Mrs Malloy grabbed her two erring sons by the wrists and dragged them out of the sheriff's office and across the gravel lot outside, not stopping until they reached the family pickup. With the same sort of dismissive flick with which she threw a hog up on the butchering table, she dropped their hands. Virgil rubbed his wrist while Turk dragged a torn sneaker through the dirt and snuck a look up at his momma. She looked back with narrowed eyes and then swatted them both. Mrs Malloy had had 17 years of aiming swats at children's behinds - and eight behinds to aim at - so she had all speedy reflexes and hardened muscles of a professional pitcher. Both would-be car thieves jumped and yelped.
'That's for stealing the minister's car," she said, and took aim again, "– and that's for getting caught!"
She turned to Turk, grabbed him by the ear and gave it a shake.
"Ow-err! Momma!"
"That's for leading your brother into trouble," she said grimly.
Virgil craned forward to smirk at Turk and his mother grabbed him in turn and gave his ear a thorough twist.
"And that's for being fool enough to let him."