Chainsaw Enema was playing a show this coming Friday. Less than a week away now. He tried to think about that. He downed most of the King Cobra forty under his bed and passed back out, thankful that tomorrow he didn’t have to go in early.
Thirteen
“Doug! Dougie!!!”
Shrill and relentless, his mother’s voice. What time was it? Too early. He could tell without even looking at the clock.
“Doug!”
It was like someone was being murdered or something. His head was reeling. He felt like throwing up. He was sweaty, still wearing last night’s clothes, and lying on top of his comforter. The monitor to his computer was still on.
“Doug!”
A brief moment of panic when last night came back to him. He remembered stashing the beer cans in the trash can. He had nothing to worry about. Hopefully. He finally looked at the clock, hoping he wasn’t running late but not really caring, either.
“Doug! Get down here!”
It was only three after seven. He didn’t have to be at the station for nearly another hour. He got out of bed, his clothes feeling damp and stretched out. He opened his bedroom door and walked down the stairs, moving very slowly. His mother stood at the bottom of the stairs, red and panting. He wanted to find out what the big deal was but he also needed to urinate and throw up. He walked past his mother, making straight for the bathroom.
“You have to tell me what this crap is,” his mom said.
“Let me use the bathroom first.”
She furiously jammed a cigarette between her lips and lit it.
Doug went into the bathroom, closed the door, turned the water on full blast, urinated, vomited, and then flushed the toilet. He washed his hands, brushed his teeth, and splashed some water on his face. He wondered if he still smelled like beer. He felt like it was seeping from his pores. His mother would know. She’d be able to detect the faintest trace of it. But now he was kind of trapped.
She stood on the other side of the door when he opened it. Her cigarette was already nearly gone, smoke curling around her head and shooting from the corners of her mouth.
“Why’d you leave the water running? Are you bulimic?”
“No, I... I’m not feeling well is all.”
“Well first you have to come and look at this crap on the front porch.”
Doug wondered, momentarily, if maybe someone had actually placed some variety of feces on the porch. He followed his mother to the front door, which had been left open. She pointed down to the offending item and said, “See there. What is it? And why did someone leave it there?”
Looking down at it, he had no idea what it was. He knew what it was made from and it only took him a couple of seconds to realize who had probably left it there, but he had no idea what it was supposed to actually be. It was, vaguely, a cross. Two Old Milwaukee tall boys made the body and two more jutted from each side to make the arms. A condom had been blown up and placed on top. He could tell it was a condom because of the reservoir tip. While he had never had any personal use for condoms, he had seen them lying around on the trails in the reserve and in Crank’s bedroom. One of Doug’s old school pictures—black and white and presumably cut out from one of the yearbooks—was glued to the condom. Cigarette butts formed its fingers, toes, and something that Doug guessed was supposed to be a loincloth.
“What is it?” his mother repeated.
“I don’t know.”
“Who would do something like that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it Stephen? It seems like something that little punk would do.”
“It probably wasn’t Crank.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, for one thing, Crank is way too lazy to do something like that.”
“It looks evil.”
Doug wasn’t sure what it looked like, but he didn’t think it looked evil. Maybe just because it was cruciform in shape, he thought it looked more religious than evil. Except that his photo glued to what should have been the face seemed to portray him as Christ or something, which was probably a sin.
“Do you think we should call the police?”
“That’s probably not necessary.”
“Maybe we’re marked or something. Maybe whoever did that is going to come back and do something worse.”
“I don’t think anything like that’s going to happen.”
“These cigarette butts are my brand. I think whoever did this went through our trash can.”
“Tons of people smoke Marlboros. Where did they get the beer cans? Where did they get the condom?”
“I don’t know, Dougie, I just don’t know... They’re not... yours are they?”
Doug laughed and hoped he didn’t sound too nervous. “Of course not. Wouldn’t you know if I was doing anything like that? I mean, you’re always here.”
“I just don’t know,” she said again. “We need to get rid of it. We need to put it back in the trash. I don’t want to touch it.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Doug’s mom went back into the house. Doug picked the thing up and carried it around to the door at the side of the garage. He actually kind of liked it. It was like some kind of totem to vice. He wondered if the condom was used or not. He held the totem up to his face and sniffed it. He wondered if it smelled like vagina, not that he would know. He just thought it smelled like latex and it made him think of sex as a clinical act and that made him sad. He took the lid off the trash can and gently placed the totem on top. He intentionally picked the fuller of the two trash cans, hoping his mom wouldn’t put a disgusting trash bag on top of it. He thought he might want to study it a bit later. He went inside to take a shower and change clothes before his mother took him to work. Hopefully, she wouldn’t keep dwelling on the totem.
Fourteen
The only thing she had said about it on the way to Patel’s was that it frightened her and she was going to pray for whoever had created that “awful, evil piece of blasphemy.”
Entering America Pantry, Doug found Patel asleep on his back behind the counter, one hand shoved down the front of his pants. Doug thought it would be awkward to wake him up so he went around the store and straightened up the shelves. He wondered how long Patel had been asleep. It was probably good Clover was such a low volume market. Otherwise, the shelves would probably be looted and bare. He looked at the heavily pilfered beer cooler with something like longing. He was out. He thought he wanted more. He wished Crank was working today. Doug wouldn’t take any, even if he paid for it because he wasn’t twenty-one and, therefore, it was illegal. Of course, the consumption of alcohol if you were under twenty-one was technically illegal too. But, he reasoned, that was only in certain parts of the world. He was sure he’d heard that entire families, regardless of age, enjoyed wine around the dinner table. Maybe he was just a hypocrite. Or maybe he just didn’t want to get caught.
A sinister-looking man in a black leather trench coat entered the store. Doug retreated behind the counter. The man brought up a bottle of Tahitian Treat, maxi pads, and aerosol cheese. Patel began to stir as Doug rang the man up. He paid cash and strolled out of the store. Doug didn’t see him get into a car. He seemed to vanish into thin air. Doug fought the urge to dart out and see if he could see him anywhere outside.
Patel stood up and straightened his hair, wiped some drool from his chin, and backhanded his mustache. He pressed a button on the TV/DVD combo and took the disc out, putting it in a plain black case and throwing it into his special drawer. He crouched down to lock the padlock and said, “I’m going now.”
“Want me to count the register?”
“Okay.” He was already heading for the door.
“I have driving lessons again tonight at five.”
“Someone will be here.”
Then he was gone. Doug kind of hoped it would be Patel’s wife, who was a lot younger than Harry and kind of cute, and infinitely more pleasant. She was probably closer to Doug’s age tha
n Patel’s.
Doug took a deep breath and sat down on the stool. It was going to be a long day. His thoughts turned to the totem and then to Whitney Smith. He was pretty sure she was the one who had constructed it. He wondered why. It seemed bizarre. Although, he reminded himself, Whitney may not be the most stable person in the world.
He thought about calling Crank but figured it was way too early. He needed to get a laptop so he could play Redemption here.
That would make the time pass.
Around one, Crank strolled in with a blonde, hippie-looking girl who wore cut-off denim shorts, a tank top, and seemed absolutely bursting with ripeness—Amber. Crank had described her as the one who shaved her pussy. Doug tried to force the image out of his head.
Crank walked to the counter. “What up, Doug?”
“Not much.” Something seemed off with Crank. Doug wondered if he was on something strange or if he just had a rough night.
“Called you last night.”
“Driving lessons. Remember?” Amber’s nipples jutted against the fabric of her shirt, large and balanced perfectly on her young full breasts. She vacantly batted her eyes at him.
“Yeah yeah. That’s what your mom said. Patel around?”
“Took off a while ago.”
“I’m gonna take Amber to the back and bang her.” Amber lightly punched him on the arm and rolled her eyes. “Wanna watch?”
Doug felt himself blushing. “How can I answer that? Do you expect me to answer that?”
“Yes or no would do, I guess. You’re probably insulting Amber if you say no, though.”
Doug looked at Amber. “No offense but no.”
“Hey,” Crank said. “I told Doug about your pussy. Show him.”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“Come on. You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you, Doug?”
Doug couldn’t answer. He would have liked to see. Just thinking about it took all the air from his lungs.
“See, he can’t even talk. Toss me some condoms, brother?”
“You gonna pay for them?”
Crank waved dismissively. “Yeah yeah. Later. I want to test them first. See if they’re worth it.”
Doug slid the Trojan lubricateds across the counter.
“You comin over tonight?”
“I have driving lessons again.”
“How bout after?” Crank darted an almost indiscernible look at Amber. “You really should. I got something I want to ask you.”
“I’ll try. I might be tired. And Mom would have to take me.”
“Just have the driver guy drop you off at my house. I’ll get somebody to take you home.”
“It’s a woman, not a guy and, like I said, I’ll see.”
“All right. But you should come. Watch us practice. Let me know if we suck or not.”
Doug wondered if this was really important to Crank or not. He thought they were supposed to suck.
Crank grabbed Amber and turned her around. “I’m gonna go unload some chowder.”
They walked toward the back room. Doug watched Amber’s butt move beneath the denim of her shorts. He wondered how it would feel to put his hands on it. He thought about her shaved vagina. Then he wondered why Crank had hair taped to his arm. Something was up. He thought he probably would try to make it to Crank’s tonight just to find out what the deal was.
Whitney came in a couple of hours later, just as Doug was sliding into some kind of mid-afternoon coma. Crank and Amber were still in the back room. When she came in, Whitney made brief eye contact with him before looking away, around the store, up at the lights, wandering aimlessly around and dazedly reaching out to touch certain things.
Finally, empty-handed, she made her way to the counter. Doug wished he had brought the totem with him so he could now place it in front of her and see if it got any kind of reaction. She placed her bony hands on the counter. Her fingernails were covered in chipped black polish and looked gnawed. He thought the smoking would have helped with that. Her eyes searched the racks behind him.
“Whitney.” He tried to keep his voice as icy as possible.
“Doug.”
“Would you like the usual?”
Now she made eye contact with him. Her eyes seemed to bounce around in the sockets. He thought she looked cleaner today. The sweater was gone and she wore a baggy white t-shirt. Still, he could see her raised nipples through it. He wondered why everyone’s nipples seemed noticeable today. Despite himself, he felt an erection sprouting.
“What would... the usual be?”
He plucked a pack of Marlboro reds and a pack of condoms off the racks and put them on the counter. She batted the box of condoms off, sending them smacking onto the floor. Doug bent down to pick them up.
“What kind of a whore do you think I am?”
Doug’s face flushed. He thought he was just trying to have fun with her.
“I just thought... maybe you used them all.”
“Three times in one night?”
“Maybe you used them on a... project?”
Now he thought she was smirking. She curled a hand around the box of cigarettes. “Will you need my ID again today?”
“I don’t think so.” He’d memorized her birth date but thought it would be creepy to share that information.
“And what if I wanted to buy some alcohol? Like some Old Milwaukee or something?”
Now he thought she was definitely smirking.
“No. I wouldn’t need to see it because I know you’re not old enough.”
Her smirk dropped away. Again, she stared into his eyes. Her pupils were huge. They almost blotted out the irises.
“Neither are you.” It was nearly a hiss. “Besides, I wouldn’t buy any anyway. It’s sad to drink alone.”
She had to be the one who made the totem. He almost asked her but was afraid of what her response might be.
“So, will this be all then? No paper?”
“Last night’s murder isn’t in the paper yet.”
A tremor went through Doug’s body.
“Murder?”
“You haven’t heard about it yet?”
Doug shook his head. He almost told her about going out to look at the scene of the accident on Mountain Bottom Road, thinking that was probably something she would think was cool but he didn’t because... Because why? Did he feel guilty he’d been with Mindy? Whitney wasn’t his girlfriend. He didn’t need to feel guilty about anything.
“I could tell you all about it.”
“Who was it?”
“You’ll find out.”
The door to the office opened and Crank and Amber emerged. Amber was straightening her shirt and her shorts. Crank was smiling and either straightening or mussing what hair he had left. Doug, nervous that Crank and Whitney occupied the same space, hurriedly gave Whitney the total. She pulled a crumpled five from the waistband of her gypsy skirt. She stared straight down. Crank and Amber continued to the counter.
“Whitney Smith!” Crank bellowed. He seemed super high.
“Yep. That’s my name.” She took the cigarettes and the change and turned toward the front door.
“What’s it been? Like four years? What the hell happened to you?”
“Stuff.”
Crank’s smile dropped away once he realized they had now run out of appropriate conversation. Trying to recover, he said, “This is Amber. Amber, Whitney.”
“Hi Amber. Are you twelve?”
“She’s thirteen,” Crank said. “What kind of sicko do you think I am?”
“Okay. I have to go.”
“Need a ride or anything?”
Doug’s face flushed again as he realized Crank would have sex with Whitney if given the chance. And not because he was attracted to her but because he would see this shy, slightly unstable girl as some kind of conquest.
“Are you running a rickshaw service these days?”
Doug laughed, forcefully and loudly. All three of them turned to stare at him.
<
br /> “I have to go,” Whitney said. She held up the pack of cigarettes. “I’ve got smoking to do.”
“Nice seein ya. You should come to our show on Friday. We’re playin at the Ark Sakura...”
Whitney had already walked out the door.
Doug, in an attempt to keep Crank around until Whitney was far away, smiled and said, “The Ark Sakura, huh?”
Fifteen
Mindy said she needed gas before they left. Doug offered to pump. Mindy fed the company credit card into the machine. She wore the helmet with the visor flipped up, a skin tight black shirt and very short khaki shorts. Doug closed his mouth and looked away. Wiped the back of his hand against his chin to make sure he wasn’t drooling. It was still light out, the air filled with all those early summer smells. It was times like this Doug wished he had a girlfriend. A beautiful summer day of his eighteenth year. It seemed like a waste to spend it alone. Although, technically, he guessed, he wasn’t really alone. He was with Mindy. Then he would be alone. Or with Crank. Dang. He’d almost forgotten about going to Crank’s house. Crank had said there was something he wanted to talk to him about. It could be anything. Crank was getting weird. Scary weird.
The pump kicked off.
Mindy stared at him. The helmet made her look like she was from the future or another planet.
Doug looked at the pump. He’d never pumped gas before, but he’d made it this far. He nervously pulled the handle from the car and gave it a couple of shakes.
“Aw, c’mon, don’t you pump gas for your mom?”
Doug positioned the handle back on the pump.
“She never really asks,” he said. “She’d probably only think I was doing it because I wanted something anyway.”
“Wanna start driving?”
“Sure.”
Doug sat behind the wheel.
“Soon we’ll have to tackle the highway,” Mindy said.
“That’ll be pretty exciting.”
“Hopefully not too exciting.”
Doug started the car. “Do you mind dropping me off at a friend’s house, instead of mine? When we’re finished?”
Satanic Summer Page 5