Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (20 page)

“—holy hail could somebody bust all the upstairs winders from
the outside in unless they walked a ladder ‘round the whole fuckin’
place?”

“Thems some dandy questions, Chief, and I reckon we won’t
find no answers ‘least till we search the rest of the joint.”
Several spare bedrooms and a den, all well-kempt and nicely
appointed, and all devoid of Doc Willis. “Chrast, this place is big,”
the Chief complained once they got to the master bedroom at the end
of the hall. “I need ta take me a breather, son.”
Hays poked around while Kinion set aspell on the big four-poster
bed. “Jiminee, Chief, a fella could have hisself a whole lotta fuckin’
on a bed that big—” Then a chuckle. “—and I ‘spect ol’ Doc Willis
had hisself just that with that big brick shit-house wife’a his. Don’t
care how old the ol’fella is—a wife with a rack’a tits and set’s curves
like Jeanne Willis could put a hard one on a Kansas City faggot.”
“Stop that disrespectful talk, Hays!” the Chief took exception,
still huffin’ and puffin’ from the laborious search’a the house.
“Talkin’‘bout a man’s wife like that—shee-it, Hays! What if the Doc
overheard ya!”
Hay flipped a hand in disregard, mulling around the dresser.
“Aw, shee-it, Chief, he cain’t overhear nothin’ ‘cos he ain’t here.”
Then Hays slid open a dresser drawer, his face lighting up. “Ooo-eee,
Chief! Take a looky! Pitchers!”
“Daggit, Hays, don’t’choo be rummagin’‘round in there! Ya got
no right to be invadin’ the Willis’ priversy!”
But the brash constable had already removed the stack’a
pitchers—er, pictures, that is—and held ‘em up. Vacation snapshots of Doc and Mrs. Willis at Cancun. The
first was a long shot of Mrs.
Willis in a skimpy red bikini by a swimmin’pool. “Holy moly, Chief,
would’ja gander that body! Fuck, I could jerk me off a big dicksnot
just lookin’ at it!”

“Watch yer dirty mouth, boy! That’s a man’s
wife yer talkin’
‘bout!” But the Chief, even in his protest, hadda admit, Jeanne Willis
was one walkin’beautiful hunka-hunka woman. He tried not to look
at the photo but failed fer the most part. Yes sir, there she was, all
fine
womanly lines’n curves, smooth white skin goin’ tan, and a class
rack’a hooters all wrapped up in that there l’il bikini. Indeedy, this
photergraphic image’a Mrs. Willis seemed ta grin right out at the
Chief from the pitcher, a right seducterive kinda grin, and big
noonblue eyes’n cute short coiffered hair. Morosely, the Chief thought,
Why cain’t my wife look like that . . .

“Shit, boss, I’d haul them l’il bottoms right off her behind and
use ‘em fer dental floss,” Hays articulated. “I means, just lookit at
there berkeenee, just like what the splittails wear’n Calerforna, yes
sir!” After which, the deputy flipped through some more pitchers and
then fairly whooped: “Hot damn, boss! Is that a glimpse of a valley
in Heaven’re what!”

Ho boy!
the Chief couldn’t help but think spyin’ this next
pitcher. Here was a frontal from the chest up in that high Cancun
sunlight, wherever the fuck Cancun was (he figgered it was problee
in Maryland). That same foxy grin’n twinkle in the eye, that purdy
face alls wet from the ocean, and best of all them big firm hooters
satchled up in the red bikini top, filled out quite well, yes sir. The wet
fabric made no secret’a the half-collar-sized nipples underneath, and
they’se was stickin’ out more’n a tad.

Hays cut his ever-familiar grin. “Is that a rack’a chest fruit or
what, boss. I say
fuuuuuh
uuuuck
me!
Ask me thems the
best
kind’a rib melons, not too big, not too small, just like the tomaters at
Grimaldi’s Market, you know, the big ‘uns he sells fer a little extra.”
Hays gave his crotch an acknowledgin’squeeze. “Hey, Chief, would ya like haul that Calerforna berkeenee top off and just lay yer pole
‘ween that meat? Bet’cha would, huh? Just squeeze them there two
tits together’n give her a good ol’ fashoin tittie-fuck, huh? Then pull
a good long spooge right inta her chin—”

“Daggit, Hays, put them pitchers up!” the Chief shouted now
but a’corse deep down at the core’a hisself, he couldn’t deny the
delecturbility of the image, and for the second time today, he felt an
inklin’ of a boner comin’ on.

Oh, yes, but the Chief, even in this luxurious distraction, could
admit no such thing. He had a responserbility, as Chief’a Police. “Put
them pitchers back, boy, or I’ll put my foot upside yer head! Ya got
no right to be goin’ through folks personal belongin’s!”

“Well, hail, Chief, you’se the one who said we should search the
house—”
“That’s right, Hays, search the house ta see if we could find Doc
Willis and ya shore’s hail not gonna find him in the fuckin’ dresser
drawer!”
Hays gave the pitcher a last look and his crotch a last rub, then he
replaced the vacation photos’n closed the drawer.
“Now check the rest’a the room!” Kinion ordered. “I gotta tell
you everthang? Check the bathroom!”
Hays turned to do so, and as he did, the Chief, still a mite worked
up over that pitcher’a Jeanne Willis in her bikini top, gave his own
crotch a rub when Hays weren’t lookin’.
“You just give yerself a crotch-rub, Chief?” Hays queried with
his back turned.
“No! Shut up! Check the bathroom like I tolt ya!”
Hays shuffled over to the bathroom, looked in, shrugged. “Well,
I’m checkin’ it, Chief. So what about it?”
“What’s in it!”
“Well, a sink, a toilet, a bathtub, a mirror. But ya know what’s not
in there, Chief?”

“What!”
“Doc Willis.”
“Don’t git smart, boy!”
“Oh, wait’cha just one sec, Chief. Look whats we got here.”

Hays disappeared momentarily into the bathroom, then re-emerged,
holdin’ up a pair of corn-blue frilly panties. “Looky there, Chief.
They gots themselfs a laundry hamper in there’n I just dug me out a
pair’a Mrs. Willis’ purdy panties—”

“Damn it, Hays! Put that back! Only a pree-vert digs around in a
lady’s dirty laundry—”
Hays showed his standard shit-eatin’grin, then lifted them soiled
panties to his nose and took a long, deep sniff. “Yow! Now that there’s
a right ripe hash mark, boss. Ooo-eee! This gal’s got some flavor for
shore!” Then Hays offered the bunched panties to the Chief. “Go
on, Chief, I won’t tell no one. Hard-workin’ man like you deserves a
treat. Take yerself a sniff’a that—”
“Hays! Put it back!”
“Aw, come on, boss. Ain’t nothin’ like the smell of a gal’s crack
to get a fella’s blood goin’.”
Chief Kinion’s voice rocketed about the room. “Put it back and
go check the closet, or by God I’ll—”
“Relax, Chief, all right already.” Hays gave the panties back
from whence they came, then did as ordered. He opened the closet
door and looked in.
“What’s in it!”
“Clothes, coat hangers, shoes,” Hays replied.
“Fine! Go check the other closet!”
Once again, Hays did as ordered, peeked into the second closet.
“I’m checkin’ this one too, Chief. Wanna know what’s in it?”
“Yes!”
“Clothes, coat hangers, shoes, and—well—Doc Willis. He’s in
there too.”
“Uh . . . what?” the Chief asked, hopin’ he hadn’t heard it right.