shhhhhlush
—it’s all pumped down with the plunger.
“Good job, guys!”
“Yeah, we filled her up, all right…”
Fuck! Look at hr belly! It’s stickin’ out like Jiffy Pop!”
Hyena-like laughter.
Another rough cut, then a wide shot shows all three masked men urinating on the pale corpse. Now, however, the corpse’s mid-section is distended.
“Wait’ll Helton and his crew of Gomer Pyle backwoods retards get a load of this,” says the one in the Nixon mask.
“What now, boss?” asks Lincoln.
Then Spock, “Yeah, boss. You want that we just leave the bitch here for the possums ta eat?”
The scene pauses for a beat. “No. Put her back in the hole and cover her over.” The man wearing the face of the country’s 37th president seems contemplative. “I don’t know. I just like the idea…”
“The idea, boss?”
“Yeah. I like the idea of the bitch layin’ underground with our shit in her gut. I mean, over the summer, she’ll rot, but when she does… our shit’ll rot with her.”
“Righteous.”
The next cut shows the nude corpse pushed back into the grave. Shovels re-bury her. Wing-tipped shoes tamp the earth down.
“All in a night’s work.”
The three men are waving again at the camera. Nixon offers his middle finger, then says, “Let’s see ya beat that, Gomer Pyle…”
The screen fades to black.
— | — | —
Chapter 10
(I)
Mike rushed into the store at 9:15, looking rather disarrayed yet inwardly content.
“You’re late,” Archie said.
Mike scoffed. “So what? I’m the boss.” Christmas muzak issued about the store. “Say, was Veronica pissed last night?”
“I didn’t think so; I convinced her you were busy with that bogus paper work.”
Up front, the ultra slim, lemon-breasted Greeter winked at Mike and made what can only be described as a “blowjob” gesture.
“You didn’t,” Archie whispered.
“I did. Couple times.” Mike smiled. “She blew me right in the office last night—pretty good head, I can tell you that, not that toothy nightmare Veronica gives.” He winked back at the Greeter. “Then I took her for pizza and she blew me in the men’s room! After that she jerked me off under the table, and then…I fucked her in the car. She’s got a pussy that should be in the Olympics.”
“But she’s sixteen!”
Mike shrugged. “Gotta get rid of Veronica, though,” but then he caught himself and glanced guiltily over his shoulder. “Better keep my voice down.”
“Why?” Archie said. “She’s late too.”
Mike paused. “But…I saw her car in the parking lot.”
“I know. But I think it’s been there all night.” Now it was Archie’s turn to smile, and a sardonic smile it was. “Maybe she got tired of your selfish super-snob bullshit and went home with another guy. You know… A nice guy.”
Mike crossed his fingers, looking dreamy. “God, I hope so. That would solve all my problems…”
Archie smirked. “Yeah, but what if she didn’t go home with another guy?”
Mike was staring at the Greeter as she perkily said, “Welcome to Best Buy!” to some customers coming in.
“What?”
“Well, if her car’s been in the lot all night? Aren’t you a little concerned?”
Mike didn’t seemed to comprehend. “Why should I be concerned?”
Archie signed. “In this day and age? Shit, maybe she got abducted.”
Mike considered the grim possibility…for about half a second. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not like her to be late. She’s never late.”
Mike chuckled under his breath. “Man, if someone did abduct her, I feel sorry for the dude. Between her motor-mouth and the fact that she gives the worst head in the world? Good luck, pal. You picked the wrong girl to abduct.”
“Man,” Archie said and winced. “You really are a prick.”
“So?”
“Aren’t you even going to call her, see if she’s all right?”
Mike took out his cellphone, looked at it, then put it back in his pocket. “No. If I’m lucky, she got wise to me and the Greeter, so she quit. Then she’ll be out of my hair forever.”
“Time Magazine Man Of The Year.”
“Um-hmm.”
Archie took a look at the Greeter’s trim waist and commendable buttocks. “Shit, I forgot, but…what’s the Greeter’s name?”
Mike frowned. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”
(II)
What on EARTH? Veronica thought when it became apparent that the digital video file Paulie had sent was over. She’d watched the three men as they watched the video—she’d watched their faces go from troubled, to aghast, to appalled. She’d watched big rugged grown men cry. What is it? What is ON that video? All any of them had said during the viewing was this:
Micky-Mack: “Holy fuck, Unc! Is that… Is that…”
Helton: “Yeah, boy. That’s our house a’burnin’…”
Then, moments later:
Helton: “Awwwww, Lord. Awwwww, no…”
Veronica thought she heard some unintelligible squawking from the voice track. Did someone with a Jersey accent say “There’s our bitch. Good job, guys”?
Now all three men stared at the laptop screen as if staring at a hundred-foot tidal wave.
“They’re diggin’ her up!” Dumar wailed. “Oh, my God! They’re diggin’ her up!”
Veronica tried to tune out the rest, grateful at least that these madmen hadn’t forced her to watch as well. Whatever had transpired on that screen…Veronica didn’t want to know.
At the clip’s evident conclusion, Dumar howled like a sick dog and passed out. Micky-Mack stood shuddering and blubbering, “You see that, Unc? You see what them evil fellas did ta my Aunt Mary Beth?” and then he fled the truck. Helton merely sat in the fold-down chair. He had tears in his eyes.
Many solemn minutes passed before Micky-Mack returned.
“What we gonna do, Unc Helton? We ain’t throwin’ in the towel, is we?”
“Hail no, boy. We gotta think. We gotta think’a how’s we can pay ’em back.”
“More’a Paulie’s kin. It’s the only way.”
Helton nodded.
“But that black fella said Paulie’s wife was out’a town.”
“Then we gots ta think’a someone else.” Helton now looked like a backwoods version of The Thinker at Columbia University. Then, very slowly, his cruxed gaze turned to Veronica.
“Hon. It saddens me ta tell ya that this feud we got goin’ probably ain’t gonna be over any time soon—”
Veronica wilted.
“—which means we’se gonna need ya fer a spell more.”
Immediately, she began to crack sobs. “You’re never going to let me go, never…”
“Now, no cryin’, hon. See, we need more’a yer help, and the more ya can give us, the sooner it’ll be that ya can leave.”
“What!” she blared. “What do you want now? More oral sex?”
Helton’s bushy brows fluttered. “Some more tweakin’, why shore—thanks fer offerin’.”