Patrick Walts - Liberty

Liberty

By Patrick Walts

Copyright 2011 by Patrick Walts

Chapter 1

Chad Summers grinned at his somewhat reluctant partner-in-crime and took a step back to admire his handiwork.

Fuck yeah, he said with a self-satisfied smirk. This is gonna scare the shit out of all those sheepfucking hillbillies. Theyre gonna think theres like, a satanic cult in town or something.

Okay, Picasso, said Terry with a not-so-subtle hint of skepticism in his voice as he eyed the freshly-vandalized water tower emblazoned with a dripping, fiery red pentagram. How long you think it will take people to figure out who did it?

Lakeview, Oklahoma wasnt known for much of anything Ironically, there were no lakes within fifty square miles of the tiny farming communityand if it was, it wasnt for its overabundance of heavy metal fans. And who else but a heavy metal fan was likely to do something as brazen as spray-paint a pentagram on the towns only water tower?

Besides Chad, Terry, and a few burnouts in ratty, faded concert tees who spent their afternoons hanging out behind the local Laundromatdiscreetly passing joints and occasionally popping inside for a cold Mountain Dew and a game of Centipede before the manager tossed them out for loiteringit seemed as if everyone in town was either into country or whatever crap happened to be playing on the top 40 station that came out of Bartlesville.

Sure, there were a few dedicated, denim-and-leather clad headbangers around town, but they didnt go around doing lame shit like spray painting water towers or hanging out of car windows and knocking over mailboxes with a Louisville Slugger. At least not anymore. Most had long since either graduated or dropped out, and their days were spent going about the business of drinking, smoking dope and screwing their bleached-blonde girlfriends.

Chad punched him in the arm. Dont be such a wuss, man. Nobodys going to find out. Its

Shut up, said Terry, his ears perking up. Whats that?

Whats what ? I dont hear any

A flash of headlights followed by the sound of tires crunching on gravel silenced him.

Shit, he hissed. Get down!

The two boys dropped belly-first onto the metal platform that encircled the top of the tower, staring into the darkness and straining to hear the approaching vehicle.

At first they heard nothing but the faint chirping and buzzing of crickets and other nocturnal insects, but the sound of a car door slamming shut soon pierced the silence.

Its Deagan, whispered Terry. I knew this was a bad idea.

Chad placed a paint-splattered hand over Terrys face, mouthing a silent warning to his friend to keep quiet.

Terry swiped the hand aside, glaring at him, but Chad didnt notice his friends displeasure at having his grimy, smelly hand shoved into his face; He was crouched down peering intently into the shadows below.

Amos Deagan was the only law enforcement officer in Lakeview and the butt of endless jokes from just about everyone in town, most of them characterized by unflattering comparisons to Barney Fife.

No one particularly disliked him, but it was generally acknowledged that he was fairly useless as a cop.

Other than the occasional cow-tipping incident or drunken bar fight, there wasnt much need for a police presence in Lakeview. Still, the mayor kept him on the payroll, probably more out of sympathy, possibly even routine, than anything else.

Deagan generally spent his nights cruising the streets in his severely outdated late-60s model Dodge Polara cruiser, occasionally slowing down and cracking the window to order clusters of loitering teenagers to move it along.

On Saturday nights, Tipsy Toms, the local watering hole and illegal gambling epicenter of Southwest Oklahoma (if the rumors were to be believed) was invariably packed with underage drinkers whose money Tom eagerly accepted without question as the kids took turns standing guard by the front door on Deagan watch, until one of them would invariably pop back in to alert everyone as the bumbling old deputys patrol car rolled into the parking lot.

Theyd promptly make their escape through the fire exit in the back of the building, leaving dozens of still-cold and half-empty Budweiser bottles scattered throughout the bar.

The beam from a flashlight on the ground struck Terry in the eye as it passed over them. He winced, holding his breath.

I know yall are up there, came a familiar voice from below, confirming Terrys initial suspicions that it was indeed Deagan. I seen somebody movin around. Now come on down fore I have to come up there and get you down the hard way.

This was unlikely in the extreme, Terry knew. Deagan was about as capable of ascending the rusty, creaking ladder to the top of the tower as his wheelchair-bound late grandfather whod lost the use of his legs during the second world war.

Deagan was old and fat, and if his wobbly legs didnt betray him, one of the ladders loose, slippery rungs would. Hell, Terry was in fairly decent shape and hed had a couple of close calls himself on his way up. Never should have fuckin done this.

I can wait all night! said Deagan, making another pass with the flashlight. Aint got nothin better to do!

He didnt have to shout; his normal speaking voice carried just fine in the stillness of the humid night air. God damn kids, he growled.

Terrys heart was thumping so rapidly that he was afraid Deagan would be able to hear it pounding against the metal platform below him like a hammer on the lid of a trash can.

They waited for what seemed like an eternity they heard the engine of Deagans car sputtering to life.

He sat there idling for a few minutes before finally putting the car into gear and disappearing down the old gravel road.

Chad breathed a sigh of relief. See? Told ya itd be alright.

Terry shook his head. He didnt think things were alright at all. That was way too close for his comfort. Lets wait another couple minutes and get outta here.

Chad shrugged. What for? Lets go now. Hes long gone. He stood up, brushing the dust from his denim jacket.

Terry hesitated for a moment. Yeah, he said, nodding, Yeah, youre right. Lets go. Dont forget that spray can.

Chad tossed the empty can over his shoulder, sending it bouncing off the tree limbs down to the ground below.

Terry glared at him. Whatd you do that for?

What?

You just threw it down there for somebody to come along later and figure out who was here.

Terry burst out laughing. Are you serious? What do you think this is, Hill Street Blues? Gonna dust it for prints, is that whats gonna happen? He shook his head. I wonder about you sometimes.

Yeah, well, said Terry, better safe than sorry.

Chad rolled his eyes again. Terry was getting really tired of him doing that. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to hang out with Chad, anyway. Maybe he should have listened to his parents on one of the many occasions when theyd told him that the guy was bad news.

Aside from their shared love of heavy metal and horror movies, they had very little in common. Chad was a burnout, a stoner. Terry made good grades and had never touched drugs of any kind. Truth be told, he was scared to death of them after seeing those commercials comparing your brain on drugs to a fried egg. Hed never even smoked a cigarette or drank a beer.

Still, the bond theyd forged based on music was one that wasnt likely to be duplicated with anyone else in this podunk town. Chad was the only person he knew who hated all that Culture Club, Duran Duran pop crap as much as he did. Nobody around here had ever heard of Metallica, Slayer, Exodus, or any of those bands. Their knowledge of heavy metal began and ended with Quiet Riot and Twisted Sister.

He liked Twisted Sister, but most people only knew about the radio songs. He was into them before the preps and jocks had latched onto the hit singles like Were Not Gonna Take it and I Wanna Rock , adopting those songs as personal anthems.