The Minotauress

dropped it at once.

'Yeah. I'se pulled 'em out with the pliers, ‘long with her fingernails, the little hosebag.'

'Who?'

'One'a them illegal immer-grints,' Balls sniped. 'Big-tit jibber-jabber bitch she was. Last night after you's dropped me off, I walked down the drive to check the mail'n the bitch is walkin' up the main road. Guess she just got off a shift from Wendy's, and I'se sure she got the job 'cos she works tax-free under the table fer cheap, so's good Americans don't git hired.'

'Yeah. More likely as not,' Dicky agreed. He picked a wallet up off the floor.

'Only had a couple bucks on her, the bitch. Probably on her way ta buy tamales or some shit.'

In the wallet Dicky found a green laminated card that read RESIDENT ALIEN, THIS DOCUMENT CERTIFIES THAT MARIA SUAREZ IS REGISTERED WITH THE U.S. IMMIGRATION & NATURALIZATION SERVICE AND IS PAYING TAXES IN ACCORDANCE WITH FEDERAL LAW. Dicky, however, wasn't really much of a reader.

'Anyways,' Balls went on. 'Last night I'se checkin' the mailbox'n she walks by'n starts cussin' at me a mile'a minute, she did, callin' me all kinds'a nasty things, fer no reason at all.'

'The dirty bitch,' Balls offered. 'What she call ya?'

'Shee-it, she called me a hola, and a buenos noches, and—' Balls paused to think back. 'Aw, yeah, and she called me a como se llama usted! Can ya believe that shit?'

Dicky shook his head. 'Bitch's got no right to be talkin' ta you like that.' Dicky blinked. 'But, Balls? What's all that stuff mean?'

'Aw, shee-it, Dicky, I don't speak Spic, but ya know damn well it was bad. Probably motherfucker, cocksucker, asshole—shit like that.'

'Yeah, I'se sure yer right.' But then more of his observations sunk in. 'So... did'ja kill her?'

'Naw, but I'se put a ruckin' like you wouldn't believe on the ‘ho. Assed her four times, I did'n in between I worked on her with the pliers, pulled her ears off'n shit and collarboned her with a ballpeen so's she couldn't move much whiles I was rearrangin' her shit with my peter—oh—and I knee-capped her too with my Daddy's big Webley.' Balls pointed to the inordinately large pistol sitting on the table.

'Fuck, Balls.' Dicky blinked again. 'So, if ya didn't kill her... where is she?'

'Out back,' Balls replied and led the way.

Birds chirped cheerily when they stepped into Balls' shitty, overgrown back yard. Some old appliances lay on their sides along with a wasteland of empty whiskey bottles. Looks ta me like Balls' daddy did hisself a tad'a drinkin', Dicky reasoned. There was also a pile of dirt a couple feet high, next to a collapsed cord of wood.

A wood-fire crackled faintly in the middle of the yard, over which hung a big can of crawdads attached to a hook.

'Smells great, don't it?' Balls said. He took the can down with an oven mitt on which had been embroidered GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE! He drained the can, then emptied it into a bucket to cool. Steam poured off the pile of bright-red crustaceans.

Indeed, they did smell good, but Dicky was curious now. He looked about the yard. 'So, Balls... Where's this immer-grint chick?'

'Right over there.' He pointed to the pile of dirt.

Dicky walked over, half-reluctant. Ooo, he thought when he looked on the other side of the dirt pile and saw a shallow grave. At the bottom lay a naked Hispanic woman with no ears. Both knees looked like plops of raw burger, and her arms lay shuddering at her sides, barely mobile. When she saw Dicky, she began to quake, her eyes widening as if to fire out of their sockets.

A terrified voice twisted out as if by pressure. 'Ayudeme! Por favor!' Her shrieks hitched up and up. 'Aquel hombre es loco! En nombre de Dios, ayudeme!'

'Shee-it,' Balls sputtered down at her. 'This is America, honey. Ya gots to speak American if'n ya wanna be understood.'

'Pleese! That man—heese crazy!'

'There ya go bad-mouthin' my friend again,' Dicky chided her.

Horror and pain bloated her face. 'Heese loco! Hee-elp—el es un malo hombre!'

Dicky heard footsteps, then saw Balls appear with a shovel full of red-hot coals from the camp fire. 'Let's see if'n this puts a hair up yer ass,' and then—

FLUMP!

—Balls dumped the coals right on her feet.

The woman lurched six inches off the bottom of the grave, emitting a scream now that sounded like her throat tearing.

'Noisy little dickens, ain't she?' Balls chuckled. He returned with another shovelful and dumped it on her belly.

The next vocal protests sounded more animal than human. In the grave, she jerked and jigged and flipped and flopped.

'A reg-lar Mexican jumpin' bean!' Balls bellowed.

The last shovelful went on her face, and the woman's screams descended to a low, fleshy grind.

Balls looked back down and seemed to disapprove of something. 'Dang. Not quite as spek-tacka-ler as I'd'a thunk,' and then he started dropping in pieces of cordwood—

THUNK, THUNK..THUNK... THUNK!

—until the hole was mostly full. It could be said that the laugh which exploded next from his throat had a devilish treatment to it, as he squirted half a can of lighter fluid into the grave and watched the flames gust.

'Dang,' Dicky commented, stepping back from the heat.

'That should be a lesson to ya, la kookoo-ratchah!' Balls yelled down into the pit. 'Don't talk shitty to Americans in America!'

All that came from the grave now were a few fading mewls.

Balls slapped Dicky on the back. 'Come on, partner! Let's eat us some crawdaddies on ours way ta Clyde