Header 2

“Now…all right. I’ll stand right here—yeah. And, Dumar, now step up careful’n slide yer dick in the hole on that side…and, Micky-Mack? Now, you git your dick in this hole here… ”

“Aw, Unc—jeez. This here brain is cold…”

“Just don’t think ’bout it or else you’ll lose yer stiffer. What’cha think ’bout instead is that dandy cooter’n tits on Veronnerka.”

“Yeah, yeah, but…Unc? ‘Sides bein’ cold, this here brain don’t feel nothin’ like the other ‘uns.”

“Yeah, Paw. Feels kind’a…tough…”

“That’s ’cos of the embalmin’ fluid. What is does, see, is it kind of pickles the brain, firms it up. Nobody ever said headers is easy work, boys. We’se doin’ this fer the family name. Right?”

“Yessir.”

“Just like that, hump it nice’n slow. I’se know it’s kind’a crowded, but with a head this small, there ain’t no other way. Don’t move ’round or else you’ll block the camera. We want Paulie ta see all three’a our dicks goin’ in and out at the same time…”

“Ya know, Unc. Now that I’se thinkin’ ’bout Veronnerka’s big milk wagons…this ain’t so bad.”

“Just keep nice thoughts in yer head…”

A repetitive wet clicking sound could be heard, then…

“Kind’a like…pistons going in’n out, huh?”

“Why, Dumar I’d say that there is a fair annalergy!”

The clicking sounds picked up.

“Aw, yeah, mmm, boys-boys, looks like the old man’s comin’ first this time ’round—mmm-yeah…yeah! Oh! I’se a-comin’, Iiiiii’se a-comin’!”

“Good fer you, Paw! And I can see it! I can see yer nut in its mouth!” Then—“Aw, Paw—my turn! Shee-IT! There she’s goes!”

“Shit, big as my dick is, I’se surprised it ain’t squeezin’ the brains out the nose!”

“Don’t’choo keep braggin’ ’bout that big dick’a yers, son! I’se told ya what happened ta Tater Kline!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Come on, Micky-Mack! We ain’t got all night…”

“Aw, fuck, I’se gettin’ close, I’se gettin’…aaaaaaaaaaaaah! Yeah, man! I’se comin’ up a storm! Feels like I’se takin’ a pee I’se comin’ so much! Holy hogshit, Unc! I’se fillin’ this baby’s head with cum!”

Veronica, still staring, blinked once more, then lost total consciousness.

(III)

Helton, sitting fatigued in the fold-down chair, took another swig of the fancy liquor they’d ripped off from Marshie’s mansion. Another day, another header… “She all right, Micky-Mack?” he called up.

“Dang, Unc. Guess she falled asleep again.”

“Just as well.”

Dumar came back inside, having just disposed of the body, and the tiny severed head. Just as fatigued, he took a milk crate next to his father and sighed. “Paw, I’se shore hope this feud ends soon. Maybe Paulie’ll give up once he sees this movie.”

“Maybe…”

Micky-Mack dawdled back and sat down on the table. “I know it ain’t the family thing ta say, Unc, but, shit. I’se had my fill’a havin’ headers. Feels good, shore, but it just…ain’t…right…”

“I’se hear ya, son. It ain’t right, but neithers is what Paulie done. If we could just find the varmit.”

“Find him and kill him,” Dumar said.

Helton nodded.

“So’s shouldn’t we wake Veronnerka up and have her send the movie to Paulie?”

“Naw, not just yet. She’s asleep. Let’s set a spell. All this head-fuckin’s got yer old Uncle Helton wore out.”

Dumar looked in one of the bags of McDonald’s leftovers, then declined. He noticed the green and red holly prints on the bag, and the SEASON’S GREETINGS. His eyes bloomed. “Dang, Paw. Sumpthin’ just dawned on me. It’s Christmas Eve.”

Helton stalled and looked at his watch. “Well I’ll be. You’re right, son.”

Dumar had a sudden tear in his eye. “And ain’t that some shit? Grandmaw Petunia ain’t gonna be able to celebrate Christmas with us. First time in my life.”

“It’s a terrible business, feudin’,” Helton uttered. “Takes the spirit out’a ever thang. Shit. Christmas Eve. We should be singin’ hymns and gettin’ the turkey ready and hangin’ orner-mints on the tree, but look what we’se doin’ instead. Fuckin’ a dead baby in the head…”

All three men looked at each other.

“Wouldn’t none’a this be happenin’ if’n it weren’t fer Paulie,” Micky-Mack objected.

“‘Tis true.”

“But what else can we do?” Dumar asked.

Helton looked at his watch. “It’s past three in the morn. We’ll get some shut-eye’s what we’ll do right now. Then we’se’ll send the movie to Paulie…and see what happens next.”

— | — | —

Chapter 16

(I)

Next morning, the morning of Christmas Eve, the day shone unusually bright. Downtown, shoppers emerged en masse, and holiday Muzak could be heard all up and down Main Street. “Silver bells, silver bells, it’s Christmas time in the city…” The season was in the air.

But not in the heart of Deputy Chief Dood Malone.

He listlessly rode shotgun as Boover drove the squad car. Before the Target, a Salvation Army Santa Claus was “Ho-ho-ho!”-ing and ringing his bell. He paused, then rubbed his crotch for no apparent reason. Traffic was rife, and even this early, the parking lots were filling up. Half-heartedly, Malone commented, “Well, looks ta me like the econner-mee’s doin’ just fine. Damn lotta folks out shoppin’, spendin’ money—”

Boover winced. “Shit, Chief! A’course they’se spendin’ money— stimulus money. Dang Obama’s given the whole country’s financial future away just so’s he can get his popularity up. Chief, all the Treasury’s doin’ is printin’ up more’n more cash and shovelin’ it out the