Billy Luck – Episode 16b: Rand in Command

Rand droned on, wiping back an occasional tear of genuine regret.
“She chose her own path, and while her choices may have been less than wise, our sweet Elaine always employed the proper amount of discretion, and, aahh… more than the requisite COMPASSION..”
A pronounced CLOMP, CLOMP of the dirt clods began to drum across the lid of Elaine’s plain pine coffin. Sopha, her snake-dancing compatriette, began to sob uncontrollably. One or two ‘professional mourners, two beat cops, inexplicably, Rand’s mascot, the red-faced Meals, and three severe mortuary employees in worn black suits, rounded out the assembled “throng.”
“What now, Billy-should we go get drunk?” sighed Skipper. He shook his head a vehement “Hell no,” and they left Carlisle standing and gaping, not sure of their next move.
“Let’s walk awhile, Skipper. I need to clear my head.”
A short time later, Rand, having cadged a ride back to his chapel in Macedonia Greene’s battered brown Ford F150 pickup truck, was bent over his desk, sucking on ‘Heaven Hill’ rotgut whiskey.
“Another one gone. Where does it end, O Lord? Uhh, Damn–” The besotted pastor bent forward to retrieve his spilled liquid gold, and just missed a loud “THWACK-“ing sound as a six inch Bowie knife found its way into the window frame next to his sermon blotter.
Reverend, clutching his wet bag and flask, craned his parchment-like neck forward and examined the vibrating knife. It appeared the crosshatched hard rubber handle was smeared with traces of peanut butter. Behind him, through the threadbare purple velvet drape, he heard a dreadful commotion, with Macedonia’s throaty, but shrill cry punctuating the din most effectively.
At the back of the sanctuary, a cascade of booted footsteps, running, culminated in a pronounced “KEE-RASH” of breaking glass and crunching lath. “Reverend, Oh Rev’ Rand,” wailed Macedonia as he entered the side of the room nearest the refectory. “Someone done messed up a whole jar of the peanut butter! Maybe a rat??!”
Rand hung his head sadly, with instinctual recall.
“No, Macedonia, it wasn’t a rat– More likely, it was a FERRET…”