Jimbo & Jared

                                    

                                          
           
                          
"Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off the solitary place, where he prayed" ~ Mark 1:35
                          
"So, you're tellin' me; that Grace is suicidal? That fuckin' blows" Lucy threw her head back and laughed. Lucy's hair flapped like a dove's wings in the air as we whipped past the barren highway. She wore a blue shirt that brought out her fair skin and some shorts so tight that it showed her religion. 
                          
I, on the other hand, went safe with some comfortable yoga pants and a hoodie.
                          
"Why didn't you tell everyone else?" Lucy pondered.
                          
"Well, how would you feel if someone else told you that ma was suicidal?"
                          
Lucy patted my knee and said, "You're right again, Sarah"
                          
On the way to Uncle Jimbo's office; I told some of the stuff I held back from everyone. But I still kept the fact that Abraham and Grace wanted us dead because I didn't want her to stress out over it.
                          
"What made Grace suicidal?" Lucy asked, bringing me out of my stupor.
                          
"Maybe it's similar to Lady Macbeth" I tossed out.
                          
"What do you mean?" Lucy asked as she drove onto the street where Uncle Jimbo worked. It was always deserted and Uncle Jimbo always joked how he could murder multiple women and no one could hear their shrieks.
                          
Uncle Jimbo told many bad jokes; as you can see.
                          
"When Lady Macbeth killed King Duncan; her mind couldn't handle the grief and she talked in her sleep. That's how the maids found out that it was her that killed King Duncan. Then she committed suicide because she couldn't get away from the truth fast enough" I rattled off.
                          
Lucy nodded. "But Lady Macbeth killed one person and acted out. Just how many people did Grace and Abraham kill?"
                          
The unanswered question rang in the air as Lucy pulled into a parking spot and got out of the car. She grabbed a backpack that had zippers bulging from the contents inside and quickly dashed for the door. I followed suit and ran into the building as the sun's rays pulled at my skin into a heartfelt embrace.
                          
"I swan, you all musta pissed God off somehow. It's drier than a popcorn fart 'round these parts!" a cop said; which was followed by laughter.
                          
"Aw look at Jakob. 'Im a Yankee. You guys gotta speak crystal 'cuz he doesn't know whether to check his ass or scratch his watch" Uncle Jimbo's thick accent was heard from down the hall as more laughter and hands banging on tables could be heard.
                          
"That's not fair! Just because I come from the North means nothing!" Jakob shouted.
                          
"Tell that to a chicken whose head has been chopped off"
                          
More laughter ensued.
                          
"You thinkin' they in the kitchen?" I chuckled.
                          
Lucy shifted the backpack on her shoulder that held the blood containers before answering. "Come on Sarah. This is Southern Georgia. Men will either be in the kitchen, bathroom, or bedroom" She said before leaving me in the hallway and pushing the kitchen door open.
                          
"Lucy! Sarah! How are my moon pies?" Uncle Jimbo rushed over to us with an open Co-Cola glass in his hand. He hugged us both and his prickly beard scratched my face with love and affection.
                          
"Boys; these are my nieces. Girls, these are my buds in the sun" He waved towards the table of five men playing poker. All five men wore their police uniform; which bulged at the stomach area for all but one cop. The skinny cop had eyes managed to dodge my yoga pants but was glued to Lucy's butt. The other cops had concentration etched into their raining foreheads as they stared at the cards in their hands and sometimes glanced at the pile of money in the center of all of them.