When Kath gets better, I stop.
Cummings actually believed this, and maybe it was even true. But he remembered his priorities, as well as his golden rule: Cops On The Take- Always Get Caught. Which was why, as he'd previously planned, he would seize any "special" opportunity, and maybe have the chance to put enough in CDs to cover Kath's medical expenses just in interest. Then he'd be clean and wouldn't have to worry. And there was another thing: whenever he and Spaz delivered product to a point, they carried back a bag full of cash. Ten thousand, fifteen, one time thirty-five. Cummings wasn't stupid. Eventually, he knew, he'd sufficiently gain enough of Dutch's trust to drop point on a really big score. Then—
I'm made in the fuckin' shade, brother...
But the headers carried on. A dozen became two dozen, then three. They were finding the bodies on the shoulder of Route 154. for God's sake, and in culverts and ravines, in wide open fields, all over the place. Same m.o. each time. Same perps.
Cummings' judicial curiosity smoldered. This was his sideline, all right. He was going to solve the head-humping murders if it took everything he had.
And then, one day, he got a break...
........
"Hump that head, boy. Hump it!"
Travis pumped away, this time on Betty Sue Morgan, whose pappy had once sniped sheep from Travis' own Dad. She was sweet an' young, with flowin' clean red hair and a nice set of milkers on her. Purdy cooze too, but Travis, by now, weren't interested much in cooze. Best pussy in the land weren't nearly as good as a nice hot brain.
"Aw, shee-it. Grandpap!" Travis postulated. "My bone's so hard it feels like it's gonna bust!”
"Then let it bust, son! Bust a nut right'n'side 'er head!"
And this Travis did, almost as if on command, squirtin' a good-sized pecker-loogie right inta the soft pulp'a Betty Sue Morgan's warm gray matter. It was a fine nut, it was, an' a generous one. 'Fact, Travis' jizz felt like a coupla big worms beltin' out his peckerhole.
"Your turn, Grandpap." he said, and, as were the case ever-time now, he picked his grandpappy up under the arms and held him up. Grandpap humped away, he did, railin' an' rejoicin' as his bone were shuckin' hilt-deep in an' outa Betty's purdy head. And when Grandpap gave her his squirt, he cried, as he yoo-sherally did now, heaped with gratitude fer what his one an' only grandson were doin' fer him. Helpin' ta retrieve his younger days, he were. And what greater gift could a grandson give his grandpappy, huh?
An' once that final load'a dickjuice were fired straight up inta Betty Sue's head. Travis, sated as a tom cat after etin' a mouse, hauled her purdy dead ass out the truck, and droved oft' ta dump her. A'corse, purdy as she were, Travis' bone was hard agin 'fore he ever made it out ta the Route, so's he hadda pull over, an' thought he'd give her poon a last shot'a the salt fer good measure. Humped her dead pussy hard, he did, and fer a long time, but it were nothin', so's then he took a good hock 'tween her buttcheeks and humped her cornhole—but still... nothin‘. Just weren't nearly as good, 'n fact, as humpin' her head, no sir. So' that's what Travis did next, lay her flat out on the hood'a the truck, an' stuck his root right back inner head. Humped her so hard, 'n fact, there's was milk spurtin' out her big creamy tits, on account of she just dropped a li'l white trash crumb-snatcher a few months back, he'd heard, and once Travis were done pourin' his last nut inta her head, he'd worked up quite a thirst, he did, so's he shook the last drops outa his cock, then he leant over and took a good long suck off those great rib melons'a hers, and had hisself a fine drink'a milk. Tasted kinda sweet and still warm, it did, and it were probably a full quart he sucked out of 'em by the time he were done. Her tits looked smaller, comes ta think of it. once he were through, 'bout plain-ass sucked 'em dry. Then he dumped her dead ass off by a big pin oak tree offa Tick Neck Road.
Yeah, head-humpin', that were it. Nothin’ better ta relieve the stresses of day-ta-day life, no sir. Get a fella off just dandy it did. And it were only fittin‘, on account'a these gals, and a coupla time fellas, were all kin ta folk who done his Daddy wrong. So Travis, driving back down the Route under a high moon, an' peepers makin’ a ruckus from the trees, had hisself a moment of self actualization.
A eye fer an eye was what the Bible said, and that could be interpreted as meanin' it was alls right ta head-hump a neighbor who done ya wrong. So's by head-humpin'. Travis rightly figured, by squirtin' his daily big load inna gal's head and havin' hisself a dandy nut, he were also follerin' the word of the Lord, doin' a service ta Chris-cher-anity. Ain't that right? Was a mighty great God who'd smile on those fer humpin' heads, yes sir!
But as he droved the pickup back to the cottage. Travis got ta thinkin'. This last month 'er two. he'd pretty much got back at all those who screwed his dear dead Daddy over. Gots back at the Reids an' the Kinneys an' the Waiters an’ the Shoals an' the Smits an' Gawd knowed who else. Weren't many left ta have a header with, ’n fact. But that last nut in Belly Sue's head still left him tinglin', an' just thinkin' 'bout it got him another stiffer right quick, so's he unzipped whiles he were drivin', he did, an'jacked hisself off a last nut an' wiped the watery come off on his shirt, an' then he got back ta thinkin'.
I gots ta know, he truly did declare to hisself, the high moon in his eyes, and his mind a'swayin'. I gots ta!
Yes sir. I got's ta have me a talk with Grandpappy...
........
Kath was remorseful, crying. "Oh, honey, I just can't stand myself!"
"Sweetheart," Cummings implored, next to her in bed.
"I'm just so run down all the time... "
"It's that acute pneumonia, honey. Dr. Seymour wrote it all down on the diagnosis. It'll pass. Eventually all those medications will take care of it. Don't worry darling. You'll get better."
"That's not what I mean." Kath sniffled. "I'm just such a crummy wife to you—"
"Don't say that. Kath!"
"—I can't get up till noon, I can barely do the shopping or clean the house. I can't even make love to my husband!"
"Kath! Don't worry about it. You're sick."
"Yeah, but for how much longer? You work so hard for me, and I can’t do anything for you! One of these days—"
"What?”
She sniffled again, sobbing into the pillow. "One of these days you're going to leave me, and I wouldn't blame you!"
Cummings stroked her hair, rubbed her back. "Honey, honey. I'd never leave you. Never. I promise. You'll get better soon, and everything will be all right. In the meantime—"
Cummings’ darker half spoke up. In the meantime, you greased pig, you'll carry coke for a dealer...
"In the meantime." he said, "I've got it covered. That raise—"
What raise, you lying asshole? The only raise you've ever gotten is from a coke peddler. Give yourself a slap on the hack, buddy. You're running product for the same people who sell crack to teeny-boppers...
"—that raise I got at work will take care of us fine. So don't worry."
She sniffled on, hitching under the covers. "You're so good to me. One day, I promise, I'll make it up to you, I swear." Then she feebly dragged the sheet up over her rump, and pulled up her nightgown. "Υοu can if you want I want you to, darling."
Cummings felt like a cad. Here was his wife, sick and despondent and crying, yet offering herself for his pleasure. He couldn't. Enticing as her backside looked, he couldn't...