Linda
Hooten
A
Character Study by Rod Lindsey
Had to give Linda kudos for straightforwardness,
at least. The woman would get all over Hoot’s
ass at a moment’s notice if she thought he had it coming. Usually…he did.
He
remembered a time when the kids were still at home, the oldest in high school,
youngest in elementary. Hoot was
breaking-in a new partner named Mark Cooper, and Linda invited Cooper to dinner
one Saturday night, one of those get-to-know-ya affairs. A young deputy marshal, still new to the
star, when Cooper arrived the kids were all over him, driving him crazy. So, real smooth-like, Hoot invited his new
partner to run down to Sears with him. Do
a little shopping before dinnertime. Get
away from the Wild Bunch for a while.
“I want to pick up
a new bench grinder while they’re on sale,” he’d said. Instead, he took Cooper to a bowling alley
that had a card room in back. Cooper
didn’t gamble, didn’t even know how to play cards, but he knew how to bowl, so
he subbed on a league team while Hoot played poker.
About
four hours later, Cooper was long done bowling, and Linda showed up. She was clearly pissed off. And she walked straight over to the table
where Hoot was playing. He was up by
about $500. A big stack of chips in
front of him.
“Ezra Monroe Hooten…you
shit!
Get your ass up from there right now!” Linda said without a Hi, How ya
doing – or anything. Linda was a tiny,
compact woman. Hoot would one
day realize that a lot of tiny women are forceful, but from the start Linda
set the standard. She could roil herself
up like a Komodo dragon if she thought the occasion warranted it – and
apparently this one did.
Hoot considered
himself a man of keen survival instincts.
His entire adult life was testimony to that fact; that he had lived
through it was evidence enough. Now, his
instincts were telling Hoot that he was in trouble with the wife. But he’d finally broken an evening-long losing
streak, was on a roll, and the devil inside didn’t want to leave. He replied, “Just let me finish this hand,
Honey. Then I’ll go.”
He’d been drinking
pretty heavily while playing cards, and Hoot wore his most becoming, just-mellow-out-a-little-and-everything-will-be-alright
expression spread across his face, his never-miss smile fitting as perfectly as
a top hat on a tomcat. Linda hated that
look, and, without warning, she started hitting him on the head with her purse,
calling him a lying bastard, demanding that he get up right now, and
complaining that dinner was ruined several hours ago.
Hoot was drunk
enough to think it was hilarious as hell that Linda was swatting him with her
purse, so he just ducked the blows and fended her off with his free hand,
trying in vain to protect his chips and his drink with the hand that held his
cards. “But I’m winning Linda,” he pleaded. “I can’t just quit in the middle
of a hand when I’m winning!”
“The hell you
can’t!” Linda screamed, and whacked him again.
“Now, Linda, just
settle down,” Hoot said, still languidly defending his head from the battering
vengeance of her purse.
“That’s my
money you’re playing with there Hot Shot.”
She said. “So just gimme those
chips!”
And that’s when a
wild fusillade with her purse knocked his pile of chips onto the floor. “Okay!
Okay! I think I’d better fold,
guys,” he said to the other players. Scrambled
down onto his knees to gather the strewn wealth.
Linda paced around
the table, cussing him out, cussing the other players, raking him with horrible
verbal broadsides, taking out his rudder and flaying his back with the purse every
time she came near, her anger insatiable.
Hoot cashed-in,
gave her the money, and Linda stomped out of the card room with the cash in her
fist. At the exit door she stopped in
front of Agent Cooper and hissed in a stage whisper that could’ve easily
reached the back row of The Met, “I don’t care where you take him, but don’t
bring him home!”
Hoot made Cooper
drive him home in spite of Linda’s ultimatum.
Insisted that his new partner stay and eat the ruined dinner too. Burnt pot roast, dry and stringy as
charcoal-flavored beef jerky. Withered
potatoes the texture and taste of leather.
Hoot raising his voice and praising Linda’s cooking, swearing that it
wasn’t burnt too badly, while she fumed in the other room, refusing to sit at
the table with them.
It was awful. But as soon as Cooper had left, soon as the
dishes were done and the kids were in bed, Hoot and Linda made up and made love
with significant passion. They used to
do that a lot back then…make up and make love – he missed it.
No comments:
Post a Comment