The Front Porch Prophet Read Online Free PDF Page A

local policeman, who would be quite upset by a missing school bus. In retrospect, it turned out to be one of those deals that looked really good on paper but in actual fact should have been reconsidered.
    But A.J. and Eugene were young and foolish, so they took the bus. A.J.’s partner in crime suggested the perfect place to hide it would be in the big clearing up on top of the mountain. The road had been recently scraped, and they figured they should be able to get the bus up there. Eugene drove, and A.J. followed along in the Hog Farm, and they were both nearly overcome with the hilarity of it all.
    When they arrived at school the next morning, they were faced with the realization that some people did not have their appreciation for fine humor. Slim Neal was livid, and there were times during the day when it seemed he might combust. He had called in the county sheriff, Red Arnold, to help with the investigation.
    Red was a law enforcement official from the old school and had acquired the reputation over time of shooting first and not bothering much with the questions later. The state police arrived before noon, and the Georgia Bureau of Investigation rolled in shortly thereafter. Slim had waited all of his life for the opportunity to use his CRIME SCENE—DO NOT CROSS tape, so the area was roped off and diligently patrolled by an armed and dangerous Leon Neal, Slim’s brother and erstwhile deputy for the day.
    Around one o’clock Slim started talking about bringing in a brace of bloodhounds, and Eugene and A.J. knew they had a deteriorating situation on their hands. Their joke had developed significant technical difficulties, and when they heard that a citizen’s patrol had been organized to keep an eye on the gas tanks, they realized it was going to be no easy task to return the bus. Both of their fathers had joined the patrol, and they figured that Johnny Mack, at least, would have them sent down to the state prison at Reidsville as a character-building exercise if he caught them. So, since there appeared to be no other viable options open to them, they kept the bus.
    “What the hell are we going to do with it?” Eugene asked a few days later. They stood in the clearing on the mountain and viewed their handiwork.
    “We could turn it into a snow-cone stand, but I don’t know how much business we’d get up here,” A.J. replied, staring at that yellow embodiment of ten-to-twenty if they got caught. “Maybe we should run it on into the woods and cover it up with brush,” he continued, thinking this action might prove useful should Slim decide to use aerial reconnaissance.
    “I can’t believe we stole a school bus,” Eugene said, shaking his head. But there it sat, quiet testimony to questionable judgment and bad luck.
    As time passed, it became fairly common knowledge around town that the master bedroom of Eugene’s cabin was the infamous missing bus. It was a tribute to Slim Neal’s investigative expertise that he was perhaps the only person in north Georgia who had no idea where it was, although Eugene considered it sporting to give him the occasional hint.
    As the bus became absorbed into the cabin, architectural necessity dictated the removal of some of its parts. These extra pieces would invariably work their way down the mountain and onto Slim’s front porch. A.J. had urged Eugene to discontinue the practice, but the temptation was too strong. Thus, every so often, Slim would step out with his morning coffee and stumble over a tire, or perhaps a fender. One time the engine was sitting there, cold black oil oozing all over Slim’s
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doormat. He invariably had a bad day after one of these discoveries, and it was best to avoid him until he had regained his composure.
    As A.J. neared the cabin, he saw Eugene sitting on the ramshackle front porch, rocking gently in an old rocker. He was methodically loading the Navy Colt his grandfather had left him, the same one that had