White Lightning Page #2

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What, today? No way.

- You got a big race today, have you?

- You know it.

- Can I have a little tap of that?

- What's that?

That's moon, ain't it, pard?

Is that what that is?

Shoot. I was wondering.

Some old boy come by about an hour ago,

just left it there.

Hell, it's yours.

I don't know what the hell it is.

You think I'm the fuzz?

I don't know what you are.

Gawd!

That shine'll blind you, boy.

My name's Gator McKlusky.

You know why I'm here, don't you?

I said you know why I'm here, don't you?

Last year you made $18,000,

working on cars and running

moonshine whiskey to your neighbours.

Except you neglected to pay

Uncle Sam the taxes.

He's pissed off about that.

Man, is he pissed off about that!

Warm your cars up and get 'em ready

to go and get used to the track.

So, I'm gonna help you make some

deliveries, take down a few names.

Is that right? Tell me somethin'.

Why mess with an old boy who's just tryin'

to make a livin' out of liquor?

I'm only gonna nail one guy's hide:

J C Connors.

J C Connors? Shoot!

You might as well try to swim over to

China and get old Mao Tse-tung. Bye-bye.

- You're thirsty.

- You got the best shine in town, Maggie.

Fill it up.

Did you hear about James?

He got so bombed on this stuff,

he put it in the chicken mash

and those eggs slammed.

- They came out fried.

- Give me your money.

- Here's five hot ones.

- Better not be hot.

- Not any hotter than what's holdin' them.

- You behave yourself.

- See you next week.

- Bye, sugar.

Jeremiah!

Are you playing with that gun?

- Open the door, dammit!

- That was a dumb thing to do.

- What's going on out here?

- Go on back in the house.

Sharon Anne,

what are you doing out here?

Give me back my gun.

That's my gun. Give it back to me.

Don't ever take a man's gun.

What's the matter with you?

Look what you did to the stock!

And look at that.

Who the hell's gonna fix my ceiling? You?

- Will you just calm down?

- Don't tell me to calm down!

- No damn federal stool-pigeon is gonna...

- Don't call me that.

What are you if you ain't a stool-pigeon?

Take a bite of this.

It'll make you feel better.

Get the hell away from me, man.

You know them two college boys

that drowned in the lake?

You didn't have to hit me in the gut, man.

- One of them boys was my brother.

- I'm sick.

- I said one of them kids was my brother.

- I said you didn't have to hit me in the gut!

No sheriff is gonna kill

any brother of mine.

- Well, go hit him in the gut, not me!

- You didn't even know him.

Know him? I've known him since

I was a kid. He's been the sheriff here.

Not the sheriff!

I'm talking about my brother!

Hey, Maggie.

Henry, why don't you just bring it out

in broad daylight?

I told you I want one gallon in there

and the rest outsideways.

Them feds ain't comin' to get you, honey.

Unless they wanna reckon with me.

Who the hell's that?

Who does he haul for?

- You better start answering my questions.

- I don't have to tell you a damn thing.

- I'm on probation.

- You broke probation.

You know it and I know it and so do they.

If you don't answer my questions,

they'll send you back to prison.

You're not gonna see your kids or your

wife no more. Now, answer my questions.

Lookee, man.

I ain't got no damn love for J C Connors.

But I can't help you. Even if I could,

it wouldn't do you any good.

If I got you in to run liquor, make liquor,

what good's it gonna do you?

For gettin' court proof, legal stuff like that,

you ain't gonna make it.

I pay J C Connors, sure. Everybody does.

But it's cash money, man.

It's in a paper sack. Ain't no cheques.

And them tax boys put me on a stand

in front of a damn jury, I'm gonna lie.

I'm gonna have to.

Five years in a federal pen is no picnic,

but J C Connors can put me under.

You understand what I'm saying to you?

If you wanna get that sheriff, man...

you're gonna have to kill him.

- Do you want me to put that on your tab?

- Yeah, if you still trust me.

Trust you? No way.

Ain't this some beautiful mess?

Five years in the pen one way,

and J C Connors the other.

You gotta help me, Dude.

You gotta help me.

A court-house right in the middle

of the city square.

I like that.

You don't hardly see that any more.

- That is the court-house?

- No, it's a pool hall.

Court-house is across the street over here.

Legalise that sh*t,

it's gonna ruin moonshine liquor for ever.

Them long-haired hippy freaks.

Pot-smoking bastards...

- What say, sis?

- Hey, Dude.

Ha!

- What say, Ray, TR?

- Old Dirty Dude's back in town.

- How you boys doin'?

- Pretty good. How are you?

- You need anybody to do some runnin'?

- Not right now.

Old Roy's out back. He may need

somebody to run blocker for him.

Yeah?

Take it easy.

- Hey, Roy.

- What say, Dude?

- How's that old race car?

- Better than yours.

I want you to meet somebody.

Gator McKlusky, this is Roy Boone.

Gator, huh? That's a mighty funny name.

Rebel Roy. Knew an old boy back home

with Rebel Roy on his car. A drivin' fool.

Run old Junior Johnson

off the road one time.

Bull. Ain't nobody ever rode

old Junior Johnson off the road, boy.

- Wanna shoot some pool?

- No, I got Sugar Puddin' waitin' out there.

Had Rebel Roy on the side of the car.

Hell of a football player. Rebel Bookman.

Every time he won a race,

he'd yell out the rebel yell. Yee-up!

Rack 'em up, will you?

Dude, why don't you come on outside

and say hello to Sugar Puddin'?

She'd be glad to see you.

I'd kinda like to say hello to her myself.

- Rebel Roy, huh?

- Uh-huh.

Roy, I understand you need somebody

to run blocker for you.

No, I don't need nobody right now, Dude.

- Gator's a hell of a driver.

- I know. Rebel Roy, huh?

Rebel Roy, yeah.

Taught me everything I know.

That's why I'm so good.

- You wouldn't kid me, now, would you?

- Uh-huh.

Hey, Sugar Puddin'.

This here's Gator McKlusky.

Roy, come here.

I wanna show you somethin'.

I'll be right back, Sugar Puddin'.

Rebel Roy, huh?

Good-looking rascal.

Reminds me a lot of you.

Had a rebel flag, just like you got,

painted right down the hood.

Doggone, that joker could drive.

You wanna look at somethin', look at that.

Wow!

- You got yourself some motor there, boy.

- Sure you don't need a blocker, Roy?

Well, I don't know, Dude.

I might.

I just might. I sure will think about it.

There's your friend.

- J C Connors?

- That's him.

- I wanna talk to him.

- Go talk to him. I ain't botherin'.

- I want you to come with me.

- Are you crazy? I'll wait here in the car.

What the hell's wrong with you, man?

You're gonna kill us.

Don't act so damn crazy!

- What's your hurry, Dude?

- Ain't no hurry, Sheriff.

- Hot, though, ain't it?

- Yeah, it's hot.

Just don't make it any hotter

than it is, now.

I won't.

I'll have somethin' for you

on Friday, Mr Connors.

I'll bet this machine'd outrun

about anything, wouldn't it?

Yeah.

Motorcycles and state police cars.

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