“Great! She didn’t kick. Kind of thought she would, old as she is.”
“Proof of the resiliency of the human biological unit…”
The old woman’s face, quite surprisingly, laughs. “Ha! That all you silly boys can do? Just wait till my son Helton gets ya! He’n his kin’re gonna fuck all yer brains ta puddin’!”
“One, two, three—down!”
The horrific mass re-lowers, yet again engulfing the head.
“I’m tempted to just kill her now. I hate that old cunt.”
“Sure, boss, but that’s the reason we shouldn’t kill her.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Okay, guys! One, two, three—up!”
The head is re-exposed, looking a bit more weary than the first time.
The off-screen voice directs. “Back in the chair now”—grunting—“yeah, there. Cristo, get Melda back in the Winnie.”
“Right away, boss.”
“Thanks, Melda.”
“Oh, any time, Paulie! I love the feel of a head in my pussy!”
“She still alive, Doc?”
A manicured finger angles into the frame and touches the old woman’s slick throat. “Wait—wait, why…yes!”
“Perfect!”
The head lolls now, muck-shellacked and wheezing for breath, but eventually the old woman summons the last of her strength and looks right back at the camera. “Helton, my dear son! Don’t ya mind none what these Satan-worshipin’ bastards are a-doin’ ta me. I’se old and it’s way past my time, and I’se had me a wonnerful life. Just you take care, son, like I knows ya will! I knows you’ll git these fellas’n show ’em what fer! Hunt ’em down and fuck their evil heads like heads ain’t never been fucked b’fore! The Tuckton’s ain’t never lost a feud! Make the family proud like ya always done—” but then her speech is drowned out by the most shockingly vicious sound: not quite that of a chainsaw, not quite that of a lawn mower.
The frame seems to collapse as the Alpine stump-grinder lowers. It lowers slowly, ever so slowly, first just nicking the top of the woman’s skull, coming back up, then lowering some more. The screech of metal to bone is unmentionable. Blood, brain, and bone-bits fly like goulash out of a lidless blender.
Down and down, then, the stump-grinder lowers, and when it’s done it’s pulled away, leaving only a meaty neck-stump.
The motor-sound cuts off. Eery silence ensues.
“How you like them cookies, huh, Helton?” the off-screen voice inquires, and then comes a staccato of laughter…
««—»»
Veronica had collapsed even before the “film’s” finish. She lay now on the floor, in a shuddering fetal position. Helton, Dumar, and Micky-Mack, on the other hand, remained standing. Staring. Wide-eyed and tearing up. What they’d just witnessed on the computer screen—in spite of the presence of morning light—somehow turned the air smoke-dark.
No one spoke for quite some time.
Helton passed around a bottle of some citified liquor called AsomBroso 100% Blue Agave Tequila that he’d pinched from Marshie’s mansion. They each took hearty slugs.
“Paw?”Dumar was the first to speak. “Grandma Petunia was up’n the finest ole gal there ever was, and I—”
Helton severed the condolence with a wave of hand. “Ain’t no words necessary, boys. Our work’s cut out fer us…”
Tears ran freely down Micky-Mack’s face. “Unc Helton. We’se gotta get ’em back worse’n ever, we’se gotta—”
Helton’s silencing hand rose again. “Like I done tolt ya’s before, there is one rellertive’a Paulie’s not too far from here, not too far at all—”
Micky-Mack’s fist banged the table. “Then let’s go! Now!”
Helton’s face looked as dark as the air. “We’se’ll go, all right. But we gots ta wait till tonight. In the meantime, we needs ta go back ta that big store, that one calt the Home Depot…”
— | — | —
Chapter 15
(I)
It wasn’t quite a vegetative state that plagued Veronica for the coming hours. It was some sort of temporary semi-catatonia that left her staring at the truck’s metal walls with virtually no thoughts crossing her mind. The men seemed to be driving through a town, not the backwoods, and every so often, Veronica peered up and out the windshield, she saw but barely noticed garlands of Christmas lights. Then: Christmas, the single word occurred to her.
She didn’t know what it meant.
Veronica rocked comfortably back and forth as the truck shifted gears. Were they parking? An errant shift of gaze showed her something familiar: golden…arches? But why would that seem familiar? As they turned and pulled around, something else caught her gaze, a large yellow sign with black letters: BEST BUY. Veronica stirred.
The truck stopped.
Another section of a sign could be seen: HOME DEPOT.
Veronica whimpered.
“Micky-Mack? See that place over yonder. With them yeller rainbow-type things?”
“Yeah, Unc.”
“That there’s a restaurant, and it’s a famous one. Ain’t never et there myself but I’se know folks who have—it’s calt the Mack-Donald’s. Just you go on over’n pick us up a bunch’a viddles. I’m sick’a beans’n spaghetti’n fancy tater chips. Plus, Veronica might perk up if’n she got some citified grub in her breadbasket. Here’s some money—”
“Oh, I got me some money, Unc. Let me contri-bit—”
“No, boy. Use Maw’s money. It’s what she’d want. Meantime me’n Dumar’ll be in the Home Depot.”
“Shore, Unc.”
The boy disembarked. Helton’s concerned face hovered over Veronica.
“Veronnerka? Hon? You’se all right?”
Mouth opened, Veronica nodded.
“I’se sorry I showed ya that ugly movie but, like I said, I needed ya ta understand why we’se doin’ this…”
Veronica nodded.
“We’se’ll be right back. Whine you just try ta take yerself a nap?”
Veronica nodded.
Helton sighed, then eventually left the truck with his son.
McDonald’s, she thought diffusely. Home Depot…
Something tiny seemed to crackle in her brain.
Best Buy…
She stood up—at least as much as she could given the handcuff—though she didn’t know why. She tried to peer out the windshield, but crooked over like that she could only see an edge of the semi-full parking lot. Daylight raged. Straining her neck…she detected movement…
A figure in a blue shirt—a familiar blue shirt—walked briskly through the rows of parked cars. It never occurred to her, though, that this person’s blue shirt was identical to her own. The figure was a slender man with spiked-up hair; more familiarity seemed to whisper around in her head. He was sticking sheets of paper beneath the windshield wipers of each car, and in an action so coincidental as to be completely unbelievable, a gust of wind picked up, detached one of the sheets from a windshield and blew it directly against the windshield of the black truck!