I’d keep it.”
Mike shrugged. “Yeah, well that’s because you have different standards. Me, I’m first class. A first-class guy like me needs a chick with first-class looks, who’s a first-class lay, and can suck first-class dick. If she can’t do that, then it’s three strikes, she’s out. My self-image is worth more than twenty million bucks—”
“Oh is it, now?”
“When a chick wants to go out with me, I’m not going to demean myself by settling for less than I deserve.” He looked at Archie, granite-faced. “I’m not a whore, Archie. I’m hot property.”
Archie laughed out loud.
Mike continued, “In general, a girl who can’t suck good dick pretty much has no right to exist.”
Archie continued to laugh. “Okay, but since you’re not a whore, let’s just say that Veronica gave
Mike made a sound like a horse sputtering. “I’d marry her in a fuckin’ heartbeat. With all that money? You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Shortly after this conversational exercise in out-right misogyny detailing the relegation of women as soulless arrangements of sexual parts, Veronica rang up the purchase for her customer. The customer paused to take yet another none-too-covert glance at her body, then left the store. Veronica turned, smiled, stood up on her tiptoes, and waved at Mike.
Mike waved speciously back, offering a just-as-specious smile.
Then Veronica blew him a kiss and mouthed
“Fuck you,” Mike muttered under his breath.
(III)
Not fifteen minutes after Micky-Mack had pressed the PLAY button on the mysterious portable DVD unit, utter and incomprehensible
Helton sat upright, wide-eyed, paralyzed in his chair, his hands gripping the chair’s arms so tightly, he trembled.
Micky-Mack looked up from the pail with a tear-streaked face. “Uncle Helton—holy shit! Who could’a
“Evil men, that’s who,” Helton croaked. His stare remained fixed on the DVD player’s small and now blank LCD screen. “Men eviler than anything we’se can reckon, son.”
Micky-Mack wailed. “Why they do that? Why they do that to li’l Crory? Crory ain’t done them no harm! He just a inner-sint li’l kid! How could they—how could they—”
Dumar roused just then, his face paper-white from all the blood that the horror had drained from it. He looked shock-eyed to his father. “Paw! Tell me that were all just a nightmare we seen on that machine!
The screen glowed blue and there blinked a small square that read REPLAY and another that read EJECT.
Micky-Mack returned to his vomiting, and Dumar howled like a sick dog.
For those wondering exactly
FADE IN:
INT. ROOM
We see a bare white metal wall in the b.g. and what appears to be a small, curtained window, like a window, perhaps, in a motor-home. The curtain is a curious deep-burgundy color, with white dots.
MALE VOICE #1 (O.S.)
(gruff Jersey accent)
We’re rollin’, boss.
MALE VOICE #2 (O.S.)
(snappy Jersey accent)
How’re the lights? You check the lights?
MALE VOICE #1 (O.S.)
Meter’s readin’ right on.
MALE VOICE #2 (O.S.)
Bring the kid in…
MALE VOICE #3 (O.S.)
(higher-pitched Jersey accent)
Comin’ right up.
The scene HOLDS. We hear brief CLATTER O.S.
SUDDENLY—
A Small Boy (CRORY Tuckton) is moved INTO FRAME. A Man in a Suit moves behind Crory, but we do not see his face. He appears to non-verbally direct the Boy to sit on what must be a stool, for we see no chair-back. We PUSH IN on young Crory’s Face…
He’s SOBBING, his face smudged and tear-trailed. His longish, butterscotch hair is disarrayed.
The Man in the Suit moves OUT OF FRAME.
MALE VOICE #2 (O.S.)
Go on kid, talk to your daddy.
CRORY
(distraught)
Daddy? Uncle Helton? These-these men, they done took me when I were droppin’ crayfish traps at Hog Neck Lake like I’se do ever mornin’, and-and…they brung me ta this big motor-home thing that smells real bad, and-and there’s this big fat lady here, and-and—
Crory’s tears flow; he continues to SOB and SNIFFLE. We hear a MALE CHUCKLE O.S.
CRORY (CON’T)
Daddy? These men tolt me they’se talked to ya ’bout gettin’ me back to Uncle Helton’s house but said you didn’t want me no more, and they tolt me Uncle Helton say the same—
