The cop yelled as he depressed a button and a stream of liquid sprayed from the top of the cylinder. Almost immediately, Earl’s roar turned into a scream and water gushed from eyes that looked as if they were swelling shut. Rolling off the cop, Earl plunged his face into the snow as if some sort of relief might be found in the cold, white drifts.
The cop now had his baton in hand and he practically ran toward the screaming giant with it raised above his head like a club.
Just as he was about to strike, a gunshot echoed through the hills and valleys like a sudden clap of thunder. A flock of birds perched in a nearby tree took to the sky amid the fluttering of wings as a flap of scalp knocked the officer’s hat from his head. His body pitched forward and he fell, face first, into snow that was speckled with his own red blood.
Blood continued to bubble and ooze from the missing top of his head, but somehow he managed to roll over onto his back where it seeped into the snow and formed a crimson halo around him. Staring up into the sun, he saw a man step over his prone body. Saw his own service revolver coated with snow pointed directly at the center of his face.
Daryl said nothing. He simply pulled the trigger and listened to the complete silence that follows a gunshot in the wilderness as the cop’s face disappeared in a mist of blood and bone. He stood over the corpse for a moment, staring at the remains of the cop with a slack-jawed expression of detachment. Then he dropped to his knees and began searching for the key that would free his brother from the handcuffs.
The cruiser handled the icy road better than the truck, but Earl still had to focus his full attention on driving; every so often the rear of the Impala slid to the left while the front insisted on going the opposite direction. Easing up off the gas, Earl made slight corrections to the steering wheel that pressed against his gut and the car moved through the snow like a sidewinder through sand.
As the sound of his brother’s heavy breathing filled the car, Daryl slumped in the passenger’s seat with his ski cap laying across his lap. Alternately looking at the pistol that lay on the seat and the length of chain at his feet, he brushed the side of his cheek as if he were stroking a kitten. Though his expression looked tired and bored, his mind actually replayed the events of the morning as if it were footage of the game winning touchdown in the Super Bowl.
He hadn’t expected the cop’s face to just disappear like that: the way his nose and mouth erupted like a volcano of gore; flesh, blood, shards of teeth and bone spewing into the air and splattering against his pants. Not that he’d never killed before. Plenty of throats had been slit with the blade of his hunting knife and he’d stared into countless eyes, watching for the moment that light of life finally flickered out, as his hands squeezed their necks. But he’d never truly obliterated someone before; and, for a reason he couldn’t understand, that simple act had made him harder than any of the naked women who’d been tied up in their house.
Daryl’s stomach churned with nervous excitement and his breath felt as if it kept getting stuck halfway down his throat. At the same time, however, he fidgeted in the seat as if his entire body was as numb and tingly as his hands and feet. Fighting the urge to reposition the cap, he stole quick glances at his brother from the corner of his eye.
Earl leaned forward so that his jowls were almost directly over the steering wheel and he seemed to look nowhere other than the road ahead. But what would happen if he noticed the lump that Daryl tried to hide beneath the hat? Would he be able to sense what was going through his brother’s mind? Would he instinctively know that the smaller man was thinking about the cop and not that cute little brunette waiting at home? The officer, after all, was a man. Did this mean that Daryl was somehow gay? He’d been as curious about homosexuality as he was putting his hand into a whirling blender… it was just something he knew he’d never do. So why was it then that he was sitting there, thinking about the cop, while his crotch felt like it was seconds away from exploding?
A dull ache spread through the base of Daryl’s skull and he closed his eyes as he leaned back. What if he really was a queer? He knew exactly what Mama and Earl thought of that type; the things they’d done to those two guys with the matching sweaters left no doubt about that. If either one even suspected that he could pop a boner by thinking about shooting that cop’s face off….
“Damn it, fucktard, pull your head outta your ass and answer me.”
Daryl’s eyes snapped open at the gruff command and he tried to fold his hands on his lap as casually as he could. But, even so, he felt as if his motives were as obvious as the irritation in Earl’s voice. Oh shit… what if his brother thought he were touching himself? He jerked his hands away as if his penis were a snake and rubbed his arms briskly.
“Uh… think maybe I was noddin’ off there for a second, Earl. Say again?”
Earl’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and his shoulders seemed to hunch as he growled in irritation.
“I said, did you leave the fuckin’ book where it could be seen or not?”
“Oh, that. Yeah. Yeah, I did. Right out on the seat, pages wide open. Just like we talked about.”
“You sure?”
“Course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be? I should know what I did or didn’t do, shouldn’t I?”
“You seem awful squirrely over there. Like somethin’s done gone and got you all worked up.”
Daryl tried to swallow but his mouth was as suddenly dry as if he’d been eating crackers the entire trip. He shifted in his seat again and looked out the window as he mumbled.
“Just tired, that’s all. Been one long-ass night.”
Earl shot a quick stare at his brother that felt as if it lasted an eternity.
“That better be all there is to it. You fuck this up and I’ll put my foot so far up your ass you’ll see it every time you go brushin’ your teeth.”
Daryl wanted to snap back at his brother, to tell him he realized how important this was, but was afraid his voice might crack due to the tightness in his throat. Besides, sometimes it was better to just not say anything at all. Especially when the conversation involved one of Earl’s plans.
Daryl didn’t always agree with the ideas his brother came up with, but he had to give him credit… this one was a pretty damn good one. After they’d managed to get the cuff off Earl’s wrists, the pair had removed the chain that tethered the truck to the wrecked car. Earl had then pulled the truck forward twenty yards or so and, as Daryl looked on from a safe distance, threw it into reverse. It had slammed into the wrecked Honda was a thud so loud that Daryl could feel it in his chest; flakes of rust had rained down from the bottom of the truck and the car, even though parked, had been jolted back a foot or so.
When he climbed out of the truck, Earl had made sure to leave the engine running and the door flung wide open. Then the pair hopped into the police car, fiddled with the radio until they figured out how to turn down all that crackling chatter, and sped away. By the time anyone came upon the scene, it would look like the little Honda had plowed into the rear end of the truck. What could have happened next was entirely up to the imagination, but it ended with the drivers of the car killing the cop and taking the two brothers hostage. They would lay low for about a week or so, come up with a story about how they escaped, maybe cut each other a few times to make it even more believable… but it shouldn’t take much. Once the authorities found Mona’s Secret Delights, there would be no doubt in their minds as to who was responsible for the cold-blooded murder of an officer of the law.