customers.   People know what they're going to get."
    "They do.   That's why they keep coming here."
    "This your vehicle, sir?"
    "What?"
    "I said, this your vehicle, this your car, sir?"
    "Yeah.   Well, it's a rental, not mine."
    The question, coming out of nowhere, rattled him some, took him by surprise.   Up to then, they were doing okay, why did the guy start acting like a cop, everything's going just fine?
    "Louisiana plates.   That where you're from?"
    "New Orleans," Hutt said.
    The cop grinned.   The grin said, I know what kind of stuff you clowns get away with down there.
    The cop took his hat off, took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his face, down in his neck, up on his brow.   His brow was half red, half fish-belly white from the Smokey Bear hat.   He was forty, maybe, thinning hair and an ordinary face.     Stripes on his sleeve, a plastic tag that read KREET.   What the hell kind of name is that?   Hutt thought.   Probably some godamn name like Cecil R. Dupree.
    "Avis," said the cop, walking around the side, kicking at the tires.   "You like the Park Avenue?"
    "GM makes a good car," Hutt said.
    "I'd rather have that than a Ford.   We get Fords sometimes, then they'll do Chevy's a while.   Can I see your license and insurance, sir?"
    Hutt kept his cool, got his wallet out without shaking at all.   Reached in the glove