The Lowdown

Come on, you said you'd give me the books.

- I know. I went right over there. I swear. - You went right over there?

I need what is inside the books.

I was asked by Donald to deliver this to you.

It's $10,000. He's taking over the property.

Donald's not loyal to you. Mm-mmm. He's not loyal to anyone.

What else are you doing with the skinheads, huh?

- What do they do for you? - Hey, hey!

We got something that your boss is gonna love.

I heard someone was asking after me. In my place of work.

Next time you wanna talk, call me direct.

Maybe I'll even take you for a ride out to one of our properties.

You could get lost out there.

- What's wrong with you? - Don't look in the barrel.

Why? What's in the barrel?

It's the books. But it's okay. Don't worry.

Who would do that?

Dad, stop. You said, "It's not the books that I wanted. It's what's in the books."

"A weed is a plant out of place."

Let me repeat that. "A weed is a plant out of place.

I find a hollyhock in my corn field, it's a weed.

I find it in my yard, it's a flower."

Wise words from the great Jim Thompson.

And, dear reader, in case you are at all confused by my poetic imagery, it's me.

I, Dale Washberg, am the weed.

The Osage Hills.

My pawpaw's pawpaw acquired this land when he first laid foot in the territory.

Generations of Washbergs were raised here.

Many stories were passed down, wonderful to tell.

Like how my great grandma kept a pet squirrel on a leash tied to a tree,

or how Cousin Elizabeth went screaming into the forest

the first time she saw an automobile.

My own story began when I was yanked from my mother's womb

at 6:00 a.m. on a Tuesday.

The deck was stacked against me from the start.

I was born with a cone head, a busted lip, a broken collarbone, and a black eye.

The forceps were unkind to me, as was my mother's canal.

My father's first words when he saw me were…

"What's wrong with him?"

But my older brother took me under his wing.

Donald always made me feel like I was a part of some great adventure.

When we played Cowboys and Indians…

Come on, Dale.

…we was always short on cowboys.

I was okay being second fiddle.

Unfortunately, that was one fiddle

too many for Mom and Pop.

Mom called me Bobo.

A truly terrible name, also used to describe a ass.

As for Pop, well, he grazed me in my bobo with bird shot.

I have yet to receive an apology or to retrieve all the pellets from my behind.

"The extraction process was an arduous one,

which requires great dexterity and a keen eye."

Okay, you know how I always tell you that writing is about personal expression

and you should never compromise for the sake of the reader?

- Yes. - I take it all back.

Okay, Dad, but come on, I know it's not great, but the guy is dead.

Yeah, so what? It doesn't mean we should stop being honest about his work.

I mean, that's just not our main focus right now.

- You're right. - Mmm.

You two pulling an all-nighter?

Well, looks like we might be here all week. Thank you.

Well, let me know if you need any pancakes, Francis.

I'll get Bobby to make 'em.

He can make 'em in the shape of a peace sign,

anarchy symbol, middle finger. It's pretty cool.

Well, how about a coffee?

Right on.

Hey, Dad, check it out.

I had an odd experience this evening.

I had just retired to my study to resume work on my opus, The Dustbowl Kid.

I heard barking from afar.

My dog, Sally is my first line of defense, and her message was clear.

I can't believe you're wearing white at night.

- Shut the fuck up. - Stupid.

I looked out the window and saw the assassins come out of the tree line

like a crazed band of Lakota Indians of old.

- Keep going. - I'm going.

They say the 7th Cavalry's defeat took about as long as it takes

for a healthy man to eat a large meal.

They certainly meant to make a meal

of me.

I reached for my revolver and rained down thunder upon them.

Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go.

Holy shit! These are the skinheads, the ones who locked me in the trunk.

This is the job they fucked up in Skiatook.

- What? - This is why they got killed.

The skinheads put you in a trunk?

- No, no. - Is that why you're all beat up?

No. It was… It's not like…

I mean, yes, technically, but it wasn't a big deal.

Every trunk has a little lever. You just hit it, it opens.

I got out. It's not a big deal. Please don't tell your mom.

Should I be worried?

No. What would you be worried about? No, no.

Skinheads come and go, you know, these ones are going.

Thanks to Allen.

Wait, the red-headed guy that came by the bookstore the other night?

Oh, my gosh, and I shouldn't be worried?

Okay, okay, the red-headed stranger has nothing to do with us, okay?

Nothing. We're good. We're fine. Promise.

What? You wanna call it a night?

No.

Let's keep going.

I rushed to inform my wife of this bloody ambush.

I reckoned that she ought to be the first to know.

She claimed to have just awakened from a deep slumber

and to have slept through the entire mess.

When I told her what had transpired, she did not react,

which told me all I needed to know.

I had as of late, detected a deeper coldness from her,

of the kind that precludes something dark and foreboding.

Hey, when's that letter dated?

September 15th. Why?

This is from a week before.

I sit here nursing a bottle of Wild Turkey and a sore right hand.

For the first time in my life, I have struck my brother.

Goddamn it, Dale, you are not thinking straight.

I came to him in peace to sort this Indian Head Hills issue.

But he would not listen.

He became angrier and angrier.

Finally, he said the unthinkable to me,

a most vile provocation I could not tolerate.

This is something that's not even yours!

Betty Jo put that terrible idea into his head,

knowing that it would come out of his mouth.

She's not even a real Washberg,

so it's funny her trying to say what belongs to who.

Betty Jo always called me sensitive.

She meant it as weak, but it really means, "quick to perceive things."

To me, that's a strength.

All right, shit.

So a week before the murder, the two brothers have a big blowout?

Which gets blamed on Betty Jo. It seems a little convenient, but maybe...

Yeah, still, she didn't seem to care at all

when Dale told her that the killers came for him.

Yeah, but wouldn't she have heard the shots?

Uh… Word on the street is she's a big drinker.

Even so, didn't seem like news to her.

Like she knew it was coming.

Like she knew it was coming. Yes.

All right, one, Indian Head Hills, old Washberg land.

Sounds like they've been fighting a lot about that recently.

"Indian Head Hills."

Two, "A most vile provocation."

What the hell did Donald say to Dale that set him off so badly?

According to Dale, Betty Jo would know.

We've been looking at this from the wrong angle. I mean,

I've always thought that this conspiracy to kill Dale started in some boardroom,

but what if it was, you know, a more private matter?

No, but how does that explain Allen then? Doesn't he work for that Akron company?

Yeah, but Donald could have hired him as a private contractor, right?

They meet at some fancy-pants benefit. Donald sees him, you know, and he says,

"Hey, that guy looks like the kind of guy who might kill somebody for 1000 bucks."

Kill who for what?

Mom.

How was your trip?

It was good. It was fun. Scooch.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, what's up?

What's up?

I'm here to take her to school. Monday to Friday.

Oh. Yes. Um, you get your homework done?

- Uh-huh. Mmm. - Yeah, yeah.

Yeah, I went down to the store and that Waylon guy said you were here.

He's… He's nice, right?

I think he's a Juggalo, Lee.

He's Indian Mafia.

Oh. Okay, that's better.

You look fried. Were you up all night?

No. Early risers.

Yeah. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Right.

Okay, see you around on the campus, kiddo.

Keep on rocking in the free world. Boom!

Call me… …text me. See you again.

- Actually... - Love you.

I'll meet you in the car. I'll be right there, okay?

Okay.

She's sitting back down.

This is important.

How may I help you, ma'am?

What?

What's wrong?

You pregnant?

No, I'm not pregnant, dummy.

Johnny asked me to marry him.

Jesus, this guy. I mean, he moves fast.

I mean, you told him you swore off marriage, right?

I said yes.

What do you mean?

Why would you say that?

I'm happy.

I gotta get her to school.

My name is Allen. I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict.

Hi, Allen.

Uh, I'm coming up on my two years…

which I should be proud of.

Tell you the truth, it's been hard staying clean lately.

There's someone I work for.

Someone that I let down.