The Getaway

A short story based on the prompt for V.2 of Sum Flux: Equal and Opposite Forces

This was written as a submission for the next volume of SUM FLUX, a Substack zine that you can and should check out for work by many excellent artists.

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Push then pull. Push then pull. When Little Lloyd pumped, the pair sped up. When Big Buck pumped, the pair slowed down. They’d been at it for an hour like that, stuttering down the tracks.

The heist went off without a hitch, mostly. Made the grab, stole the handcar, took off for the sunset. But they neglected a small detail, botched the whole job, and ain’t that always the way.

They got spotted taking the goods. And forgot the train weren’t in today. And didn’t stretch beforehand. And went out at noonday. And let the loot tumble off the trolley about two miles back. Just one big small detail.

There weren’t no choice left but to escape, and they meant to do it. Even if it had to be slack-armed, sun-baked and empty-handed. As long as they both kept pushing and pulling, it’d all turn out alright.

“I’m gonna shoot you right in that giant head.” Big Buck dangled from the raised arm, feet nowhere near the platform.

Little Lloyd pulled him back down all mopey because Buck’s always throwing nastiness like that his way. Trying to get a rise out of him. Except bigger men have to be bigger men sometimes, so Lloyd took it in stride. Sure, he dreamt of crushing his pal’s windpipe from time to time—a man’s got to have hobbies—but that don’t mean he could do it.

“Kill you dead. Soon as we’re in the clear.”

Well, maybe Lloyd could. Maybe he could do it accidentally. Then it’d be fine, right? Goldarnit, who put this chair here? I done tripped over it and drove an elbow straight through Big Buck Foster. What a shame, what a shame. Could be satisfying. Naw, that just ain’t him. If life had taught him anything, satisfaction takes a selfishness he simply can’t muster.

“You were s’posed to keep a lookout. You’re taller than Goliath, it should have been easy.”

And Buck was s’posed to check the train schedule. They got to the station and, surprise of all surprises, no train. Buck swore up and down it weren’t his fault, it was the numbers on the sign. They wouldn’t quit jumping around on him. Lloyd was sympathetic though. It sounded like hard living dealing with uncooperative numbers. He had generally known them to be stalwart fellows like to stay were you put them, but he figured these must be numbers of a sort he weren’t acquainted with.

“Size of your skull, you’d think there’d be brains to match.”

That line hurt more the first time, when Buck had started in on him forty minutes ago. No, it hurt more the second time, when he started in again twenty minutes later. The gibe was bad enough, but worrying he couldn’t inspire fresher insults was salt in the wound. By this third time, it was just plain boring.

“How do you get by with a brain that tiny, anyway?”

So obsessed with size, Buck is. It’s all he can talk about most days. And whether it’s guns, gals, or gonads, he’s sure to whine that his ain’t big enough. ‘Course Lloyd had seen his “piece” once, by unfortunate chance, so he knew Buck wasn’t telling tales out of school about at least one of those. Not that he held judgement agin it—a man’s got what he’s got, and that’s for him and God alone to hash out. Facts are facts, is all.

“And where’s our prize, blockhead? Lost in the desert, that’s where.”

Lloyd had waved away platefuls of exception up till that moment, but now he was hungry to take some. Losing the loot weren’t his doing. At one point, Buck lost his footing on a push. His little legs lashed out. Kicked their spoils over the side, and they were trundling too fast to stop and get them. Alright, Lloyd weren’t too proud to admit he might have yanked the arm a touch too hard. He’d accept a fraction of the blame and no more.

“Aw, hell! The law’s caught up to us! Pump, damn you!”

They each applied a coat of elbow grease and got that trolley moving faster than it ever had.

***

Sheriff Collier and his deputy so new he ain’t memorized the name yet followed behind the cart, horses walking at a leisurely pace, as they had done for miles.

“Should we put a stop to this ‘fore the old timers hurt themselves?” Watching them struggle brought to mind the deputy’s own grandparents, two folks more fragile than glass, and he feared the worst for the septuagenarian swindlers.

“Oh, they’ll tire themselves out soon. Always do.” Sheriff Collier would never say so, least of all to his deputy, but he got a kick out of these two. He weren't a reading man and broke every instrument he ever tried to pick up. The daily dust-up with the fabled Backfire Boys was about all the entertainment to be had around here. He weren't keen to end it early.

The deputy fanned himself with his hat. “Can I expedite the goings-on, at least?”

The sheriff snuck a peek at the sun from behind a palm and relented to the heat. “Have at it.”

Shouting through cupped hands, the deputy laid out the charges. “Buck Foster and Lloyd Reynolds! You are under arrest for the thefts of that handcar and the pie from Jerusha Meyer’s window.”

Sheriff Collier joined the fun with a catchphrase he’d been polishing. “And y’all come quietly, y’hear? Enough of this foolishness.”

***

“I can’t go to jail, Buck!”

The poor man was unraveling. Quieter than church mice most of the time, till the walls start closing in. Then you’re lucky if he breathes, let alone shuts up. And forget slipping a word in edgewise. Buck can’t stand when he gets to talking. A mute Lloyd is a happy Lloyd. Buck don’t like to see his friend in trouble, even if he’s oft the source of it.

“They’ll hang me for this, I just know it!”

Ain’t no way they’d ever sentence him to hang. Buck’s promised him so a million times over. The rope would snap under his weight soon as the trap door opened, so it’s nothing to worry about. Besides, this weren’t a hanging job any how.

“Tar and feathers! Tar and feathers, Buck!”

Weren’t no one going to waste good tar for roofing and feathers for bedding. Lloyd’s mind was being awful ornery. Seemed that were the case more and more those days. Why, just Thursday last he couldn’t recall Buck’s name for the life of him. Buck could never forget the fear in his eyes, the loneliness. Started pinning a little slip of paper to his shirt with his name written on to help ol’ Lloyd out.

“Oh Lord! Life is flashing ‘fore my eyes!”

Buck’s broken heart begged he take charge before they lost Lloyd to a fit of mania. Far as he could see, they one had one option, and that was to jump and make a break for it. He snapped and pointed two fingers toward Lloyd’s eyes then spun them around to his.

“What is it, Buck? Do you got a plan? Sure, you do! You’ve always got one!”

Finally, a smile. Things were looking up. Buck covered the back of his left hand with his right. Held up three fingers.

“On three…”

Buck indicated himself, stood two fingers on his palm, bent the “knees”, and hopped his hand southeast. He indicated Lloyd and done the same, but to the northwest.

“You’ll jump that way, and I’ll jump the other? But Buck, that’ll put you too close to the sheriff! They’ll nab you for sure!”

Buck sidled to Lloyd, careful not to slip off the cart at speed. Pulled him into a bear hug as strong as forty-five years of brotherhood and almost couldn’t let go. Leaned back to clasp Lloyd’s shoulders. “You live for the both us, damn it.”

Lloyd bawled his eyes out. “I love you, Buck!”

Buck cried too. “I love you, Lloyd.”

They each took their corners, counted three together, and surrendered to the air.

Both men hit the dirt hard, cursing and coughing. Clutched at limbs that felt cleft in twain.

Lloyd wasted no time rising and running. Well, rising and hobbling. Progress was slow having to drag that dead tree-trunk leg.

Buck nursed an arm, feared he’d have to lose it. Hollered to the lawmen, “Come and get me, you yellow-bellied rats!” To his partner headed for the horizon, “See you on the other side!” Then laid back and waited for either fate to catch up, or for the sun to scorch him to ash.

***

The deputy couldn’t believe what he just witnessed. “Why’d those dummies jump off a stopped cart?”

Sheriff Collier was near bowled off his horse by laughter. “Don’t those two beat all?” What he wouldn’t give to be putting his feet up with a plate of victuals in hand to watch more of the show.

Buck called something out the deputy couldn’t catch. “What’s that? Say again? Hold on—“ He snapped the reins, bid his horse draw closer and closer till the words were clear, and returned.

“What aha did he say eehee?”

“Said uh ‘You tell Jerusha the pie’s six feet under, and tastes better now too.’”

The sheriff exploded, piqued to full-throated guffaws that stung the gut and spooked the horse. That beast reared and kicked and yelped and spilled Sheriff Collier to the dirt in a cloud of dust. He clambered to his feet trying to preserve some of the dignity of his office and patted the patina off his pants. The expression on the deputy portended a terse chat regarding insubordination and respecting one’s seniors.

“Alright, let’s go pick ‘em up.”

***

Dr. Burke gave the all clear, but you wouldn’t know it from Buck and Lloyd’s carrying on, talking cripple this and white lights that.

“Boys, it’s just a couple sprains!” They pipe down. The good doctor ain’t known to be a yelling man, and they’d like to keep it that way. “And at your age, that’s as lucky as you can get.”

He pointed to Buck. “You keep that arm in that sling.”

Pointed to Lloyd. “And you get used to that crutch.”

Clapped his hands and fanned them out, more a showman than people gave him credit for. “And everything’s gonna be alright.”

He took his leave of the pair through the cell door so the deputy could lock it behind him. Tipped a hat to all and meandered back to his clinic. The deputy made to leave as well, hoping there was more important work to be done. “You two behave now.”

Buck sucked in a deep breath and sighed. “That was one for the ages, pal.”

Lloyd studied the tag on the shirt of this man next to him. “You said it uh Buck?”

“What kind of pie do you think Jerusha will bake tomorrow?”

Lloyd smacked his lips. “Oh, I hope it’s cherry!”

Buck was up like a shot and livid. “Cherry? Who wants to eat that cow dung?”

And he launched into a whole speech about the virtues of apples, the gospel of custard. Lloyd laid himself down on the bench, closed his eyes, and drank it all in, happy thinking any pie at all would suit him fine.

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