Evangeline (16 page)

I didn’t bother tailin
g
The Asshole once his van left the parking lot.  I had a pretty good idea where that so-called pussy wagon was headed.  Steel Creek Reservoir was where I’d find Billy Quinn… and where I’d end that bastard once and for all.  Instead of heading north for the reservoir, I drove straight to the mom and pop Texaco on County Highway 108 as the wipers beat back a steady rain.  Normally that stretch of road was patrolled by Deputy Gottschalk, but the lawman was off duty that night and I felt safe… as did, I’m sure, those waitresses he enjoyed harassing at the diner down the road.

I parked beside the gas station and entered the restroom carrying the macramé purse and the cookie tin.  When the light switched on, that squalid little space was bathed in a sickly, yellowish glow.  I bolted the door, flipped down the toilet lid and set the cookie tin atop it.  Then, using the cracked mirror mounted above the sink, I began my transformation-- first Elvira’s makeup, then the beehive wig, followed by my
piece de resistance
.

I lifted the cookie tin from the toilet seat and was about to pull the lid when there was a knock at the door.  A gruff voiced called out, “Someone in there?”

“Give me a minute,” I answered.

“We’re closing in five.  Wrap it up.”

“I’m wrapping.”

I pressed my ear to the door and waited another few seconds before getting back to business, prying the lid off the tin and removing the neckwear inside. 

Holding both ends of a leather boot lace, I tied it about my neck then paused to admire myself in the mirror.  In all modesty, friends--and despite the crack that ran through my reflection--I must tell you the effect was quite stunning.  This wasn’t some poorly crafted piece of cheap costume jewelry, nor some gratuitous display of the macabre.  Oh, no.  This look made a bold statement, with its wooden beads, crow feathers and the four pricks I’d threaded onto the lace.  What hung around my neck was more than mere fashion; more than some run-of-the-mill necklace. 

It was my dicklace.     

Okay.  Once again I sense disapproval.  I can almost hear your shrill voices crying out in righteous indignation,
Good God, Evangeline, now you’ve gone too far!  Wasn’t hacking off their penises enough?  Must you flaunt them as well?!
  Well, dear friends, your sanctimonious voices have been heard.  But before passing judgment on your humble servant, I would ask you to please consider, once more, the Ponca Indians.

You see, back in their savage heyday, the Ponca had fashioned neckwear from the scalps of their enemies.  So I ask you now; were dicks-on-a-string really any different?  Granted they smelled a bit funky (the Browers and those two Halloweenies were beginning to rot) but I was proud to display my battle trophies.  I’d earned those fucking pricks. 

Besides, I thought my dicklace made me look rather badass-- like a fierce Ponca warrior.  And I wanted to look my intimidating best for that colossal prick up at the reservoir who would soon be hanging as my centerpiece. 

The headwaters of Steel Cree
k
began at the Niobrara River up on the Nebraska-South Dakota border, wound southwest through Knox county and ended seven miles later at Revell Ponds-- known to the locals as Steel Creek Reservoir.  The ponds were hidden behind thick underbrush and stands of cottonwoods.  The only way in was a hardpack dirt road that began where 507th Avenue ended, skirted the edge of the reservoir then petered out in scrub about a hundred yards distant.  Somewhere in that secluded stretch I’d find Billy and Brianna doing the nasty in the aptly-named pussy wagon. 

So as not to spook my quarry, I entered the reservoir with headlights off.  But driving through that heavy rain and country dark was nerve-jangling, so I crept along the road at a snail’s pace with my nose pressed close to the windshield lest I run the Ford straight into the pond. 

As the road began veering toward the thicket, a dark shape against the darker water caught my eye.  Billy’s van was parked on the edge of the bank facing out toward the pond.  If not for the faint glow of its dome light, I might have driven right past it.  I jammed the transmission into reverse and swung the truck until it was facing the back of the van.  

My entire body now tingled with nervous excitement.  Here, at long last, was the moment I’d fantasized about; the chance to avenge my sister and punish The Asshole for all his grievous sins.  I swear to you, friends, as I sat in that idling Ford, I could feel Angeline’s pain coursing through my veins with every beat of my wildly thumping heart.  And the more I thought about the cruel sonofabitch inside that van and the hurt he’d caused her, the faster my heart raced and the more my rage grew. 

You know, there’s an unwritten rule that insists one should never come knockin’ when the van is a’rockin’.  But this was no time for social niceties.  My plan had been to throw open the back doors, press the shotgun to Billy’s head and blow it to smithereens like that rotting pumpkin in the cornfield.  But my rage trumped reason and patience went right out the window. 

Fuck the plan.  I wanted The Asshole
now
!

I flipped on the headlights, gripped the steering wheel and hit the gas.  The F-100 jumped and roared toward the pussy wagon.  I braced for impact, unleashing a furious primal scream… “AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”   

The truck hit that van like Moby Dick slamming his head into the
Pequod
-- a jarring collision that tossed me like a rag doll into the windshield and momentarily scrambled my brains.  I felt the warm blood running down from my forehead where it had smacked the glass.  

Boys and girls let that be a lesson.  Always buckle your seatbelt.

The impact had pushed the van closer to the water’s edge.  But I wasn’t done yet.  Once I found my bearings I jammed the shifter into reverse, backed up the truck, then buckled my seatbelt and, with knuckles white on the steering wheel, floored the gas again.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

This time the Ford rammed that pussy wagon so hard it went right over the bank and straight into the pond.

As the van settled into the dark water, I jumped from the pickup, grabbed the macramé purse and slid the shotgun from under the seat.  The impact had mangled the Ford’s front end, busted one headlight and turned the other at a cocked angle.  No time to assess the damage, though, I had to get down to the water’s edge to greet the two young lovers.

The van’s rear doors pushed open against the weight of water and Brianna Dresner popped out first, stripped to the waist and screaming hysterically.  The girl thrashed against the frigid waters surging into the cargo space then plunged into the pond, closely followed by her pissed off boyfriend.  The Asshole was buck naked below the waist and seemed a tad upset at having his blow job interrupted.  “What the fuck?!” he howled in a blind rage, looking for someone to kill.  “What the fuck?!”

I was waiting on the bank to greet the lovebirds as they came wading ashore, Grandpa’s shotgun gripped in my hands and the macramé bag slung over my head and across one shoulder.  I must have been a fright, though--what with that wet lump of beehive hair tilted sideways on my head and my face streaked with blood and makeup--because when Billy saw me he stopped short in knee deep water, his flaccid cock blowing in the stiff wind. 

Despite my appearance, I tried to make my guest feel welcome.  “Greetings, asshole,” I said, aiming the Winchester at his head with a cheery smile.  The collision must have knocked that boy around pretty good, because one eye was nearly swollen shut and a jagged cut ran from his left shoulder down to the elbow.  “In case you were wondering,” I told him, “this is a twelve gauge shotgun, fully loaded, with both barrels set to fire.  So please remain still or you’ll take all the fun out of this.”

“Please don’t hurt us,” cried Brianna, her arms wrapping a shivering body.  The girl was bleeding from a broken nose and blubbering like a three year-old.  I almost felt sorry for the wretched thing-- as much as anyone can feel sorry for someone who’d spread her legs for a fucking asshole.  

“What do you think, William?” I said, shifting my aim to Brianna.  “Should I shoot the bitch instead?” 

“No, don’t shoot me!” the bitch cried out. 

“Why not?  Isn’t your boyfriend worth dying for?”

Brianna couldn’t answer.  I think her brain had melted.  Didn’t matter, though.  If the cheerleader ended up as collateral damage, well that was just tough titties.  It was the price she’d have to pay for her lousy taste in boyfriends.  Meanwhile The Asshole was eyeballing me in the rain, no doubt working on a plan to escape the trap he’d been caught in. 

I swung the shotgun back his direction, just to keep the bastard honest.  “I think I want you closer,” I told him.  “Come on now, William.  Don’t be shy.  Move that cute little ass up here.”

Without taking his eyes off me, Billy limped from the water and onto the muddy bank.  “Close enough,” I said when he was almost within spitting distance.

“What about me?” whimpered Brianna, knee deep in the pond.

“You?  You’re a cunt,” I told her, then turned my attention back to her boyfriend.  “You know, I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see you again, William.  Real shame what happened to your two Nazi friends.  But if it’s any comfort, I want you to know that I always keep a piece of those boys close to my heart.”  I pointed out two shriveled stumps hanging from the dicklace.  “This one’s Kyle and that’s Danny.  Or is it the other way around?   I can never keep those two pricks straight.”

“Oh, my God!” wailed Brianna. 

Both she and Billy knew who they were dealing with now, and the chilling realization that they were in the presence of the Holt Hacker launched that cheerleader into another wild bout of hysteria.  Meanwhile, The Asshole stood silent in the rain.    

I pointed to an open spot on the dicklace between two crow feathers.  “You see this, William?  This special place right here in the middle?  I’ve reserved that spot just for you.  You’re going to be my guest of honor.”

“Oh, my God!” Brianna bawled.

For the first time in memory, the smirk had been wiped from the face of Billy Quinn.  An entirely new emotion was written there now.  One I was quick to recognize.  I’d seen it on all the lambs I’d slaughtered.  Fear.  I saw fear in that boy’s eyes.  And they went wider still when I slipped the hand sickle from the macramé bag and gave it an underhand toss that landed at his feet.

“Pick it up,” I told him.

“What for?” he said.   

I thrust the shotgun at him and exploded, “Don’t ask questions, motherfucker!  Just do it!”

As The Asshole bent to retrieve the sickle, Brianna’s caterwauling became intolerable.  I rolled my eyes and swung the shotgun back her direction.  “Oh, dear Lord, girl!  Would you please just shut the fuck up?!  I can’t hear myself think!”

She slapped both hands over her mouth, muffling the sobs.  

“Now where was I?”  It took me a moment to find the bookmark.  “Oh, yes, now I remember.” I looked over at The Asshole.  “I was thinking I could just blow your head off and take that dick of yours, or… I could offer you a choice.”    I shook the dicklace and the peckers danced on the string.  “A choice these pricks never had.”

I took two menacing steps forward, keeping the shotgun trained on his head.  “I’ll consider letting you live… if you chop it off yourself.”

The Asshole had no response at first.  His nervous eyes shifted between the shotgun and the sickle in his hand before he finally said, “Chop it off?”

“You heard me.  It’s either your dick or your head.  But one of them is coming off.  Which one is up to you.  I’ll give you ten seconds to decide before I pull this trigger.”

I just love a good countdown, don’t you?  They’re so dramatic. 

“Ten… nine… eight…”

“Whoa, wait!” Billy protested. “How do I know you won’t kill me anyway?”

“Better back away, bitch,” I warned Brianna, squinting down the double barrels.  “This is gonna get messy.”

The girl whimpered and took three steps back as the countdown resumed; “Five… four… three… two…”

“Okay!” Billy blurted out, grabbing hold of his cock.  “I’ll chop it off.  Just don’t shoot me.”

“Make it hard first,” I commanded… because it was no longer enough to kill The Asshole.  Now I wanted to completely humiliate the bastard as well. 

“Alright,” said Billy, getting busy.  “I’m doin’ it, okay?”

“Do it faster!” I barked.

“Okay, okay,” he said, picking up the pace. 

Ah, my friends, if you only could have been there.  Watching The Asshole frantically flog his meat on the banks of Steel Creek Reservoir was one of those rare moments in life that exceed all expectations.  Nearly as gratifying, the boy couldn’t get his dick hard.  No matter how fast he cranked the shank, his flag just wouldn’t run up the pole.  

“What’s the problem?” I snapped impatiently.

“You’ve got a fuckin’ gun pointed at me,” was his lame excuse.

I swung the twelve gauge toward Brianna who was watching this shameful performance with chattering teeth.  “You.  Sugar britches.  Give him a hand.”

“What?”