Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (26 page)

But before the Chief could slap Hays upside the head fer
proposin’ somethin’ so nonsensical, Claude Gullard stepped right up
with his opinion: “Dang, Officer Hays, I say that’s a mite downright
percepterive of ya. You musta gone to collerge to have yerself a set’a
smarts like that.”

“Dang shore did, Mr. Gullard,” Hays was proud to say. “Got me
a degree in Criminal Justerce from Ball U., and I’se grad’jer’ated
top’a my class.”

Claude Gullard’s eyes went wide with undilutered awe. “I say
wow,
Officer Hays, that shore is somethin’. Chief, where’d you go
ta collerge?”

“I didn’t go to no dag hippie collerge!” the Chief kindly replied.
“I don’t need ta go to no dag hippie collerge to run my police
department!”

Claude Gullard scratched his hairy tits through his overall top.
“Well, then . . . how come it wer PFC Hays who thought to ask me if
I got wood and not you?”

By now, Chief Kinion wanted to pull his hair out at the
frustration’a this situation but a’corse that wouldn’t’ve been too easy,
see, on account the Chief didn’t have much hair left ta pull out. And
then Claude Gullard, he said, “And ta answer yer question, Officer
Hays, yes indeedy, when I saw this very fine-lookin’gal runnin’buck
nekit across my yard, I shore as hail got wood right quick, like alls of
a sudden I were raisin’ a flag pole down there in my overalls, n’fact,
I had me wood so hard I gots to admit, fellas, I had whip it out real
quick’n jack me off a fast one, I did.”

Hays nodded, eyin’ the Chief. “See that, boss. Now we’se
know
that this here weren’t just yer
average
nekit gal runnin’ across the
yard but a
real wood-popper,
Chief. Which leads me ta my next
speculation.”

“Well, Chief, right off hand I can only think’a one gal in
particular that could put instant wood on me at the mere thought, and
that would be Jeanne Willis, yes sir.”

“Aw fer Gawd’s sake, Hays!” Kinion lost control. “What the
hail
would Jeanne Willis be doin’runnin’round out here buck
nekit!
”
Hays answered the question with a question, this one bein’
directed at Claude Gullard. “Mr. Gullard, could’ya be so kind ta
tell me if this nekit gal had short brownish hair that might be called
coiffered, if, like, you was from the city?”
“Why . . . why yes, she did!” Claude verified.
“And did she have, like, a set’a tits on her that was 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?”
Claude Gullard slapped his thigh. “
Dang
if you ain’t ‘zactly
right, Officer Hays. This gal hadda set’s tits on her
just
like what you
described! And I’ll’se tell ya somethin’else. She had—what they call
it, you know, like them fucked-up folks from Calerforna . . . I know!
She had
tan lines,
Officer, like what gals git on their skin when they’se
out in the sun a lot’n wearin’ them berkeeneree thangs!”
Hays fired a subdued grin to the Chief but the Chief weren’t
buyin’ none’a this malarky, and he said so: “Hays’ that don’t mean
nothin’! It weren’t Jeanne Willis runnin’ round out here with no
clothes on. Shee-it, it coulda been
any
gal with short brown hair’n
nice tits’n them citified tan lines!”
“Well, shore, Chief, you’re right,” Hays backstepped. “You’re
the boss’n I goes with what you say ever time.”
“Fine,” Kinion agreed, “so keep it shut and let
met
ask the
questions.” The Chief turned his gaze to Claude Gullard, and then
the Chief opened his mouth ta speak but—dang!—he shore couldn’t
think of a single thang ta ask. “Well, Hays, I’se a little tired today, so’s
why don’t you ask some more questions.”
“Shore, boss,” Hays said, and asked, “Okay, Mr. Gullard, so’s
when you seen this nekit gal who wasn’t Jeanne Willlis runnin’
across yer yard, where ‘zactly was she runnin’ from?”

Claude didn’t waste no time in answerin’. “Right back there,”
he said’n pointed to the back’a the pile of rotten boards that were
his abode, “from the woods behind my house, you know, that
blammed—”

“County Watch-House fer Boys, huh?” Hays deductered.
“That’s absolutely right, Officer! That dag liberal Demercrat
place they stuff fulla punks’n treat ‘em real cushy instead’a throwin’
‘em inta the real county clink where they’d learn the error of their
ways a mite fast,” Claude Gullard expressed his rather conservative
opinion, “on account after just a coupla nights of gettin’ butt-fucked
by a bunch’a big shines with cocks big ‘round as coffee cans—yes
sir, they’d learn
real fast
not ta go breakin’ the law when some fella
named Toby’s got his hog stuck up in there to the balls.”
Well, the Chief didn’t really know what he thought ‘bout such
things that were dependent on societal demergraphics’n such but
none’a that was what this were about, right? And though he didn’t
believe fer a second that this nekit gal was Jeanne Willis, he did
recognize that the fulcrum’a this call should take them up to the
County Watch-House fer Boys lickety split. But just as the Chief
were gonna thank Claude fer his time and head on up to the House,
the overalled man with hairy tits added a final observance, well, two
actually. “Oh, and somethin’ I fergot, Chief. When this nekit gal run
off across my yard she disappeart just past them trees out yonder and
then a coupla seconds go by’n I hear a car drive off. Couldn’t see it,
but I shore’s hail heard it.”
“Maybe a red Mercedes,” Hays offered.
“Bull
shee-it
,” the Chief replied.
“Oh, oh, and one more thang,” Claude remembert, “though
I’se not quite shore what it were but . . . she seemed to be holdin’
somethin’ as she were runnin’ but . . . fer the life’a me, I cain’t figger
what it could’a been. Somethin’ she seemed to be carryin’ under her
arm . . .”

“One’a them big plastic Coke bottles?” Hays proposed, “like
one’a them 2-liter ones?”
Claude slapped his thigh again. “Yeah! Yeah! How’d you know
that, Officer?”
“Never mind—thanks fer your time, Claude.” Kinion grabbed
Hays by the arm and hauled him off around the back of the house.
“We’ve dicked around long enough here, Hays, with you askin’
Claude Gullard if he got a hard-on. And that bull-hockey ‘bout the
Coke bottles’n coiffered hair’n tits the size’a Grimaldi’s tomaters—
that weren’t nothin’ but the power’a suggestion.”
“Well, I don’t know ‘bout that, Chief, ‘cos see—”
“Just shut up’n come on!”
They tromped back through the weeds until they come to the
front side’a the County Watch-House, and first thang the Chief
noticed was . . . well . . .
Sounds awful quiet fer a halfway house fulla
teenage wahoos’n rowdy punks.
Indeed, it sounded
real
quiet, and
there weren’t no sign of any manner’a activerty no wheres.
“This is a mite weird, don’t ya think, Chief?” Hays asked.
“Dag right. Let’s go on in’n see what’s goin’ on . . .”
The big steel front door stood wide open. Not good. Nor was it
good when they found no sign of a guard or reception officer inside.
Er, at least not
immediately
inside . . .
Their boots clicked down the shiny tile floor. It was dark inside;
small barred windows high along the main corridor leaked in light. A
sign on the wall read: WELCOME NEW RESIDENTS!
“Aw, shee-it, Chief,” Hays complained without haste. “They
don’t even call ‘em inmates or convicts—they call ‘em
residents.
Guess they don’t wanna offend their young senserbilerties, huh?
What a bunch’a Clinton-Gore, Janet Reno, left-wing, grab-ass, asskissin’, pinko, bleedin’-heart liberal
poop!
”
“Keep it shut, Hays.”
Another sign around the corner read: PLEASE, NO LOUD
TALKING.