Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (17 page)

“Hey, Chief?” Hays said. “I ever tell ya about the time I was goin’
down on Jinny Jo Carter, then all of a sudden all this gonococcal pus
starts runnin’ out of her snatch?”

Just as these eloquent words were spoken, Chief Richard
Kinion had bitten into a stacked B,L’n T from Ma’s Market, heavy
on the mayo as usual, and in perfect synchronicity with his deputy’s
reference to gonococcal pus, a goodly share of that mayo squirted
right out onto Chief Kinion’s tongue.

“—squirted right out onto my tongue, and I mean a lot of it,
Chief, like a big wad of the stuff,” PFC Hays calmly continued with
his tale. “Shee-it, I’ll tell ya, boss. There I was one minute eating
the beaver’a one’a the hottest chicks in town, and next minute I got
myself a mouthful of venereal discharge, yes sir! God knows how
much I swallered ‘fore that big wad come out.”

Chief Kinion paled, spat out the bite of the B,L’n T, then chucked
the rest of it in the wastecan. He gagged at the image.
“Gawd-daggit, Hays!” he eventually was able to object. “You
out’chore mind tellin’ stories like that when a fella’s tryin’ ta eat!”
Hays swiveled in his seat behind the booking desk. “Aw, sheeit, Chief. I’se awful sorry, I shorely am. Didn’t know you’s was
havin’ yer lunch. But ain’t that about the low-downedest thang ya
ever heard? Here this gal was knowin’ full well she got the clap but
she didn’t even tell me till afters I got a mouthful. I’m munchin’ her
carpet fierce, boss’n alls of a sudden start ta taste something
real
bad,
and that’s when she say ‘Oh, Micah, honey, don’t mind that, it ain’t
nothin’ but a li’l gonnococal pus, accordin’ to the doctor.’ So’s then I
lookit her cooze and I’se
see
it, Chief. Looked kinda greenish, it did,
with a little yeller in it, and—
oooo-ee!
—did it stank fierce—”
Kinion cracked out another gagging cough, his formidable
stomach tensing into a knot. “Shut up, Hays, fer Gawd’s sake—”
Hays
creaked back further in the chair, eyes closed during this recollection
of one’a his many exploits. “And . . . you know what it
tasted like, Chief? Remember last Fourth of Jew-lye when Pa’n Ima
Parker brung that big vat of ranch dip that went bad? Tasted just like
that Jinny’s twat-pus did. Put my wood down fer a week, Chief—I
mean Jinny’s pussy, not the ranch dip—and I’se wanted to bitch-slap
her so bad fer pullin’that stunt, but, a’corse, I didn’t ‘cos Micah
Hays
don’t
never
strike a woman.”

Kinion sat bent over the wastecan, his mouth cranked open, and
sweat breaking on his brow.
No, no, please,
he thought. He didn’t
want to be vomiting in the station; such an act would not seem
becoming of the Luntville Chief of Police. Eventually, though, his
stomach settled down and he reclined back, pawing his massive
belly.

Ever!
Ya hear me?”
“Right, Chief. But I’ll tell ya, there weren’t nothin’ dirty about this—this here were a
disgustin’
story. Dirty’s somethin’ else, ‘cos, see, a dirty story’s a story that
gits yer wood up. Like . . . I ever tell you ‘bout the time I gots
together with Mary Beth Banner and her
twin sister Alice?”
“Hays, don’t—”
“Now
that’s
a dirty story, Chief—I’m gettin’ lead in my pencil just thankin’ about
it! I had me one ball in Mary Beth’s mouth, the other in Alice’s, and
one each hadda finger up my ass whiles their pussies’re taking turns on
my face. And this were
purdy
snatch,
Chief, not fulla clap. It were . . . delecterable! Tasted kinda sweet,
like the icing on the rum bums they’se make at Fuller’s Bakery. Sugary
it was, yes sir! And let’s just say that later we played a little game
called Sandwich . . . and
I
was the cheese.”
Chief Kinion shrugged; he had to admit it—the image, that is. It was pretty erotic.
Two beautiful women, identical twins? Neither of ‘em stinkers, and both at the same time?
For a moment, the Chief’s mind lapsed, and transposed himself into the image.

Then the Chief’s penis, which hadn’t been hard for some time,
grew . . . turgid.
“And what I did next,” Hays continued, “was I pumped a big
fuck up Mary Beth’s ass, and then her sister sucked it out—that’s
right, Chief, she put her lips right up ta Mary Beth’s bunger, she
did, and sucked my cum right out of her poop-chute—and then she
kissed Mary Beth like somethin’ you’d see in Penthouse, only what
Alice did, see, was whiles she was kissin’, she let my cum fall right
into Mary Beth’s yap . . . and then Mary Beth swallered it all like a
real trooper! It looked like a mama bird feedin’ a baby bird, it did!
And she said it tasted better’n the bisuit gravy they serve up at June’s.
Shee-it, Chief, she even licked her chops afterwards—no lie!”
The image, of course, shattered, and Chief Kinion errped up a
great plume of vomit into the wastecan. Well, two, then three, then
four plumes, splattering the entirety of the contents of his indisputably
large stomach into the Glad Bag-lined can. When he was done the
can looked
half full
of his puke.
“Aw, dang, Chief,” Micah Hays displayed his earnest
consideration. “That’s damn shore the biggest upchuck I ever seed.
What? Ya et somethin’ bad? Like maybe a bad rib or pork-end. Or
maybe a undercooked potato at Marley’s Hash House?”
When Chief Kinion was finished heaving at the image of Alice
Banner sucking semen out of the rectal vault of Mary Beth—and
the following oral transference of sperm—he shuddered and wiped
his mouth off with a napkin.
Yeah, Hays,
he thought.
A fuckin’
undercooked potato at fuckin’Marley’s . . .
Sometimes, Chief Kinion could just whup Hays right upside
the head, and he was even contemplatin’ that just this second, but
something happened right off that would forestall that possibility.
The phone rang.
“You want me ta git it, Chief?”
“No, Hays, I got puke hangin’ off my face, and I just chucked my
cookies inta the wastecan,” the Chief replied with some sarcasm.
“Why should you git it, ‘specially since the phone’s sittin’ right on
yer
fuckin’ desk?”

Micah Hays fairly took that ta mean that his boss’n employer
would prefer not ta answer the phone hisself. So’s he snatched it
up, and announced in his clipped, professional southern cop tone:
“Luntville Police Department, PFC Micah Hays speakin’. How’s
kin I help ya?”

Kinion wiped more of the contents of his stomach off his lips
with a Stuckey’s napkin, half-hearing Hays mutter a series of “Yes,
sirs” and “Uh-huhs” into the phone.

“Be right out, sir,” the PFC said next and hung up.
“What is it, son?” the Chief asked.
“Best git on up, boss,” Hays answered the inquiry. “That there was Doc Willis, and he just tolt me that he been at a medical
convention fer the last week. So he come home today and finds all
the winders in his house busted, and his wife Jeanne plumb up’n
gone.”

Kinion stared at this unbelieverble infermation. “His wife . . .
gone?”
“That’s right, Chief. So’s we’se best git out there right now ‘cos
it looks like the fine town’a Luntville got itself its first kidnappin’!”