New Title 1 (20 page)

“Thank God!” Dumar said.

Helton collected back up the hole-saw blades. “Now, the actual blade used on
Caudill’s
head, like I said, it disser-peered. ’cos, see, not long after they had their header on Caudill, a
cop
discovered ’em and shot both Travis’n Grandpap dead right in Grandpap’s old shack by the deadfall.”

“Aw, dang!” Micky-Mack said.

“Yeah, but they got the job
done,
and that’s all that matters,” Helton said. He emphasized, “
Family’s
all that matters when ya get right down to it.”

The fire’s dwindling embers tainted their faces in ghostly orange. But Micky-Mack seemed antsy about something, and Helton noticed this and ordered, “Say what’s on your mind, boy?” even though he had a good idea what it was.

“Unc Helton?” the 20-year-old asked. “Have
you
…ever been to a header?”

Helton breathed deep. “Tain’t sayin’ I’m proud’n I ain’t sayin’ I’m ashamed…but, yeah, boys. I had a
couple’
a headers back in the day. The why’s’n wherefores don’t matter. It’s just that several times we was offended in ways so dag-blasted low-down that a
header
was the only way ta git justice.” He looked idly at the rusted hole-saws. “It were Grandpap Martin, my brother Tuff, and me. See, fellas, our families didn’t
never
treat headers willy-nilly. We respected the
law of the hills
and only threw headers when someone
deserved
it. Shee-it, Tuff never did no wrong ta Thibald Caudill, not
never.
It was Caudill’s
greed,
and his sheer fuckin’
evil
that got him ta doin’ what he did.”

“And he got what he
deserved,
” Dumar said with some satisfaction.

“Yeah, he shore did, and I’se hopin’ that Satan hisself is butt-fuckin’ that old rube as we speak. ’cos, see, some folks—folks like Caudill—they’se so sick’n twisted’n just plain
wicked
that they’se throw headers when they got no business. They do it…’cos they
like
it, and that’s just the most devilish thing that hillfolk can ever do.”

Micky-Mack looked overwhelmed. “Shee-it, Unc. How could anyone
like
cuttin’ a hole in someone’s
head’
n fuckin’ their
brain?
”

Helton deliberated over a response. “Well, son, for the reasons I just tolt ya: ’cos they’se
evil,
but…but…” He sighed. “There’s another reason, too.”

“What reason could that be, Paw?”

Helton rubbed his eyes. “Aw, son, I’ll be honest with ya. See, there’s somethin’ ’bout havin’ a header—just…
somethin’…
Dang, I might as well just say it. There’s somethin’ ’bout a freshly opened
head,
and the brain
inside’
a that head, that makes it
good
ta fuck.”

“What’cha mean by that, Unc?” the ever-inquiring Micky-Mack asked.

“What I mean, boy—and this is what has caused some ta stray—what I mean is, gettin’ yer nut in a brain? It feels better than
any nut
you ever had, better’n the best pussy ya ever fucked, better’n the best mouth or butt you ever come in…” Helton stroked his beard. “Don’t know why, just does.”

“Dang,” Dumar remarked.

“And you two’ll be findin’ out ’bout that a right quick,” Helton went on as the woods seemed to darken around them, and grow colder and colder. “What I ain’t ‘splained to ya yet is what this man
Paulie’s
got ta do with any’a this.”

“Yeah, Paw, I was fixin’ ta ask.”

Helton looked grimly at his son. “Li’l Crory’s awful murder was Paulie gettin’
revenge
against Grandpap and Travis for fuckin’ Thibald Caudill’s head.”

“Oh, so this Paulie fella, he one’a Caudill’s kin?”

“Well, sort’a. See, Paulie
married
Caudill’s daughter Marshie. Shee-it, Marshie Caudill was damn shore the best-lookin piece’a ass in the whole fuckin’ county, boys. Tits and ass and legs that’d make a grown man cry. She’d been workin’ a seedy strip joint in Pulaski since she was 16, and turnt plenty’a tricks too’s what I heard. Even had herself a trick-baby from a john that knocked her up. But after Thibald Caudill got head-humped ta death, Marshie, she
inherit
her daddy’s big mansion and all that money, so she
buy
that strip joint she work all them years in. Still owns the place ta this day. Reckon she must be ’bout your age now, Dumar.”

Dumar slowly nodded. “Now ya mention it, I have heard’a her. Me’n Harley Benner was walkin’ back from cuttin’ wood one day, walkin’ along Big Boon Road, and this weird-lookin’ fancy silver car drive by. There were a
hot blond
drivin’ it, Paw, and I’se mean she had tits stickin’ out till next week. But then ya know what she done? When she see us, she makes a evil face’n up’n give us the finger, and that’s when Harley Benner say, ‘That there is Marshie Caudill.’”

Helton was not surprised. “It was her, all right, son, and you’re right.
Righteous
pair’a tits on the bitch, yessir. And, see, just like her devilsh daddy, she still drive through these parts—damn near ever mornin’, I’se heard. Drive all the way from Pulaski to where we all live. Likes ta see where she come from, and remind herself she don’t live here no more on account of her daddy’s money. And that weird car? It were the self-same Rolls Royce Thibald Caudill used ta drive. I even seed her a couple’a times up close—in Luntville—still lookin’ good as she ever did, tits hangin’ perfect’n all high’n might, nipples stickin’ out like fuckin’ rivets, ass swayin’ back’n forth in her fancy dresses. Paulie’s proper name is Paul Vinchetti—see, he’s a
Eye-tallion
type, and he’s in this group they call, I think, the MAFF-ee-uh.”

“What the hail’s
that?
” Micky-Mack asked.

“He’s like a gangster, you know? A big whup-dee-doo criminal—see, he’s into what they call
organized
crime.” Need it be elucidated that Helton pronounced the word “organized” as
organnazzed?
“Don’t rightly know how it all works, just that Paulie’s pig-shit rich from sellin’ drugs and gettin’ profits from gamblin’ and such. And several years ago, he and his boys, they started selling their drugs ’round
these
parts, see? And one night he’s in the strip joint Marshie Caudill owns and he gets one look at Marshie and he fall head-over-heels in
love
with the whore, so much so in fact that he up’n
marries
her.”

“Well, how you like
that?
” Dumar said.

“Must’a been Marshie tolt him ’bout how the Tucktons and Martins was responsible fer Thibald Caudill gettin’ his head fucked.”

Helton nodded. “And now? They’se all laughin’ and carryin’ on ’bout how they fucked over a couple’a dirt-poor rednecks, and they figure we’se too dumb or ain’t got the balls to do anything about it.” Helton half-sneered, half-smiled. “They like ta make movies? Well,
we’ll
show ’em a movie…”

««—»»

They doused the fire and hit the road, Dumar driving and Helton still communicating expository details via long-winded and essentially passive dialogue. Veronica, in her shock, dismay, and fatigue, had fallen asleep, still handcuffed to the leg of the fish-gutting table. The truck lumbered on through the night, its dim headlights sweeping through winding, wooded roads as a low winter moon followed them through the trees. “It’s likely that Paulie ain’t there,” Helton rambled on, “on account I heard he don’t spend much time at the house. But that’s dandy, ’cos it ain’t Paulie we want just yet. It’s his
wife.
”

“Marshie,” Dumar said. “And we’se gonna snatch her—”

“—and have ourselfs a header,” Micky-Mack concluded.

“Yeah we is, and we’se gonna
film
it on that there fancy camera that our friend Veronnerka solt us, and then we’se gonna leave that movie fer Paulie ta see.”

Silence unfolded for several moments, but it was the antsy Micky-Mack whose incessant inquisitiveness
broke
that silence. “Dang, Unc Helton,” he began and rubbed his crotch. “Much as I love havin’ a nut…I don’t think I can get my bone
up
for it.”

“A head with a hole in it’s gotta be tough to get a stiffer for,” Dumar said.

Helton understood. “It’s a differ-kult thing ta conterm-plate, boys. That’s why when ya’s havin’ yer first header,
concentration’s
the key. Ya gots ta think
hard
’bout all the great pussy ya fucked, and all the purdy gals.”

Micky-Mack seemed unconvinced, still rubbing his crotch. “Shee-it, Unc. My dick feels
dead
right now, like it knows it ain’t a natural thing to fuck folks in their heads.”

Dumar: “Don’t matter that some folks say a header’s the best nut they ever had, Paw. I ain’t gonna be able to get me no erection in a million years.”

“That’s why we gots ta tweak ourselfs a tad, get our dicks all feisty’n fit ta spit,” Helton said. “And I figure our friend Veronnerka can help us with that.” He peered down the dark ribbon of road ahead. “We’se close ta walkin’ distance now, so find a place ta pull over.”

Dumar did as instructed, but Micky-Mack squinted at his elder. “What’cha mean
tweak
ourselfs, Unc?”

««—»»

It was in grueling stages that Veronica awoke from her black sleep. She’d had the
worst
 nightmare…

She saw only black, but did she hear…moans? Whistling? Did she hear someone say in redneck dialect, “Hot
dang,
that’s a dandy body on her…”?

Did she hear, “
Shit,
that’s good…”?

Or, “Fuck. My crane’s raisin’, no problem…”

She also had the sensation that something was in her
hand.
Something, warm, turgid, and tacky…

Finally, her eyes peeled open from the noxious sleep…

What in the name of…

Helton, Dumar, and Micky-Mack stood around her where she sat slumped against the truck wall. They all had their penises and scrotums out, and they were stroking themselves and staring down at her with salacious grins. Veronica’s eyes flicked to her free hand…

Micky-Mack had not his own hand but
her
hand
wrapped around his penis. The penis was erect, large, and heavily foreskinned.

Veronica
screamed.

The men winced at once. “There she goes again!” Dumar yelled, erection bobbing. Micky-Mack dropped her hand to cover his ears, and Helton roared, “God dang, girl! That scream’a yers’ll travel halfway ‘cross the blammed county. Gonna crack all the winders!”

“I knew it!” she yelled, “I
knew
you were going rape me!”

“Dang, Veronnerka,” Helton said. “I done
tolt
ya we’d never do nothin’ like that.”

“Please! Please don’t rape me!” she sobbed. “I’m a virgin! I have to save my virginity for when I marry Mike!”

“Simmer
down,
girl,” Helton pleaded.

“Yeah,” Micky-Mack said. “We’se just givin’ ourselfs a little tweak.”

“Gotta get our stiffers up,” Dumar added, “and—dang, hon—we didn’t have no idea you had such hot body.”

“Hotter than the lid on a pot-bellied stove,” Helton said.

Only then did Veronica notice that while she’d slept, these three
perverts
had raised her top, exposing her bare breasts, and they’d pulled her work pants and panties down.

“That’s some sure-fire gorgeous rib-melons on ya, Veronnerka,” Helton complimented, “and the dang
purdiest
slop-box I ever seed.”