The Second Doublewide on the Right, part 56

I’m Fixin’ to present part 56 of The Second Doublewide on the Right:

On the shoulder of the road across from the the church, Leon Walker closely examined the writing on the long strip of plastic he had picked up off the grass, and saw that it was the name of a building supply company that was stamped on it. That’s when he figured out the strip of plastic was one of the binders on a bundle of roofing shingles.

The thing that struck him as strange was that he remembered reading about that particular business declaring bankruptcy and closing their doors several months ago, yet the church clearly had a band new roof on it and he held in his hand evidence that the roofing materials had come from that same bankrupt business. For the moment he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, so he tossed the plastic strip into his truck and headed back toward Apt-To-Miss.

That night the pain killers kicked in more rapidly and with more intensity because whiskey made a much better catalyst than beer.

Leon felt a little sluggish the next morning, but after he popped a pill he felt much better, so much that he drove into town and went directly to the court house and found his way to the office of the Ocmulgee County Board of Assessors. He knew that was where they kept the records of property sales and that they were a matter of public record. What he wanted to know was who that dad gum preacher was.

He knew he was the pastor of that Johnny-come-lately church up on Hwy 86, but he didn’t know the scoundrel’s name and he intended to find it out by viewing the property records.

Once he found the church property on the county map all he had to do was cross reference it to the record of sales. When he did that he was astounded to see that the owner of the property was a dang corporation. The owner was: The Church, Inc.

“Good Lord, “ he whispered to himself as he caught his breath, “that son-of-a-gun is definitely hiding something!”

Leon realized at that moment all his investigation had accomplished was to heighten his suspicions, and that he still didn’t know who the heck that dang preacher was. But as he was leaving the office a young lady clerk stepped forward to assist him and his crutches out the door.

“Did you find everything you needed, sir?” she politely asked.

“Well, uh, not really,” Leon responded as he struggled to raise his level of vision. “I was looking to see if there was any property for sale up on Hwy. 86 North, up towards the expressway,” Leon lied. “Something in the vicinity of that old building somebody has turned into a church.”

“Oh, I know where that is,” the young lady replied. “I go to church there. What you should do is contact a local realtor and they can run a search on their computer and find out if there are any parcels for sale in that vicinity.”

“You say you go to church there?” Leon asked. You wouldn’t happen to know the preacher’s name, would you?”

“He’s the Reverend Ricky Lee Jones, and he’s a wonderful preacher!” she told him in joyfully exuding words.

Leon returned to his truck out on the Square and after he slammed the door he thought about what a stroke of luck he had just had. All that dang checking of records and it had been by the mere chance of conversation which had rendered him the information he sought.

But right now his shot foot was throbbing with pain, so he popped another pain pill and told himself that, heck, that’s what they were for, to kill pain, and that’s why they called them pain killers. Now he could concentrate on his plan instead of his pain.

When he got back to his office in the strip at Apt-To-Miss he searched through his files on his renters until he found the one on Ocmulgee County Deputy Sheriff James Earl Murphy and then took it with him to his doublewide.

It comforted him to know that now that he was home he had something to help those pain pills along. He took a double shot of bourbon and elevated his foot up on a chair, which seemed to help some. At least the throbbing had quit.

After a while he got up and mixed himself a proper drink with a little ice and a little Mountain Dew. Then he set to thinking. What he thought was that he might have the Reverend Ricky Lee right where he wanted him, or planned to get him there.

The shingles on the church’s new roof appeared to have been stolen. That’s why he had the deputy’s folder lying on the kitchen table next to him. What he planned to do was sick the law on Reverend Ricky’s behind.

His drink was almost gone. It had tasted dang good. He might have to fix himself another one just like it. But before he did he opened the deputy’s folder and searched out his cell phone number. He was fixin’ to give the deputy a call.

(Reach Ted Dunagan at

www.teddunagan.com)