Sally gets in a Tussle (Cumberland Saga)

Lliam was bunking with a friend and Mary was spending the week with Sig and Ellie while Blain “settled into” Sarah’s house.

He continued to work during the days although he took long lunches back at the house.

Consequently, he was there when Sally drove his battered, old truck up the driveway to drop off groceries.

That was an unusual occurrence. Usually Sally dropped them off a the turn-around at the bottom of the drive, just off of the public road.

Blain recognized the rattle-and-wheeze of Sally’s old truck and since he was just getting ready to rejoin the crew cutting trees to extend the pasture, he stepped out to see what Sally was up to.

“Holy crap, Sally! What happened to you?” Blain said as Sally opened the driver’s door and stepped out.

Sally had a split lip and his left eye had evidence that he would soon be sporting a magnificent shiner.

“I got in a tussle” is all he shared.

Blain frowned. He knew Sally did not give his patronage to bars since they were expensive and Sally had a steady source of home-made liquid-goods. He also knew that Sally was affable and was nearly always able to talk his way through any kind of difficulty.

“How’d that happen?” Blain wanted to know.

“First, I gotta have you fish alla yer groceries outa the back of the truck and tick them off the list. I dunno if maybe some of them got stolen, and it ain’t like I'm seein’ too good with one eye swellen shut and the other sorta teary…” Sally said.

Soon, Blain was joined by Sarah and Ellie and they worked as a team. Blain doing the lifting, Sarah reading off the contents of each bag and Ellie ticking off the items. While they were working, Sally regaled them with the tale of his sorry escapade.

“I was on the way back from Athens when I stopped at that grab-n-go on Twenny-Seven to git a slushy of Mountain Dew” Sally said. “A man’s gotta stay hydrated, ya know.”

Ellie and Sarah nodded. The grab-n-go had been on the south side of Dayton since forever.

“So I come out, drinking my slurshy when I sees these two wimmen pullin stuff outa the back-a my truck. I go over to ask them real polite-like to stop and they started whalin’ on me” Sally said in amazement. “Spilt my slurshy, too.”

Sally went on to bemoan the indignity of wearing Mountain Dew. Wasn’t no way he was going to be able to ‘splain to his wife he was drinking coke, him having “sugar” and all. Not only had he gotten a physical beating, he was gonna get a tongue lashing when he got home.

“Looks like it is all here” Ellie said in a businesslike way.

“Yah, I din’t think they woulda taken any of your stuff. Ain’t like a meth-head is gonna haul off ten-pound bags of flour” Sally said.

Ellie’s ears perked up. “You reckon they are meth-heads?”

“Yup. I could smell it. Somebody nearbye is cookin’” Sally said.

Ellie frowned. That was bad news.

“Kinda surprised, actually” Sally said. “Last I heard it was a lot cheaper to smuggle it in from Mexico than to cook it up here.”

“Its a money-maker for the Cartels” Sally explained. “They might transfer it from one vehicle to another out here but they do their warehousin’ and most of their distribution in the city.”

“Somebody cookin’ meth up here is prolly a freelancer and the Cartel takes a mighty dim view of freelancers” Sally concluded.

Sarah said to Sally “Give me your shirt. I can rinse it out. You will be more comfortable that way.”

“Mighty obliged, Miss Sarah. Mighty obliged” Sally said.

That night the adults had a pow-wow on Sig’s patio. The main topic of conversation was the possibility of a meth operation in the neighborhood. They had chosen Copperhead Cove because it was remote and completely off the radar screens of any authorities. Unfortunately, that made it ideal for cookin’ meth.