Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (34 page)

Chief Kinion abstained from lightin’ a Winston ‘cos, see, when you
was tryin’ ta conceal yerself from someone else out in the middle’a
the night, it weren’t a very good idea problee ta be flashin’ yer Bic
lighter. So instead, after follerin’ the felicitous Captain Majora to the
Willis residence’n parkin’ the patrol car a ways down the road, he
crept up ta the house quiet as he could but noticed that the Captain
herself wasn’t goin’
inta
the house, she were goin’ out past
behind
it. So the Chief follered on, he did, and even though he was wishin’
a mite fierce fer a cigarette, it problee were good that he hadn’t lit
one on account’a the way this physercal exterion were causin’him ta
huff’n puff, he’d more’n likely had a heart attack right then’n there,
and if that’d happened then he’d never unravel this mystery now
would he?

On’n on she walked, way down the hill behind the house inta the
field, and what she done then was seemed ta take somethin’out’a her
pocket’n look up at the sky, and then she just stood there doin’that fer
what seemed a
dang
long time!

What the hail’
s she got there? Binoculars? And what’s she lookin’
at?
Well, by the Chief’s judgment, whatever it was she were doin’,
she done planned ta do it fer a long time, so he figgert he oughta turn
his attentions elsewhere fer a spell. Like, if she done come all this
way out ta Doc Willis’ house it were problee fer more than standin’
out in the field behind the house’n starin’up in the sky, so’s it seemed
logical that the Chief might oughta thank about goin’
inta
that there
house, and see if there was anythang out’a the ordinary.
Made sense ta him, at least.
The front door were unlocked so the Chief just walked right
in, but all the lights was out and he didn’t think it was too good a
idea ta turn any of ‘em on since Majora might take note’a that and fi
gger somethin’was up. So the Chief stood there in the middle’a the
dark house feelin’ a bit foolish since he couldn’t see nothin’ but then
thought to whip out his pen-light that he kept his keys on—shorely
she couldn’t see that!—and he moseyed around. Abit creepy, it were,
snoopin’ around a dark house when just earlier today they’d found a
dead man in it, not ta mention a dead man who’d
disappeared,
and
then, ta set the mood, it was unfortunate that he came ta remember
way on back ta like maybe 1969 when he was maybe 22 years-old’n
quite a bit slimmer he got off’a work at the compost refinery where
he made a solid hunnert bucks a week, and he had hisself a
sportin’
Chevy
Corvair (which would later be recalled by Detroit fer leakin’
carbon mernoxide inta the front seat) and, see, there were this sorta
heavyset gal who took’a fancy to him who at worked Hull’s General
Store right at the corner’a Layhill Road, and the Chief (who weren’t
the Chief back then a’corse) he summoned up the nerve ta ask this
heavyset gal out (her name was Dory May, and she had bosom on
her that looked like two heads stuck together under her blouse), and
a’corse she said, “Why, shore, Richie, it’d just float my boat ta go
out with a handsome fella like you!” and, see, “Richie” is what they
called him back then, and what she said she wanted ta do was go ta
the Palmer’s Drive-In, and this suited the Chief just fine ‘cos ever
one
knowed that when a gal wanted ta go to the drive-in what it really
meant was that she wanted ta git down! So’s the Chief picked her up
in his Corvair, he did, and they droved out sharin’ a large bucket’a
fried chicken from the Bon Fire, and then crackin’ inta a jug’a a
Shine Sladder’s moonshine which were pretty powerful stuff, it was,
and the Chief figgert he must’a had one hit off the jug ta every four’a
hers, but he didn’t care ‘cos just as soon as he parked his ride’n
pulled
that there speaker-thing-a-muh-jig into the winder, Dory May were
all a’gigglin’and had her giant tits outa her top before the Chief
could
say licentious, not that he knowed what that word meant, but about
just as fast she had her fat little hand ‘tween his legs squeezin’ his
works, she was, and a right nice it felt, that’s for shore, and ‘fore
he could even look up ta see what movie was showin’, Dory May had
his pants down’n his peter in her mouth lickety-split, she did. And
since this was the first time his willy had
ever
found itself within
the confines of a gal’s mouth, the Chief was dag-straight celebratory,
he was, thinkin’:
I’se gettin’ me a blow-job, I is! I’se gettin’ my pole
sucked!
But—

Well . . . the Chief didn’t get his pole sucked fer long on account of
what was plainly a problem’a faulty hydraulics. See, Shine Sladder’s
moonshine were powerful stuff, and it hadda way’a sneakin’ up on
ya, it did, and come ta think of it, the Chief had had more than a few
pulls off’a that jug, and then—

“Aw, what’choo doin’ta me, Richie Kinion!” Dory May blurted
out with that loud brassy redneck voice’a hers. “I been suckin’ yer
willy a good five minutes and nothin’s happenin’! You done drank
too much is what you done! It done give ya a case’a
whiskey-bisquet!
So’s what am I gonna do with
that
li’l thang!” And, a’corse, she had
ta point to the young Chief’s crotch. “Shee-it, Richie, that looks more
like a blammed baby’s
pinkie
than it looks like a
dick!
”

Well, a might traumertizin’ it was ta have his
manhod referred
to as a blammed baby’s pinkie, but right afterwards she just huffed’n
popped open the passenger door’a his Corvair’n slid her fat ass out,
she did, and she said this: “Dang you, Richie Kinion! If you cain’t
give me a fuckin’, I’ll’se shore as hail find some fellas who will!”
Then she slammed the door and stomped off, her big butt jigglin’ as
she huffed up to the first row and then wound up climbin’inta a
shinygray 67 Chevelle full’a greasers and judgin’by the sounds that
come
out’a that car shortly after, she were gettin’ ‘zactly what she wanted.
But young Richie Kinion were a bit desponderent by now, havin’
his date run off in favor of a Chevy full’a fellas wearin’ Macks’n
t-shirts with packs’a Marlboros rolled up in their sleeves, ‘specially
after bein’ thoughtful enough ta feed her fat ass all’a that fine fried
chicken first. Anyways, his mascurlinity assaulted the likes’a which
Alexander the Great assaulted fuckin’Persia, he did what most fellas would’a done: he drank some more. In fact, he drunk damn near the
rest’a that jug’a Shine Sladder’s shine and wound up passin’out, and
it were hours later that he woke back up only ta find that he’d puked
in his lap’n shit in his pants, yes sir, and when he looked out that
Corvair winder, he could see these greasers pullin’ a train on Dory
May with her fat ass on the hood and not seemin’ to object in the
slightest, but at least the Chief woke up in time ta catch the last fifteen
minutes’a the last of the triple-feature he’d bought two tickets for,
and what it was was some flick about some lanky black fella fightin’
off a bunch’a zombies in some piece’a shit house in Pittsburgh, and
that’s what the Chief thought of right now back in Doc Willis’ dark
house bein’ that they’d seen the Doc’s dead body and a few minutes
later it was fuckin’ gone almost like it might’a got up and walked off
like, well, like a zombie.

“Jeanne Willis!” Hays exclaimed. Yes sir, that’s who it was crawlin’
in through that there motel winder and she was wearin’ less than she
was wearin’ in them vacation pitchers Hays had seen this afternoon,
and what that meant exactly was she was wearin’ nothin’ but
fingernail polish.

“Why, hi there, Of
ficer Hays,” she said in a voice like warm
honey once she were done comin’ in through that winder and
standin’ buck nekit in front’a him and—hail!—Jeanne Willis had a
body to make a brick shit-house jealous, why, she even made the
gals on that there silly lifeguard show look like shit-smears on toilet
paper—
that’s
what a looker Jeanne Willis was, yes sir. Fuckin’ tits
like ripe, white fruit she had, and legs that was
made
ta be wrapped
around a fella’s back and a bush—

See, this gal had a bush’n set’a lower parts on her that might
make even the dang Pope lean back and do a Rebel Yell, yes sir.
Fine
fur it was coverin’ up that purdy girlcut; it looked like somethin’ that
should be in a fuckin’ bon-bon box with a dang white ribbon tied
around it.