Yo, Dexter, Oscar appeared at the patio door, there's a phone call for you. For me? Did I stutter? Who is it? Won't tell me but he called earlier this morning too.
Excuse me, young lady. Sure, nice talking to you.
Oscar handed Poole the cordless phone at the counter and told him he was waiting on a bagel order so he had better make it snappy. Poole covered the mic until he was standing in the front room, the green room filled with potted ivy and ferns and the musty odor of wet soil. This is Poole, he said into the receiver, staring at Malorie through the large windows.
Poole, it's me, Hatchet said, his voice sounding distant through an unstable connection, a sat phone connection. Jesusfuckingchrist. Such language, young man, Hatchet said. You got my message. Yep, all five hundred of them. Why call me here? I think it's better under the circumstances that we have as little traceable contact as possible. Agreed. So tell me about Ricky. Poole recounted Ricky's side of the story and how they came to meet in his home and that Ricky was convinced that Hatchet had murdered his brother. Hatchet listened without interrupting, silent until Poole asked him where he was hiding. I'd rather not say, pal. I hear ya; so tell me, did you do it? did you kill Johnny? Hatchet sighed, Yes, brother, I killed him but not before he put a hole in my arm, nearly blew the damn thing off. Holy shit, are you okay? I'm fine. Poole waited in the thick digital hum of the satellite transmission. I knew I should've checked the house for Ricky but I was in a shock of sorts. I can imagine. I figured as out of control as Johnny was, he had surely killed him. He nearly did. I just got out of there as fast I could; so he's headed to the park, eh? Yeah, he’ll be a little worse for the ware, though. What? Poole told him how he smashed his hand and disfigured his face. Jesus, Poole, you didn’t have to do all that. I didn’t enjoy but I was so frustrated; I couldn’t hold him there, couldn’t kill him; I just lost it; at least he won’t be going anywhere soon. Poole wanted to ask again where Hatchet was hiding but he stopped himself. He's truly bent on taking you out, Hatchet, and there's something else. Hatchet waited silently. He said there were other people involved, now. Poole's guilt wrenched him in the solid parts of his guts. I'm so sorry for sending you in there, Poole said, hearing his own voice crack. Listen, Dexter, this isn't your fault; I was taking a chance to even try to get rid of this thing; I'm the one who brought you into this; I blame myself.
Tell me about these other people. He wouldn't tell me, Hatchet, but it was clear to me that they had it in for you before you even got to Fort Worth. Okay, well, thank you for everything, again. Hatchet, what are you gonna do? I'm gonna take care of it. What does that mean? It means I'm gonna take care of it. Hatchet, you've already killed one person over this. In self-defense. This whole thing has already killed three people, man. Woody was dead before he ever agreed to help me; you know this. That doesn't matter; it’s officially out of control. I have everything under control, Poole. Tell me you're not gonna kill him; hell, I should've fucking killed him when I had the chance. Don't say that, Poole, I'm just gonna rattle his cage and straighten this out unless he forces me, I guess. He's no spring chicken, Hatchet, I know this guy from way back; he spent some time in the pen, got a mean streak like a rabid badger; that beating I gave him may slow him down but one thing it certainly did is piss him off. That's fine; the angrier he is, the easier he'll be to manipulate.
The cloudy digital air came rolling again and Poole visualized it traveling up the street in heaving clouds as he sat staring at Malorie, wondering what smooth line Hatchet laid on her the night before all this began. He wondered why she declined. I'm gonna let you go now, Poole. Okay, brother. Tell Jane I'm safe. I think she wants to hear that from you. Tell her I'm safe and that I'll prove it to her very soon. I will.
Excuse me, young lady. Sure, nice talking to you.
Oscar handed Poole the cordless phone at the counter and told him he was waiting on a bagel order so he had better make it snappy. Poole covered the mic until he was standing in the front room, the green room filled with potted ivy and ferns and the musty odor of wet soil. This is Poole, he said into the receiver, staring at Malorie through the large windows.
Poole, it's me, Hatchet said, his voice sounding distant through an unstable connection, a sat phone connection. Jesusfuckingchrist. Such language, young man, Hatchet said. You got my message. Yep, all five hundred of them. Why call me here? I think it's better under the circumstances that we have as little traceable contact as possible. Agreed. So tell me about Ricky. Poole recounted Ricky's side of the story and how they came to meet in his home and that Ricky was convinced that Hatchet had murdered his brother. Hatchet listened without interrupting, silent until Poole asked him where he was hiding. I'd rather not say, pal. I hear ya; so tell me, did you do it? did you kill Johnny? Hatchet sighed, Yes, brother, I killed him but not before he put a hole in my arm, nearly blew the damn thing off. Holy shit, are you okay? I'm fine. Poole waited in the thick digital hum of the satellite transmission. I knew I should've checked the house for Ricky but I was in a shock of sorts. I can imagine. I figured as out of control as Johnny was, he had surely killed him. He nearly did. I just got out of there as fast I could; so he's headed to the park, eh? Yeah, he’ll be a little worse for the ware, though. What? Poole told him how he smashed his hand and disfigured his face. Jesus, Poole, you didn’t have to do all that. I didn’t enjoy but I was so frustrated; I couldn’t hold him there, couldn’t kill him; I just lost it; at least he won’t be going anywhere soon. Poole wanted to ask again where Hatchet was hiding but he stopped himself. He's truly bent on taking you out, Hatchet, and there's something else. Hatchet waited silently. He said there were other people involved, now. Poole's guilt wrenched him in the solid parts of his guts. I'm so sorry for sending you in there, Poole said, hearing his own voice crack. Listen, Dexter, this isn't your fault; I was taking a chance to even try to get rid of this thing; I'm the one who brought you into this; I blame myself.
Tell me about these other people. He wouldn't tell me, Hatchet, but it was clear to me that they had it in for you before you even got to Fort Worth. Okay, well, thank you for everything, again. Hatchet, what are you gonna do? I'm gonna take care of it. What does that mean? It means I'm gonna take care of it. Hatchet, you've already killed one person over this. In self-defense. This whole thing has already killed three people, man. Woody was dead before he ever agreed to help me; you know this. That doesn't matter; it’s officially out of control. I have everything under control, Poole. Tell me you're not gonna kill him; hell, I should've fucking killed him when I had the chance. Don't say that, Poole, I'm just gonna rattle his cage and straighten this out unless he forces me, I guess. He's no spring chicken, Hatchet, I know this guy from way back; he spent some time in the pen, got a mean streak like a rabid badger; that beating I gave him may slow him down but one thing it certainly did is piss him off. That's fine; the angrier he is, the easier he'll be to manipulate.
The cloudy digital air came rolling again and Poole visualized it traveling up the street in heaving clouds as he sat staring at Malorie, wondering what smooth line Hatchet laid on her the night before all this began. He wondered why she declined. I'm gonna let you go now, Poole. Okay, brother. Tell Jane I'm safe. I think she wants to hear that from you. Tell her I'm safe and that I'll prove it to her very soon. I will.
Edit 12.8.2018