“Adele Vinchetti’s corpse,” Veronica said without thinking first.
A long pause. “Well…yeah, hon. Best just ya not concern yerself with it.”
“Aren’t you…going to…dump the body?”
Helton looked at her and sighed. “Well, I’se guess ya got a inklin’ of a idea what’s going on, but what ya gotta understand is that we’se only gettin’ our revenge against Paulie for him murderin’ Dumar’s little son Crory.”
Veronica looked at him.
“And there’s a reason that we ain’t dumpin’ the body just yet. See, we need the body—we’se ain’t done with it. We gots ta film another scene with the fancy camera ya solt us.”
Another…scene…
“We’ll be back in Pulaski by sun up, I reckon, then we make one quick stop, film the last scene, then we’se’ll dump the body.”
One stop quick as we can, she recited. “What…stop?”
“Gots ta see a friend’a mine, fine old fella named we up’n talked to just yesterday, s’matter’a fact. Fella the name of Charlie Fuchson…”
(II)
Yes, for those curious, that same night, Helton, Dumar, and the youngster Micky-Mack had indeed partaken in what was known amongst select hillfolk as a “double-header,” something that reportedly hadn’t been done in quite a few decades. At least in Helton’s understanding, it had been Bustin Kucker who’d first thought it up, back in ‘74, and Helton had been invited to the gathering, along with Grandpap Martin, Helton’s brother Tuff, and about ten other upstanding yokels. See, Bustin needed to get the task over with before his wife Darcy got home from the sewing shop in Russelville, so he figured that sawing two holes in the victim’s skull—and hence permitting the insertion of two penises at a time—would speed things up. Bustin had had a feud going with Melmo Faft for a long time, and when the ‘74 Recession hit, it had been Bustin, not Melmo, who’d been fired from his job in the farm co-op. Word had been going around that, due to the economic duress of the times, several would have to be let go, and Melmo hated Bustin so much that he’d stolen Bustin’s buck knife out of his truck, slashed the project manager’s tires, and left the knife in proximity. The knife, of course, had been engraved with the name KUCKER. But Bustin had six mouths to feed, so such a deed was deemed grievous enough to warrant the ultimate punishment.
Melmo’s busty and well-bottomed daughter Bliss had been expeditiously absconded with, removed to Bustin’s shack in the Luntville woods; and, instead of being tied down to a table, she’d been tied to a chair. The hole-saw shrieked as not one but two holes were cut into her head: the first, in the forehead; the second directly in the rear of the skull. Two at a time, then, the attendees had stepped up, one in the front and one from behind, and then the double-header had commenced. Much sperm was pumped into Bliss Faft’s attractive head that night, and much satisfaction felt.
Helton recalled this fond memory the night they’d snatched Adele Vinchetti. Helton had gone first—executing a more traditional single-header, because he wanted the initial camera footage to allow for a front-on closeup of Adele’s face, and it must be said that that face had still shown minute signs of life when Helton slid his dirty erection into the back of her head. Dumar had been holding the camera for the shot, and, upon initial penetration, he’d exclaimed, “Hot damn, Paw! The bitch’s eyes went wide open the second ya got yer pecker in her brain!” The information brought gladness to Helton’s heart, as did his forthcoming climax. After this, Helton manned the big Sony, yet with the skill of a Mario Bava—er, well, maybe not quite that much skill—he’d changed camera angles, shooting now from the side with Madam Vinchetti’s ear center-of-frame.
Dumar fucked the woman’s head from behind while Micky-Mack fucked it from the front, in a “push-me, pull-you” fashion. Helton’s clever positioning of the camera allowed for a maximum visual effect.
It must be mentioned—however belatedly—that the quality of cosmetic surgery enjoyed by the upper-class had left Adele Vinchetti’s physical body in quite a provocative state, even for a woman of her years. So fascinated by her implants Micky-Mack was that even after his climax, the desirous zeal of his youth left him with no choice but to fondle those pert implants with much appreciation. The young man was erect again in no time, and then he had a second “go” at Adele’s “coconut,” this time from behind.
So long as it was amongst kin and for a stalwart purpose, “sloppy seconds” in an evil head were perfectly acceptable and, in fact, smiled upon.
Afterwards, though—all men now being spent—it was Dumar who’d seemed disconsolate. “Well, dang, son,” Helton questioned. “We just done put four loads in this bitch’s head. Ya oughts ta be happy, so’s how come ya ain’t?”
Dumar jigged a scoffing hand. “Shee-it, Paw. It just…ain’t enough, ya know? I mean, it was this gal’s devil-lovin’ son who kilt my boy so horrible-like.”
“Yeah, and ya just done fucked her in the head. Fittin’n proper. Ya cain’t tell me ya didn’t get no satisfaction from that.”
Dumar rubbed his face, perhaps hiding tears. “It just ain’t enough…”
Micky-Mack sat lackadaisically on a milk crate, his penis still out as he played with the seated and very limp woman’s neatly electrolysized pubis. “I think I’se knows what he means, Unc Helton.”
“We needs ta do somethin’ more,” Dumar insisted. “When Paulie see this movie, we need him ta be more pissed than he ever been. Ain’t enough just ta fuck his Maw in the head.”
Semen drooled out the hole in Adele Vinchetti’s skull.
“Somethin’ more, huh?” Helton reflected, opening a bottle of soda. He guzzled, thinking.
But it was Micky-Mack who’d gotten the idea: “Unc! ‘Member yesterday when Charlie Fuchson’s egg-suck dog fucked that foul-mouthed Russian gal?”
Helton’s eyes seemed to light up, and he grinned and very slowly nodded. “Well, shit my drawers, Micky-Mack. Just when I’se convinced you’re all dick and no brain, you come up with a dandy idea!” The elder man chuckled. “It’ll be bad enough fer Paulie to watch three fellas fill his Maw’s head with cum, but just think how riled he’ll be ta also see it filled with dog-nut! Double-headers’ve been done before, yessir, but there ain’t never been a dog header before. And me’n Charlie go back a long way, we do. I’m shore he wouldn’t mind…”
Hence, this 899-word spiel to accentuate our next scene. Veronica’s navigatory expertise did indeed return them to the Pulaski area by sunrise.
And Charlie Fuchson was all too happy to loan his egg-suck dog Droop out for such a noble purpose…
(III)
“God-DAMN!”
BANG!
“MotherFUCKers!”
BANG!
“They fucked my mother—”
BANG!
“In the HEAD!”
BANG!
Each BANG! ringing out between the tirade-fragments were the result of the impact of Paulie’s fist to the Winnebago’s interior walls. This occurred at about ten in the morning, immediately after Argi had downloaded the next email attachment. Paulie, needless to say, was left out-of-sorts after watching this latest digital video file.