Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (24 page)

“Two-Zero-Eight,” the dispatcher proceeded, “respond to citizen
complaint of a possible Signal 9N at 861 Mount Airy Road.”
“Roger that,” Hays dutifully replied. “Unit Two-Zero-Eight is on
the way! Over’n out, sweetheart!” The PFC hooked the radio back
on his belt. “Git them viddles down, boss. Time to go check out this
Signal 9.”
Chief Kinion made a quick nod, wiping his lips with a napkin.
Signal 9? He didn’t quite recall that one, did he? Nevertheless, they
pushed off from the table.
“My treat, boss,” Hays insisted, whippin’ out his billfold. “I’ll
even leave Martha the Tail a good tip, yes sir.”
Matha the Tail, now that was another the Chief didn’t quite
get. She’d been runnin’ the counter at June’s for long as he could
remember. A sassy, skinny ol’ gray-hairt woman probably pushin’
the shit outa seventy by now. Had no teeth in her yap’n never wore
dentures, and here she was right now smilin’toothless at Micah Hays
as they lumbered up to the register ta pay.

“Well, hey there, Martha,” Hays greeted. “How’s my favorite
gal in the whole blammed town?”
The woman’s smile pulled her weathered face up into somethin’
that had more lines than a state road map. “Why if it ain’t Micah
Hays, every woman’s southern dream. When you gonna come by
and see me again, hon?”
“You’d be too much fer me, Marth,” Hays complimented.
“Some gals are just too hot, ya know. ‘Sides, me’n the Chief here got
an urgent call out on Mount Airy Road, and when duty calls, we’se
there.”
“Just you be careful, Micah Hays,” the old woman urged.
“Anything ever happen to you and ever single gal in county’d be at
a loss.”
“You got that right, Martha.” Hays slapped down a five. “Keep
the change, darlin’, ‘cos you’re worth it!”
Martha the Tail shot him a lascivious wink. “You tryin’ to buy
my affections, honey?”
“Martha, your affections is worth millions!”
“Oh, ain’t you just the sweetest thang,” Martha gushed.
The Chief’s frown sharpened once they was back out in the sun.
“What’s that shit all about, Hays? She acts like she got a thing fer
you.”
Hays whipped out the keys as they approached the Luntville
cruiser. “A’corse she does, boss. All women got a thing fer me,
‘specially after they had me.”
Kinion stopped in the dusty parkin’lot. “Now hold on there, boy.
You ain’t tellin’ me that you . . . well, you know—”
“Fucked her?” Hays interpreted his supervisor’s curiosity. “Hail
yes I fucked her, Chief.”

“But . . . she’s—” How could he say this without soundin’
disrespectful to the elderly? “She’s, uh--”
“A busted, toothless, seventy-year-old hag?” came the PFC’s
next interpretation. Then he shrugged. “Pussy’s pussy, boss. Just ‘cos
it’s old don’t mean it shouldn’t be fulla cock. Ya know how cheese is
better after it’s been aged? Twat’s the same. Or let me put it this way,
sometimes I like my meat seasoned. Yes sir, ‘bout a year or two ago,
I done fucked the giblets’n gravy outa that old bitch, and I ain’t just
talkin’‘bout her snatch. Ooo-yeah, boss, she kin fuck’n suck with the
best, ol’ Martha the Tail.”
Holy hail. The Chief were absolutely flabbergastered, but then
. . .
What can I expect from Hays?
he realized. But then that brought
up the next topic of inquiry. “You are one irredeemerble male slut,
boy, such that I cain’t hardly believe it. But tell me this, somethin’I’se
always wondered—”
“You wanna know why she got that nickname, huh, boss? You
wanna know why they’se call her Martha the Tail?”
“Well, yeah. It’s always been somethin’ I never could quite
figgure.”
Hays opened the driver’s door and slid in. The car started right
up, and Hays pulled out, snappin’ on his sharp-lookin’ mirrored
sunglasses. “Shee-it, Chief. I never told you ‘bout the time I fucked
Martha the Tail? Well that’s just dandy ‘cos it’s one’a my best stories
and we gots ourselves a good twenty-minute drive—plenty’a time
to tell ya . . .”
Chief Kinion sighed in his seat, knowing that he had it comin’for
asking in the first place.
Me’n my big chow-hole,
he thought.
“It was one night, like I said, a year or so ago,” Hays began his
tale of Martha the Tail. “I’d been up the bowlin’ alley with the boys
and had me like eight or ten beers, but it was men’s league and there
weren’t splittails around fer me to pick up and fuck till their cracker
brains rattle in their heads so I decide to hail with it and go on home
but it were just my luck I weren’t a mile out on the Route before my left rear tire blows’n
worse
luck still that my spare was flatter
than Dolly Carrigan’s chest after her masterectermee, so I ain’t got
no other choice but to hoof it. So I’se walkin’ along the Route, and
it’s a nice hot night, Chief, the crickets chirpin’and the moon out and
I got me a belly fulla good brew so I’se start ta thinkin’wouldn’t it be
just dandy if some dog-horny young bar-bitch droved by’n picked
me up, but what happened instead, see, was some dog-horny
old
barbitch picks me up and it’s Martha the Tail drivin’ that big piece’a
shit Chevy jalopy’a hers that looked like it were probably old as she
was, and anyway, she’s drunker’n a truck-stop tramp she is and my
dog’s up’n barkin’ so fuck it, right? Old tramps need love too, so I
figger it’d be selfish fer me not to give her some. So she drives us
back to that old shit-box of a house her pa left her way back when,
‘member? He was all stewed on shine and falled into his thresher?
And once we git inside, she’s all business, boss. She’s got my pants
down to my socks and she’s suckin’my dick like it’s a meal--as fine a
cocksuck as I ever had, and I’ve had me more than a few, and lemme
tell ya somethin’, Chief, you ain’t HAD head till you’ve had it from
a toothless gal, and I swear I got my peter shoved so far down her
throat I thought maybe I was about to come on her gall bladder’re
somethin’, but I decide to do the old bitch a favor so I hold off’n
tell the hag to git outa her clothes so’s I can fuck her hard’n proper
like the way all gals need ta be fucked, and once she got outa them
duds—shee-it, boss—I thought I was lookin’ at somethin’ on one’a
the slabs down at the county morgue. Her tits hung down so far it
looked like maybe gorillas had been swingin’ from ‘em, and she got
big gnarly nipples on her that looked like a coupla loogies like you
spit out when ya got a chest cold, only they got hairs stickin’ out of
‘em and she got a bellybutton on her like someone shot her with a
pumpkinball, Chief. All in all, this old cracker weren’t nothin’ but a
bag’a bones—”

“And
I’ll be gettin’ to that in a minute, Chief,” Hays assured him, steering
now through the long sunny bends of Route 154, “and like I was saying,
this old cracker weren’t nothin’ but a bag’a bones but a’corse this
particular bag’a bones had a coupla holes in it that
my dick was very interested in. And she’s lyin’ there on the dirty
floor pantin’ like mutt in heat and her skin all saggin’ and then she
spreads her legs—and I might add that her legs looked like a coupla
broomsticks painted white—and her pussy looks like a ground-pork
sandwich, boss, except that ground-pork sandwiches don’t generally got
a big pile’a hair at the top, and I figger that just ‘cos it’s been
around since probably like before the Battle’a the Marne ain’t no
reason why I cain’t put a big petersnot in it, right? So’s I push that
old bitch’s knees back into her mummy face and get the pipe right up
there, yes sir, right into that ground-pork sandwich and I get to
humpin’ her so hard I figgure her old bones might break, but what the
hail? A nut’s a nut, right, and I figgure I’m doin’a kindness to her
since the last time she had a good hard fuckin’like this was probably
like back before Harding was in office, but ya know what, boss?”
Kinion’s face felt puffy and hot, and them pig’s feet weren’t settlin’
too well now. “What, Hays?” was the only reply he could make.
“I start to notice somethin’. . . well . . . Kinda funny. Like
somethin’ felt not exactly ordinary on my ten inches’a pecker, sorta
reminded me’a what it might feel like to have my wood in a bag’a raw
chicken gizzards, and then she looks up all gustin’ breath and sweaty
and she says, ‘Don’t stop, honeybunch! Keep stratchin’ ‘em! It feels so
good to git ‘em scratched by a nice big pecker like what you got!’So I
say, ‘Scratchin’‘em? What’choo talkin’‘bout? Scratchin’
what?
’and
she says ‘My vagernul polyps, that’s what the doctor called ‘em. See,
Micah, I got these growths in my pussy called polyps, and the doc says
they’se harmless and I’se too old to have ‘em removed anyhow.
But, holy hamhocks, they itch! I pick up young fellas all the time and they scratch ‘em for me with their peters but-but-but
nothin’
like
you, Micah! That big dick on you scratches ‘em deep! Deeper than
they ever been scratched! Look, I’ll show ‘em to ya.’ Fuck, Chief, I
didn’t really wanna see no growths in this old dust-bag’s cunt
but-hail. I pulled my willy out and Mathra jacks her skinny legs back
as
far as they’se’ll go and then pulls her old pussy open with her fingers
and shows me. A right gross it was at first but then as I got ta
lookin’
I found ‘em downright
interestin’
, I did. She kinda like flipped back
her pussylips and folded ‘em out and I could see ‘em, I could
see
them there polyps! Looked like her pussy was fulla
meatballs!
And
I figger what the hail—she wants me to scratch them meatballs with
my dick, then I’ll do it. So I park my peter right back in there and git
back fuckin’ her good’n hard like the old bitch that she is and shore
enough, boss, I come
all over
them polyps, yes sir! I done flooded the
Valley of the Meatballs, I did, and while I’se comin’she’s havin’a nut
herself, friggin’her clit with her finger—looked like Dash Woolley’s
nose her clit did, right before he keeled over from drinkin’ hisself to
death—and my dick can
feel
my come slickin’ up all them polyps in
there, oh yeah! It were an absolutely new kinda pussy experience,
boss, yes sir, fuckin’ a pussy full’a
polyps.
”

The dissertation ended, or at least it seemed to then, as Micah
Hays properly decelerated and veered right onto the spur of Mount
Airy Road.
Thanks God it’s over,
the Chief thought, a paw to his belly,
but then another thought dragged back.
Wait a minute . . . Polyps?
Vagernul growths?
“Hays,” he couldn’t help but ask. “What’s all that
got to do with folks givin’ her the nickname’a Martha the Tail?”

“Nothin’,” Hays answered. “’Least not yet ‘cos, see, the story
ain’t over. After I hosed down her polyps with my spunk, next thing
I know, ol’ Martha’s back to doin’ a
fierce
suck job on me—she got
both my nuts in her mouth at the same time—no lie—and she’s
suckin’ on ‘em like they’re hard candy, and a’corse my dick’s still
hard anyways on account I
never
lose my wood, ‘least not after the
first jackerlation’re two, and she’s suckin’ my balls’n strokin’ my pole with her spitty hand and I’se thinkin’: hail, I’se gonna have ta
give this old biddy another load for history, and she says ‘Micah
Hays, not only are you the most handsomest man in town but God
hung a pecker on you that is posertively the most beautifullest. I seen
a lotta peckers in my time, but I ain’t never seen one as gorgerous as
this,’ and I imagine she
has
seen a lotta peckers in her time, Chief,
probably been seein’ ‘em since like back before the Boer War, and
a’corse I trully did appreciate the complermint, not that it weren’t
somethin’ I already knowed, which is not to sound eagertistical,
Chief, but I gotta admit ever splittail I ever dumped a fuck in has tolt
me the same thing, that my Johnson is the best they ever seed—”