Tales of Choctawhatchee County: Gunfight at Nellie Mae's

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic

"She re-holstered her gun as the naked sheriff entered the bar and asked, “What the hell is going on here?”

“We was a dancing, next door, and this yahoo began shooting up the place, told him to knock off the noise and he went for his gun. She gestured to Buford’s odoriferous body on the floor, “I shot
him. It was a fair fight, Sheriff, he drew first. You want my gun?”

“Naw, I know you’re a law abiding citizen and you wouldn’t kill nobody who didn’t need it. Besides that, you might need it to defend your sef.”

“Wichita Lineman” was the next record in the que, and while it had a weak downbeat, dancing fiends do dance, so the Nellie Gal and the Sheriff danced a couple of slides before Nellie Gal went back
to the meeting hall. "

Happens At Nellie Mae’s, Stays at Nellie Mae’s.”

Nellie Mae’s Roadside Diner has been a landmark in Choctawhatchee county, Florida, since before WWI. 

When the Army needed troops to fight the Kaiser, they were trained at nearby Camp Beauregard.  This increased business considerably and after Nellie Mae built a few “shotgun houses” that rented rooms, by the hour, in the area behind the diner, business increased even more.  Especially on Friday nights and weekends.  She ran a juke joint inside one of them and rented out individual bedrooms in the others and had a small staff of “servers” who would deliver meals from the diner just yards away.  She had Doc Jackson, great grandson of the Jackson, on retainer and he checked out the help staff weekly and provided various medications as appropriate. She didn’t tolerate misbehaving and the county Sheriff said it was a quiet place and not a public nuisance. 

When the military inspectors came to inspect to determine if the place, and the shotgun houses out back, were a hazard to the morals and physical health of military personnel, she was careful to provide them with the finest meals from her kitchen, and some of the finest American bourbon in the country and not surprisingly, due to the colorful and witty personalities that inspectors the world over are known for, they were always the most popular and studly men in the restaurant and juke joint and they got what they wanted without having to negotiate price before hand because it was all free.

The military always gave Nellie Mae’s a “clean bill of health.”

Business was pretty good through WWI and beyond through WWII.  Even during Prohibition, Nellie Mae always had the best whiskey.  Business dropped off a little after WWII but picked up during the Korean War.  Shifting mores, relaxed Blue Laws, higher wages for law enforcement and a social emphasis on professional law enforcement had a debilitating effect on business.

Truth is, the enabling acts for this incident began when Nellie Gal, daughter of Nellie Mae, and her own daughter, Nellie May, had an epiphany about fame and fortune.  They decided that Nellie Mae’s Roadside Diner would be a gun aficionado oriented business and a mecca for Second Amendment Advocates.  Choctawhatchee county is practically the capitol of the Red Neck Riviera and even grade school kids open carry to school.  They also decided that they would declare one day each month as “Divorcee Night,” “Gunfighter Poetry Night,” “Leave Yore Ol’ Lady At Home Night,” “Leave Yore Ol’ Man At Home Night,” and other exciting local culture driven events. Over the entrance to the Café itself, and to every room and over every bed in every shotgun house on the premises were the words, “What Happens At Nellie Mae’s, Stays at Nellie Mae’s.”  They also posted signs on most inside walls with espousing various modern American conservative mottos, “The only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun,” “Citizens can and will defeat active shooters, and they have,” “We need Minutemen to come forward and guard our lambs,” and “Once a sheepdog, always a sheepdog.” All of them were accompanied by images of somber, sober, noble and intelligent looking white men holding firearms.

It worked, business boomed.

They didn’t specifically plan for any culture driven problems, other than the usual Sunday afternoon protests by Beulah Baptist Women’s Association, or the Holy Assembly of Foot Stompers, Rollers and Tongue Talkers, which was more a planning problem stemming from their comfort with the local situation than a failing, but they had a whole quarter section of land to work with, so they constructed a little outdoor chapel on the northeast corner facing on Highway 27, and hosted a nativity display in front of the main whore house every Christmas Season.  Every girl was thoroughly coached in saying “Merry Christmas” with her lips parted and pouty while rolling her tongue over them and they even developed seasonal specialties like the “Rudolph Red Nose Two Inch Special” and the “Horny Reindeer Slide.”  One of the more pedestrian improvements was to build a sizable convention hall on to the café, with seating for at least a hundred souls seeking salvation.  It was built without a liquor bar, though they did have a movable bar that they could roll in an out at their pleasure, depending on the sensitivities of the hall occupants.She also carefully packaged Christmas gifts in plain brown paper sacks each year for the Sheriff and in election years she included other candidates, as well.

The precipitating incident began when Nellie Gal kicked Buford out of the diner and told him that he wasn’t welcome in the private entertainment rooms out back either.  This was because Buford faithfully showered or bathed, as appropriate, whenever he could smell himself.  Nelly Gal prided herself on a full set of employee benefits, which included clean sheets and towels at least once a week and more often, at no charge to the employee, if circumstances and business volume justified it.  They also provided this enhanced service regardless of business level for a small administrative fee.  Because they only charged the girls a nominal fee for using the rooms, these extra costs dug into profits.

But, if Buford spend three or four minutes in a bed, much less actually worked up a sweat, it was nigh on impossible to get the stench out and if those sheets were not laundered separately, they contaminated all the sheets they were laundered with.  On top of this, none of the girls wanted to do business with him, and with good reason.  He always wanted oral sex but that triggered the gag reflex of all who tried it, and that mess had to be cleaned up.  One girl, a long time country girl whose mother prided on her culinary creativity with all sorts of roadkill, said, “imagine a skunk, dead and bloated in full sun light for a couple of days, that had been constipated for several days before it died, and now it has been run over by an eighteen wheeler.  Imagine sticking your face and tongue into that.  That is the essence of giving Buford Byron Bonifay a blowjob.”  None of the girls being emetophilia enthusiasts, none were interested in his business. Of course, if one of them did accept his offer, and vomited in his crotch, Buford would inevitably demand a refund.

The other customers complained, too.  Even if Buford never came in the café, his stench preceded him and lingered long after he departed.  It was impossible to eat something with him in smelling distance, which wasn’t necessarily close by.

On the day in question, Nellie Gal’s was celebrating its first ever Saturday Night 2nd Amendment Appreciation Poetry Slam.  Buford was in the mood for love but had been turned down by every girl in the Café’s stable. 

Everything was going swimmingly and when she was approached by customers and customer service personnel with complaints against Buford, she decided that enough was enough.  Buford’s personal complaint only made it worse.

He created a scene, so Nellie Gal told Buford to leave and not come back.

Buford refused to go. 

Nellie Gal said, “Please?”

Buford said, “Fuck you.”

Nelly Gal pulled her PERFORMANCE CENTER® Model 327 TRR8, Caliber: .357 Magnum, 8 shooter, with the 5" Barrel, Interchangeable Front Sight and Adjustable V-Notch Rear Sight, Single/Double action, with stainless steel cylinder and barrel, scandium alloy frame, with black matte finish that weighs only three pounds and is good for competition shooting as home protection, and buffaloed Buford the same way Wyatt Earp buffaloed a ne'er-do-well in her favorite movie.  Then, in a scene reminiscent of the old Gunsmoke series, Nellie Gal ordered two other patrons, burly young men well strapped with matching Peacemakers, to “get him out of here.”  She also gave them towels to use as ropes to loop around his ankles so they could drag him out without actually touching him with their bare hands.  They dragged him down wind and left him in the ditch

Eventually, Buford regained consciousness and left but promised himself to return. 

Hank Garth, rising local country western recording artist and star, staked his career on his appeal as Cowboy Rapper via his appearances at Nellie Gal’s.  This sultry cowboy has been photographed professionally by the best avant garde photographers in every home studio/garage in Nashville and San Antonio, has been seen locking lips with the likes of Dolly McIntosh and Reba Haggard, and has had voice lessons from many of the voice coaches to the stars from all over the Northwest Florida Territories and Alabama Hill Country.

Hank sports a traditional Peacemaker that is rumored to have once been used by Pat Garrett of Billy the Kid fame.No six shooter is more famous world wide than the 1873 Single Action Army revolving cylinder firearm of the American West of history and legend.  This is a patriotic American six shooter.

He started off that night’s slam with a cowboy love poem:

When the dew falls sweetly

On the sage brush

And the world smells feetly

And gives my mind a heady rush


And your tongue darts here and there

Over mine and other parts

My heart goes you know where

And my nose enjoys your farts


Then your love lips are dripping wet

From Loves little intercourse

And I almost completely forget

That you are my faithful horse.


I love you.


Hank was followed by Mr. PeePee, regional rap star from Pensacola, Florida.  Mr. PeePee is also a Colt aficionado and a two fisted gun fighter.  He is prepared to defend himself or loved ones with twin classic Colt M1911 pistols.  Colt pistols have long represented the gold standard in magazine-fed semi-automatic handguns.  Mr. PeePee’s are both nickel plated, semi-automatic 45 ACP, 7 round, magazine fed, plus one in the chamber for a total of eight rounds, recoil operated, stainless steel barrel and steel body and frame with anodized finish, and each weighs 2.44 pounds.  With a muzzle velocity of 830 FPS, it is a man stopper and just the thing for bringing peace to the neighborhood when homie has toked a little too much Angel Dust and is channeling the devil himself or the neighboring Crips or Bloods, depending on your persuasion, and creating havoc in your own crack market.  

Mr. PeePee slammed a romantic sonnet in the finest and most sensitive Amercan tradition of the Compton streets.  He prefaced his poem with a greeting, “A shout-out to your bomb ass bitch, I love her like a mangy dog loves sniffin’ ass.”

My love for your Bitch is so great,

My heart melts for her 'til the dusk of day.

The night sucks when her's away,

fucks, humps 'til day's dawn.


Her beauty is great,

Wondering mind 'til her sees,

Jack off is all I do,

While waiting for the moment, for her to say "I do."


Texas John Walker, who had never been to Texas but changed his name to reflect his two favorite tv shows was eating shrimp etouffee in the corner but suspected that the cook had substituted crawdads for shrimp.  Like many modern day youngsters, Texas John was fasicinated by exotic weaponry and he cut a bold fashion statement with crossed bandoleros of 100% tracer ammo with red, white and blue anodized ammo belt links and a genuine government issue M249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW).  The M249 is belt fed and gas operated and air-cooled. It has a quick-change barrel that allows for quick change outs in close combat situations. Some claim it was purchased at the government surplus just outside the gates of Camp Pendleton, California.  None the less, Texas John, proud of the Anglo Mexican Cultural Heritage of the Great State of Texas, brought forth a poem to express that pride and love of country.

Mamacita, Mamacita, Mamacita.

Nothing’s sweeta than Mamacita on my peta

Put a shrimp on the bahbe mamacita,

Or are you just a cold and lonely work of art


Mamacita, Mamacita, Mamacita.

Oh you know, I love yore fetor Mamacita.

Come let me hum a patriotic ditty on yore titty



Poo Tang and Boy’s Boy are transvestite gunfighters who make no bones or boners about being in friend love with each other.  Each them show up on these evenings in various trans wear and on one occasion they showed up dressed as transvestites dressing as transvestites.  And, they are talented.  Witness this love poem.

My love for Butter Boys is so great,

my heart melts for us 'til the dusk of day.

The night tongue when he's away,

suck, butt fuck 'til day's dawn.


Our beauty is great,

Wondering mind 'til We sees,

stroking is all we do,

While waiting for the moment, for We to say "I do."


My love for Butt Baby is so great,

my heart melts for pumping butt 'til the dusk of day.

The night licking when pumping butt's away,

swallow, hugging 'til day's dawn.


Pumping butt beauty is great,

Wondering mind 'til pumping butt sees,

gargle is all I do,

While waiting for the moment, for my Butt Baby to say "I do."


Giving an international flavor to 2nd Amendment Appreciation Slam Night, The Jamaican Posse Dudes of Miami fame, frequently attend the events festooned with all hardware and jewelry of Columbian drug lords.  They preferred gold plated firearms and are particularly enamored of Kalashnikov Automatic Rifles, more commonly known worldwide as AK-47’s, but some of the up-and-coming-but-not-quite-there-yet gangsters paraded themselves with nickel plated Sig Sauer automatic pistols or Mac10s.  Their poetry had a rhythmic beat of its own.

Mi fuck the gyal in di pum pum

Last nite mi sleep wid the gal fram the bar widout a boots and

dis mornin pus deh come outa mi buddy

Wah di bumboclaat wrang wid yu! Yu a eediat

She cock it up pan me last nite

Yu eat unda sheet

Mi luv Jamaican pum pum


Beauregard Brocius was just then stepping up to the open mike when Buford returned.  Beauregard is a widely known and appreciated White Poet in Lower Alabama and all along the Red Neck Riviera.  Beauregard comes  combat ready with a new issued Army Combat Uniform and desert boots as well as twin Berretta M9s.  He carries them in shoulder holsters with two extra magazines for each.  He is also fashionably attired in matching custom camouflaged bandoleers. The Beretta M9, officially the Pistol, Semiautomatic, 9mm, M9, is the designation for the Beretta 92FS semi-automatic pistol by the United States Armed Forces. The M9 was adopted by the United States' military as their service pistol in 1985.

Beauregard cleared his throat a couple of times and started to speak about the same time that Buford fired his first round into the bar.

Buford didn’t belong to or advocate any particular political, social or criminal endeavor or movement, but he was a believer in the Old Southern Code that demanded payback for wrongs real or perceived.  He also cherished his right to carry firearms openly and his right to stand his ground and not retreat when addressing those real or perceived wrongs.

Most, maybe everyone who knew him, thought he was technically and maybe even clinically batshit crazy.  Like all good Floridians he was a firm believer in the “Stand Your Ground” law and had attended several training courses, endorsed by the NRA, in the local armory and at the local indoor shooting range.  He looked forward to his first kill and was wondering if gunshot victims died like they did on tv or if it was different.  He had prepared his own post shooting soliloquy to express the soul twisting existential loneliness and sorrow he will have suffered after his first kill. 

He drove home got a few of his guns and turned to the scene.  Stylishly outfitted for the heaviest of gun fights, Buford was adorned with twin Mac50s, a necklace of nickel plated M26 Fragmentation Grenades, and several Sigsauer semi-automatic pistols.  MAC-10, is a compact, blowback operated machine pistol. Buford’s is chambered for .45 ACP. Because of his concern about noise pollution, he uses a two-stage suppressor by Sionics was specifically designed for the MAC-10The M26 is a fragmentation hand grenade made by and for the United States military. It entered service around 1952 and was combat proven in both the Viet Nam and Korean Wars. Fragmentation is enhanced by a special pre-notched fragmentation coil that lies along the inside of the grenade's body.  Of course, it is well known that Sig Sauer firearms are the weapons of choice for many of the premier global military, law enforcement and commercial users.

Buford stopped his 2017 SUPER DUTY pickup directly in front of the front entrance to the café, then, thinking ahead to the intended gunfight, he moved it forward a length This is a capable pickup truck 6.2L Power Stroke®  V8 Turbo Diesel delivering 860 lb.ft. of torque and 440 horsepower. Even though he didn’t have a job that required a pickup, his main source of employment was sluicing out commercial pig and chicken farms and used his employers’ hoses and water, he just felt it was better to have that power in reserve if he needed it.  He moved it forward because if Nellie Gal actually got off a shot, he didn’t want it to hit his pickup.

Exiting his pickup, he envisioned one of the scenes in Gunsmoke, camera angle looking toward the bad guy from between and behind Matt Dillion’s legs, and so he walked to his desired point, about fifty feet from the entrance to the bar and stood there with his feet slightly more than shoulder’s width apart. 

“Nellie Gal.  Come on out you yella haired bitch.  I’m a calling you out.”

Nellie Gal, for her part, wasn’t in the bar.  She was next door in the meeting room dancing the slide to “Make Me a Higher Love” by Steve Windwood, and didn’t hear a thing over the music, laughter and clapping.

Buford decided to put one through the “Unloaded Firearms are NOT Allowed” sign on the front door and the bullet continued on through the open mike that Beauregard was clearing his throat in front of, then on through the wall across a the small court yard between the shotgun work houses, through another wall and into the left butt cheek of Sheriff Donna Jean Davis, Great Great Great Granddaugther of  THE Davis of Confederate States fame.  Donna Jean had been in the kneeling kowtowing supplicant position with her face firmly planted in Shewanda Louis’ lady garden, tickling her fancy, with her ass sticking abruptly in the air while Shewanda was laying back, legs splayed, reading the comics page of the local newspaper.  The bullet was pretty much spent before it got to the Sheriff’s derrière, and it had barely enough energy left to burrow itself under her pink skin.  Still, it still hurt.  Their joint revelry thus disturbed, the two ladies, one limping, went in search of the culprit.

Nellie Gal had no idea as to the drama that was unfolding in the patriotic Night 2nd Amendment Appreciation Poetry Slam, next door, and smoothly interfaced her dancing with Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire.”

This was interrupted by the what sounded like commencement of World War III.

Beauregard was uninjured by the bullet through the mike but he thought someone was being unnecessarily rude to do something like that before he had even begun reciting his master piece.  He immediately drew his piece and faced the entrance.

Outside, Buford, whose adrenalin was pumping at a high rate, had a highly accelerated sense of time.  It was taking so long for Nellie Gal to respond to his challenge, all of two or three heart beats, so far, that he was having no trouble picturing her on the floor behind the cash register whimpering and begging mercy.  He whipped out his unsilenced MAC10’s and emptied a couple of magazines into the Café walls and door.

The Jamaicans were lolling about in the afterglow of their slam debut, enjoying the afterglow of good week, and were jolted into the present by the perceived possibility that the Zoe Pound, a criminal Haitian gang in Miami and their cross town rivals, had sent a hit team all the way from either Little Haiti, in Miami, or maybe even Dominicans from Little Santo Domingo.  They promptly locked and loaded their gold plated AKs and began firing in all directions while trying to tactically exit through the back door.

Poo Tang and Boy’s Boy had just dropped a little acid, not a lot, it doesn’t take much, and experienced sudden and unanticipated flashbacks to experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq.  They also experienced flashbacks to their combat time in Viet Nam.  All of this was very curious because they had never served in the military of any country and certainly had no combat experience in any of those wars.  In fact, the Viet Nam war was over at least ten years before either was born.  But fight on they did, in the words of that famous U.S. Marine Corps General, “Retreat hell, we’re simply attacking in a different position.”

Having an inspiration of faith and knowing in their hearts that the Christian God above all loves all his children, they stood suddenly upright and bolted from the room into the arms of Sheriff Davis, who thought they were running away, and were women, and called them “bitch babies,” and ordered them to “Arm yourselves and get back in the fight or leave.” 

Being oriented more along the line of lovers than fighters, they left.

Mr. PeePee reacted suddenly and decisively with overwhelming force to a splatter of automatic gun fire in his direction and emptied several rapidly unloaded several magazines in the direction of the incoming gunfire. 

Texas John Walker was on the receiving end of this blast and fired back with equally overwhelming fire.  In his mind he was the Choctawhatchee County equivalent of shock and awe.  He saw the Jamaicans firing wildly and opened up on them.  He emptied a belt at them and reloaded while various now detached parts of their bodies twitched and flexed on the floor.

Hank Garth was fan firing his six shooters and the bullets were flying in all directions.  He was the first to die.  Mr. PeePee was next.  The Jamaicans got him with simultaneous blasts from their glold plated AKs, but he got a couple of them, and splattered parts of them all over the floor and walls.  Beauregard took them out while they were listening to Sheriff Davis ordering them to leave or get in the fight.  Beauregard was a good shot and their heads exploded in a pink mist as the Sheriff was speaking.  Texas John was partially responsible for this because he hosed at least half a belt of SAW ammo into them before the Sheriff turned her dead eyed attention to him. 

All the ruckus scared the be-Jesus out of Buford and he tossed a few grenades in through the now nonexistent windows.  After they detonated, he followed them inside.

All this noise made it impossible to hear the music and Nellie Gal stormed into the bar to quiet things down as the last hand grenade detonated.She stepped into the now largely nonexistent room as Buford stormed in, saw her and yelled, “Fill your hand, bitch.”

He had re-holstered his pistol throw the grenades and now tried to draw it again,  This last act, besides being a last act, was to no avail.  Nellie Gal was much quicker and a much better shot and she drilled one and one round only between his eyes.

She re-holstered her gun as the naked sheriff entered the bar and asked, “What the hell is going on here?”

“We was a dancing, next door, and this yahoo began shooting up the place, told him to knock off the noise and he went for his gun.  She gestured to Buford’s odoriferous body on the floor, “I shot him.  It was a fair fight, Sheriff, he drew first. You want my gun?”

“Naw, I know you’re a law abiding citizen and you wouldn’t kill nobody who didn’t need it.  Besides that, you might need it to defend your sef.”

“Wichita Lineman” was the next record in the que, and while it had a weak downbeat, dancing fiends do dance, so the Nellie Gal and the Sheriff danced a couple of slides before Nellie Gal went back to the meeting hall.

At first, the Gunfight at Nellie Mae’s didn’t get much attention in the press.  The responding deputies and detectives quickly recognized that the carnage had been the product of a fair fight and documented their observations with routine officers reports that were delegated to rookies for training and experience.  Then the NRA heard about it and the heroic actions of Nellie Gal and Sheriff Donna Jean and gave them awards for their courage and marksmanship and nationwide endorsements of the NRA and its products.  A few internet sites dedicated to police officer’s rights ran stories about “once a sheep dog, always a sheep dog,” and “The only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun,”  Several memes began circulating on Facebook depicting a sheepdog, with Sheriff Donna Jean’s face super imposed on the dog’s, but after a few million complaints that it was disrespectful to sheepdogs, people stopped liking it and sharing it and it drifted into Facebook oblivion.  There was a little friction generated by the “good guy with a gun” meme because, as was pointed out a few million times on Twitter and Facebook, Nellie Gal is a woman.  That cyberspace kerfuffle eventually dissipated, too, after Nellie Gal was featured in several national ads promoting her Model 327 TRR8 for Smith and Wesson.

Even Poo Tang and Boy’s Boy got into the act and endorsed a new Pink Line offered by Colt Industries featuring firearms with anodized pink finishes for the more delicate gun fighter.

Except for the fact that alligators started dying off in the area of the famous Northwest Florida Swamp where the Coroner’s Office dumped Buford’s carcass—it smelled too bad to keep in the autopsy waiting room and none of the surrounding undertakers would take it—thing were quiet and commercial success returned to Nellie Gals Café.

Sheriff Donna Jean soon recovered from her gunshot wound—she had the bullet encased in clear acrylic and displayed it in a prominent place on her desk—and was re-elected at the end of her term on a law and order platform.

Life in America goes on.

Submitted: December 17, 2017

© Copyright 2021 Eddie C Morton. All rights reserved.

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