Uschi! (23 page)

Gator was already on the move, coming out from behind the counter and headed toward where the poster in question was taped to the wall. He raised a hand and energetically waved for Denny to get with it and follow him.

“This needs to be seen to, son.”

Denny, designated amateur pussy expert, could find no excuse not to go, and so he made his way to the poster and required no less than two seconds of study upon it to learn enough to voice his opinion.

“’Fraid I got to bust your bubble, sir. You’re way off base here.”

“Am I now?” There was a frozen foods case in easy reach of where Gator was standing. With the customer’s back currently to him, he had no difficulty slowly sliding open the case’s lid and reaching inside it.

Both Denny’s eyes and concentration stayed trained on the Miller Lite ad as he spoke. “Yeah, as a man who has had his run ins with vagina a time or two, I can safely confirm there ain’t no camel toe happening on this girl in this picture. In fact, I can’t see any bulge or lump at all that would even begin to give the impression there was even a hint of any snatch to commence with.”

“The dickens you say, son.” Gator was about a step and a half behind Denny. From out of the frozen foods case he had taken a long as his forearm tube of original recipe Jimmy Dean sausage and was now brandishing it in his hands like a baseball bat. The freezing temperature made it as hard as a brick, and experience over the past few weeks made Gator a Shaolin kung fu master on the proper way to work the Jimmy Dean as a bludgeon. He had it down to a goddamn science, knew exactly where to hit and the degree of force to put behind the swing to rend the food for the Master down for the count.

“The dickens I do say, sir. This no fly zone between this lady’s legs has been so airbrushed smooth it leads me to believe they are trying to imply her cooter has been sealed closed and any trace it ever existed erased. There is nothing to report here. Wherever did you get the idea in your head you were seeing her goodies coming out?”

Gator raised the sausage tube over his shoulder and readied his swinger’s stance. “Oh, I guess I just get a little lonely in here form time to time and I allow things to get away from me. This is rather embarrassing. I could have sworn I was eyeballing something worthwhile. Anyway, I do appreciate your coming over and putting your fresh eyes on it and setting me straight. Hope it weren’t no bother.”

The projectile broke through the plate glass front of the store and shattered and short-circuited whatever colorful neon tubes were unfortunate enough to be in its path. It was the metal gas nozzle torn free from the unleaded pump’s hose, spinning end over end like a thrown tomahawk at a whooshing clip of speed through the Get It Quick’s air. The tart odor of gasoline followed in its wake.

Gator, his batter’s swing not yet set loose, was granted just enough time to acknowledge the sounds of breaking glass and turn an eye and see the nozzle come in and strike him along the side of his head. The big tube of Jimmy Dean fell from his hands. Gator briefly wobbled and stumbled, and then dropped to the floor as dignified as a colostomy bag at maximum capacity. He made this painful sounding loud and fleshy smack on hitting the tiles.

“Oh, darling Mr. store employee man, please don’t break my cold and unbeating heart by doing such a cruel thing as murdering the boy I love.”

An ass shaking Uschi was sashaying her way inside the store, her feminine pulchitrude preceding her by a full ten seconds or more.

The oversized eyes of Denny bounced back and forth from the tube of sausage and dropped store clerk. It took him a while, but eventually his brain caught up to what was going on here. White in the face and dry swallowing, he nervously rubbed at the back of his greasy-haired noggin as he thought on the grisly fate he had just by the slimmest of margins avoided.

“Lipstick on hemorrhoids, that boy was going to bean me good, wasn’t he?”

“He sure as shit was. I finished pumping gas and looked up just in time to see him preparing to put a dent in your skull, best thing. Lucky for us I got me some good aim and an arm worthy of Roger Staubach.”

Denny explained to Uschi why he allowed the clerk to lead him over here and put his vulnerable backside to him. “Uncouth cocksucker was gonna kill me just because I couldn’t see any pussy in that Miller Lite poster. I suppose there are some people who just can’t tolerate being proved wrong.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he had other reasons for wanting you dead. Let’s investigate further.”

She approached the still open frozen foods case and helped herself to an individually wrapped frozen corn dog. Then she one-handedly took hold of Gator by the scruff of his neck and lifted him off the floor and propped him up against the front of the sales counter. The corn dog she used as a cold compress and placed on his swelling and bleeding head injury. She slapped him across the face and roughhouse jostled him until he came around enough to be reasonably conscious and self-aware so he could be interrogated.

A moaning and groaning Gator managed to raise a hand and take over pressing the corn dog against his pained skull. Eyesight cleared some and he indulged in his first ever complete and unobstructed vision of Uschi, the Satan animated walking dead. He saw that she was all freak show roomful of bazooms and
Tales from the Crypt
beauty pageant winner stunning. The filter between his brain and mouth was non-functioning; he told it as he saw it.

“Goddamn, honey, allow me to inform you that in my travels I have just about covered every square-inch of Texas and twice I’ve wandered into a few of the more raunchier parts of Louisiana, and I ain’t ever come across a thing as weirded up wrong looking as you most unfortunately are. Staring at you and your ugliness, I can’t decide between laughing my ass off, or simply whipping my always dependable dick on out and pissing on you in hopes of completing your pitiful ensemble.”

“Not the smartest of things to say to a girl like me in a situation like this. I can not begin to tell you, sir, how much of a poor reflection your actions are on the standard of service I would expect from an establishment such as this. The right thing to do is to report you to your supervisor. But I rarely do right things. The wrong ones are so much more fun. So instead I’m willing to settle for this dollop of hurting and torture I am now going to deliver unto you.”

And Uschi ripped his shirt open, flying buttons going in every available direction. Revealed were a pale chest and a stomach with more jiggly spare tire flab to it than what Gator was comfortable admitting to. The fresh convenience store air draft on such a commonly covered and vulnerable area of Gator’s person compelled him try at breaking free and escaping from the zombie miss. Alas, the best he could accomplish was to fidget and squirm in the spot where she held him solid.

“What are you going to do? Wait, I don’t like this. You are violating my personal space. You should stop. I fear this borders on the sexual. For the love of God, please don’t rape me. I don’t want to be raped by an ugly and weird fucked up woman. I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Then Gator started to make annoying and emasculating whinny noises.

“I know, I know,” she cooed to him in a counterfeit sympathizing tone of voice. The smile she was giving him was as heartwarming as a child’s arm caught in a meat grinder. “I’m sure you consider what I’m about to do to you as not one bit fair, but this is the shit you get when you fuck with my boyfriend.”

Uschi next violated Gator’s own personal material. She began with spitting a large gob of ice cold spit into his belly button, following that she extended her middle finger and inserted it inside of him. Greased along by her saliva, Uschi found little difficulty in driving the finger in efficiently deep. Her finger took to penetrating his belly button as if this was the task it was always designed to perform. It went in all the way, Gator’s body swallowing the whole thing up to the palm of her hand, and not in the least bit painlessly did it go.

No macho man bullshit for Gator. His helpless body danced in wild, agonized convulsions, eyes rolled back in his head, and a frozen scream trapped at the back of his throat. The bomb on Hiroshima degree of agony that detonated inside of him drove him spectacularly ill. Like an erupting volcano, he vomited his nuked in the microwave macaroni and cheese lunch, an orange and chunky stew that splattered plentifully over the front of both himself and the ugly and weird lady customer. It was hot enough it could almost scald someone’s bare skin, and with a bitter smell of rancid dairy and sour bile.

Limp bits of regurgitated pasta dripping from her face and collecting in her foot long cleavage, an unperturbed Uschi licked the barf off her lips and chin and started to swirl her inserted middle finger around and around in a slow and careful clockwise motion. She was digging for a specific something, and in no time flat she found it. She extracted her finger from the belly button with a loop of small intestine hooked around the end of it.

“Oh, that is ingenious,” commented a standing a safe distance away Denny Gleeth. “That’s some drive-in gore quality enough to give Drew F. Friedman a hard-on.”

“Why thank you, I do consider it rather clever of myself. The idea just popped into my head and I didn’t hesitate to go with it.”

The two feet or more of unearthed intestine was thick around as a common garden water hose and the whitish-pink shade of a wad of bubblegum chewed to beyond the point there was still any flavor left to it. The now uncorked ruptured navel became a bleeding bonanza, rooster tail spurting arcs of rich red plasma that flowed with the forceful energy from a racing heartbeat.

“Why were you about to cave in my best thing’s head?” she evenly inquired of the clerk. Uschi was rotating her wrist and unspooling more and more of the gut from the belly button, wrapping it around her fingers like spaghetti caught up in the tongs of a fork.

A foaming at the mouth Gator screamed in answer, “I was going to feed him to the Master from outer space!”

Uschi almost went with a step back on hearing such
Buck Rogers
jibber-jabber. “Pardon?”

“It fell from the sky on a meteor. All occurred only a few short days ago. Landed right in my backyard and started out no bigger than a dainty dandelion. But it sure grew awful goddamn fast, I tell you what. It’s telepathic; it broadcast its thoughts directly into my brain. The words it put in my head were so polite and seductive. It made itself my best buddy right quick. We’ve made promises to one another. We’re going to jointly rule the Earth together and enslave all of humankind. Yessir, we are a team with a winning plan. Only it ain’t grown big enough yet for the enslaving and world conquering to get going on any large scale. So for the time being I have it hid out here. I took a pickaxe and knocked a hole in the foundation that runs all the way down to the soil beneath the store. I replanted it right in here. It misses the sun a good amount, cooped up in that dark spot I have it growing in, but I have ways to keep it nourished. I’m feeding it a healthy and regular diet. Feeding the Master like a champion. Not going hungry one bit on my watch. The Master is growing real good now. The world will be ours soon. I’m telling you no stories. You’re looking at the future co-ruler of the planet Earth. I’m better than all you buttfuckers are. You best start showing me some proper-ass respect. The Master will punish you. Won’t you, Master? Come, uproot yourself and show them how great and powerful you are! Crush these insignificant beings! Feast upon them so that you may grow even more powerful!”

First the plate glass front of the store began to rattle and tremble. Not long after the majority of contents on the Get It Quick’s aisle shelves joined in and was also shaking. Then the cinderblock walls were noticeably quaking. It intensified at a fearful rate; steadily developing more pronounced and agitated. A powerful rumbling originating below the foundation bubbled up and impregnated the entire building. Posters and framed state licenses on the walls were jostled loose and dropped to the floor. Jars, canned goods and other products bounced off shelves. Jagged fissures opened in the ceiling’s Sheetrock and the fluorescent lighting had fits, blinking in and out and the tubes breaking apart and shorting out their wiring. Hissing sparks, falling shards of glass and ghostly mercury vapor clouds filled the air. The floor beneath their feet suddenly shifted violently, concrete fragmenting and tiles fracturing.

The spot of floor he was standing on bucked and Denny was raised high as if he was a piece of wood adrift on a strong ocean wave and was tossed off balance. There was just enough time to get off a quick exclamation of “Whoa-nelly!” before he landed somewhere about the center of aisle two, broken jars of jelly and barbecue sauce surrounding him.

The beer and wine cooler exploded as a something large and dangerous came charging out of it. All kinds of thunder and force accompanied the cooler dweller’s entrance. Alcoholic beverages of a wide variety of labels joined with metal, glass and cinderblock debris in swarming through the inside of the store with a mean tornadic velocity.

Denny kept hunkered down with his legs under him and arms crossed over his head. The shelf racks stood in well as a blast barrier and protected him from any major harm.

Things eventually settled. The debris was gone from the clearing air and the building’s rocking and shaking stopped. The new dominate smell in the Get It Quick was spilt liquor, fresh turned earth and something like exotic plant life. Gator’s television set on the counter was still going; it sounded like
The Bob Newhart Show
was playing.

Slowly, like a green soldier rising from a foxhole after surviving his first mortar shell barrage, Denny put his feet under him and looked out beyond aisle two.

Uschi and Gator had jumped over the sales counter and taken refuge behind it. They were both in the process of standing when Denny was coming up. All of them were at the same moment treated to an excellent view of what it was that had been lurking inside the cooler.

“Behold your new Master, people!” cried Gator. Uschi had stopped playing with the rope of intestine and allowed it all to slide off her fingers and plop to the countertop, where it situated itself into a nasty mound of meat shaped very similar to a pile of dog shit. The belly button hemorrhaging was slacking off, reduced to a steady leak that trickled down the intestinal umbilical cord like raindrops on a windowpane and formed a red puddle around Gator’s feet. His agonies and discomfort were dismissed; the only thing now buzzing through Gator’s warped brain he would acknowledge was the savage glory and otherworldly beauty of his partner in multiple homicides. “The Master will devour you so that the Earth can be ours!”