New Title 1 (49 page)

“Guys need to think more with the heads on their shoulders than the heads in their pants,” Argi offered.

Helton continued, “And there was one time, son, when Mary Beth wanted to suck my dick if’n I give her extra ‘shine—”

Dumar glared. “Did you let her?”

WHAP!

Helton’s huge hand smacked Dumar across the head so hard he almost flipped in the air.

“Oooow! Gawd
dang,
Paw!”

“A’course I didn’t let her, ya blammed a-hole! What kind’a hill trash ya think I am? Ya think I’d take a blowjob from my
own son’s wife?
”

Dumar dragged himself up. “Shit, Paw, I’se sorry. I’se just kind’a all twisted up now. I’se
confused.
”

“It’s a confusin’ world we’se all livin’ in, son. It’s what they’se call the
conver-loo-shuns
of human nature. We’se got ta be careful how we reckon it. And gittin’ back ta Mary Beth…shit, I hate ta speak ill’a the dead, but yer wife was a alky tramp and lazier than Charlie Fuchson’s egg-suck dog. She weren’t a
good
wife. Wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it turned out that that li’l thief Crory come from some
other
fella’s load.”

Dumar looked sheepish. “Gotta admit, Paw, that thought crossed my mind many’a time. Shit, Crory didn’t look a bit like me.”

Paulie stepped up. “Hey, don’t feel bad, kid. When you guys dug
my
baby up the other night, sure, I was pissed, but deep down I always had to wonder. Yeah, Marshie
said
it was mine but I had my doubts. A liar is a liar, you know? Plus, the kid was a girl, and I’m
Italian.
I need a
male
heir. And as for ‘Becca? Fuck. You guys did me a
favor
by snuffin’ her. A greedy, whiny, ungrateful bitch, just like her mother.” Paulie’s eyes suddenly lit up. “But now I don’t have to pay for her fuckin’ college!”

He and Argi high-fived.

“Feels good ta clear the air, huh, Paulie?” Helton posed.

“It sure does, Helton.”

“And since we’se on that road, I feel a right low down now ’bout, well, fuckin’ yer maw in the head.”

Paulie guffawed. “You wanna know the truth, Helton? I
hated
my mother. She treated me like shit for my whole childhood, and milked my father for all he was worth, and then wound up fuckin’
nagging
him till he croaked from a heart attack over a plate of linguini. I ought to
pay
you guys for punchin’ her ticket.”

Helton stroked his massive beard. “Well now that ya mention it, you did
my
maw a favor as well. Horrible as it was the way she die, shit, Paulie, she was dang
tired
of livin’. That nursin’ home? She couldn’t
stand
it. Took all her dig-ner-tee away. Peein’ in bags, shittin’ in pans, gettin’ pushed ’round in a blammed wheelchair. Couldn’t
abide
the fact that they was keepin’ her alive just ta collect them damn
medicaid
payments. She felt it were a
violation’a nature
fer the state ta keep her livin’ like that against her will. But then you fellas come along and send her straight to the Pearly Gates, so’s you was actually doin’ her a
service.
”

All four men looked at each other and laughed.

“Well, shit,” Helton boomed, “I guess we’se all friends now, huh?”

“Put ‘er there, Helton,” Paulie exclaimed, and then they all shook hearty hands.

To Argi, Helton offered, “Sorry ’bout what happened to yer nut, fella.”

Argi gently cradled said “nut” with his finger. “No big deal.
Hurts
like a motherfucker, but the doc said it’ll heal up.”

Paulie leaned to peer at the exposed gonad. “Was big as a grapefruit a little while ago but now it’s back down to avocado-size. Sounds like a good sign to me, Argi.”

Argi nodded, then shrugged and told Helton, “And now that we’re all friends—fuck, Helton—I feel bad about killin’ the blond kid. Your nephew or somethin’, huh?”

Helton scoffed. “Don’t let it worry ya none. Him dying was just a case’a him payin’ fer his misdeeds. It’s ‘tween him’n God now, and I ‘spect he’ll do all right.”

Dumar stepped up. “And, dang, since we’se all apollergizin’,
I’se
sorry fer killin’ that slim fella was drivin’ yer motor-home earlier.”

“Think nothin’ of it, kid,” Paulie allayed. “Cristo was an adventurer; he knew the risks. He lived a button’s life and died a button’s death. Fuck, no one lives forever.”

Helton seemed to recall somethin’. “Aw, shit, Paulie. Lemme give ya back all them diamonds’n gold necklaces I stolt from yer wife’s house—”

Paulie flapped a hand. “Fuck that, Helton—keep it. I don’t want nothin’ that reminds me of that lyin ’ prissy bitch. This whole thing was her fault for not tellin’ the whole story.”

“Well, I’se not one ta suggest how a fella run his
domester-ik
affairs,” Helton hinted, “but seein’ how Marshie throwed a serous monkey wrench inta yer life, ya might wanna make a hard introduction’a yer foot ta her ass.”

Paulie smiled sharp as a knife. “I’m not gonna
kick
her ass, I’m gonna
kill
her ass. Had to whack the first two wives for makin’ a chump out of me, so Marshie’s gettin’ the same deal, hot body or not.”

“Cain’t say’s I blame ya, Paulie. Marshie go back a long way, and
most’a
that way ain’t good.”

Dumar looked at his watch, then interrupted. “Hey, ya all! We been so busy tearin’ the holy
hail
out’a each other, we up’n fergot ’bout what
time
it is! Dang if it ain’t after one in the mornin’!”

All the men looked at each other, no one quite getting it.

“It’s Christmas!” Dumar rejoiced.

“Well how’s about that!” Helton exclaimed. “Merry Christmas, ever-one!”

“Shit, yeah! Merry Christmas!” Paulie added, and it was then that the true holiday spirit seemed to
infuse
into all of them, and they all shook hands again and patted each other on the back.

“And ya know, Helton,” Paulie continued. “We’re Italians—we
pride
ourselves on vendetta, but that shit you guys invented?—headers? That blows us out of the water, man. There’s a whole lotta people out there fuckin’ me over—cops, judges, bank guys, IRS, even some guys in my own family. Well, shit, I hope you don’t mind, but we’d like to start doin’ that header stuff too.”

“Why, go right ahead, Paulie,” Helton approved. “When someone sticks ya in the back hard, ain’t no way ta git ’em back harder than a header.”

“Yeah, boss. Headers are a primo whack; like nothin’ we ever done before,” Argi contributed. “Perfect way to replace Melda.”

“Fuck yeah, didn’t even think of that!” Paulie walked over and put his hand on Helton’s shoulder. “Lemme ask you somethin’, Helton. We been makin’ hardcore flicks for
years,
but ya know, that camera
you
guys use? It’s
dynamite.
Resolution’s so much better than ours I almost shit my pants! What kind of camera is it? We’re gonna have to buy one for ourselves.”

“No need to,” Helton said. Then he went into the truck but reappeared a moment later—
with
the Sony HVR-S27. “Here ya go, Paulie. Take it. We shore as shit don’t need it no more.”

“Well, thanks, Helton!” Paulie said in genuine gratitude. “Lemme give ya some money for it.”

“Wouldn’t
think’
a takin’ money from a friend. This here fancy camera? Consider it our
Christmas present
to ya.”

“What a great guy,” Argi said.

“Well, fellas,” Helton said next. “It’s Christmas now, so’s I guess we best all be off ta our respecterive families ta have a proper holiday. But next time yawl are back down our way, stop by fer some barbeque. Just gimme a call”—he winked—“‘cos it ain’t like ya don’t have my number!”

They all laughed uproariously, re-bid each other a final “Merry Christmas!” and departed to their vehicles. When the big white Winnebago pulled away, Argi tooted, then headed off, but then stopped again several blocks down the dark street. The motor-home’s back door opened and—

SLAP!

—Melda’s revolting corpse hit the pavement. Then the wheelchair was pushed out and the waste bucket flung. After that, they were off.

Helton and Dumar, both wearing smiles of contentment and holiday joy, got back in the big truck.

“Well, Paw. I cain’t say this were the best Christmas we ever had but it’s dang shore the most interestin’.”

“That it is, son. And now that Maw’s moved on, we can up’n move right into her house. Ever-thang she left—the house, the money, the land—it all go ta me.”

“God
bless
her.”

Both men ignored the decapitated body of Menduez, which still sat tied up in the fold-down metal chair, while the head itself—abused perhaps more than
any head in history
—lay face down in a cardboard box. In the rear of the truck, however, something overlooked seized the attentions of Helton and Dumar…

Veronica.

She sat limp in the corner, staring at nothing.

Helton scratched his head. “Dang. We’se plumb fergot
all about
her.”

“Shit, Paw. What we gonna do? Cain’t just kick her out, not after all she done fer us.”

Helton snapped his big fingers before her blank face. “Veronnerka? Hon?”

Very slowly she looked up at him.

“Well this here is more fucked up than a tube’a crickets, son. Veronerka still ain’t got her senses back after the shock’a all that gone on.”

“But, Paw,” Dumar said, “why’n’t we do what’cha suggestered before? Maybe somethin’
familiar
’ll snap her out of it.”

“Right. That big store she work at, and her car.” Helton climbed behind the wheel and roared off.

After the fact, it should be recounted that during the previous “quadruple-header,” Veronica had indeed been present, silently staring at this veritable
jubilee
of psycho-sexual revenge. (And, yes, she’d orally “tweaked” all participants without so much as a flinch.) But several questions remained: had her current and hopefully temporary vegetative mental state prevented her eyes from registering the macabre scene? Would she ever be normal again? And would the searing sounds of hole-saws, power drills, and wet schlucking cranial coitus haunt her dreams for the rest of her life?

Hmmm…

Christmas lights twinkled up ahead. Once the clattering truck emerged from the dark residential streets, Helton spotted, of all people, Kasha, the Russian, walking away from the Hess station, evidently having just been relieved of her shift. She was frowning, so Helton rolled down his window, waved, shouted, “Hey, there, missy!” cleared his throat quite noisily, and—

Kurrrrrr-HOCK!

—expectorated in grand backwoods style. The dense, kiwi-sized wad of phlegm traveled straight as an arrow and caught the girl right over the mouth.

SPLAT!

“There’s some Christmas custard fer ya, hon! Merry Christmas!”

Shortly thereafter, the truck rumbled around the Best Buy and turned into the rear parking lot.

“Here we is, Veronnerka,” Dumar said loudly. He gave Veronica several gentle nudges.

“Hon?” Helton nudged her as well after he lumbered into the back. “Why don’t’cha git up now so’s you can go home? We cain’t thank ya enough fer helpin’ us like ya did. You’s’re a little shook up now but I reckon you’ll come out’a it a’fore long. Here”—he helped her get up, but as he did so, she could only stare blankly outward, her mouth hanging open.