The Homestead

It only took about twenty minutes to get from the bank to Nicholasville. Since Billy said Town Fork Road was south of town I kept going on Route 27 another three miles. As I approached a man fixing a fence I decided to ask him if I was anywhere near that location. I parked on the side of twenty seven and crossed the highway to speak with the man.

“Excuse me sir!”

The man stopped what he was doing and turned toward me.

“Howdy.”

“Sorry to interrupt you, but can you tell me if I’m on the right road to get to Town Fork Road?”

“Why? You goin’ to see someone in Outlaw Alley?”

“What?”

“Outlaw Alley. That’s what ever’one calls that place. Ain’t nothing on that dirt road ‘cept a bunch a beat up house trailers. You cain’t hardly turn around on that path ‘cause it almost drops inta the crick. Who ya lookin’ for?”

I looked at the note I had in my hand. “Elroy Finkus.”

“Granpaw El! Well, y’all a day late. Granpaw El’s in Baptist Hospital. His grandson Junior and him got inta a argument yesterday and Junior beat up his grandaddy somethin’ awful. One a the deputies told me Junior drove Granpaw El’s car inta the crick an’ took off. They’s still lookin’ for Junior far as I know.”

“How much further is it to that road?”

“Jest a short piece, maybe a mile. Ya cain’t miss it. It’s to the left an’ there’s a sign sayin’ trailers for rent posted to a tree.

“Hey, man, if y’all goin’ there, be careful. Ol’ Junior’s a crazy, an mean as sin. If he’s anaway round, get the hell outta there.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. And thanks for the directions.”