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They’re putting her on the metal table…

“Tie the fat bitch down now, Micky-Mack…”

Something—an impulse, perhaps—distracted her. She looked down against the bottom of the shower curtain and saw…

My knapsack!

Yes, there is was, and she knew that her cellphone was right on top.

Careful now…
She gathered all her courage, reached down and unzipped the top flap, and—

Got it!

—but just as she would take the cellphone up and call for help, Helton’s big hand took the phone from hers, and he pushed back through the curtain and sat in the driver’s seat. His other hand gripped the carry-handle of the Sony.

“Dang! I see you got yerself one’a these fancy phones too,” he seemed to marvel. “A
cellphone’s
what they call it, huh?”

Veronica slumped. “Yes, Helton. It’s a cellphone.”

“We gots one too, believe it or not. Fella named Paulie sent us one.” He tilted his head in resignation and put the phone in his pocket. “Well, see, Veronnerka, way things is…we cain’t have ya callin’ no one just yet. I’m shore ya understand.”

Veronica wanted to cry.

Some minor clatter, now, came from the back, and then?

Oh, no…

Then she thought she could hear the faintest stifled moan…

Like someone moaning through a gag?

Then a
tearing sound,
the tearing of fabric.

“Tolt ya she don’t have much fer tits.”

“And lookit all them dick-stupid
tattoos.
”

Veronica’s eyes turned to Helton.

“Hon, take some advise. It’s best ya don’t even
wonder
’bout what’s goin’ on in back,” the large man said her in a subdued voice. “Buts I do need ta ‘splain a tad more to ya. See, there’s this man named
Paulie…
”

“Paulie,” she repeated. “The man who gave you a cellphone.”

“Right. And he’s in what’cha call the MAFF-ee-uh—”

Veronica frowned in the tinseled darkness.

“—he’s like a big
crime boss
and, well, what he did is he murdered my grandboy Crory in a way too awful to describe’n after that? He made a movin’ picture of the murder and he
send
it to us…”

Snuff film,
she deduced.

“So’s now? Now we’se gettin’ proper revenge by doin’ somethin’ just as awful to one’a his kin.”

Veronica voiced her next deduction. “And you’re going to film
that
, and send the video clip to
him.
That’s why you bought the Sony.”

Helton nodded, hefting up the big camera. “Only way li’l Crory can rest in peace is if’n we’se
revenge his evil murder.
We ain’t city folk like you, we’re hill folk. It’s just the way things’re done out here.” He turned the dim dome light on up front, then leaned over with the camera. “I knows ya showed me before, but I need ya ta show me again.
How’s
this thing work?”

Veronica exhaled more exasperation, then took the camera, flicked some switches, then passed it back to him. “There. It’s all set to record. When you’re ready, just push the button on the grip, the light comes on, and you’re rolling.”

Helton took it back, impressed. “And then it all gets put on—”

She pointed to the slot. “On the
doohicky.
The entire video clip you record—the
moving picture—
gets saved to the doohicky.”

“Dandy! Thanks!” but then he paused as if in speculation. “Just lemme ask you somethin’ now. When you was little, did yer Maw or Paw ever tell you the old
Bible
story ’bout a fella in olden times named
Lot
and his wife
Edith?
”

In the continuous whirlpool of turmoil, Veronica could scarcely collate the question. “Uh, I don’t know. Something about Sodom and Gomorrah?”

“Right!” Helton enlivened. “Them was the two cities that invented
butt-fuckin’
, see, and God, he got all shore-fire
pissed
’cos all the folks in these cities, all they
did
was butt-fuck, and that
offended
God, so God, He decided ta open a giant can’a whup-ass on them cities and just up’n destroy ’em with fire’n brimstone. But, see, there was two folks there who
didn’t
do no butt-fuckin—Lot and his wife Edith. They
believed
in God and they didn’t never offend Him, so God sent a
angel
to tell Lot’n Edith ta git out’a town so’s they wouldn’t git kilt along with all them sinners—Soddermites, I’se think they was called—so, shit, Lot and Edith packed up and split ’cos there weren’t no way they was gonna disobey a messenger’a God, but ‘fore they left, the angel tolt ’em that no matter what they do while they’re leavin’, they shore as shit better not
look back,
no matter what kind’a hell-raisin’ they might hear comin’ from them two cities. Shore enough, they’se walkin’ away and alls a sudden they hear a commotion like they
never
heard’n screamin’n burnin’ and temples collapsin’n what not, and Lot, he
wants
to look back but he didn’t ’cos he remember what the angel said, but Edith…” Helton shrugged. “Shee-it, Edith—just like a woman—she figger there cain’t be no harm in lookin’ back’n seein’ what’s goin’ and on, so she
did,
and”—Helton
cracked!
his hands together—“and right then’n there she turnt into a
pillar’a
salt!
”

Veronica felt flabbergasted. “Helton, why are you telling me old Bible stories?”

Helton seemed suddenly disquieted. “Well, now, see, you’re no doubt gonna hear some mighty peculiar noises’n carryin’ on comin’ from the back, and what I wanna impress upon ya is that under
no circumstances
should you take a peek past this shower curtain, no matter
how bad
ya wanna look.” Helton gulped. “‘Cos if’n ya do—”

“I’m going to turn into a pillar of
salt?
”

Helton stared at her. “Ya just might, hon. Ya dag-straight just might,” then he stuck two balled up bits of cotton in her ears, pointed her face forward, hoisted the Sony, and disappeared behind the curtain.

««—»»

A semi-mute, inscrutable nightmare ensued. Veronica kept her eyes wide on the nighted woods beyond the windshield, and in spite of the make-shift earplugs, sounds galore, however muffled, could be detected, the most salient of which was the loud whine of a power tool. This abated rather quickly, followed by silence.

They’ve killed her,
she knew, her stomach shriveling.
With the power drill…
Could she hear words through the cotton? She removed one plug…

“—fer our peckers,” Helton said.

One of the others said, “Dang!”

“Ain’t as much blood as you’d think…”

Veronica stuck the plug back in.
My God my God my God!
More muffled noises followed, some hoots and hollers, then thunking. Then she heard, at a higher pitch, “Yeah! Eeeeeee-YEAH! Git it, Dumar!

For a moment, Veronica thought of Lot’s wife, Edith, for part of her volition did indeed urge her to steal a peek behind those curtains…

But she didn’t.

In another minute, however, she removed the earplug again—

“Hump it! I say
hump
it!” Helton raged amid a rapid thunking.

Veronica put back the plug.

The black and white of it socked right into her brain:
They’ve just murdered a girl with a power drill. They’re having sex with the corpse.
She gulped.
And they’re filming it with the camera
I
sold them…

Eventually the dim commotion ceased and Helton pushed through the curtain, bearing the big Sony. He pulled out her cotton balls. “We’se all done, sweetie”—he looked at the camera—“I shore hope I did this right. You shore the movin’ picture’s on here now?”

She flicked the dome light back on and took the camera. “Yep,” she said, trying as best she could to sound normal, to sound like she had no idea what went on back there. “The properties bar says that 19 minutes of space have been used on the memory card.” She snapped it from the slot and handed it to him. “The doohicky.”

“Well that’s just peachy, Veronnerka!” but then he scratched his beard. “Now all’s I gotta do is think’a the best way ta
git
the doohicky to Paulie, so’s
he
can watch the movie…”

The SNUFF movie,
she corrected with a chill. Again, she struggled to act normal, unaffected, as though she had no clue as to what they’d actually done. “You could leave it in his mailbox—”

“Naw. He wife’s house is just over yonder but…the fella there’s more’n likely calt the police by now.”

Act normal!

“Then send it to him through the mail.”

Helton seemed doubtful. “I’se guess we could but—jiminy, hon—we want him to have it soon as possible.”

“How about leaving it someplace and calling him up and telling him where to find it. Do you have his phone number?”

Helton winced. “Aw, see, he calt us once”—he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone—“on this here
cellphone
he had delivered to our house, but he never give us his
number.
”

Veronica frowned. “Didn’t you say that this man
Paulie
was also a crime lord? In the
Mafia?
”

“Well, yeah, hon.”

“If he really is into organized crime, then he surely has some mode of internet access—”

“Huh? Oh, you mean ‘puters’n all that?”

‘Puters. My God.
“Yes. Does he have a computer with email access?”

Helton looked mystified. “Shee-it. I gots no idea.”

“He
must.
Of course, he might not want to give you his email address, but I can create a screen name for him on my account, tell him the eddress, then he can download the movie himself. Right now.”

“Don’t know
what
’cher talkin’ ’bout, darlin’,” Helton said with enthusiasm, “but if’n you could make it so he could see our movin’ picture right now, why, I’d be
so dang happy…
”

“Happy enough to let me go?” she dared to ask.

“Why, shore!”

Veronica reached around. “I’m just getting my laptop,” she said and lifted her knapsack off the floor behind her.

“Lap…
what?
”

“It’s a portable computer,” she wearily explained, “that has a mobile-wireless card. If you want Paulie to see the movie, you have to let me use my laptop.”

“Well, fine. Go on ahead,” and then he watched in confused fascination as she extracted the laptop, booted it up, and went online. It took less than five minutes to create the guest-account, download the video clip from the memory card, and email it. “Now,” she said. “Call Paulie back on the phone he sent you.”

“I done
tolt
 ya, hon. He didn’t gimme no
number.
”

Veronica sighed. “If he called you on it, the number’s on the phone. Was he the last person to call you?”