A toneless sort of singing to be sure, some of the words garbled and some of the dead folks just opening and closing their mouths soundlessly, but, by golly, he recognized the tune. It was “Jesus Loves Me.”
Wayne looked back at the fat man, let his hand ease down to the bowie in his right boot. The fat man produced a little.32 automatic from inside his robe and pointed it at Wayne.
“It’s small caliber,” the fat man said, “but I’m a real fine shot, and it makes a nice, little hole.”
Wayne quit reaching in his boot.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said the fat man. “Take the knife out and put it on the floor in front of you and slide it to me. And while you’re at it, I think I see the hilt of one in your other boot.”
Wayne looked back. The way he had been thrown inside the bus had caused his pants legs to hike up over his boots, and the hilts of both his bowies were revealed. They might as well have had blinking lights on them.
It was shaping up to be a shitty day.
He slid the bowies to the fat man, who scooped them up nimbly and dumped them on the other side of his seat.
The bus door opened and Calhoun was tossed in on top of Wayne. Calhoun’s hat followed after.
Wayne shrugged Calhoun off, recovered his hat, and put it on. Calhoun found his hat and did the same. They were still on their knees.
“Would you gentlemen mind moving to the center of the bus?”
Wayne led the way. Calhoun took note of the nun now, said, “Man, look at that ass.”
The fat man called back to them. “Right there will do fine.”
Wayne slid into the seat the fat man was indicating with a wave of the.32, and Calhoun slid in beside him. The dead folks entered now, filled the seats up front, leaving only a few stray seats in the middle empty.
Calhoun said, “What are those fuckers back there making that noise for?”
“They’re singing,” Wayne said. “Ain’t you got no churchin’?”
“Say they are?” Calhoun turned to the nun and the dead folks and yelled, “Y’all know any Hank Williams?”
The nun did not turn and the dead folks did not quit their toneless singing.
“Guess not,” Calhoun said. “Seems like all the good music’s been forgotten.”
The noise in the back of the bus ceased and the nun came over to look at Wayne and Calhoun. She was nice in front too. The outfit was cut from throat to crotch, laced with a ribbon, and it showed a lot of tit and some tight, thin, black panties that couldn’t quite hold in her escaping pubic hair, which grew as thick and wild as kudzu. When Wayne managed to work his eyes up from that and look at her face, he saw she was dark-complected with eyes the color of coffee and lips made to chew on.
Calhoun never made it to the face. He didn’t care about faces. He sniffed, said into her crotch, “Nice snatch.”
The nun’s left hand came around and smacked Calhoun on the side of the head.
He grabbed her wrist, said, “Nice arm, too.”
The nun did a magic act with her right hand; it went behind her back and hiked up her outfit and came back with a double-barreled derringer. She pressed it against Calhoun’s head.
Wayne bent forward, hoping she wouldn’t shoot. At that range the bullet might go through Calhoun’s head and hit him too.
“Can’t miss,” the nun said.
Calhoun smiled. “No you can’t,” he said, and let go of her arm.
She sat down across from them, smiled, and crossed her legs high. Wayne felt his Levi’s snake swell and crawl against the inside of his thigh.
“Honey,” Calhoun said, “you’re almost worth taking a bullet for.”
The nun didn’t quit smiling. The bus cranked up. The sand blowers and wipers went to work, and the windshield turned blue, and a white dot moved on it between a series of smaller white dots.
Radar. Wayne had seen that sort of thing on desert vehicles. If he lived through this and got his car back, maybe he’d rig up something like that. And maybe not, he was sick of the desert.
Whatever, at the moment, future plans seemed a little out of place.
Then something else occurred to him. Radar. That meant these bastards had known they were coming and had pulled out in front of them on purpose.
He leaned over the seat and checked where he figured the ‘57 hit the bus. He didn’t see a single dent. Armored, most likely. Most school buses were these days, and that’s what this had been. It probably had bullet- proof glass and puncture-proof sand tires too. School buses had gone that way on account of the race riots and the sending of mutated calves to school just like they were humans. And because of the Codgers — old farts who believed kids ought to be fair game to adults for sexual purposes, or for knocking around when they wanted to let off some tension.
“How about unlocking this cuff?” Calhoun said. “It ain’t for shit now anyway.”
Wayne looked at the nun. “I’m going for the cuff key in my pants. Don’t shoot.”
Wayne fished it out, unlocked the cuff, and Calhoun let it slide to the floor. Wayne saw the nun was curious and he said, “I’m a bounty hunter. Help me get this man to Law Town and I could see you earn a little something for your troubles.”
The woman shook her head.
“That’s the spirit,” Calhoun said. “I like a nun that minds her own business… You a real nun?”
She nodded.
“Always talk so much?”
Another nod.
Wayne said, “I’ve never seen a nun like you. Not dressed like that and with a gun.”
“We are a small and special order,” she said.
“You some kind of Sunday school teacher for these dead folks?”
“Sort of.”
“But with them dead, ain’t it kind of pointless? They ain’t got no souls now, do they?”
“No, but their work adds to the glory of God.”
“Their work?” Wayne looked at the dead folks sitting stiffly in their seats. He noted that one of them was about to lose a rotten ear. He sniffed. “They may be adding to the glory of God, but they don’t do much for the air.”
The nun reached into a pocket on her habit and took out two round objects. She tossed one to Calhoun, and one to Wayne. “Menthol lozenges. They help you stand the smell.”
Wayne unwrapped the lozenge and sucked on it. It did help overpower the smell, but the menthol wasn’t all that great either. It reminded him of being sick.
“What order are you?” Wayne asked.
“Jesus Loved Mary,” the nun said.
“His mama?”
“Mary Magdalene. We think he fucked her. They were lovers. There’s evidence in the scriptures. She was a harlot and we have modeled ourselves on her. She gave up that life and became a harlot for Jesus.”
“Hate to break it to you, sister,” Calhoun said, “but that do-gooder Jesus is as dead as a post. If you’re waiting for him to slap the meat to you, that sweet thing of yours is going to dry up and blow away.”
“Thanks for the news,” the nun said. “But we don’t fuck him in person. We fuck him in spirit. We let the spirit enter into men so they may take us in the fashion Jesus took Mary.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“You know, I think I feel the old boy moving around inside me now. Why don’t you shuck them drawers, honey, throw back in that seat there and let ole Calhoun give you a big load of Jesus.”
Calhoun shifted in the nun’s direction.
She pointed the derringer at him, said, “Stay where you are. If it were so, if you were full of Jesus, I would let you have me in a moment. But you’re full of the Devil, not Jesus.”
“Shit, sister, give ole Devil a break. He’s a fun kind of guy. Let’s you and me mount up… Well, be like that. But if you change your mind, I can get religion at a moment’s notice. I dearly love to fuck. I’ve fucked …ything I could
