Peckerwood (9 page)

He’d spent the week watching channel fifty-one around the clock. It’d started off as research, trying to picture everyone on there in a blonde wig, but his careful scrutiny had given way to fascination with the culture.

One thing he’d decided was that there was a direct relation between the touch of the Holy Spirit and the gift of supernatural hair. He couldn’t shake the boldness of their pleas for cash money.
How much money did it take to run a television station?
he wondered. He guessed that he could scare up enough scratch to get a license and a camera. There were plenty of folks out there desperate to get on the airwaves he could rent time to. Put up some religious programming – Leave it to Jesus or something – a talk show maybe – live prayer meetings. Take a flat fee or a cut of the donations. That license would pay for itself.

God, it seemed, was awfully concerned and dismayed at the way people dressed these days and the drugs they enjoyed and the movies they watched. God had a plan to put a stop to it apparently by putting these slick assholes on the airwaves as an example of what an alternative to hedonistic living might look like. For a celestial being in charge of heaven, hell and the cosmos, his preoccupations seemed a tad pedestrian, Terry thought. The ploy would pay off when people on the down slope of a high would flip on the television and become struck with a hunger for righteousness and straight teeth as modeled by the likes of this one - Brother Eli, the spiritual voice out of Branson.

Brother Eli. Terry thought about him with a blonde wig on.

CHAPTER TEN

TERRY

He and Cal didn’t bother to make themselves pretty anymore. They played pool in the corner, quietly surveying the place three nights in a row before they’d caught a glimpse of the bewigged evangelist swishing around the bar. Stuart hadn’t been in again. They’d been ignored by the rest of the clientele, and weren’t sure how they’d go about getting what they needed.

They huddled at their table and exchanged ideas in excited, hushed tones. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves,” said Cal.

“Too late, kemosabe. We stick out here.”

“But we can’t just run up and snap pictures off in his face, we’re likely to get our butts kicked.” He indicated the room full of burly queers. “Even your cousin looked ready to throw a punch when you told him what we was up to.”

Terry thought about it. Cal was right. Homos or not, they were seriously outnumbered tonight. The odds weren’t in their favor. “So what then? Wait for him to go to the bathroom?”

They thought on that for a few moments. Cal offered, “We need to get him out of here and isolated.”

“I told you I’m not doing anything gay.”

Cal slapped the table-top. “This is our chance at some real money.”

“Hey, we’ve been over it. You’re the one said all we needed was a photo in this place and it would speak for itself.”

“I know, but I didn’t think it’d be somebody this important. We can totally retire on this one if we do it right, but it can’t just be any ol’ silly picture in a wig. We need something really, really gay here.”

“So you do it. I’ll take the picture.”

“It’s my camera. My idea. I take the picture.”

Terry fumed. “Well, I guess we just watch him. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The pace of the night was maddening. Brother Eli floated around the bar getting mostly cold shoulders from the patrons, but it didn’t seem to dampen his spirits any.

No new ideas occurred to them. Terry and Cal watched the evangelist with the eyes of lazy predators, stumbled onto the juiciest prey ever. The rate at which nothing was happening troubled them as they felt the breeze drift through their temporal window of opportunity.

Terry felt the weight of destiny on his shoulders as he strode toward the bar for another pitcher. Eli turned to look his direction and Terry averted his eyes and put a slight roll into his hips without thinking about it. He couldn’t afford to think about it. This was his big chance. He leaned on the bar awaiting the pitcher and looked steadfastly at the opposite wall while cocking his posture, what he thought might be seductively, toward his mark. The arch in the bartender’s eyebrow was subtle, but Terry noticed it and shot him his best
shut the fuck up
look while collecting his order and strutting back to his booth.

When Terry got back, Cal’s eyes were as wide as his gaping maw. Terry set the pitcher down. Neither dared to look up or speak above a whisper. The excitement radiating off of his partner had raised the temperature five degrees. Cal’s limbs and fingers were positively vibrating with energy.

“That was amazing, dude.”

“Shut up.” Terry felt queasy.

“You are the man, man.”

“I said ‘shut the fuck up.’” He clenched his fists to keep from vomiting right there. He was caught somewhere between elation and repulsion, a performance-high and terminal embarrassment.

Cal was having no such conflict. “We are going to be rich, thank you, thank you thank –“

“Hello. What’s going on over here in the corner?”

Cal cut his thanks short and Terry looked up into the face of money and knew then what he had to do. Brother Eli in his dorky wig loomed over their table like some fourth grade provocateur in the lunchroom.

He spoke in an exaggerated drawl, “Can I sit down?”

He did so, without invitation, sliding into the booth beside Terry.

“Y’all sure are secretive over here.”

Terry didn’t trust his own voice enough to speak so he just pounded his beer and put his hand on Eli’s thigh. The television preacher reached down for it and gave the hand a squeeze. Then without a word he got up and walked toward the back of the bar and disappeared into the bathroom.

Frantically, Cal fumbled for his camera and spilled his drink in the process.

“Shit shit shit.”

He didn’t bother cleaning it up. Terry started to drain the pitcher of beer. He’d gotten halfway through it in a minute when Cal said, “Better hurry up, he’s likely to change his mind. Here.” He extended the camera to Terry.

“I thought you were gonna take the pictures.”

“Changed my mind. You do it.”

Terry snatched it out of his partner’s hand. “Fine. Get the truck ready. Keep it running.” Cal nodded and got up, making his way toward the front door. Terry checked the camera and made sure it was ready to go.

Looked like a simple point and click model. The flash was on.

He just about knocked over the table when he stood up. His limbs were awkward and he was jumpy with adrenaline. The walk to the bathroom looked like an impossible distance and he thought he could feel the eyes of the whole world on him as he approached. To steady and steel himself he chanted a mantra under his breath.

Money. Money. Money. Money. Money.

He pushed open the bathroom door. It was dim inside and he didn’t see any sign of the preacher. He looked into the mirrored wall above the line of sinks opposite the door and closed it behind him. On the other side of the partition he saw a bank of three urinals and three toilet stalls beyond them. Noiselessly, he crouched down to look for feet. He spied the preacher’s tennis shoes planted beneath the first stall. They were all alone. Terry fumbled with the camera that had seemed so small at the table and now felt huge and unwieldy. He tucked it as discreetly as possible underneath his right arm and tested the position for motion. It was no good, so he tucked it into the waist-band of his jeans, against the small of his back, and draped the tail of his shirt over it.

Keeping his instincts in check, Terry walked toward the occupied stall and stopped just outside the door. A groan that teetered on the edge of a purr said, “Come in here.” He fixed his grip on Cal’s camera with his right hand behind his back.

The door opened slowly and revealed the minister sitting splay-legged on the toilet with his jeans down around his ankles. Brother Eli’s cock was up and gripped firmly at the base by his right hand while his left steadied him by clutching the top of the toilet paper dispenser. Terry’s palms were sweaty and he was afraid he would drop the camera if he didn’t do this quick. “Come here.” Purred the preacher. Terry thought
fuck that
and began to bring the camera up.

The bathroom door opened at that moment causing Terry to abort the photo and a man stepped half way inside. The intruder turned around to address someone on the other side of the bar. He spoke in a booming baritone “Wait. No, I said I was coming. Just wait for me. Gotta take a shit.”

Terry was paralyzed with panic, but Eli reached forward and grabbed him by the hem of his jeans. “Shut the door,” he whispered and Terry did. Outside the stall the door closed and the big man ambled into the room. Terry felt the preacher reaching for his belt buckle.

Passing the stall the big man pounded his fist on the wall producing a booming matched by his voice “Sorry fellas, I’m about to stink up the joint.” He let a preamble fart fly and giggled, opening the last stall. “Could take a while too,” he added. Terry felt Eli reach inside his pants and squirmed in panic, but Brother Eli seemed to think it was fun and insisted his hand under the elastic band of his underwear.

“Sure picked a classy spot for a hookup,” said the big man, working his own trousers down. Terry heard the belt buckle clink on the tile floor. Terry’s pants were slipping and he spread his stance wide to keep them up, afraid he wouldn’t be able to get them fastened for his inevitable flight from the john. Eli ignored him and wrestled Terry’s prick out of his pants. All the struggling had produced a semi-erect state for Terry and this encouraged Eli who leaned back and began to pump away with his right hand on himself and his left on Terry who moaned in terror.

There was a terrific rip and splash from the third stall and the big man groaned in satisfaction. Terry’s senses were overloaded and threatening to overwhelm him. He looked down and saw that he was now fully erect and that Eli’s concentration was total.

With his right hand he brought the camera up and tried to frame a shot, but the preacher’s flailing hand and his own bouncing member kept blocking Eli’s face from view. He leaned back against the door for a better shot.

Another loud fart echoed through the room and the big man chuckled. “Whew, sorry fellas.”

Terry pressed the button and a bright flash blinded him. Eli’s eyes were closed and he hadn’t noticed, but the big man had.

“What’re you doin in there?”

Terry was panicked, but determined to get the job done. No way in hell he was going through this without getting what he came for. He pointed the camera at the preacher’s face and snapped another photo.

“You guys taking pictures?” came the big man’s voice.

Brother Eli’s eyes snapped open just in time to be incapacitated by Terry furiously snapping pictures and shattering the darkness with the strobe of Cal’s fancy motor camera. The preacher shrieked and stood up.

“Hey, what’s going on?” came from the crapping man’s stall.

Eli tried to pull up his pants, but Terry punched him in the stomach, stealing his breath to cry out. He brought his knee up into the evangelist’s face and the man crumpled onto the toilet.

“Everybody okay over there?” asked the big man. Terry put the camera back in his waistband and began to get his pants right again. Brother Eli was getting his wind back slowly, but the fight had gone out of him and he spent all his energy on crying. Great sucking sobs began to issue from him. Terry finished with his pants and grabbed the preacher. He held the man’s head up and looked into his red face. His hands were already balled in tight fists. He struck the evangelist on the jaw. The minister went slack and Terry hit him again.

“Hey! What’s going on over there?”

He switched hands and struck the preacher on the other side of his face. He clenched that fist hard as he could and did it again.

The big man began to buckle his own pants audibly and fumble with the latch on the stall.

“Faggots better not be doing what I think you’re doing. I know the owner.”

Terry opened the door and walked out. He didn’t meet his own eyes in the mirror as he left.

He pulled open the door and walked straight and purposefully toward the door. He felt all eyes on him and didn’t look at anyone else. Behind him he heard the big man making the discovery of Brother Eli in the stall. The deep rumbling of his voice rang out: “Aw fuck.” Then Terry heard the door opening and the big voice command, “Hey, stop that asshole.”

Terry doubled his pace as everyone turned to watch him. The big voice repeated his command and Terry heard the man moving in his direction. One guy half stepped into his path. Terry danced toward his interceptor and slammed his forehead into the middle of the man’s face. He felt the nose give and heard several ugly pops as the man slumped to the floor. Terry broke into a run and reached the door.

Outside, Cal was parked across the street in his truck. When the door burst open, Terry was running full speed toward the pickup and jumped into the bed rather than take the time to circle around to the cab’s passenger side.

Behind him a collection of queers filed out and gave short-lived pursuit as Cal fishtailed down the street and disappeared into the night.