The sheriff's truck pulled into the many empty spots in front of Howard's Pharmacy, eying the broken window with trepidation. He pulled his cowboy hat from the passenger seat, tilting his head, as he nestled the hat into the place it was meant to be. His eyes never left the store, he opened his door, and his boot crushed the gravel as it slammed into the asphalt. Bobby rested his hand against the butt of his revolver peering through the window of his trucks door. The sheriff took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever awaited him inside the pharmacy. As he approached the broken window, shards of glass cracked under his boot and he noticed a trail of blood leading towards the back of the store.
The sheriff impatiently leaned against his open door, his voice booming through the quiet street. "Howard?" he called out, hoping for a response. The silence was thick until a timid and uncertain voice finally answered with an unconvincing "Yes?"
"Now, I've known Howard for damn near twenty years now, and there ain't no shot that's his voice,"
The sheriff's bark echoed through the tense air, his fingers white-knuckled around the handle of his weapon, poised to draw at any moment. His eyes narrowed as he waited for a response, but when none came, Sheriff Bobby's voice turned harsh and commanding. "If you ain't gonna tell me who you are, I'm coming in guns blazing." His hand moved with practiced ease, drawing his sleek revolver from its holster. With a swift crouch, he huddled closer to the ground, using the broken window as cover. The glass shards glinted dimly, creating a makeshift barricade against danger. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the area, ready for any sudden movement or sound. Every sense was heightened, every muscle tense and ready to react.
"Shit, don't shoot," The voice was shaky and unsteady, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper. Each word was punctuated with a tremor, conveying the intense fear and anxiety that filled the
"That was Keith, he ain't the smartest, you gotta know that by now Bobby," the voice continued.
"Larry Oakley, that you in there boy," Sheriff Bobby asked as he stood up from the window, knowing the boys weren't a violent sort. "What you doing in the dark of Howard's store," the sheriff asked, coming to his own conclusions.
"It's Larry and me, sheriff," Keith Oakley answered before his brother could respond. "Ma's offly sick, and we just had to get her some medicine, we tried knocking," Kieth continued through the shushing Larry was giving him an isle away.
"Boy, I was at your mamma's funeral, there ain't no cure you gonna find in there to bring back the dead, what you really doing?" The Sheriff sighed in exasperation, trying his best to contain his frustration at the Oakley brothers' constant antics. Larry, growing tired of Keith's big mouth, spoke up before his brother could get them into even more trouble.
"We named our dog Ma after mamma passed," Larry lied, trying to weave together a story from Kieth's bullshit. "Ain't no vet out here, so we were gonna try some human medicine you hear," Larry spun a tale that even Keith would find hard to believe. But when he glanced at his brother, he saw a grin as wide as Kentucky on his face and a thumbs up in approval.
"Ain't that something," Sheriff Bobby yelled back to Larry through the window. "Now I want to believe you to be honest folks, just gonna need you both to answer my question at the same time, you hear?" Bobby hollered to the brothers through a smirk stretched across his face. "What kind of dog is Ma," The sheriff asked.
"It's a pit bull," Larry's voice was drowned out by Keith's exclamation of "a Chihuahua!" The other two people present fell silent as they processed Keith's words.
"Outta all the dogs in the world, your ass picks a Chihuahua," Larry tore into his older brother, who tried to hide against the glass door of the cooler. "A Fucking Chihuahua," Larry hissed again unable to compute with his older brother's mind.
"It just came out, y'all know I'm not good at telling tall tales," Kieth muttered loud enough for both of the people to hear. A billowing laugh rang from outside the store, as the sheriff grasped his knees unable to stay upright. "Just wait until the town hears about this," Bobby spoke to the brothers. "Now y'all come out of there, I'm gonna give you a pass, cause I don't have time to arrest you and drag y'all to jail. But y'all paying for the window, and whatever you broke, and Howard's gonna be honest with me if you don't." The sheriff grunted as he pushed himself up to a standing position, using his knees for support. He surveyed the scene before him, taking in the broken windows and scattered debris of the shop. With a shake of his head, he turned and strode back to his truck, awaiting the slow exit of Dumb and Dumber from the building.
"Can we turn on the radio," Keith complained in an almost whiny tone, his body squished between Bobby and his brother in the middle seat of the truck.
"Ain't nothing on the radio," Bobby responded, his amber eyes focused intently on the road ahead while simultaneously keeping an eye on his passengers.
"You got a cassette tape," Kieth's voice is constantly buzzing in the background, a persistent hum of demands and questions. Bobby can hear the slight whine in his tone as he begs for entertainment.
"This truck may be old, but it ain't that old," Bobby's face is scowling, his jaw tensed and his brow furrowed with annoyance. He glances back at the brothers in the truck, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together in frustration.
"How about a CD Sheriff," Larry pipped in on the conversation.
"How about y'all, sit there quietly and think about something to do with your life that ain't criminal," Sheriff Bobby spoke, causing the brothers in the car to shut up. The three men sat in silence as they made their way to Petes Farm until Larry started to hum a song as he stared out the window, Keith's head bounced to the beat of the hum.
"Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong," Keith began singing to the pitch of his brother's hum.
"West Virginia, mountain mamma, take me home, country roads," Larry joined in, stopping the humming as he synchronized his pitch with his brother's.
"You boys better cut that out, or I'm gonna have to shoot you and bury you out here," The sheriff said, wishing he picked up a box of Tylenol from Howard's Store before leaving with the Oakley Brothers.
The Sheriff's cruiser bumped over the rugged terrain as they turned onto the narrow dirt path that led to Pete's Farm. The headlights illuminated the abandoned and dilapidated fence, its once-white paint now chipped and peeling. The road was rough, scattered with large rocks and gravel, making for a bumpy ride. It didn't exactly give off a welcoming vibe.
"Now, y'all gonna sit here quietly while I go chat with Pete," Bobby's stern voice brooked no argument as he spoke to the Oakley brothers while their vehicle approached the farm. The brothers obediently nodded their heads in agreement with the sheriff's statement. His truck's headlights illuminated a beaten and worn cream-colored house, its windows shattered and in desperate need of replacement. The sheriff's hand reached out to the gear shift as he pulled the truck into park. But before any further movement could be made, a sudden shot erupted from the house, startling everyone in the truck. The bullet sliced through the air and ricocheted off a nearby rock, disappearing into the darkness that surrounded the farm. With quick reflexes, all three men threw themselves onto the floor of the truck, twisting into a jumbled heap like a human pretzel.