New Title 1 (27 page)

He held a power drill, and locked into the drill’s chuck was a 3-inch hole-saw blade.

“Watch careful now, boys…so’s ya know how ta do it.”

The screech of the drill was bad enough but worse—
far
worse—was the sound of the next process, when the large man pressed down on the girl’s face with his hand and applied the high-rpm hole-saw to the center of the top of her skull. Eventually, the circle of bone and scalp was removed, revealing a clean-cut hole, and the hole itself now revealed a circle of raw, whitish-pink brain.

“Now,” the faceless big man said, “we gots ta cut a slit fer our
dicks,
” and then he produced a formidable knife and inserted it into the aforementioned hole. This event caused the gagged girl to reflexively twitch.

“Yessir! See, when ya do it right—like I just done—she don’t die right off. It’s always best they still be alive when ya first put’cher bone in.”

“Hot
dog,
Unc!” celebrated another off-screen voice. “She
is!
She
is
still alive!”

I’ll’se go first’n show you boys how it’s done,” the voice said next. “Son? Here. Point the camera down…”

The camera-angle deflected to the man’s crotch, where he’d already extracted his quite uncircumcised penis. He masturbated dexterously until an erection was achieved, and it was then that he…

Well, the dutiful reader can guess.

What Case Piece watched on that screen for the next series of minutes was something he could never have fathomed in a million years. Amid this redneck perverto
circus
came caterwauls of the most robust sort, a dialect-riot of hoots, Rebel yells, and exclamations such as, “Now
hump
that head, boy! I say
hump
it!” and “”Yeah! Yeaaaaaaah! Ain’t no better feelin’ than that’a yer dick stuck all the way inta a gal’s brain,” and “There it is, there it is! How’s that feel, baby? You
like
all’a my nut squirtin’ in yer white-trash head?” and “Holy
shit,
Paw! That there might be the best nut’a my life!” etc, etc.

When the film ended, Case Piece simply stared.

“See!” Paulie yelled. “See what those rednecks did!” He banged his fist so hard on the utility desk, the laptop jumped. “That fat kid was my
step-daughter!
”

“Your-your…”

“Yeah! They cut a hole in a 16-year-old’s
skull
and fucked her
brain!
”

Case Piece’s jaw vibrated. “That-that some hardcore jack-down, Paulie, some super-groaty gross-out
shit,
man…”

“You’re tellin’ me!”

Case Piece stood slightly dizzied from what he’d just seen. “That shit they do? That’s even grosser than you guys stickin’ people’s heads in that fat woman’s giant cunt. Them dudes? They is
tough.
”

“And—
fuck!
—the worst part is,
we’re
the kings of hardcore snuff!
Me
and
my
guys! And these hillbillies just beat us at our own game!” Paulie kicked the wall and bellowed. “And did you see that resolution? God
damn!
Even their fuckin’
camera
is better than ours!” and at the peak of this next tirade, Paulie lurched back into Melda’s room, enfrenzied. He picked Highball up again and sunk her head back into Melda’s agape vagina.

“Paulie!
Man!
” Case Piece exclaimed. “Why you goin’ ape-shit on Highball? She didn’t do nothin’!”

“I know,” the don cracked. He cupped his hands under the prostitute’s armpits and pushed
hard.
Highball twitched as if being electrocuted. “I’m
mad!
When I get
mad,
I gotta-I gotta vent my frustrations!”

“Come on, Paulie. That ain’t right. She our ‘ho.
She got the toppest trick-time bod on the
street.
Can’t kill her just ’cos you’re mad.” Case Piece dared put his hand on Paulie’s shoulder. “Listen, bro. Fuck this. Let’s go inside so’s you can cool off. Then we’ll think of a way fer you ta get
back
at these dudes…”

Paulie let the consideration sink in, and, just as Highball was re-entering death throes, he let her head fall out. “Yeah, yeah. I…guess you’re right.”

Highball shuddered on the floor, eyes fit to pop out. When Case Piece pulled the duct tape off her mouth, she lurched, arched her back, screamed, then passed out.

“Come on, Paulie. Let’s get in the crib,” the black man urged. “Get you chilled.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paulie said desperately, running his fingers back through his hair.

“‘Bye, Case Piece!” Melda said.

Case Piece took one aghast glance at the morbid woman—whose fat-bulged face grinned ludicrously. Drooling, she flapped a fat, dirty hand.

“Uh…yeah,” Case Piece said and ushered Paulie out.

In the warehouse “day room,” Paulie sat on the bedraggled couch, wringing his hands. Argi, Cristo, and Dr. Prouty stood in nervous silence. Case Piece grabbed a soda from the battered fridge and gave it to Paulie. “Here, blood. Have a grape drink. It’ll make ya feel top.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the don replied.

“Sung,” Case Piece directed next. “Turn on some tunes. Let’s jam awhile.”

“Oh, shewer, Clase Preece!” and then the Asian turned on the boom box, which immediately blared, “It’s duh ‘hos and duh bitches, my dick-bag itches, here come Dr. Dre, with the Tangeray and duh motherfuck, duh motherfuck, duh motherfuckin’ AK!”

“Turn that shit off!” Paulie, Argi, and Cristo all yelled at the same time.

Sung turned it off.

“Shit, Paulie,” Case Piece said. “Just trine ta get you mellow. But them redneck dudes? We gotta think of a way for you ta break some
bad
on ’em.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Paulie sputtered.

“We ain’t been hit that hard in..in, well,
ever,
” Argi observed.

“Burns me up,” Paulie blistered. “We gotta do somethin’ back to them that makes what they did to ‘Becca look like babies blowing spit-bubbles.”

“Dudes lay disrespezzy on you like
that?
Just you say the word,” Case Piece offered, “and me’n my dawgs? We help you pop hard
trunk
on the motherfuckers.”

Paulie winced. “
What?
”

Argi’s eyes thinned. “Means, I think, he and his guys’ll help us fuck the rednecks over.”

“Oh. Well, no, see,” Paulie explained. “We’re
Italian.
It’s just the way it is. Whatever piece of work we do, it’s gotta be
us
that does it.”

“But what
are
we gonna do?” Cristo pondered.

Paulie rubbed his eyes. “Shit, man. I don’t know. We don’t know anything about these guys.” He looked to Prouty. “Doc. You’re the smart one. How can we get these guys back?”

Dr. Prouty gulped. “Ah, well, sir, let me give the query some consideration—hmm. Well, one possibility, I suppose, is thus: we’ll simply venture to their abode. You may recall, the youngster you remunerated money to in exchange for him delivering the DVD player to this man Helton Tuckton. He
did
give us what seemed to be serviceable directions to the domicile.”

“Yeah, you’re right! That little redneck kid!”

“And though he implied that the Winnebago was likely too large and cumbersome to safely navigate the road to Mr. Tuckton’s house, did he not declare that it was only a mile’s distance?”

“Yeah!”

Dr. Prouty nodded. “Then we’ll merely dispatch ourselves to the Tuckton residence. If Mr. Tuckton and/or his kin are home, then…” Prouty’s brow shot up.

Paulie grinned through grinding teeth. “We’ll do an action on ’em that’d make the Devil shit his pants!”

“And in the event that no one is present at the time of our arrival”—Prouty shrugged—“then we could, say, set fire to their abode, film it while it’s burning, then email the video file to them.”

Paulie
clapped.
“Perfect! You’re a genius, Doc!”

“Great thinkin’,” Argi said.

Cristo seemed giddy. “And, man, I
love
burnin’ houses down. And if any of ’em are there, we can even burn the house with them in it!”

“Yeah!” Paulie’s grim mood swing had reversed. “All right, it’s set. Are we ready? Oh, and Doc? Looks like you get to be camera man again.”

“I’m…exuberant with the opportunity,” Prouty said

Paulie chugged some grape soda. “Aw, yeah! I feel
much 
better now, guys!”

All of the others breathed a sigh of relief.

The prospect now of revenge
thrilled
Paulie.

“You guys skyin’ up
now?
”

Paulie winced. “
What?
”

Argi made a contemplation. “Think he means are we goin’ to do the job tonight, boss.”

“Oh. Well, fuck yeah,” the don confirmed. “Why not? The sooner the better, right?”

“Sure, boss.” Cristo said.

Paulie looked around. “Where’s the other guy, the pepper-belly? Shit, he’s never here.”

Case Piece and Sung exchanged a quick glance. “Oh, my dawg Menduez? He out gettin’ blunky with the monkey, you know, doin’ the dop. You
hip
to that hop? Walkin’ the scag-man bop’n watchin’ junkies cop. He’s mizzlin’ and Mcdizzlin’ and slingin’ and blingin’ and thrillin’ and spillin’n flippity, frippity
frop
.”

Paulie spat out a mouthful of grape drink. “
What?
”

“Don’t’cha know? He’s our toppest slinger, blood. He on the grooves’n bustin’ moves. He’s jackin’ down ’cos he’s top as a crown.”

Argi sighed. “Shit, boss, I think he means the guy’s out takin’ care of business.”

“Right,” Case Piece said.

Paulie shook his head. “You sell any of that smack yet?”

Case Piece cocked a glance. “Fo’ shizzle, my mizzle!”

Paulie spat out more grape drink. “
What?
”

Argi rubbed his face. “Means, I think, yeah, boss, they sold some smack.”

Case Piece forked his ‘fro. “Shit, Paulie. We slung two keys in two motherfuckin’
days.
First key we couldn’t kick out the door fast enough. Mid-bags from Radford, Roanoke, shit, all
over,
they come’n take it off our hands faster than it take Sung to come.”

“Aw, fruck you, Clase!” Sung laughed.

“Second key we peddled ourselves right here. All’s a sudden the junkies are
out.
Maybe my man Obama got more’a them stimulus checks mailed ’cos,
fuck,
 last week we couldn’t sell
shit’
n this week we got more hypes with green in their hands than Florida’s got old people.”

“Well, fuck, that’s great,” Paulie said, but his distraction was evident. He seemed to beam through some inner joy. “Keep sellin’ that smack. Keep, uh, rizzlin’ and McFizzlin’ or whatever the fuck.” He snapped his fingers. “Ready, guys?”

Paulie’s men were.

“Then let’s split, or…sky up, or whatever the fuck. Oh, and tell your whore I’m sorry I stuck her head back in Melda’s cunt.”

“Fo’ shizzl”—but then Case Piece let it slide. “I’ll tell her, man.”

Paulie and his men made their exit into the night. All of them, save for Dr. Prouty, were rubbing their crotches for no apparent reason.