The Minotauress

'Then we'se'll really be loaded, after heistin' all that fancy jewelry he's got.'

'And other stuff, too, like really old statues'n furniture. Bud Tooler tolt me Crafter even had dinner plates made'a gold.'

'Shee-it!' Dicky whispered.

'Yeah, man. So what's our schedule lookin' like?'

Dicky put on his Thinking Cap, which took a while. 'Uh, let's see, I'se think tomorrow we got a full run for Clyde Nale, and day after a run'a piece for McKully'n Nale. And day after that... we'se off.'

'That's dandier than a double-blowjob from underage twins, Dicky-Boy. So's figgure night after tomorrow, we do the job'n fence the shit in Pulaski the next day.'

'Solid.'

Dicky drove on through the wooded night, thinking sweet thoughts of all that money they'd have soon. Balls' thoughts, however, remained not so sweet. Now he dredged up the delicious memory of that rucking he'd pulled at McKully's, and recalled the accelerated intensity of his orgasm when he'd sodomized the hill girl once she was headless. He focused on the recollection, like a scientist focusing a powerful microscope, and he re-lived the rush he'd gotten whilst scalping her pubis. He relished the remembrance of the minute and indefinable sound that the battery brush had made when he'd been scouring off her nipples...

And a moment later his maladapted synapses were firing impulses into his libidinal system, and in less time than it would've taken him to say the word 'pathological,' his penis thudded within the confines of his jeans, painfully erect.

As he luxuriated in these thoughts, he was pap-pap-papping his homemade blackjack into an opened palm...

'What's that?' Dicky inquired.

Balls blinked out of his distraction. 'Huh? Oh, this? Ain't nothin' but my jack. Found it in a box'a junk at my Daddy's house. I made it myself when I'se was a little kid, I did. Alls ya do is screw a fishing weight inta the top of a screen-door spring, then ya wrap it up in ‘lecktrical tape.' Pap-pap-pap. 'Kind'a neat, I'd say. Figgure I'll carry it ‘round in case of a emergency.'

Dicky's corpulent face screwed up. 'What'cha need a dang blackjack fer when ya got that big ole pistol in yer belt?'

'A quiet-type of emergency, Dicky.'

'Oh... But, hey, you ever really use it on anyone?'

Balls' cheeks billowed as he scoffed. 'Shee-it, Dicky, you kiddin' me? I'se jacked dozens of fellas out with this here jack, and a lots of 'em was really big fellas too, I'se kin tell ya. Some turd give me a hard time? I just pop him one in the noggin and he's lights out. Then, a'course, I take his green.'

'Wow,' Dicky responded, impressed.

Naturally, everything Balls had said was a lie. He'd never struck anyone with his homemade blackjack—only neighborhood cats as a child.

But now? Since his epiphany?

'Where we at now, Dicky?' Balls asked. The 'Mino was cruising through another drab, rundown little town. Most shops stood closed, and no other traffic could be seen.

'Waynesville. Don't'cha worry none, Balls. Won't be more'n ten minutes'n we'll be pullin' inta the Crossroads.'

Now, for some unidentifiable reason, Balls scanned the streets more intently, as if looking for something in particular... When they turned a corner, though, he saw a small, dented sedan parked in the front lot of a Peoples Drug Store. It was the only car in the lot, and in the back sat several young children. A haggard fortyish woman with a beehive hairdo was walking away from the store carrying two bags.

'Pull inta this drug store, Dicky. I gots ta pee.'

Dicky frowned. 'Ya cain't wait ten minutes?'

'I ain't peed in two or three hours, man, and I'se already done drunk a six-pack. My piss-bag's full, brother. Just pull in.'

Dicky did so, then Balls jumped out, but instead of heading toward the store... he headed toward the sedan. He leaned over and smiled into the back seat, where three little girls sat huddled.

'Howdy, girls! What'cha all doin' this fine night?'

The little girls exchanged wide-eyed glances, then one peeped, 'We'se havin' a pajama party so's my ma's gettin' us some sodas and cheese doodles.'

'Well, that sounds like a lot'a fun!'

Just then the woman rushed up to the car. 'Who're you? What'choo doin' talkin' to my kids! Just you get out'a here!'

'Aw, ma'am, I'se was just sayin' hi,' Balls replied and—smack!—hit her right in the forehead with his blackjack. She collapsed, instantly unconscious, while the little girls in the backseat burst into a round of ear-piercing shrieks.

Balls whipped out his penis and wasted no time in relieving the volume of his bladder. He fired the hot, yard- long stream right into the back seat, swaying back and forth across the horrified little chipmunk faces. The little girls shrieked like referee whistles.

Balls zipped up quick, snagged the woman's purse and a bag of cheese doodles, then jogged back to the El Camino.

'Holy shit, Balls!' Dicky yelled when his cohort jumped back in. 'What the fuck?'

'Drive, Dicky! Drive!'

Dicky dumped the ‘Mino's clutch and pulled a 450-horsepower hole-shot out of the parking lot. Tires screamed, rubber burned, and the engine's roar fractured the night. Dicky careened out, then lead-footed it off the main drag.

Balls cackled laughter.

'Jaysus Chrast, Balls! You just jacked a lady out and peed on her kids!'