“Thank God!” Dumar said.
Helton collected back up the hole-saw blades. “Now, the actual blade used on Caudill’s head, like I said, it disser-peered. ’cos, see, not long after they had their header on Caudill, a cop discovered ’em and shot both Travis’n Grandpap dead right in Grandpap’s old shack by the deadfall.”
“Aw, dang!” Micky-Mack said.
“Yeah, but they got the job done, and that’s all that matters,” Helton said. He emphasized, “Family’s all that matters when ya get right down to it.”
The fire’s dwindling embers tainted their faces in ghostly orange. But Micky-Mack seemed antsy about something, and Helton noticed this and ordered, “Say what’s on your mind, boy?” even though he had a good idea what it was.
“Unc Helton?” the 20-year-old asked. “Have you…ever been to a header?”
Helton breathed deep. “Tain’t sayin’ I’m proud’n I ain’t sayin’ I’m ashamed…but, yeah, boys. I had a couple’a headers back in the day. The why’s’n wherefores don’t matter. It’s just that several times we was offended in ways so dag-blasted low-down that a header was the only way ta git justice.” He looked idly at the rusted hole-saws. “It were Grandpap Martin, my brother Tuff, and me. See, fellas, our families didn’t never treat headers willy-nilly. We respected the law of the hills and only threw headers when someone deserved it. Shee-it, Tuff never did no wrong ta Thibald Caudill, not never. It was Caudill’s greed, and his sheer fuckin’ evil that got him ta doin’ what he did.”
“And he got what he deserved,” Dumar said with some satisfaction.
“Yeah, he shore did, and I’se hopin’ that Satan hisself is butt-fuckin’ that old rube as we speak. ’cos, see, some folks—folks like Caudill—they’se so sick’n twisted’n just plain wicked that they’se throw headers when they got no business. They do it…’cos they like it, and that’s just the most devilish thing that hillfolk can ever do.”
Micky-Mack looked overwhelmed. “Shee-it, Unc. How could anyone like cuttin’ a hole in someone’s head’n fuckin’ their brain?”
Helton deliberated over a response. “Well, son, for the reasons I just tolt ya: ’cos they’se evil, but…but…” He sighed. “There’s another reason, too.”
“What reason could that be, Paw?”
Helton rubbed his eyes. “Aw, son, I’ll be honest with ya. See, there’s somethin’ ’bout havin’ a header—just…somethin’… Dang, I might as well just say it. There’s somethin’ ’bout a freshly opened head, and the brain inside’a that head, that makes it good ta fuck.”
“What’cha mean by that, Unc?” the ever-inquiring Micky-Mack asked.
“What I mean, boy—and this is what has caused some ta stray—what I mean is, gettin’ yer nut in a brain? It feels better than any nut you ever had, better’n the best pussy ya ever fucked, better’n the best mouth or butt you ever come in…” Helton stroked his beard. “Don’t know why, just does.”
“Dang,” Dumar remarked.
“And you two’ll be findin’ out ’bout that a right quick,” Helton went on as the woods seemed to darken around them, and grow colder and colder. “What I ain’t ‘splained to ya yet is what this man Paulie’s got ta do with any’a this.”
“Yeah, Paw, I was fixin’ ta ask.”
Helton looked grimly at his son. “Li’l Crory’s awful murder was Paulie gettin’ revenge against Grandpap and Travis for fuckin’ Thibald Caudill’s head.”
“Oh, so this Paulie fella, he one’a Caudill’s kin?”
“Well, sort’a. See, Paulie married Caudill’s daughter Marshie. Shee-it, Marshie Caudill was damn shore the best-lookin piece’a ass in the whole fuckin’ county, boys. Tits and ass and legs that’d make a grown man cry. She’d been workin’ a seedy strip joint in Pulaski since she was 16, and turnt plenty’a tricks too’s what I heard. Even had herself a trick-baby from a john that knocked her up. But after Thibald Caudill got head-humped ta death, Marshie, she inherit her daddy’s big mansion and all that money, so she buy that strip joint she work all them years in. Still owns the place ta this day. Reckon she must be ’bout your age now, Dumar.”
Dumar slowly nodded. “Now ya mention it, I have heard’a her. Me’n Harley Benner was walkin’ back from cuttin’ wood one day, walkin’ along Big Boon Road, and this weird-lookin’ fancy silver car drive by. There were a hot blond drivin’ it, Paw, and I’se mean she had tits stickin’ out till next week. But then ya know what she done? When she see us, she makes a evil face’n up’n give us the finger, and that’s when Harley Benner say, ‘That there is Marshie Caudill.’”
Helton was not surprised. “It was her, all right, son, and you’re right. Righteous pair’a tits on the bitch, yessir. And, see, just like her devilsh daddy, she still drive through these parts—damn near ever mornin’, I’se heard. Drive all the way from Pulaski to where we all live. Likes ta see where she come from, and remind herself she don’t live here no more on account of her daddy’s money. And that weird car? It were the self-same Rolls Royce Thibald Caudill used ta drive. I even seed her a couple’a times up close—in Luntville—still lookin’ good as she ever did, tits hangin’ perfect’n all high’n might, nipples stickin’ out like fuckin’ rivets, ass swayin’ back’n forth in her fancy dresses. Paulie’s proper name is Paul Vinchetti—see, he’s a Eye-tallion type, and he’s in this group they call, I think, the MAFF-ee-uh.”
“What the hail’s that?” Micky-Mack asked.
“He’s like a gangster, you know? A big whup-dee-doo criminal—see, he’s into what they call organized crime.” Need it be elucidated that Helton pronounced the word “organized” as organnazzed? “Don’t rightly know how it all works, just that Paulie’s pig-shit rich from sellin’ drugs and gettin’ profits from gamblin’ and such. And several years ago, he and his boys, they started selling their drugs ’round these parts, see? And one night he’s in the strip joint Marshie Caudill owns and he gets one look at Marshie and he fall head-over-heels in love with the whore, so much so in fact that he up’n marries her.”
“Well, how you like that?” Dumar said.
“Must’a been Marshie tolt him ’bout how the Tucktons and Martins was responsible fer Thibald Caudill gettin’ his head fucked.”
Helton nodded. “And now? They’se all laughin’ and carryin’ on ’bout how they fucked over a couple’a dirt-poor rednecks, and they figure we’se too dumb or ain’t got the balls to do anything about it.” Helton half-sneered, half-smiled. “They like ta make movies? Well, we’ll show ’em a movie…”