“What’cha mean, Paw?”
“Like maybe…that place she work! The Best Buy where she solt us the fancy camera!” Helton stared the big truck. “Try to roust her up, son. Won’t be but a few minutes ‘fore we’re there.”
Helton pulled the truck out, made the proper cumbersome turns, and was soon heading down the proper gayly-decorated thoroughfare. There’s the place, he thought, spying the well-lit sign. However, even at the intersection before the store, he could see…
God on High, I cain’t thank Ya enough!
Paulie’s Winnebago was parking in the Best Buy lot, right before the OPEN TILL MIDNIGHT sign.
It was only twenty of.
“Change’a plans, son!” he yelled back and pulled around the block. “Look around back…and see if ya can find the crowbar…”
(VII)
Paulie and Argi walked briskly toward the store. Argi had an overcoat on but hadn’t yet fastened it. Paulie frowned.
“Argi. What’d’ya think you’re doin’? We’re going into a store, you know? A public place. Ya got your ball hangin’ out of your pants.”
Argi stopped, wincing at the persistent pain. “I know, boss, but shit, if I put it back in my pants, it even hurts more.”
Paulie leaned over to look. “Fuck, man. It’s swollen up the size of a fuckin’ avocado!”
Argi daintily dabbed at the distended scrotal sack. Indeed, the afflicted testicle had inflamed to several times its normal size. “Big as it is now, I probably couldn’t get it back in my pants if I tried. I’ll just have to leave it out and keep the coat over it. Wouldn’t want to offend any Christmas shoppers.”
“Naw, you’re right. We wouldn’t wanna do that…”
The doors yawned open; they strolled into the brightly lit store. Immediately a spiked-haired young man greeted, “Welcome to Bust Buy, and happy holidays. How can I help you?”
Paulie wagged the cellphone and broken charger. “I need a phone charger. Now.”
“Right over here, sir.”
The clerk took them to the phone section. In the background, at the television department, dozens of super-bright flat-screen TV’s showed a local male newscaster with a crooked red- and green-striped tie pointing to a weather map of North America. “And, folks, this just in! NORAD has just reported Santa’s official entry into U.S. airspace!” He chuckled. “Let’s just hope the Air Force doesn’t shoot him down!”
The clerk produced the necessary charger. “Here you go, anything else?”
Paulie busted the charger out of its box. “Yeah, I need to charge my phone here, I’ll pay extra. I gotta make a real important call.”
The clerk’s brow rose. “It’ll take a while to charge up a totally dead cell, but I’d be happy to loan you my phone.”
“Naw, naw, the number I gotta call is on this phone…”
The clerk squinted at Paulie’s cell. “That’s the same Blackberry I have, sir. Here”—he took the battery out of his phone and put it in Paulie’s. “Go ahead and make your call.”
“Argi, give him a C-note,” Paulie said and started dialing.
“Sure, boss,” Argi said.
“Why, thanks very much, sir!” the clerk beamed.
Paulie ambled off, phone to ear. The line was ringing, then—
“Hello?” came the voice of Helton Tuckton.
“You Gomer Pyle redneck fuck! Nobody fucks my kid in the head! Nobody!”
“Yeah? Well we’se just did.”
“How can ya fuck a dead baby in the head!”
The clerk gulped, and asked Argi, “Uhhhh…what did he say?”
“Nothin’, kid, nothin’.”
“Easy. ’cos it was your baby,” Helton’s voice replied over the line. It was strange, though. He seemed to be whispering. Why would he do that? “And lemme tell you this, Paulie—I’se never had such a good cum in my life.”
“So fuck all this movie shit! We’re havin’ it out! Tonight! You name the place, we’ll be there. And we’re gonna grind your hillbilly faggot asses into ground chuck!”
Helton chuckled over the line. “I’se name the place, huh?”
“Yeah! Then we go head to head!” Paulie yelled. “Tell us where to meet ya!”
“All right. How’s about we meet…right here?”
“What the fuck you talkin’ about! I’m in a goddamn Best—”
The clerk began to object, “Uh, sir? What’s going on?”
sheeeeeeeeeeeesh…SWACK!
The clerk hit the floor like a metal duck in a shooting gallery.
“Holy fuck, boss!” Argi yelled and drew his gun.
Paulie gaped at the clerk, who now had a red hole right in his forehead.
“Aw, sheee-it. I up’n hit the wrong fella,” Helton’s voice echoed, but not over the phone.
From somewhere in the store.
Paulie and Argi ducked behind the phone counter.
“They’re in the fuckin’ store, boss,” Argi stated the obvious.
“How the fuck they get in without us seein’ ’em?”
“Must’ve busted in through the back.”
“Helton, you fuck!” Paulie bellowed. “Where are ya?”
Helton’s voice boomed like a megaphone now. “Why, I’se right here…”
Paulie and Argi peeked over the top. Beside a dump-stand of Microsoft Office Home And Student stood Helton, shielding most of his hulking frame. He held a slingshot.
Argi nudged Paulie. “And over there, boss.”
Dumar knelt beside a row of compact disk bins. Only half of his face could be seen, but held out before that face was a big pistol.
Helton extended his arm, the slingshot dangling from his hand. “All right. Let’s see just what kind’a man you really is. No weapons, just bare hands. Right here. Us against you…”
“You’re on, Jed Clampett!”
Helton smirked. “Who? I don’t know no…,” but he just shrugged and dropped his slingshot. Then he stepped fully out into the aisle.
Dumar—
CLACK!
—dropped the big pistol.
“I’ll take the long-hair,” Paulie said. “You take Helton.”
“It’d be a pleasure, boss.”
Both mobsters threw their guns over the counter, then stood up—
“EEEEEEEEE-Haaa!” Dumar yelled and was already somersaulting through the air. His body smacked across Paulie’s chest and toppled him. Helton charged as well, clotheslining Argi as the beefy lieutenant was trying to take off his overcoat. And from this point on, sheer pandemonium ensued.
Dumar pummeled Paulie on the tile floor, then—
THUD!
—several teeth flew out when Paulie hoisted a lucky knee to the redneck’s chin. Helton and Argi duked it out in fisticuffs, big knuckles colliding into faces. But when Argi rammed his head into Helton’s belly, Helton went down. This gave the lieutenant time to finally divorce himself of the cumbersome overcoat.
Helton sprang back up but paused, gaping. “What’s that there hangin’ out’cher pants, fella? That ain’t a ball, is it?”
“It sure as fuck is, hill-trash!” By now inflammation had swelled the injured testicle to something almost as large as a mango. “That blond-haired hillbilly punk busted it with his slingshot!”
Helton chuckled at the ludicrous sight. “Well, I’ll be bustin’ the other one fer ya, and then I’m gonna fuck ya in yer head!”