Header

"Straight up." Dutch mimicked. "How come a cop wants to work for a guy like me?"

Cummings' hands unfolded before him. It was time for his spiel. "Oldest reason in the world, Dutch. I need money. I got a sick wife who's getting sicker; each week she needs another medication that costs a fuckin' arm and a leg, and the bread the feds pay me wouldn't buy a good box lunch.

I been bending over backwards for the ATF for 10 years, and I haven't even gotten one promotion, while everyone else in this shit-stinking world makes out like a bandit. Now its my turn to make out. Fuck it. I'm going on the pad. You don't want to work with me, fine. I'm sure I can find some other dope dealer who'd like to have a federal cop in his pocket."

The look on Dutch's face broadened; the point, obviously, drove home. "One run per week to my points, and a thousand a month in your till?"

"That's Right."

Dutch's steely eyes leveled. "How much product per ran?"

"As much as you can stuff into the trunk of my federal police car." Cummings answered.

Dutch eased back in his chair, lowering his beer in a lax grace. Then, for the first time, he smiled. "I think we can work with this." he said.

........

"Hump that head, boy!" Grandpap wailed. "Hump it!"

And Travis, he humped like a trooper, he did, that big cherrywood work table thunkin' with each hump. Travis' bone never felt so hard in his life, no sir, as it were right now slidin' in an' outa Chessy Kinney's head as she lay like a sidled-over Berkshire hog on the table. Travis had seed her pickin' raspberries just 'fore nightfall, big as a Berkshire hog herself inna puke-green sundress, all big tits an' belly strainin' against the flinty material, ratty brown hair hangin' in ropes 'round her fat face. Travis had offered her a ride home in his pickup, then jacked her out but good with his brass knucks once she gots in. It just hurt him so bad seein' the crashed look on Grandpap's face after that dirty, hoochin', dick-cheese-eatin' Nedder Kinney had pulled that stunt, only payin' a paltry sawbuck fer a pair of Grandpap's fine work-boots. But it were like the Bible said, a eye fer an eye, 'er somethin' like that, so Travis felt it letgitermat ta snatch Nedder's fat, cracker wife and have a header.

He'd brought her back ta the cottage and slugged her down belly-up on the table, huffin' and puffin' on account she weighed more'n a wheelbarrow chock fulla wet cee-ment, and Grandpap, when he seed what Travis had done, just up shouted with sheer fuckin' joy, skinny arms raised high. "Ain't that just the finest grandson I been blessed with!" he exclaimed.

"Well, Grandpap. I figured it was fittin' after seein' the way Nedder Kinney ripped ya off fer yer boots." Travis reckoned. "Weren't right what he did, so we'se'll get him back proper." Travis, then, set ta makin' the hole ta slide his peter in, and a question occurred ta him. "Hey, Grandpap, lets me ask ya somethin'. Weren't it be easier, 'stead goin" ta the trouble'a workin' the hole-saw with the drill, ta just knock a hole inner head with a good ballpeen or pig sledge?'

"Νaw, boy, and lets me tell ya why." Grandpap, in his erudite wisdom, replied. "Hammer don't make a clean hole, an' that's a might important. 'Member Sisal Conner, fat sack cracker lived in the lean-to out by Watter's Pond? Fer years he dropped pigs fer William's Meat Company, 'fore they closed it a'corse. on account'a the 'conomy. Anyways, Sisal were an expert at crackin' skulls, did it eight hours a day, an' he could drop 'em pretty as you please. Then, once Williams laid his tired ass off, he got to cuttin' wheat on the government subsidy, an' I 'member one time one'a the Croll boys sugared the gas tank on his brant-new John Deer thresher, so Sisal just snatched one of the Croll kids a week later, see, an he invites me an' yer pappy over fer the header. An' insists on usin' a ballpeen on account he was so expert with it from his pig killin' days, an he smacks that boy a tad too hard, picks the pieces out best he could and puts his peter right in. Caught a bone sliver, son, right in his dick knob he did, an' next thing we know he's runnin' 'round screamin' with blood squirtin' out his stiffer like he's takin' a red pee. So that's why ya don't never use a hammer, boy. Ya always use the hole-saw 'cos there weren't never be no bone splinters ta catch a hitch in yer dick."

Wow. Folks were right. Old folk knowed what they was talkin' 'bout, an' if there were one thing Travis didn't need, it was a bone splinter slidin' right inta his dickmeat. No sir, he didn't need that none at all!

So's Travis, then, rememberin' the technique, screwed the hole-saw inta the power drill and got ta openin' the top'a Chessy Kinney's head. Tears of glee shined in Grandpap's old, rheumy eyes whiles Travis were doin' the job. Made a hell of a racket, it did, but in less time than it take ta blow a snotwad out'cher nose, that little circle of bone popped right out, an' Travis didn't waste no time stickin' the knife in the hole ta make a good deep slit fer his pecker, and when he did just that, even though ol' Chessy were still unconscious from the brass knucks, her fat and kinda hairy legs kicked up once, and that was that. She were dead on the table, deader'n dogshit.

Blood poured out her head like tappin' the bilge drum onna hot hooch tank, but once all that cracker blood got out, Travis got in—with his woody, that is, and a might good it certainly felt humpin' that still-warm cracker brain'a hers. Travis kept his eyes closed whiles he was doin' it 'cos he didn't wanna be ganderin' Chessy's body, no sir. What a mess of a woman she was, rolls'a fat jigglin' under that slinky dress, her big dirty feel stickin' out over the opposite edge'a the table. She had big tufts of hair unner her arms which reminded Travis of the balls'a steel wool he'd hafta clean pots with on chow hall duty in the slam, and one'a her tits popped out just then, big as a baby's head it was, an' it just kinda lolled there like a bag'a chicken fat, and a coupla skanky black hairs stickin' outa a nipple that looked more like a bloody hock someone'd just spat. No sir. Travis didn't need ta be lookin' at that 'less he wanted ta lose his woody right there inner head.

"Hump it. Travis!" Grandpap rallied on, now pink-faced as he was jackin' hisself in the chair. "Get that nut right up in her head, boy! Hump that cracker!"

Well, hump that cracker Travis did, an' it didn't take long. Travis felt the feelin's' buildin', and they was like no other feelin's' he'd ever felt. Travis' eyeballs crossed, they did, and he grabbed Chessy Kinney's big dirt-seamed ears an' humped harder he did, an' it was almost like that knife-slit in her cracker brain were a hot suckin' mouth onna five-dollar roadhouse whore, and right then, Travis went up on his tiptoes, moanin' right away, and he blowed hisself a long an' hearty nut inta the middle of Chessy Kinney's corpus callosum, not that Travis hisself knowed just what a corpus callosum were, nor did he know what a central sulcus 'er a occipital pole were either. Suffice ta say, he blowed hisself a long, hot dicksnot right inta the middle'a her cracker head, an' it felt a right good, it did. Ain't come that good in his life.

"Aw, shee-it, Grandpap. Lemme tell ya, that was one dandy nut!"

Travis stepped back, slick with sweat now, and he let his limp pecker slide right outa that newcut headhole.

"Yeah boy!" Grandpap agreet. "Headers're somethin', ain't they? Who needs poon when ya kin hump a head?"

"But—Grandpap." Travis stalled, feelin' a might guilty. All this time he was havin' so much pleasure fer hisself, and there was poor Grandpap, with his old bone still hard an' stickin' up outa his lap.

"Shee-it, Grandpap. You ain't had yerself yer own nut yet."

"Aw, no matter, boy, Ol'coot like me, take a while it does. Just watchin's fine enough. Watchin' a strong young man like yerself humpin' a head, reminds me'a the good οl' days, and lemme tell ya son. I humped myself a fair share a heads."