by Lee, Edward
We don’t have to see what’s happening, we simply know. The urine bag is being squeezed, displacing its contents into the old woman’s stomach.
“That’s it, that’s it. A nice cool drink…” but the voice pauses. “Hey, Doc? Why’s the old bitch’s piss so dark? Looks like fuckin’ tea.”
“More than likely a catastrophically high creatinine level, that or Hepatitis A. I suspect the former, however. Severe degradation of kidney function is common amongst sedentary senior citizens.”
“Fuck up kidneys, huh? How do you like that?”
Then—
ziiiiiiiiiiiiiip!
—the tubing is yanked out.
The old woman gags, wheezing. But when she recovers, she snaps another glare right into the camera. “What a bunch’s big men you all is—ha! Stealin’ a crippled old woman out a nursin’ home’n makin’ her drink her own pee. I know who you is. You’re the devil’s-dick-suckin’ evil varmits who up’n kill my great-grandson—a 9-year-old! Yeah, give yerselfs a pat on the back fer killin’ a little boy. Now…my son Helton—there’s a real man.”
“Oh, yeah, he sure is, ya old cunt,” the off-screen voice says. “He fucked my mother in the head—”
“Ha! God bless him!”
“—so we figured we’d do somethin’ worse to his mother. And that head-fuckin’ shit he does? That ain’t nothin’ compared to what we got in store for you.”
The old woman laughs. “Do your worst! See if I care one toodly! ’cos when my son get his hands on you, you’ll think you gots the wrath of GOD comin’ down on ya!”
Off-screen chuckles flitter like bats. More footsteps scuff. Then: “Cristo, lube her up, then get over here.”
“Right away, boss.”
The old woman makes a face when the hands reappear and spread margarine all over her head. We can see the tub: I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT BUTTER!
“What the hail is that fer, son?” she cracks, frowning.
“Let’s just say you’re gonna need it to try on your new hat.”
“New hat? Boy, what in tarnations you talkin ’bout?”
The hands slather the margarine heavy, then pull away. “You’ll see, grandma…”
We hear more off-screen talk. “Doc, you and Argi get on that side, Me and Cristo got this side.”
“Of…course, sir.”
“I’ve always liked this way the best. Who we do this to, Argi? It was up in Newark wasn’t it? Kline?”
“Naw, boss, I think it was Ringerman, you know? That runt we had runnin’ numbers for us.”
“Oh, yeah—Ringerman! That fuck. He had balls, didn’t he? Shit, that guy went way back to my grandfather’s time—”
“Vinch the Eye—”
“God rest his soul…”
“Shit, we had that guy on our payroll for decades, and then we find out he’d been stealin’ from us half that time.”
“Well, he got his.”
“Best part was makin’ his wife watch.”
“Yeah! That was sweet, wasn’t it?” A pause. “You ready, Melda?”
“I sure am, Paulie!” exclaimed a ludicrous woman’s voice.
“On the count of three. One…two…three!”
A salvo of grunts.
“Good, yeah, but—shit, Melda. No offense but you’ve gained some weight!”
“Well, I can’t help it, Paulie. Can’t walk, can’t do nothin’ but sit—er, sit, and smother people in my pussy and eat.”
Laughter.
A peculiar shadow hovers over the old woman’s head, then something indescribable seems to edge the top of the frame…
“Push that big pussy open now, huh, Melda?”
“It’s open, Paulie!”
“One…two…three…down!”
In a split second, the old woman’s head disappears as it is completely engulfed by a frame-filling morass of pallid flesh. A mammoth sack for a belly is observed, as well as a severely stretched wedge of pubic hair. Whatever it is, it has swallowed the entirety of the old woman’s head.
“Give it a few seconds.”
A few seconds tick by, then, “Now, boss?”
“Naw. A few more…”
“We don’t want her croakin’, do we?”
“All right, now. One, two, three—up!”
shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-LUCK!
The morass is lifted off as though it has defied gravity to disgorge the woman’s head, which now looks like a perversely glistening wax mask, only semi-human. The head shudders, old gray hair slicked down. The eyelids struggle but eventually open.
“Great! She didn’t kick. Kind of thought she would, old as she is.”
“Proof of the resiliency of the human biological unit…”
The old woman’s face, quite surprisingly, laughs. “Ha! That all you silly boys can do? Just wait till my son Helton gets ya! He’n his kin’re gonna fuck all yer brains ta puddin’!”
“One, two, three—down!”
The horrific mass re-lowers, yet again engulfing the head.
“I’m tempted to just kill her now. I hate that old cunt.”
“Sure, boss, but that’s the reason we shouldn’t kill her.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Okay, guys! One, two, three—up!”
The head is re-exposed, looking a bit more weary than the first time.
The off-screen voice directs. “Back in the chair now”—grunting—“yeah, there. Cristo, get Melda back in the Winnie.”
“Right away, boss.”
“Thanks, Melda.”
“Oh, any time, Paulie! I love the feel of a head in my pussy!”
“She still alive, Doc?”
A manicured finger angles into the frame and touches the old woman’s slick throat. “Wait—wait, why…yes!”
“Perfect!”
The head lolls now, muck-shellacked and wheezing for breath, but eventually the old woman summons the last of her strength and looks right back at the camera. “Helton, my dear son! Don’t ya mind none what these Satan-worshipin’ bastards are a-doin’ ta me. I’se old and it’s way past my time, and I’se had me a wonnerful life. Just you take care, son, like I knows ya will! I knows you’ll git these fellas’n show ’em what fer! Hunt ’em down and fuck their evil heads like heads ain’t never been fucked b’fore! The Tuckton’s ain’t never lost a feud! Make the family proud like ya always done—” but then her speech is drowned out by the most shockingly vicious sound: not quite that of a chainsaw, not quite that of a lawn mower.
The frame seems to collapse as the Alpine stump-grinder lowers. It lowers slowly, ever so slowly, first just nicking the top of the woman’s skull, coming back up, then lowering some more. The screech of metal to bone is unmentionable. Blood, brain, and bone-bits fly like goulash out of a lidless blender.
Down and down, then, the stump-grinder lowers, and when it’s done it’s pulled away, leaving only a meaty neck-stump.
The motor-sound cuts off. Eery silence ensues.
“How you like them cookies, huh, Helton?” the off-screen voice inquires, and then comes a staccato of laughter…
««—»»
Veronica had collapsed even before the “film’s” finish. She lay now on the floor, in a shuddering fetal position. Helton, Dumar, and Micky-Mack, on the other hand, remained standing. Staring. Wide-eyed and tearing up. What they’d just witnessed on the computer screen—in spite of the presence of morning light—somehow turned the air smoke-dark.
No one spoke for quite some time.
Helton passed around a bottle of some citified liquor called AsomBroso 100% Blue Agave Tequila that he’d pinched from Marshie’s mansion. They each took hearty slugs.
“Paw?”Dumar was the first to speak. “Grandma Petunia was up’n the finest ole gal there ever was, and I—”
Helton severed the condolence with a wave of hand. “Ain’t no words necessary, boys. Our work’s cut out fer us…”
Tears ran freely down Micky-Mack’s face. “Unc Helton. We’se gotta g
et ’em back worse’n ever, we’se gotta—”
Helton’s silencing hand rose again. “Like I done tolt ya’s before, there is one rellertive’a Paulie’s not too far from here, not too far at all—”
Micky-Mack’s fist banged the table. “Then let’s go! Now!”
Helton’s face looked as dark as the air. “We’se’ll go, all right. But we gots ta wait till tonight. In the meantime, we needs ta go back ta that big store, that one calt the Home Depot…”
— | — | —
Chapter 15
(I)
It wasn’t quite a vegetative state that plagued Veronica for the coming hours. It was some sort of temporary semi-catatonia that left her staring at the truck’s metal walls with virtually no thoughts crossing her mind. The men seemed to be driving through a town, not the backwoods, and every so often, Veronica peered up and out the windshield, she saw but barely noticed garlands of Christmas lights. Then: Christmas, the single word occurred to her.
She didn’t know what it meant.
Veronica rocked comfortably back and forth as the truck shifted gears. Were they parking? An errant shift of gaze showed her something familiar: golden…arches? But why would that seem familiar? As they turned and pulled around, something else caught her gaze, a large yellow sign with black letters: BEST BUY. Veronica stirred.
The truck stopped.
Another section of a sign could be seen: HOME DEPOT.
Veronica whimpered.
“Micky-Mack? See that place over yonder. With them yeller rainbow-type things?”
“Yeah, Unc.”
“That there’s a restaurant, and it’s a famous one. Ain’t never et there myself but I’se know folks who have—it’s calt the Mack-Donald’s. Just you go on over’n pick us up a bunch’a viddles. I’m sick’a beans’n spaghetti’n fancy tater chips. Plus, Veronica might perk up if’n she got some citified grub in her breadbasket. Here’s some money—”
“Oh, I got me some money, Unc. Let me contri-bit—”
“No, boy. Use Maw’s money. It’s what she’d want. Meantime me’n Dumar’ll be in the Home Depot.”
“Shore, Unc.”
The boy disembarked. Helton’s concerned face hovered over Veronica.
“Veronnerka? Hon? You’se all right?”
Mouth opened, Veronica nodded.
“I’se sorry I showed ya that ugly movie but, like I said, I needed ya ta understand why we’se doin’ this…”
Veronica nodded.
“We’se’ll be right back. Whine you just try ta take yerself a nap?”
Veronica nodded.
Helton sighed, then eventually left the truck with his son.
McDonald’s, she thought diffusely. Home Depot…
Something tiny seemed to crackle in her brain.
Best Buy…
She stood up—at least as much as she could given the handcuff—though she didn’t know why. She tried to peer out the windshield, but crooked over like that she could only see an edge of the semi-full parking lot. Daylight raged. Straining her neck…she detected movement…
A figure in a blue shirt—a familiar blue shirt—walked briskly through the rows of parked cars. It never occurred to her, though, that this person’s blue shirt was identical to her own. The figure was a slender man with spiked-up hair; more familiarity seemed to whisper around in her head. He was sticking sheets of paper beneath the windshield wipers of each car, and in an action so coincidental as to be completely unbelievable, a gust of wind picked up, detached one of the sheets from a windshield and blew it directly against the windshield of the black truck!
Veronica read the sheet, obviously a sale-flyer: OPEN ‘TIL MIDNIGHT XMAS EVE! BLOWOUT HOLIDAY SALE ONLY AT BEST BUY!
Then the sheet fluttered, and blew away.
Best Buy, Veronica thought. She watched the spike-haired man weaving between parked cars, and for some reason unbeknownst to her, she thought, Archie…
Veronica sat back down, somehow contentedly confused, if such a state of mind could even exist. Had she remained standing for less than a minute more, the man in the blue shirt—Archie—would’ve been able to see her when he placed a flyer beneath the truck’s wiper.
She looked dully up when Micky-Mack returned. He set down an armful of white bags that smelled of fast food.
“Well, hey there, Veronnerka! Feelin’ better?”
Veronica stared at him.
“Got’cha some viddles, yes sir! Probably more what yer used to—citified food, I guess this is. Smells good, huh?”
Veronica nodded.
Micky-Mack sat in the fold-down chair, but before he did so, Veronica’s retinas registered scarlet streaks along the chair’s back. It did not occur to her that this was dried blood.
Micky-Mack rubbed his crotch for no apparent reason. “Don’t’cha worry none, Veronnerka. You’se’ll get ta go home soon, just like Unc Helton promised.” He cast her a discerning glance. “Say, Veronnerka? Them tits’a yers are, like, dandy tits. You wouldn’t mind showin’ to me again, would’ja?”
Veronica shook her head and raised her top.
Micky-Mack’s cheeks billowed. “Dang, girl! They’se get better ever time! Them there’s what we call Jiminee Christmas tits!” He rubbed his crotch more concertedly. “Say, you ain’t seemed ta mind none tweakin’ our peckers. How’s about tweakin’ mine right now?”
Veronica nodded.
“Dang, you are such a nice gal!” and Micky-Mack stood up in a flash, extracted his malodorous penis, and slipped it unhesitantly into Veronica’s mouth.
“Yeah, back’n forth, just like that, just like we up’n taught ya…”
Rhythmic sucking sounds clicked. The penis hardened immediately, and not once did she wince when each stroke slid well past her tonsils.
Micky-Mack’s breath raced. “Dang-dang-dang! That’s just, I say that’s just shorely the best dick suckin’ I’se ever had…” His groin was tensing. “You know, it’s damn refreshin’ ta have my dick tended to natural-like. All these headers we’se havin’? Shit, they’se feel great, but still… Just somethin’ unnatural ’bout fuckin’ heads,” but then his words stalled. “Aw, shit! I weren’t supposed ta say that! Unc Helton, he’d whup my ass good if’n he knowed I just said that so’s…Veronnerka? How’s ’bout that’ll be our secret, okay? Don’t tell Unc Helton I’se mentioned nuthin ’bout headers. Okay?”
Mouth stuffed, Veronica nodded.
Now Micky-Mack was breathing between his teeth. “And ya know, as good as yer blowjobs is now…I’se just gots ta git me my nut. Can that be our secret too, Veronnerka? I’se cum in yer mouth but you don’t tell Unc Helton? That okay?”
Veronica nodded, sucking with mechanical precision.
“Aw-aw-aw,” he grunted, tensing all the more. “I gots ta warn ya, though. Me? I’se belt out a lot of peckjuice, enough ta likely fill yer whole mouth up. And if’n ya spit it out, Unc Helton’ll see’n, well, you know. So’s how’s ’bout swallerin’ all my nut. Okay?”
Veronica nodded.
“Git ready now, hon. I’se just about ta, just about ta—” but the sound of rough voices made Micky-Mack glance terrified over his shoulder. Helton and Dumar were opening the back doors!
“What a fuckin’ kick in the ass!” he whispered fierce, and had no choice but to awkwardly pack his unspent erection back into his pants. He got back in the chair—legs crossed, of course—just as Helton came inside.
Helton stared. “Boy? What’s goin’ on here?”
“Why, nothin’, Unc Helton. I’se just come back from the Mack-Donald’s with the viddles ya told me ta fetch.”
Helton’s eyes narrowed. “Then how come Veronnerka’s tits are out?”
“Aw, hail, Unc. They’se so nice lookin’ I’se just asked her ta show me again, that’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Shore that’s all, Unc.” Micky-Mack looked to Veronica. “Ain’t that right, Veronnerka? That’s all?”
Veronica nodde
d.
“Oh,” Helton said. Then he sniffed. “Dang, sumpin’ shore smells good.”
“Citified food,” Dumar remarked with enthusiasm. He was still just outside the open doors, clattering with something.