New Title 1 (11 page)

“Yes,
sir!
” PFC Hays slapped his knee. “I ‘member one time me’n Duke Caudill’n Harley Mack Reed was drinkin’ down the Crossroads, an’ in walks Sarah Sue Natter. About six months preggered she was, and we all knowed that anyways ‘cos it already were all over town ‘bout how she’d been fuckin’ her pappy since she were about two. Anyways, she walks right up’n tells us she’ll fuck us all she did, so we throwed her horny tush’n big milk-filled titties in the back’a Duke’s beat-ta-shit Chevy pickup, and drove straight ta Cotter’s Field we did, an’ Chief, we, I say we fucked that gal in the dirt fer
hours,
an’ she’s screamin’ and comin’ the whole time, and beggin’ fer more at the top’a her lungs the likes’a which I thought shore they’d hear her clear over in Big Rock. ‘Harder, harder!’ she kept yellin’ at us an’—shee-
it!
—we fucked that cracker’s poon
hard,
Chief, so hard you could hear the milk shoshin’ in them big hooters’a hers—big as a pair’a ‘lopes like you’d find at Grimaldi’s market fer half-a-buck apiece they was—an’ I’se
swear
we each put four loads’a the petersnot in that box—
each
of us now, no lie—this fiesty white trash bitch done
drained
our balls, Chief, but even after takin’ four squirts’a our nut up her hole—that’s four squirts
each,
Chief—twelve total—she’s
still
beggin’ fer more, an’ a’course we all knowed it probably weren’t too cool gang-bangin’ the funnelcakes’n wax beans outa gal while’s she were preggered but, hail, Chief! she just kept askin’ fer it so we thought it only gentlemanly ta oblige the lady’s wishes. So’s I’m on top’a her I is, humpin’ away on her box a mile a minute, lookin’ ta have me my fifth nut’a the night when—bam!—she up’n shriek ta wake all the dead in Beall Cemetery, an’ then I hear a sound like dry branch’a birch crackin’, so’s I’se git offa her and look down an’ I
swear’s
I was lookin’ at a pile’a roadkill comin’ out her pussy. Yes, sir, we fucked that dog-horny cracker
so hard
she up’n had a mistercarriage right plumb smackdab in the middle’a Cotter’s Field and all them soybean plants, she did! So’s I’m lookin’ in all that muck and I kin even see the little critter in there!”

“Fer Gawd’s sake, Hays!” Chief Kinion fairly bellowed. A lurch in his gut and then a hard swallow. “This shit yer talkin’s about to make me upchuck!”

“Ain’t shit, Chief, s’true,” Hays went on with his tale, “an’ a’course afterward me’n Duke’n Harley Mack, we felt a might bad ‘bout what happened—fuckin’ her so hard she hadda mistercarriage—an’ we told her so. But you know what she did, Chief, an’ I’se
swear
this is true. She git herself up from that big mess, brush herself off all smilin’ and then she say ‘Thanks, boys! Didn’t want that critter in me no ways—problee come out retart anyhow on account it were my daddy’s juice that made it. See yawl later!’ Then she up’n plumb walks away leavin’ that critter’n that big roadkill-lookin’ mess fer the possums ta eat.”

Chief Kinion’s face felt bloated and hot from the imagery, and those pieces of hamhock in his breadbasket began to boogie. “Gawd Almighty, son, that there’s about the most disgusting thang I ever did hear,” he croaked, wiping his brow off on a shirtsleeve.

“Shee-it, Chief,” Hays rebutted, “that ain’t nothin’, ‘cos, see, there was this other time when I’se picks up Kari Jane Wells hitchhikin’ down the Old Governor’s Bridge Road, ‘an—ooo-ee!—she was lookin’ a
might
fine she was! Cutoffs crawlin’ up the crack’a her ass, and them big high titties on her stickin’ out ‘neath this yeller halter. Long blond hair down the middle’a her back and them long tan legs…shee-it, I’se gittin’ wood just thinkin’ ‘bout her. Anyways, I picks her up an’ first thing she does, she smiles at me’n says, ‘Micah Hays, if yore a real man you’ll drive us straight ta Cotter’s Field ‘cos I’se am a woman in some
dire
need!’” PFC Hays cut a grin. “Shee-it. I about come just by hearin’ her say it so
a’course
I drive ta Cotter’s, an’ we ain’t out there two minutes ‘fore we’se both rollin’ ‘round in them soybeans like
buck
nekit and my cock’s
rock
-hard’n ready ta tussle, yes sir! But just ‘fore I’m gonna spread them long tan legs an’ sink my pecker in her, she up’n say somethin’ like ‘Um, uh, I don’t thinks ya wanna put it there, Micah,’ an’ I say, ‘What’choo talkin’ ‘bout Kari Jane! A fella hafta be queer to not wanna put his bone in you!’ so all she say after that it, ‘Take a looky,’ and she spread them legs, Chief, an’ pointed ta her box, an’ I ‘bout blow chunks right there on Cotter’s soybean plants, ‘cos, see, Chief, Kari Jane’s poon, it were—oh, lordy!—it were like—”

The Chief stolidly flicked a butt out the cruiser window. “Put a lid on it, Hays. I don’t thank I want’s ta hear no more—”

“—it were like…
infestered,
Chief! I take me a look at that pussy on her and it’s
all
swollered up with pusserknots’n pimples’n vagereal warts’n these big red sores’n such. Shee-it, it were a cryin’ shame, Chief—good-lookin’ as she was but ya cain’t fuck her on account she got herself a pussy fulla disease! It looked like a pile’a crushed raspberries her poon did! Like ta wanna slap her right upside the head fer ruinin’ that box with all them infectsherins’n dieasers, an’ I’m hard as a fuckin’
rock,
see, needin’ ta squirt’a load in a big way but—shee-
it!
—I weren’t stupid enough ta put my dick in
that
mess—”

“That’s enough, Hays,” the Chief ordered, more imagery spilling into his head, more tremors in his gut.

But Hays wouldn’t hear of it. “Fella’d hafta be
crazy
to lay peter in that, no matters
how
dog horny he is, so I’se say, ‘Well good gawd-damn Kari Jane! What’choo you bring me all’s the way out here ta Cotter’s Field just ta show me a pussy I wouldn’t fuck with a
dog’s
dick?’ But she just smile and git up on her hands’n knees, lookin’ back over that purdy shoulder’a hers, an’ she say ‘Ain’t got no diseasers in my ass, sweetie,’ an’ I’se kin tell ya, Chief, it were the finest ass I ever did see, an’, no sir, it didn’t have no sores’r pusserknots on it like her pussy did, so’s I did what any red-blooded boy’d do. I spit on my pole an’ popped’re right in there, Chief. Weren’t too tight, I must say, but I don’t ‘spect mine were the first crotch rocket ta go up her backside—but a nut’s a nut, hail. So I pump that tail
hard
, Chief, holdin’ her face down in the dirt while’s I’se doin’ it, and then I have me a
good
come, I did, popped my snot right up inta the middle’a her shit, yes sir! Ain’t drained my balls like that in coon’s age; I’se come so much, n’fact, almost felt like I was
peein’!
”

“Hays, in holy blazes would you shut the fuck up,” Chief Kinion groaned at the wheel—

But PFC Hays, regrettably, would
not
shut the fuck up, because when he had a story to tell, by God, he’d tell it through to its conclusion. What good was a story, after all, without an ending? The young officer chortled in his shotgun seat, even gave his crotch an errant rub. “I’ll tell ya, Chief, women, they can be downright dag dirty bitches when they wanna be. Act like little angels when they’se prancin’ the street but when they’se git their clothes off, none of ‘em ain’t nothin’ but a buncha fuck-pigs…and thank God for ‘em. ‘Cos see, Chief, after I blew that big nut up her ass, I’se pull my bone out, and she turn an’ push me back in them soybean plants an’ say ‘Don’t’choo thank yer gonna run off just yet, Micah Hays, ‘cos we ain’t quite finished yet. See, I’se gonna suck you clean!’ an’ I’se look down at my dick, ain’t enough time even passed fer me ta lose my stiffer, but I see—aw, lordy, Chief—my dick were just
caked
with her shit, see, and what’s even worser is this—”

“Shut up, Hays! Just shut—”

“—is that her shit’s got all this
corn
in it, ya know, but that don’t bother her none, I’se swear, an’ then she suck my dick just like she promised—got back a full stiffer an’ even came again I did, put another load’a my snot right down her yap! But that ain’t all that when down her yap, Chief, ‘cos when she’s finished I’se look at my dick again, it’s clean as a
whistle,
yes sir, an’ all that shit’n corn is
gone!
And then she look at me, Chief, and she smiles’n says ‘Micah Hays! That there was the
best
corn on the cob I ever had!’”

Chief Kinion pulled over and before he could even bring the Luntville police cruiser to a full and proper stop, he threw up out the window in one large, pulsing basso-profundo gust after another. Up it all came, and then out in hot splatters: buttered home fries and sweet onions, a couple cups of java, and three full plates of barbequed hamhocks from Miss June’s Diner for $1.99 a plate.

««—»»

Some time later, Kinion and Hays branched off through Cotter’s Field. Problem was, that old rummie Tritt Tuckton didn’t say where this ravine was exactly, and the Chief, especially after upchucking like a Navy bilge pump, wasn’t too keen on spending the rest of his watch tramping his 260-pound caboose through this soybean field. But then—

“Hey, Chief, over here!” Hays called out some fifty yards off. “I’se found it, and…”

Kinion got on the hump, his size 13s crunching through the ankle-high rows. Looked like some kind of irrigation ditch before the woodline. But Hays had just turned after his announcement, and his face had turned to blanched porridge.

“What the hail’s wrong with you, boy?” Chief Kinion inquired, huffing up. “Look like you seen a ghost.”

“Aw, shee-it. Tritt Tuckton weren’t joshin’ us, Chief. He said there were something awful in that there ditch, and he were right.”

“What, what is it?” Kinion sniped. “I’m supposed to guess?”

Pale-faced, PFC Hays held up a feeble hand. “All’s I can say, Chief, is it’s a dag good thang you already blew chow. Wish I had, though, fer shore…”

And with that, the younger officer bent over, hands on knees, and began to loudly vomit.

Jesus Chrast! What are we, the Puke Patrol?
Chief Kinion testily wondered. He didn’t wonder long, however—he didn’t have to. The stench was hitting him already, and then he ventured up and looked into the ravine…

— | — | —

Part 3

Back in the car, Straker still felt sick, remembering the distinctive sound of the two-by-four. “How did he do it? You’re telling me that was part of the ‘work’?”

“It was, Captain,” Melinda asserted behind the wheel.

Straker exclaimed, “But that goddamn two-by-four was real! I held it in my hand! I guarantee you, this guy Goon? You don’t have to worry about him anymore because he’s dead!”

“He’s not dead, Captain,” she coolly replied. “He’s not even hurt.”

“I don’t believe it. I don’t care how big or tough a guy is, no one can take a chop to the head that hard without either dying or winding up in the emergency room with a fractured skull and subdural hematoma.”

“That’s just one aspect of Goon’s uniqueness. There are…quite a few others,” she said. “But I’m gonna help you get him. So help me God, I’m going to see Goon taken down and see to it that he spends the rest of his life in prison.”

This was simply too much to calculate. Ringrats. Wrestlers. Works and cards and “grapplers.” This wasn’t Straker’s world. But, evidently, it
was
part of hers.

“You’re really into this stuff, aren’t you?” he dared ask.

“So what if I am? My indoctrination into the world of ringrats and wrestlers has given me a closer look at the phenomenon. So, yes, Captain Straker. I guess I am into it a little.”

Straker fudged. There was too much he couldn’t reckon. “So where are we going now?”

She waved a finger like a teacher in class. “There are three ways a ringrat snags a grappler. One, you wait by the back exit door and hope somebody likes the way you look when they walk out to their cars. Two, you blow the security guard to get inside—”

Straker’s cognizance snapped to attention. Just hearing her say the word—
blow
—roused his senses. “Have you done that? Have you
blown
security guards to get inside?”

“And, three,” she didn’t answer. “You go to the nearest bar and you wait. Most grapplers drink heavy. You wait there, see who shows up, and try to make your mark. An industrious ringrat can snag a grappler any night she wants.”

“Yeah, yeah, but just answer my question. Have you blown security guards in order to gain access to the locker room?”

“What difference does it make to you?” she sniped back.

“Well, let’s just say I’m curious.”