Duet for the Devil

by T. Winter-Damon

  The red & green & amber of traffic signals seem to wink approval of this stranger, this ghostly presence who bows so courteously to their dictates, never cheating their honor system, even though no enforcers wait with summons books in hand.

  It glides by beneath the yellow blur of residential street lamps, beneath the muted pinkish aura of mercury vapors lined along the major traffic arteries…

  [ 204 ]

  “‘Lois, take off your panties so he can see your pussy, too. & stand up when you do so Buddy can have a feel. You want to feel her, don’t you, Buddy…? She doesn’t even have any hair down there like I do now…it’s just like mine was when I was younger…when we first used to play ‘show’ & you first thought up ‘our little game’… She’s let me see it before—’

  “Lois burst out in giggles, again, blushing profusely. ‘Goddddd, I guess this is True Confessions Night, isn’t it? I’ve never told you this before, Missie, but Daddy shaves me ’n’ Janie down there…’

  “‘Christ! That’s sick—your Old Man’s some kinda fuckin’ PERVERT! Some kinda cradle-robber or something…’ Buddy groaned, barely holding back his laughter as he played ‘Rock-a-Bye’ with an imaginary baby. ‘Let ME see it—’

  “‘BBB-UUUUUUDDDDDDY! You’re terrible!’ Missie moaned in mock outrage. ‘& what are you, Mr. Smartypants?— I’m still only eleven, Lois just turned twelve! & you’ve been foolin’ around with me since you were what…in junior high & I was only six or seven—’

  “‘Well, Daddy always says, ‘eight’s too late…’ Lois giggled.

  “‘SHIT! I guess he oughta know, huh…’ Buddy razzed her, ‘Heh, anyhow, Missie, how come you know what Lois’ pussy looks like…?’ Buddy asked. He grasped Lois by the waist & pulled her to him, forcing his hand up under her skirt, groping her through her panties…”

  [ 205 ]

  Mal spots a likely spare set of wheels, an older model black Ford Fairlane.

  Snuff hops out of the Olds, walks back a block-&-a-half, & hotwires the battered Fix-Or-Repair-Daily special.

  They head north, beyond the limits of the city. Snuff leads, driving point, while Mal & Julie trail at a casual distance. A trip of little more than 15 miles before they reach the bridge-span above the Bear River. Snuff cruises across to the opposite bank in recon. Then the Olds follows. The trio scans the environs for any sign of surveillance. The dash-clock of the DELTA 88 reads 4:43. The area appears deserted… Snuff drives some short distance farther, pulls over to curbside, leaving the engine idle. Mal draws the Olds up right behind him, also idling. Snuff climbs out, walks to the rear of the 88, fidgets a pick into the lock, & pops the trunk lid open.

  [ 206 ]

  “OOOooohhhh, Buddy, you naughty naughty boy…” Cherry coos to Frank, delicately stroking & licking at his penis as she does so.

  “Evidently, the hand up her skirt had cured any last pretense of ‘shyness’ or feigned ‘modesty,’ ’cause Buddy’d no sooner started feeling her that way than Lois immediately complied with Missie’s original request… She lifted her skirt up above her waist, & Missie tugged her pink cotton panties down off her slender hips, stooping, pulling them down over her thighs & calves to her ankles. Lois kicked them loose, & Missie caught them. She giggled, & stuffed the crotch in her brother’s face… The way she was standing, wrigglin’ around while he fondled her vulva, we could all see that little twat of hers was as bald as the day she was born… I’d never seen a pussy shaved like that… I felt guilty enough lookin’ at girls that young, & to think how her own father did that to her… But I couldn’t help myself—I felt my own stiff dick throb & swell up even stiffer at the sight of it… I couldn’t take my eyes off her… I know I shouldn’t admit this to you—but it was the most exciting twat I’d ever seen…”

  [ 207 ]

  Truman is still down. Cold-cocked by the Demerol.

  There is a rattling of rusted metal as Snuff loops the lengths of tire chain around four of the plastic-wrapped parcels from the grocery sacks, securing them, testing their closures. The Bible salesman will be short a set, but this is perhaps the least of his worries. Normally, Mal would have insisted His henchman boost snow chains from a secondary source, some other auto in the neighborhood of the motel; but the local pigs are on alert, & He judged using those from the Olds the lesser risk.

  He returns each of the parcels to their respective sacks, carries two to the passenger door, opens it, & places them in “shotgun” position on the seat. He walks back to the trunk, & repeats the procedure with the two remaining weighted sacks, as well as the unweighted fifth sack & the larger bundle.

  [ 208 ]

  “I think I forgot to mention, Cherry, but when we first sneaked in, Buddy was sitting in an armchair by the side wall, closest to us. Missie’d straddled a hassock right in front of him & leaned forward with her head in his lap while she went down on him. After the girls’d finally got him off, he stood, grabbed each around the waist, & steered them over to this big brown leather couch along the far wall, where he plunked his bare ass down on the cushions with his legs sprawled wide & his deflated dick lying limp in his lap. He motioned them into position, where he wanted them—both girls stood up in front of him, with their skirts rucked up while he fondled first one, then the other…

  “About all us guys peeping in on them could really see were the girls’ pert, dimpled little bottoms, carelessly exposed beneath their lifted skirts much to our prolonged appreciation. Goddamn, they had nice, tight little asses! Man, oh man, I can see ’em just like it was only fuckin’ yesterday, SHIT! &, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, Cherry, what kinda thoughts kept poppin’ into my mind after hearin’ all that stuff Lois had been telling them about… & seein’ the picture on the cover of that one fuckbook: ANAL SCHOOLGIRLS…

  “I knew it was sick, but the images excited me… Christ, Cherry, I’d never even heard about guys doin’ somethin’ like that to a woman, much less some little girl! That was the kinda thing the guys in the locker room joked about queers doin’… & I KNEW I WASN’T ANY GODDAMN QUEER! But I guess it had the same effect on all of us­…

  “Bob Ellsworth must’ve been gettin’ really antsy, ’cause I could see his fixated gaze flickering back & forth between the girl’s butts & that friggin’ book, layin’ there on the floor beckoning his curiosity like Pandora’s Box… He took a big chance & broke cover, scuttling over & scooped it up & carried it back for a closer look! He thumbed slowly through it, & I was surprised to notice him playing with himself while he pored over its lurid contents. At first he was just squeezin’ his crotch through his Levi’s, but pretty soon he got too carried away to bother what we thought, & he unzipped & started stroking his hard cock without caring who saw him…”

  [ 209 ]

  Snuff closes the trunk lid, then saunters up to the left-front door of the Fairlane, tugs the latch, & swings himself into the driver’s seat once more.

  The Ford pulls a 180-degree turn, then noses back toward Quincy, stopping at mid-span of the Bear River Bridge.

  The Olds hangs back, trailing at a distance. When the Ford stops, Mal follows suit, just within sighting range, where He can cover His companion should anything untoward occur. He steps out of the car, kneeling by the right-front tire as He feigns a close inspection of the treads & sidewall with His pocket penlight.

  Unhurried, Snuff strolls around to the passenger side, & dumps the parcels one by one over the railing, down into the pre-dawn’s vault of gathered shadow, splashes echoing as each plunges into the flowing waters of mid-channel.

  What sinks shall sink. & what does not shall be dragged along the river’s course, out into the Mississippi, no doubt on their way downstream to Quinisippi Island Park, to snag somewhere along the shoreline or wash up onto the beach. Much to the horror of whomever discovers them & seeks to unravel what mysteries are contained within the tight-wrapped folds of plastic…

  [ 210 ]

  “Bob Ellsworth was holdin’ the book open with one hand while he be
at his meat with the other, & he was rubbin’ the head of his cock against the pictures… Pretty soon, he started yankin’ his prick so hard it looked like he might tear it off if he got any wilder, & then he shot off, spraying his scumload into the air, squirting all over the pages & onto the carpet. He was shakin’ like a leaf & moanin’ real low & bitin’ his lips ’til they bled to keep from lettin’ out a ruckus…

  “Jim Doins & Al Brady grabbed the book from him & went into a huddle, flippin’ through the pages & gawkin’ like their eyes would pop out any minute… My own burning curiosity & blueballs finally got the better of me, & I bullied it away from them, shocked yet titillated by what I saw… By today’s SOTA smut-peddlin’ standards, Cherry, the production values were el cheapo—the cover was color but the illos inside were all in grainy black & white. Remember, this was way back in the late ’50s when all this shit was outlaw underground, all ‘under the table,’ so there was no regulation like we have today—no boldfaced assurances on every cover that ‘PROOF ON FILE ALL MODELS ARE 18 OR OLDER,’ & with no vested business facade to protect from prosecution, that meant they shot whatever twat was most expedient & cheap to lure or procure into somebody’s basement or backroom & get ’em naked so some poolroom lothario with black socks & a horse-hung dick could give ’em the long strokes…make them suck or fuck or sodomize them while the in-&-out pics were snapped & the presses rolled… & a lot of jailbait snatch did get utilized in the process…

  “Anyway, all those prurient promises hinted by its lurid title & cum-on covershot with the ‘cornholed kiddie’ were geared for a fast buck from the kinkiest of the cradle-robbin’ shorteyes set… & what the basic book supplied was indeed a butt-fuckin’ boff-fest for the hardest of the hardcore handjob Joebobs—a headspinnin’ array of heiney-hump honeys all laid out & splayed out & wide open & bendin’ over for that ultimate poke up the poopchute…”

  “Ffffrrrannnnkkkkkk, you’re sssooooohhhhhh nnnaughtyyy…” Cherry coos in his ear, sensing the sheer intensity of his pent-up, but repressed desires, noting his strange shift into the rhythms of hip/flip hardboiled lingo as his heated musings probe deeper & deeper into the hardcore of backdoor… &…

  “Most of the book was full of y’r typical overblown ballbustin’ backalley bimbos, or, in this case, backdoor bimbos, all tricked out with the generic pigtails & ponytails & schoolgirl skirts & teddybears & cheerleader outfits… butt they’d gone big budget, with a veritable bevy of off-campus & in-the-buff college cuties lettin’ some dude do the bone dance up their bottomholes… & there were a handful of highschool hardcase whores & randy little teen-queen runaway lays that were doin’ their share of cheerleadin’ in the rear-end-zone…

  “But it was that add-on collection Lois’ dad had taped inside that came across…all the way—literally dozens & dozens of those good ol’ livin’ color ‘four-by-five Kodachromes’ that must’ve been shot & developed by the intrepid entrepreneurs of some sub-sub-underground porn-pushin’ network whose performers were the GENUINE babyrapers & the babyraped—grown men & young boys all doin’ anal sex with these real-young-&-innocent-lookin’ teenagers & little prepubescent grade school girls—it was the sickest thing I’d ever fuckin’ seen…”

  [ 211 ]

  The unsteady chug chug chug of the Ford’s idling engine transforms itself to a throaty rumbling as Snuff shifts out & the car rolls slowly forward, exiting the disposal site.

  Mal & Julie follow in the smoothly purring Olds, hanging back just in case their companion’s actions have drawn any unwanted attention.

  Normally, Mal would drive the Olds to center-state, & leave its burned-out hulk, after torching it, to further confuse The Law as to which direction its occupants might have headed. But now He senses the critical timetable He must follow if He is to avoid the hounds upon His heels, so He heads directly for the Illinois/Iowa border crossing at Keokuk…

  [ 212 ]

  “Yeah, & we could see Buddy sittin’ on the couch with his again stiff peter sticking out. Christ! It looked like it was even bigger & harder than before…he was hung pretty good f’r a kid his age. But I was BIGGER. My wang was my pride ’n joy—biggest weiner in the showers…it put those other jocks t’ shame! Anyway, we could read his body language easy enough. The implied motions of his arms & shoulders. An occasional glimpse of hands groping down there between Lois’ & Missie’s thighs. You can bet, though, our imaginations filled in the blanks—it was certainly more than ample titillation to get us all quite hard. As if we weren’t already!”

  “& you’re sooo hard, now, thinking of those two hot, prepubescent pussies, aren’t you, Frank, the one with that itty-bitty peachfuzz patch… & the hairless, shaved one…” Cherry whispers, stringing him along, “you like ’em young & tight-assed, don’t you, Big Man…”

  “NOW WAIT A MINUTE, CHERRY, I’VE… NEVER… DONE ANYTHING WITH A YOUNG GIRL… NO WAY, CHERRY, NOT SINCE THEM… I MEAN ‘THEN…’” Frank pleads, “I HATE GUYS THAT DO THAT… I MEAN, CHRIST, CHERRY, I’VE GOT A DAUGHTER OF MY OWN… I’VE BUSTED DOZENS OF THOSE BASTARDS…”

  [ 213 ]

  After leaving Keokuk, Mal & His cutthroat crew cruise U.S. 218 northwestward the twenty-odd miles ’til they hit the junction with 2 East. They beeline the short sprint to the Shimek State Forest, on the Des Moines River, bordering the northeasterly tip of Missouri.

  Snuff unearths their stock set of polybagged Iowa untraceables from the usual cache-spot, then swaps them off for the Illinois “hots.” Avoiding attention as “out-of-staters.” A DMV trace will access a total goose-egg, Just ONE BIG ?. Sure as shit not street-legal. But damn convincing. A perfect pair turned out in Mal’s workshop back home sweet home down 666…

  Less than an hour’s drive, & they pass Centerville.

  Just beyond Plano, Mal hangs a right onto a rutted dirt road, vanishing among the cornstalks…

  [ 214 ]

  “Don’t get so serious, Lover Man, we’re just doing a little fantasy trip, here, right…? You don’t think that if I thought…you were somekinduva real babyraper that I’d be in bed with you right now, do you…? But you know what they say, Baby, ‘it doesn’t hurt to look, does it…?’ & the same goes for what you think, Frank, & it’s those deep dark hidden thoughts wayyyyy down there, all that shit you’re repressing that needs to come out so you can free yourself from your secret demons…tell it all to me, Baby. I sure as Hell won’t tell anybody! it can be our special little secret… & what turns you on turns me on… My name may be ‘Cherry’ but I sure ain’t… & I’ve known plenty of normal, healthy guys that get off thinking about young stuff, Frank, even looking at pictures of naked kids in nudist mags or those Tijuana fuckbooks & Philippine zines with all that underage twat… I mean, shit, Frank, these kids either sell it or starve… & if they’re getting fucked anyway, & some guy pays ’em a bonus for takin’ the bone on-camera… then, so what… I say, ‘go for it…’”

  Frank knows what a fucked-up line of hype she’s trying to sell him on… He knows how sick & twisted her line of logic is… & he knows how rampant with self-justifying rationalizations it is… But he’s so far over the edge now, so mixed up with the sleepless nights & festering rage & boiling lust, that he’ll grasp any dangling line that’ll serve to save & salve his ravaged ego from the dark disease & despite he’s already laid open to this red-haired Jezebel… & the thought flashes through his mind that maybe, just maybe, she’s the Whore of Babylon Incarnate… & it only serves to fuel his lust…

  [ 215 ]

  “& so I knocked on th’ door, ’n’ this bimbo opens it, ’n’, I swear t’ god, I start t’ say ‘Hello, ma’am,’ ’n’ there she is buck naked, with th’ goddamnedest set of hooters I ever seen—”

  “Well, Wyzynski, did y’ r’member t’ read her her friggin’ rights b’fore y’ frisked her?” the tall, gaunt cop asks, his hangdog face a five-card-stud freezeout.

  “In yr dreams, Wyz. In yr dreams,” the third cop growls, shaking his gnarled mick mug with the bulging rum-blo
ssom, his complexion three shades redder than its basic beet. He tilts his head back & slams a scalding gulp of java down his gullet, a Mississippi-mud dark trickle spilling from the left corner of mouth, dripping down onto his serge shirtfront. “’N’ yr just as bad, Caldwell, you’d’a’ tripped all ov’r yrself try’na get a gander at her gash—”

  “—’r didja just cream yr shorts gawkin’ at her…?” His partner finally finishes his sentence.

  “Awwwhhh shuddup, th both’a’ya’s. Yr gettin’ goddamn pathetic…”

  “Heh, O’Malley!” A hand grabs the stocky cop’s shoulder, just as he takes a big bite of blueberry-filled doughnut. He spins to see whotheHell wants him.

  “Remember that make you ran the other night, the one on the Olds from Oklahoma I heard you grumblin’ about?”

  “YEAH?”

  “Is this the guy you ID’d?” Watch Sergeant Vaughan Boston asks, holding out a faxed photo & bulletin for his inspection. “ODMV recalled your query, & hit us with this Missing Persons—”

  [ 216 ]

  “Tell me about your daughter, Frank, what’d you say her name is—Melissa Lynn…?”

  Frank doesn’t remember having mentioned her name to Cherry… When the Hell could I have let THAT slip…? he wonders, sweating harder than he already is from his fueled fires of his passion…