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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.

— | — | —

Chapter 9

(I)

Veronica awoke at daybreak, frowning at her recollection of the most hideous nightmare. Abducted by rednecks, she thought with a shudder but then she looked around to find herself in a reeking sleeping bag with one wrist handcuffed to a metal table in the back compartment of a large truck. The sound inside was akin to that of a bear cave, her three “hosts” snoring like machines. Micky-Mack and Dumar each lay on the floor in their own sleeping bags while Helton slept sitting upright in the corner.

Veronica choked back tears upon the eventual recognition that none of this was a nightmare. It was all real.

Just a few days before Christmas…and here I am…

Dim morning light flowed from the front windshield through the shower curtain.

The snoring went on an on.

Oh, for goodness sake! her thoughts shrilled. She had to urinate. Her nose crinkled at the sleeping bag’s stink as she clumsily crawled out. She took the empty bean can, frowned hard at it, then, with great awkwardness, pulled her pants and panties down, squatted, then began to void in the can. Her nose crinkled again, for her urine smelled like Veggie Chips.

The nearly musical chime of the stream hitting the can woke the others at once.

“Well, hey there, Veronnerka,” Helton greeted and stretched his great arms. “Havin’ yerself a pee, huh? I’se’ll tell ya. First pee’a the day’s a saturs-fyin’ thing indeed, ain’t it?”

Veronica couldn’t fathom a response.

Dumar shrugged out of his bag. “‘Mornin’ Veronnerka! And hows are you doin’ today?”

Veronica, still in the awkward squat, glared. “I’m peeing!”

“Ya sleep well, I’se hope?”

How could I possibly have slept WELL?

Micky-Mack was awake too, and looked right at her with eyes abloom. “Hot dang! I’se love seein’ a gal with a purdy pussy takin’ a pee!” He was obviously rubbing his crotch. “Puts some lead in my pencil, yessir!”

Veronica finished, frustrated to tears, and pulled her pants back up. When she tried to sit down—

clang!

“Oh NO!”

—the awkward movement caused her to knock the bean can over with her elbow, and all that warm urine flowed right beneath her.

The men all laughed.

“It’s NOT FUNNY!” she screamed. “My pants are DRENCHED!”

“Ain’t nothin’ but a li’l pee,” Dumar said.

Helton chuckled. “Gals shore do get bitchy ’bout the littlest things.”

Micky-Mack was grinning, sniffing the air. “Ya know? There’s sumpthin’ ’bout the smell of a purdy gal’s pee gits my dick dribblin’.”

Helton and Dumar nodded in assent.

Madness, madness, madness! Veronica thought as her pants soaked up the urine. She began to blubber. “Helton! Would you please let me go!”

“Don’t be all cryin’ and such, hon. See, the way feuds work is, see, they ain’t over till the fella yer feudin’ with up’n cries uncle. Ya know? He’s gotta give up, and, well”—Helton shook his head—“when Paulie calt last night after seein’ our movin’ picture, it didn’t sound like he were gonna do that.”

Dumar stood now at the truck’s open door, urinating loudly. The cool air caused the void’s arch to steam. “Shee-it, Paw. That Paulie, he’s all talk. Once he watched our movie, he know full well he’s messin’ with the best.”

“Paulie ain’t got the balls to try’n hit us again,” Micky-Mack said. He cocked a buttock and farted. “And even if he wanted to, what could he do?”

Helton seemed to consider this but suddenly—

They all froze.

The cellphone was ringing.

“Gee,” Veronica said with some sarcasm. “Why do I think that’s Paulie?”

“Ya gonna answer it, Paw?”

Helton peered with annoyance at the little phone. “Here, Veronnerka. Why’n you answer it? Sumpin’ ’bout these little magic phones git my goat.”