The Trees

by Percival Everett

Wheat was between jobs, was constantly, ever, always between jobs. Charlene was always quick to point out that the word between usually suggested something at either end, two somethings, or destinations, and that Wheat had held only one job in his whole life, so he wasn’t between anything.

“I wronged that little pickaninny. Like it say in the good book, what goes around comes around.” “What good book is that?” Charlene asked. “Guns and Ammo?” “No, the Bible, you heathen.”

“Mr. Mayor, this here is the sovereign state of Mississippi. There ain’t no law enforcement, there’s just rednecks like me paid by rednecks like you.”

“How is the chili?” Jim asked. “Do you like chili?” “Yes, I do.” “Then you will hate the chili here. Catfish or burger?” “Cheeseburger,” Jim said. “Do you like cheese?” Gertrude asked. “Burger.”

“Know what I think?” Jethro said. “I should hope not,” Jim said.

“Do you hate me?” Hattie asked. “Not yet, but you’re next.” “It’s nice to be included.”

“This is Money, Mississippi, Mister Detective. Leflore County, Mississippi. My husband weren’t much to look at or talk to, but he had him a steady job. I didn’t finish high school, I cain’t sing a lick, and I don’t look good with my clothes off. I was just tryin’ to have a life. Mine.”

“Welcome to Acme Cadaver Supply of Chicago. You kill ’em, we chill ’em.

71 Ho to Hind: “What the hell is going on?”

This is the entire chapter.

“Are you feds required to take a course in sarcastic understatement at Quantico?”