Savant

shoving himself erect, undressing Mavis Strayhorn—not for sex—but for cooking. Imagining how she would taste, barbecued. Imagining the sweet taste of Barbecued Mavis, Heart of America style.

But now he was moving toward them, and for a second Mavis thought Herbert and Monte were going to stand up and try and fight with him, but the huge fat man smiled, an ear-to-ear parody of a human grin, and a deep basso profundo voice rumbled out of him, his eyes fixed on Mavis's chest.

'Look at the mouse,' he said, pointing, almost touching her.

'Hey,' Herbert said, his voice raspy and full of fear, 'listen—'

There was a pin in the shape of a tiny gold mouse affixed to Mavis's sweater. His massive fingers were near her, and the smell of him was in her nose, rank and fearsome, like the scent of a cave animal cornered in its den, but he was doing the cornering. She looked down where the mouse pin had been. He was astonishingly dexterous with his big hands, he had a thief's touch, and he'd somehow removed the pin with the fingers of his right hand and was holding it for inspection.

'Say goodbye to the mouse,' he said, and popped it in his mouth and swallowed the gold pin, turning and leaving in a swirl of poisonous body odor and barbecued meat smells.

'Somebody ought to call the police and report him, my God almighty—' Dora Lee Brown sputtered. Everyone sat there stunned, shaking their heads. Rooted to the spot.

What do you do in a circumstance such as this? Mavis Strayhorn of Olathe, Kansas, would be thirty-eight in September, and in all those years no one had ever eaten any of her jewelry before.

Cindy Hildebrande lived in a cheap tract house, in a neighborhood full of identical, tiny frame homes, all packed shoulder to shoulder in a blue-collar section of the city. She was no housekeeper. Bobby could see that right away. Stuff was strewn around, dishes were in a sink, and it was not the best smelling home he'd ever been in either.

Bobby Price was fastidious and the way she'd come on to him in the bar, the ride over, and now—the crummy home—had made him sort of nervous and jumpy. He wasn't sure about this deal anymore. But she soon turned him back around.

'Just stand there, pretty cowboy,' she told him, 'while I slip into something less comfortable.' She went into a nearby room while he stood there, trying to keep from inhaling any more than necessary. He could hear her rummaging around in a closet, and when she came out she was wearing these fabulous boots, slick-looking thigh- high boots with spike heels, and she was carrying something.

'I'm ready to ride the range now, Bobby.' She laughed, tossing her bleached blond hairdo around a little and making a face at him. Something about her was very sexy. She had a great way about her, he decided, tremendous style. 'Know what this is, cowboy?'

'A quirt,' he said.

'This is in case you're a bad boy to Mama. You're gonna behave, aren't you?' She brandished the thing like a large riding crop with a leather flail.

'Yeah. You bet.'

'Take your clothes off.' She towered over him with those big stiletto-heeled boots on. 'You can leave your jock on—if you're wearing one.'

'Sure.' He smiled, pulling his sweater off. Eager to obey. 'Aren't you going—' He started to ask her a question and she whipped him hard with the quirt—hard.

'Jesus Chr—' He rubbed himself where she'd caught him on the hip. This was no fun at all. She was a fucking nut case.

'I told you to talk when I ask you to talk and not before. Now get those little pants off, cowboy.'

He obeyed in silence, his hip and leg burning like fire. She'd really let him have a stinging slap with the thing.

'Nice. You're a pretty one.' She came over and played with his nipples and pulled his head to her and kissed him hard on the mouth. Then she backed away and looked him over as if he were a piece of meat, standing there in his briefs with a reddening welt on the side of his hip where she'd whipped him. 'You got a cute set of buns, Bobby. Come on in here for Mama,' she said, taking his hard, muscled arm and pulling him down the hallway. But instead of taking him into the bedroom, she brought him into her tiny, filthy bathroom. He thought about just turning around and using his fist on this old bitch a few times. But something stopped him.

'This toilet of mine is so dirty I don't even want to shit in it,' she said, roughly. 'You understand me?'

'Yeah,' he said. She got a toothbrush out from under the sink and handed it to him.

'You get down and clean this thing for me, cowboy. Make it real pretty for Mama—you do that?'

'Um.' He didn't know what he wanted to do. He could just go pull his pants on and book, for one thing. But something made him want to see what she had in mind. He knelt down in front of the commode and started scrubbing with the toothbrush.

'Oh, shit. Yeah! That's it,' she said softly in an urgent tone. 'Go to it, you bitch. Clean my fucking toilet. Oh, do it.' She was touching herself. 'Don't look at me, you little whore!' she yelled at him, and he concentrated on cleaning the stained porcelain. 'That's better, you sweet, sexy little cowboy bitch. You fuckin'…oh, uh-huh—yeah!' She was really getting off watching him scrub her potty. After a bit, she let him get up and they kissed, and she told him to lay the toothbrush down and wash his hands, and then come in to bed.

He didn't even want to touch the corroded faucets, or the nasty looking soap bar, or the scummy towels. Even the water from the tap looked dirty. He obeyed, however, and padded into the bedroom to find her seated in bed.

'Get over here,' she commanded, spreading her legs a little. He tried to crawl between her legs and she shoved him away. 'Not like that, Bobby. Get on your tummy for Mama.' He moved. 'Yeah. Right alongside me here. Umhmm.' He jumped when she touched him. He felt the briefs ripping. 'There! Now I can see that pretty boy butt of yours.' He felt the bedsprings move with her as she got something.

'See?' She held a box under his face and opened it. 'Those are Ben Wa balls.' Balls on a string. So? 'From where you were stationed—eh?' He thought of the Ben Hoa airstrip where the spike team had once gone during a mission. He couldn't remember anything about the place but grunts, choppers, and fucking gooks. Too many moons ago. Everything was all mixed up now. Spike teams and spiked heels, Ben Hoa and Ben Wa balls. Too much that was weird.

'Oh!' he said.

'You know what these are for?'

'Huh—no. I-I don't know,' he stammered. Her long fingers were touching him. Going up in him, forcing him open in back and pushing into him. The long cool fingernails that had pinched his chest.

'They're for a woman's pussy.'

'Un.'

'Uh-huh.' She was rubbing one against him. 'For your pussy, cowboy.' She shoved a ball into him and he moaned and it just about drove her crazy. She started touching herself again, and he could feel his nipples harden. He was still sore there where she'd pinched him, and his hip and ass were sore.

'You cunt,' she whispered to him, forcing another ball in. Moaning in ecstasy, rubbing him, touching herself, reaching around and squeezing his nipples, then touching him down there.

'You fucking whore. You goddamn shit-ass dick-fucking tramp—' She was cruelly squeezing his balls, and his cock started getting hard. He couldn't help himself. He was getting a boner that was threatening to drill straight through the bed, with his nose full of her cheap perfume and the dirty bedspread and the sex of her. He'd never been so hot. 'Go ahead, you little bastard fuck, go ahead and get that dick fucking hard and come all over my bed, you no-good son-of-a-bitching pussy-assed slut.'

It was too much for him. He couldn't hold it.

'You cleaned the shit out of my toilet and now I'm treating you like a fucking pussy slave. Mama's cowboy snatch. And you're loving it, aren't you, pretty bitch?'

'Yeah.'

'Answer me, goddamn it.'

'Yes. Yes.'

'You're loving it to death, aren't you?'

'Oh, oh—yes!' She shoved the third ball up his exhaust pipe. Oh, God. He couldn't hold it back anymore. Not