Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) (30 page)

Aw, shee-it. That ain’t what this story’s about, so we’ll’se git
back to the narrative: Each’n every time the Chief and J. Lee Pierce
gone target-shootin’ at the gun club, J. Lee was firin’ his pride’n
joy which happened ta be a Governement Model Colt 1911A1 .45,
and every dang time he finished firin’ that big bull, he’d always
say the same thang. He’d say, “Shee-it, that there is the finest dang
pistol ta ever be made on God’s killin’ earth. Beats the shit out’a
me why the goddamn Army’d dump it fer that fucked-up Beretta
92F piece’a shit stove-pipin’, breech-jammin’, pin-snappin’ Eyetal-yun 9 millimeter . . .”

The White Horse Inn which, ta remind those who might’a fergot,
was the same motel that the stimulating Captain Majora were stayin’
at . . .

Then . . .
Dag it, Kinion! What the hail are you doin’?
What he was doin’ was this: he was walkin’ right across Main

Street, and it might be
fittin’ ta describe the way he was walkin’ as
stealthy.
Weren’t nothing goin’ on in the center of town this late;
Main Street, ta either side, stretched on in hazy darkness, the moon
hangin’low over the hills yonder. Aquiet, lazy night like most; things
generally only got rowdy down near the south town limits where
they had all the bars and a’corse the truck stop off’a the Route. The
Chief were mighty grateful, he was, to be blessed with a town that
weren’t chock-full’a criminals’n other scummy sorts of characters,
and since there were no signs of traffic or pedestrians out along Main,
well, that made it even better fer what the Chief had in mind.

If anyone sees me,
he reckoned,
I’ll just say I heard me a funny
noise, or I can say I thought I seed somethin’, like maybe a suspicous
person!

Of course, the only suspicous person on the street right now was
Chief Kinion hisself, but the way he figgered, it was all in the line’a
duty, right?

The neon sign buzzed with its glowin’ tubes: WHITE HORSE
MOTEL, ONLY $25.99 PER NIGHT! VACANCY! It weren’t
nothin’fancy, just a narrow, one-story job with a nice white paint job.
They had ten decent rooms in a row, and the Chief could see a few
lights on, and he could also see Captain Majora’s drab government
sedan parked in front’a the second unit from the end . . .

He crossed Main Street and traipsed around that same end—er,
leave it to say he did his best to move around the back’a that motel
as inconspicurissly as was humanly possible. He was surpised that
his big size-13 footfalls didn’t make much in the way’a sound as he
walked over the high weeds in back, and a’corse the deep and steady
chirruppin’ of crickets hid the noises of his progress all the better.
He stopped a moment, let his eyes git adjustered to the dark, then
recommenced. The back winder of the last unit was still lit, and the
Chief were happy the blinds was closed ‘cos he shore didn’t wanna
have to hunker down and crawl beneath it. There was only the tiniest
gap in that set’a blinds, and Kinion couldn’t help but steal a quick
peek: some short tubby fella on the bed in a sleeveless t-shirt and
shorts and black socks, and he had this big burst’a kinky hair growin’
around a bald spot and a face that looked like maybe a clay mask
squeezed down in a cheese press.
Jiminy!
the Chief thought.
That
there is about the ugliest fella I ever done seen!
This fella had a full
dark beard but it really looked like shit, it did, more like a bunch’a
dick hair on his face than a proper beard, and he was sitting there
on the bed pickin’ boogers out his nose’n wipin’ ‘em underneath the
bed frame whiles watchin’ Gomer Pyle on the TV.
Ugh,
the Chief
thought and moved on past. But next came the second winder, and
them blinds was open a bit more. Kinion stood back, then ever-soslowly
leaned his kisser mug forward to catch the light between them
slats, and—

Ho-boy!
The beauteous Captain Majora was in there all right, sittin’at the
little writin’ desk that came with the room, the big bright floorlamp
shinin’ down on her. She looked engrossed, she did, tappin’ away at
one’a them new-fangled little computers that folds up to the size’a
somethin’you can put in a briefcase, and in fact there
were
a briefcase
layin’ open on the bed. In the closet he could see her khaki Army
uniform hangin’ and also the black leather holster containin’ the
questionable Colt .45 which was the blammed thang that’d caused
the Chief to undertake such an extreme measure of inquest in the
first dagged place. But it weren’t none’a that which set paramount
in his power’a observation, it were instead the fact that as Captain
Majora sat there tappin’ at that little computer, she was doin’ so with
no clothes on!

That straight silky red hair just
shined
in the lamp light, it did,
and then there was that plush, ample rack’a hooters on her standin’
right out as she typed, with nipples of the softest pink Chief Kinion
could imagine. It were a view of paradise, it were’n better yet, almost
as if God had answered a unspoken prayer, the Captain pushed away
from the desk just then and stood up and stretched!

Aw, fuck . . .
The Chief’s dick jiggled in his shorts just from this first sight’a
her. She was the incarnation’a the word purdy: slim’n trim’n shapely
covered by all that perfect white skin, and she was just standin’ there
still stretchin’, reachin’ fer the ceiling on her cute li’l tiptoes with her
head back’n eyes closed’n them angel tits protrudin’. . .
Aw, fuck!
the Chief thought again as he could now see that dainty little plot’a
soft red hair ‘tween her legs, stickin’ out, it was, a little tuft, and he
could even see that adorable little womanly groove behind the hair,
and with that came a foreknowledge in the Chief’s mind as he knew,
unethercal as it might be, ‘specially fer the chief of police, but, yeah,
he knew he was gonna have ta do somethin’he ain’t done in years—
Aw, fuck! I’se gonna have ta beat off!
It wouldn’t take long—not lookin’ at that! And, hail, weren’t no
one around who might see him, right? Right now his peter felt like a
ear’corn in his pants, and that corn damn shore needed ta be shucked.
The Chief’s hands, very slowly then, began to lower to his zipper—
“Dang!” came a fierce whisper. “Would’ja look at the milkcans
on that bitch!”
Chief Kinion nearly shit his pants and puked on the winder at
the same time, and his heart stopped and didn’t seem to start back up
again till he was about one second away from a coronary. Of course
it was Hays who’d whispered the crass comment, sneakin’up behind
the Chief’s back.