Reap What You Sow

[Biron]

(CUT TO: A white, red, and black Ranger 520VX Comanche Bass Boat drifting along the water of the Logan Martin. JACK BRYANT, rod and reel in hand, sits atop a swivel seat. He’s dressed in a tattered Alabama ballcap, his newly-released, crimson tee with “Roll Jack Roll” in bold, white lettering, the usual Wrangler jeans, and light brown Double H cowboy boots. He reels in his line, paying little attention to the camera, and hooks his multi-colored Rapala through a guide on the rod.)

BRYANT: “Let's get a few things straight, little lady. First, tha' only backjumpin' n' Lowell probably happened n' a 7-11 pisser b'tween you an' yer Shmoopie, bein' yer loose-lipped an' all. (shakes his head) You an' Ah both know that yer quiverin' Shmoopie saw tha' red n' mah eyes long b'fore Ah slapped him 'round backstage. Second, unless tryin’ ta’ get yerself directly involved n’ this clash, an’ Ah mean physically, Ah politely suggest that ya’ shut yer trap. Ah let ya’ lay over top a’ Dorchester ta’ protect him. Ah let ya’ beat me like a rug with that tray; ‘course, Ah was busy knockin’ tha’ snot outta Dorchester. An’ now, Ah’m gonna’ let this I’m a Big Girl bull slide. But it’s fourth down, Veronica, an’ Ah reckon yer better off sittin’ on tha’ sidelines, playin’ cheerleader, than standin’ b’tween two men who are out ta’ destroy tha’ other. It’s yer first an’ last warnin’. This is headed somewhere you don’t belong - somewhere yer gonna’ wind up gettin’ hurt. Keep wide an’ clear a’ this, Rumsfeld.”

“Ah have every ‘ntention a’ stickin’ yer boyfriend n’ a hospital bed. See, tha’ old sayin’ is What Goes Around Comes Around, Dorchester. Ya’ve made a career a embarassin’ folks, puttin’ ‘em on tha’ shelf ‘er n’ hospital beds. So far, ya’ve gotten away with it free an’ clear. Ah suppose it’s what you wealthy folk reckon yer entitled to. That ya’ oughta’ be able ta’ step over tha’ line without consequence. That, with yer money an’ connections, yer above gettin’ yer comeuppance. That’s why Ah can’t help, but grin like a mule n’ a briar patch. ‘cause n’ Lowell, tha’ shoe was on tha’ other foot. Ah came after Dorchester backstage, but Ah didn’t jump him like he’s so famous fer. Ah met him head-on an’, still, him an’ Veronica are outraged. Well, ain’t that too damn bad. Two-times (holds up two fingers), Stratton attacked me from behind. Did ya’all think Ah was gonna’ let it slide? That yer high society livin’ was gonna’ earn you a free pass? This Southern boy has no limits, Dorchester. Ah’ll stomp yer head ‘nta mush like anybody else. Yer no different than anybody else, bub. Hell, yer bullseye is bigger than most. Ah’ll go outta’ mah way ta’ throw ya’ a beatin’, Dorchester.”

(BRYANT sends a gob of spit flying into the water.)

BRYANT: “ ‘cause tha’ expression on yer face is priceless, ‘chester. It’s fear. When Ah jumped them Security Guards, all Ah saw was a scared, little boy. Ya’ knew you’d run ‘nta tha’ Big Bad. That, hell ‘er high water, Ah was gonna’ keep comin’ after you - over an’ over an’ over. Ya’ had tha’ same expression that Rayne had right b'fore ya’ spiked her ‘nta tha’ canvas. Tha’ exact look that ‘star’s wife an’ kids had as you folded his neck up like an accordion. It’s all too fittin’ that it was plastered across YOUR MUG n’ Lowell. See, yer buttin’ heads with a MAN, Dorchester. One that’s got no interest n’ tuckin’ tail an’ headin’ fer tha’ hills. Ya’ll have ta’ do more than detach a retina. Ya’ll have ta’ do more than break mah ankle. Yer gonna’ have ta’ rip mah beatin’ heart outta’ mah chest, Dorchester, an’ ta’ do that, yer gonna’ have ta’ toe tha’ line, bub. Yer gonna’ have ta’ get within arm’s reach a’ ol’ Jack Bryant. That’s when all that control you thought ya’ had goes right out tha’ window. That’s when yer well-bein’ is n’ mah hands. (snarling smirk) An’ Ah just don’t know if Ah can CONTROL MAHSELF from snappin’ yer scrawny neck like tha’ chicken ya'are."

(FTB)