Chp 2: Killin' Mama
Where True Love Meets Toxic Waste
Howdy! Pirates of Appalachia is an epic absurdist satire releasing as a weekly serial. Think 2 parts Huck Finn, 1 part Slaughterhouse-Five, served with a punch to the face by A Boy Named Sue. Learn more or start from the beginning via the buttons below. Happy pirating!
Previously on Pirates of Appalachia… Years after Mama told Kohl the legend of the Pirates of Appalachia and forbade him his inheritance, a WWE-style debate to be the next Guber of the Independent City of Pittsburgh leaves Candidate Adam Patterson with visions of halos and glowing hills….
Lake Dozmary
The Second Coming of Wheeling, Unincorporated West Virginia
Thursday, October 24, 8:20 A.M.
~ Fifteen years since Mama forbade Kohl his inheritance
“I once watched a baby eat his own boogers, and did nothing,” Kohl said, squatting down and digging his fingers into the slimy underbelly of the lake. “I reckon killin’ Mama to git that map ain’t much different.”
Keet took position next to him and likewise dug his fingers into the mud. “Cuckoo,” he chirped, the uncanny imitation of a cuckoo bird’s call sending a pair of warblers retreating from the shoreline.
“Stop scaring the wildlife,” Kohl barked. “Daisy ain’t deceiving me, and I’m no one’s cuckold. I tried going to that hateful city to woo Daisy, but all I came back with was a rash and a sinus headache. I reckon my only chance for love now is that treasure. I’m nothin’ without it.”
The two men worked their fingers across the lake’s bottom, prying beneath rocks, hubcaps, and skulls, feeling for catfish. A few technicolored purple storks edged along the bank across from them, squawking at Keet as if hurling insults. Behind them, Mama could be heard snoring in the family’s trailer, the warped screen door squeaking open when she exhaled then clanging shut when she inhaled, counting Appalachian Time. Happening upon an oddly shaped metallic object, Kohl pulled it from the water. It was a yard sign made of rusted steel featuring a Sasquatch walking in profile. “Daisy will love this,” he said, wiping algae off the word “welcome” situated below the beast. “It’ll look great with her collection of urns.”
An explosion of light burst across the lake, casting twin spotlights on the sign. The light was so intense it reddened the boys’ faces and steam swirled from the lake’s surface. Birds twittered out of the radioactive forest, some so disoriented that they flew straight into the ground, others flying directly for the sun. A giddy, savage grin quivered across Kohl’s lips and he nudged his oldest pal. “Daisy’s glowin’ good today!”
Keet, however, was looking in the opposite direction, back at the shack Kohl called home with a sister-shaped twinkle in his oversized googly eyes. With the perfect tenor of a Mandarin duck, he sang, “Quack, quack…”
Kohl’s sister, Alfreda, barreled down the front porch steps, knocking over Mama’s old rocking chair in the process. Shielding her eyes from Daisy’s glow with one meaty arm, she swung a leather journal in the air with the other, trying to fend off a moth that refused to take swat for an answer. After pecking her cheeks a few times, the lascivious critter dove face-first into her muumuu, triggering a grunt and a pounding of fists on chest to rival King Kong intimidating a squadron of attack helicopters.
Kohl leaned into Keet’s ear. “If she’ll do that to her enormous womanly parts, imagine what she’ll do to your itty-bitsy man parts.”
A crooked, absent grin smeared like a shit stain across Keet’s face.
“You’re gross, bird.”
Frowning like Charlie Brown after missing the football for the umpteenth time, Alfreda withdrew a smashed locket from the breast pocket of her muumuu. It glinted like stardust in Daisy’s shine. With what appeared to be a shrug, the accursed moth fluttered drunkenly from her breast, unscathed but wobbling as if their moment together had left him weak in the wings.
Sprinting from the lake, Keet plucked the nocturnal lecher from the air, showed it proudly to Alfreda, and popped it into his mouth like a piece of popcorn.
“Why thank you, Kohl’s Friend,” said Alfreda. “Besides diabetes, that damn locket is the only thing Mama ever gave me.” She slipped the notebook into her pocket and tossed the locket to the ground. “I was tryin’ to journal when that moth accosted me. I reckon this ain’t a proper place for a writer no how. The only things around here are broken memories and sparkly harlots.”
Alfreda could be a bit of a downer; Kohl figured that’s why she fancied herself a writer.
As she tramped away, Afreda stepped directly between the boys and Daisy, momentarily obscuring her miraculous glow. In the eclipse, Kohl could just glimpse Daisy’s green eyes glittering like emeralds but smoldering like coal. She veered around Alfreda and made a beeline for Keet, who casually scooped the locket from the ground and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jean overalls.
“What was that?” Daisy asked, her hands shaking like a teen first discovering internet porn.
Keet shrugged and examined the gentle waves lapping against the shore.
Daisy’s thighs flashed like lightning, and when the glare subsided she had Keet by the ear and was twisting so hard he’d fallen to his knees. “I know you have something, Keet. That was something, and I want it!”
“Hiya, Daisy,” said Kohl as he approached flashing his best three-toothed smile.
“Kohl, tell this jagoff to give me what’s mine,” she said, her eyes darting from Keet’s face to his hands to his pockets and back again. Her thighs pulsed with rage, the same way they did whenever she was woken up to help find a lost child in the woods. “I saw him put something in his pocket, and it’s mine!”
“I reckon we’ve just been out here huntin’ for lunch.” Kohl ran a hand through his sandy, unkempt hair. “I can’t see how he could’ve wrestled up anything of yours.”
“Bite the ASS in all caps, bitch!” she snapped, but then her voice lowered an octave as she regarded his smile: “How do you expect me to maintain the life for which I am accustomed when bird brain is stealing something from me?”
“Well, I got you something that I reckon may elevate your quality of life.” Kohl extended the sasquatch sign like a bouquet, his hands trembling with excitement. Daisy was so close now he could smell the saccharine, blackened-banana scent of her skin. It lingered on his tongue, overly sweet and a tad acrid as it spoiled. “Why don’t ya come on out here and catch a catfish with us.”
“Why, reckon—everything you says says the same thing.” Daisy spat on the ground between them. “And I want what Keet has!”
“Come on now, Daisy,” Kohl said, gently taking her hand. “You’re the best handfisher since Jonas. Why, better even. Ain’t no whale gonna gobble you up—they’d be blinded first.”
“Don’t get me started on that old hogwash.” Her tone was three octaves lower now. “That story ain’t got no meaning besides teaching folk not to handfish in the open sea.”
“But if we catch one, just imagine what could be inside. I reckon you could scurry up some mighty good parts. Better than anything old Keet could have in his pockets.”
“There better be something precious in them guts,” Daisy said, withdrawing her hand from Kohl’s and shooting Keet a lethal scowl. “I want all of them fish bones! Don’t you try to steal them, bird, or else I’ll take your bones.”
Keet swallowed hard and squeaked in acknowledgment: “tweet-tweet.”
The boys followed Daisy’s flowing form back into the lake. There didn’t seem to be an inch of her that wasn’t lips, breast or buttocks with no mind to proportion, and the bits that weren’t glowing were painted a chestnut so lush they could’ve made a hummingbird cry. Before she reached the drop-off when she was about knee-high in the water, she crouched down and her thigh-gleam swept across Lake Dozmary’s depths, unfurling like the moon over marshy dunes, revealing the sunken cities of Wheeling 1.0 and Buried Bellaire. Schools of twinkling fish floated through the golden arches and red pigtails of forgotten fast food restaurants, and the rose window of an eighteenth-century cathedral shined so radiantly it looked like it had birthed the second coming of Wheeling just moments before. Fort Henry Bridge glowed like a yellow brick road in the distance, its suspension towers stabbed into the bedrock like swords, cables stringing them together like Rosary beads. It was like gazing upon Atlantis days after its fall; what was once vibrant and alive now muted and reclaimed, save a single construction project oblivious to the human toll. But most astonishingly of all, the sooty water darkened Daisy’s glow enough for Kohl to gaze upon her burning bush without his eyebrows turning to ask. It was like looking at an eclipse through a box with a hole in it, except in this case the eclipse gave you an erection something fierce and made you want to bury your face in the sun.
“This is why I love handfishin’ with you,” Kohl said, chewing his lip as he traversed the contours of her thighs to her cutoff jeans. He felt something slide against his leg, sending thrills up his spine. “I reckon I’m feeling something.”
“I know the something you’re feeling, horndog. And trust me, I can tell you’re always feeling it.” Beads of sweat inched down her neck and shoulder blades as she regaded Kohl’s lips with a heavy sigh. “I reckon the water does get me all wet.”
“Tseet-tseet-Tseet…Tseet-tseet-Tseet!” Keet jeered with the cadence of a siren, breaking the tension connecting Kohl and Daisy.
“Now you’ve gone and pulled the sword from the stone.” Kohl stood and wiped the sweat from his brow. “What’re you fussin’ about, Keet?”
Keet’s eyes bulged from his skull as if inflating with every “tseet” call, then with a gasp he quieted and pointed toward the shore.
“Who the hell is the naked fella in the gimp mask?” Kohl asked, pointing to a scrawny, acne-covered fellow wearing only red underwear and a mask standing in the yard of Daisy’s shack.
“Oh, that’s The Hawk,” she dismissed, continuing to finger the lake’s bottom. “He’s Pittsburgh.”
“He’s from the city, is he?”
“Not from—he is Pittsburgh. The Son of the Machine. I hear he’s going to plant seed after Pandora undresses. Anyway, he says he flies on a helicopter into West Alexander lookin’ for Nazi artifacts, but he always makes his way here and offers treasures for gossip.” Her knotted black swirled in the breeze like mischievous intentions forming hurricanes. Tucking a coiled lock behind her ear, she scratched her inner thigh, casting shadows across the submerged cities. “That mask is the one thing the jagoff won’t give up.”
“I reckon I don’t like the looks of him,” Kohl said, frowning. “Ain’t proper for a man to be wearing more clothes on his head than on his bottom.”
Keet screeched like a red-tailed hawk, the sound crescendoing and then trailing off with a drawn-out “arr.” Pittsburgh looked around as if he’d heard a ghost, then circled to the back of Daisy’s shack.
“You’d be better off if you could fly like a bird, not just sound like one,” Daisy said, glowering at him. “Now you’re just a whole lotta loud and worthless.”
“Come now, Daisy. Leave Keet be. He’s got an artist’s spirit—loud and useless is just what he does.”
“And you, always defending him. After finding him orphaned like an unwanted chic in the woods, you defend him. Eatin’ his own snot, you do nothin’ but defend him. Throughout school—all the way up the way up to third grade! When’s he gonna defend himself, Kohl?”
“Why have a best bud if you have to defend yourself all the time?”
With a huff, Daisy blew a kink of black hair from her face. “So if I were to be with you, like you’ve always wanted, all you’d give me is some fishbones and a mute who fixes things with bubble gum and duct tape?”
Kohl clutched his chest as if deeply offended. “Daisy, I thought you’d know me by now. If we were together like I’ve always wanted, I’d ditch Keet.”
Keet’s eyes inflated as if he’d spotted an injured rabbit fifteen yards away. With a sly wink, Kohl patted his buddy on the back and crouched back down into the water next to Daisy.
“I know it seems like I hate you, Kohl—”
“It doesn’t seem that way, Daisy—”
“I know to any sensible man it would seem like I hate you. If things were different, maybe I could see us together, but you can’t change things with just dogged will and the willingness to suffer, Kohl. If you’d seen what I’ve seen—heard what I’ve heard—you’d understand. I’m the type of girl that acquires, who can leave nothing behind. That’s what keeps me alive.” Her eyes softened, almost greyed. Dry leaves rustled in the nearby hollow like the whispers of a millennia of secrets. “You wouldn’t want me otherwise.”
“If that’s what keeps you alive, I’d acquire the world for you, Daisy. From here to Point Pleasant Emeritus, all the way to that rotten city. Hell, I’d filet Gimpburgh over there and make a tiara out of his ribs if you wanted me to. We could fly his mask from the flagpole and drink lemonade on the porch as we grow old together.”
“I’ve already grown old. I’ll just grow older, and you’ll grow dead.” Decades of broken promises stretched across her face and then collapsed beneath the weight of ruthless, voracious desire. “I’m bored of the hills. The gossip, the innuendo—it’s the same day after day. I need more culture, more fire, more Brazilian waxes! I hear the whispers of the beast, Kohl. There are things for me again—things yinz would never understand.”
“If it’s a beast you want, then I’ll wrestled one and chain it in your yard.” Kohl splashed water into the air, sending black droplets sailing through the sunlight like struck oil. “Being from the hills, I was never expected to amount to anything. This is just a place to dump bodies and toxic waste. But I have pirate blood in me, Daisy. I’m gonna give you treasure—more treasure than you can fit in your trailer! I’m aiming to git that map to my inheritance, if it’s the last thing Mama does.”
Daisy perked up at the mention of treasure. Squatting with her legs spread and breasts buoyed by the lake, she bit her bottom lip so hard a bead of blood swelled between her teeth. “What kind of treasure do you suppose it is?”
Kohl swallowed hard, suddenly dizzy and ravenous. “Well, when I was six I asked Mama what she reckoned the treasure was—”
“Clouds!” Mama’s voice bellowed out around them as if the memory of the hills sprung to life, erupting from everywhere and nowhere, every time and no time, all at once. “And not just any clouds,” the disembodied voice continued—“these were the firstborn clouds of Creation. Clouds that made bunnies and cupcakes in the sky for our fores-kin to lay in the hay and dream about. And you could wear them clouds! Why, I even wore them once when I was a girl. Fit my feet like shoes. And when you wore ’em, you could git anywhere you wanted to git. Down in the holler, the market—anywhere!”
Keet stabbed Kohl in the side with an elbow and cried “yeep-yeep-yeep!”
“Not now,” Kohl huffed, waving him off and continuing—“On my eighth birthday, Mama said—”
“The map leads to pedals!” declared Mama’s belligerent voice, plowing through the day and good sense like a snow plow through a field of wildflowers.
Daisy looked at Kohl incredulously. “Pedals?”
Mama’s voice boomed: “Yessum—pedals of every shape and color!”
“Clouds, pedals—which is it?” Daisy licked the blood from her lip and spat it into the lake. “Your mama is loose, Kohl. The maths don’t add in them stories.”
“Why, I reckon you always see things right clearly, Daisy. I guess mama has always been more storyteller than historian.” Kohl wiggled his fingers through the mud until they connected with Daisy’s. “So on my fifteenth birthday, Mama says—”
“Kohl!” Mama hollered from her bed in the living room. “I hear ya out there ’membering me again! Ya done woke me up. Keep yer memories—and your hands—to yerself!”
“Yes, Mama,” grumbled Kohl, slithering his fingers deeper out into the lake.
Suddenly Keet pulled him back by the arm—“YEEP-YEEP-YEEP!”
“What the hell is it, bird?”
Keet pointed, and emerging from the drop-off was a black snout so large it eclipsed the submerged cities. As it breached the surface, it grinned, revealing a monstrous set of serrated buckteeth as yellow and rotten as sin.
“Shark!” Kohl screamed, stepping between the beast and his friends. Instinctually, he stuck out his left arm to brace for impact, and as he did the beast snapped its jaw with a loud clang, biting off the tips of his middle, ring and pinky fingers. The shark recoiled as if it’d tasted something spoiled. It bucked like a bull, then aimed the red, twisted horn of its nose on Kohl’s chest. “Git!” he hollered at the monster, then at his friends—“Git!”
Just as the beast was about to impale him, a supernova of light exploded across the lake.
It was so bright the hills and lake transfigured into white space, and all Kohl could see were the areas of the beast shadowed by his person. Daisy—her thigh-shine had saved him again! Instantly, the shark’s algea-green scales turned grey and a white beard billowed out around its jaws. Yowling, it spun away, presenting a serpentine tail lined with cat legs.
“Grab a thigh, you pussies!” Daisy snarled, spanking the disabled critter as her thighs flashed between supernova and power line explosion. “Them bones are mine!”
Kohl did as instructed, grabbing a leg with his right hand while his left painted the surface of the lake red. Meanwhile, Keet squatted in an expanding pool of yellow, trembling.
“Just pretend you’re a fish hawk,” Kohl instructed. “Or a kitty hawk.”
Keet whistled, the sound building into a wavering squeal as he stuck out his chest and then swooped in and snatched two legs with a talon-like grip. The sharkitten whimpered and twitched but seemed powerless to defend against the assault, crying out with humanlike agony every time the trio twisted or pulled on a leg. With considerable effort and no short amount of cussing, they ferried the amalgamate ashore and rolled it onto its back, revealing a belly of bottle caps pieced together like a shell.
“Gut it,” Daisy said, scratching her nose, chin, eyebrow, and beneath one perky breast like a pitching coach giving the sign for a slider. “Get me what’s mine.”
It took some searching, but Kohl found a soft patch of flesh between caps and split the sharkitten’s stomach. Daisy dug into the opening with gusto, removing handfuls of partially digested fish, plastic bags, cigarettes, and tin cans, all of which she carefully set into piles. “Hehehe,” she snickered, hoisting an algae-covered bicycle inner tube. “This will make an excellent ketchup container.”
An hour later, Keet had patched up Kohl’s hand with a generous helping of sharkitten fat, sharkitten steaks were slathered in a dry rub and hanging on the clothesline next to Alfreda’s muumuus, and Daisy’s loot had been loaded onto a wheelbarrow.
“Hold up a minute,” Kohl said as Daisy wheeled away. “I reckon I found something else you might want.”
Reaching into the chest pocket of his overalls, he pulled out the ring finger the sharkitten had bitten off.
“Damnit, Kohl. You need them fingers for noodlin’ more than I do!”
“I’ve been meaning to find the right time to ask, and I reckon being partially eaten alive puts things in perspective.” Dropping to one knee, he held the finger up to Daisy. “Look a little closure.”
On his severed finger was a silver ring with a speck resembling a diamond-sneeze at the center.
Daisy pursed her lips and turned around. “I ain’t got the time to look no closer at things,” she said, pushing the wheelbarrow away. “I’ll be back for supper after yinz have fried up that kitty. Be sure to add nutmeg.”
Kohl watched Daisy park the wheelbarrow next to her porch and stab the bigfoot sign into the yard. She glanced back at him, thighs glimmering like distant stars, then tromped up the stairs and into her trailer.
“Dagnabbit, that woman does infuriate me something awful.”
“Cuckoo, cuckoo,” said Keet, putting his arm around him.
“Why, there he is again! Pittsburgh, walking up to Daisy’s shack.”
Just as the scantily-clad artifact hunter reached the porch, the screen door swung open.
“Sonofabitch! I propose and she don’t so much as notice the ring. And this joker dips inside like a whack-a-mole? I’ve never even been inside Daisy’s shack.” Kohl flung his useless finger to the ground, dizzy and blind with fury. “I reckon I’ll gut that city and every crazed beast along the way if that’s what it takes. There’s no length I won’t go, no harm I won’t do, no amount I won’t bleed….”
Keet sighed. “Cuckoo…”
Not a paid subscriber? No worries! You still have access to the complete text of Pirates. For patrons, as a small thank you I’ve included a bunch of bonus materials, like sketches inspired by the section and my notes on the chapter. Much more to come.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Whiskey-Winged Moonshots (Fiction and Podcasts) to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.