Mama Rides Shotgun

Stomps and whistles followed the last chord of Jerry Mincey’s song, “Plantin’ Yankees.”

“Thank you, folks,’’ he nodded to the crowd, a smile showing above his salt-and-pepper beard. “We’re go

The music was almost forty-five minutes late getting started. But once Jerry launched into his Florida Cracker repertoire, the crowd was with him all the way. He sang of ancient Indian legends and modern over-development; of the days when rivers ran clear and cowmen moved herds of half-wild cattle across open lands.

“Some of Jerry’s songs make me so sad.’’ Marty took a sip from a cup of hot chocolate. “Everything about Florida has changed.’’

“I can think of a few more changes I’d like to see,’’ Sal said. “Can’t somebody do something about the bugs? And Florida is too hot for humans most of the year.’’

Maddie harrumphed. “You know, Sal, I-95 leads north just like it does south. You could always go back home, where everything is so much better,’’ she said. “While you’re at it, why don’t you take about a million of your fellow transplanted New Yorkers with you?’’

Mama gave Maddie’s arm a pinch. “Hush! There’s no call for you to be rude.’’

Maddie rubbed her arm. “Ow, Mama! I’m just telling him like it is. That’s what Northerners like, don’t they? They like people to be straightforward and direct, no beating around the bush.’’

“In other words, rude,’’ I put in.

“Here we go.’’ Sal threw up his hands. “We go

Maddie was winding up to defend the Motherland when a scuffle erupted behind us in the open-air theater. We all turned our heads to find the source of the shouting and stumbling.

“You’re a son-of-a-bitch,’’ Trey yelled. His face was red; his body swayed. The dented cowboy hat was crooked on his head.

“That’s the alcohol talking, and I’d advise it to shut up.’’ Joh

“We?’’ Trey blinked hard, shaking his head. “You don’t have nuthin’ to do with my daddy’s funeral. You weren’t his friend.’’

People seated nearby started standing up, moving their chairs and coolers out of the way.

“And you’ve got balls,’’ Trey continued, “telling me to show respect.’’ He slurred the word. “Like you did? Oh yeah, you respected Daddy so much you went and sued him to try to get all our money!’’

First Belle, and then Wyno

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Trey.’’ Joh

“Or you’ll do what, chicken-shit?’’ Trey brought his face close enough to spray Joh

Wyno

“And I know you never got over Daddy stealing the only woman you ever loved.’’

At this point, most of the crowd looked at Wyno

Slitting his eyes, Joh

Uh-oh, I thought. I started to get out of my chair to intervene, but Sal stopped me.

“I’ve got this, Mace. I’ve had lots of practice.’’

Heaving himself to his feet, Sal headed toward the fight. A couple of other men saw him moving in, and did the same. Before Trey could react, they had him surrounded, arms pi

Jerry re-took the stage, starting right in with “Narcoossee Lucie.” Trey yelled and cussed from outside. But his shouts quickly grew distant. By the time Jerry and his partner on upright bass got to their show-closer, “Osceola’s Tears,” Sal was easing himself back into his seat.

“What happened?’’ I whispered.

“He’s fine. We got his boots off and got him into bed in his family’s RV. He’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.’’

I thought of Trey’s drinking; his love-hate relationship with his daddy; his squandered brains and talent. Sal may have said otherwise, but Trey was far from fine. And a morning hangover was the least of his troubles.

___

“There’s Joh

“Don’t be so rough, Maddie! I have eyes. I can see the man.’’

“Stop squabbling,’’ Marty said. “Hey, do you think Joh

The three of us had been on our way to Maddie’s tent to turn in. About twenty feet from the food trailer, we stopped and watched as Joh

The mini-concert was over. Sal and Mama had headed off to Home Sweet Cadillac. Carlos must have caught up again with his fellow lawman from the FDLE, because he hadn’t come to the show. And, after Trey’s drunken scene, none of the Brambles returned either.

Marty shivered in the chilly air. She’s only about half mine or Maddie’s size, and her body never seems to have enough energy to keep her blood circulating right. Her hands and feet, especially, are always cold.

“Can’t hurt to ask Joh

“Forget the hot chocolate,’’ Maddie whispered in my ear. “I want to hear how Lawton stole his woman.’’

Joh

“I don’t have any more pie for your mama. Tell her I said she’s had enough, hurt ankle or not.’’

I was about to take offense on Mama’s behalf, when Marty chirped, “Thanks so much for spoiling her, Joh

“Well, three pieces is a lot of pie,’’ Joh

I didn’t mention Mama had actually eaten four pieces over the day, plus the chocolate chip cookies.

“Well, we appreciate it,’’ Marty said.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any hot chocolate?’’ Maddie asked, as direct as any Northerner.

Joh

“Sorry,’’ Maddie said. “I was just asking because our little sister is iced to the bone. She’s prone to catching colds.’’

Marty gave a delicate cough. Joh

“Oh, all right. I’ve got about one cup left in the urn. I was just about to toss it.’’

He put a mug on the table and lifted a silver serving urn almost upside down. The final cup flowed. He’d stripped off his long sleeves to a white T-shirt underneath. Cords of muscle stood out on his thick arms. If Joh

“You showed a lot of restraint tonight,’’ I said. “Trey was itching for a fight.’’

Joh