Bigfoot Crank Stomp (13 page)

“Sheriff, we need to take a step back and calm down,” Stanger said. “This isn’t right.”

Gabe nodded. The head of his dick pressed into his pants so hard it hurt. “Yep, not right at all. I was completely wrong about you.”

“What?”

Gabe shifted the gun to Stanger and squeezed the trigger before the deputy could utter another sound. His head snapped back and blood popped like a firework out the back of his skull.

“Oh, Christ!” Lyle shouted, covering his ears. Tears spurted from his eyes. “Oh, God!”

Gabe ignored him. He reached down with his free hand and rubbed his erection while staring at Stanger’s twitching left leg. While ogling the lake of blood forming around his head. While smelling the scent of sweet death.

He came. He couldn’t believe it but he shot another load in his jockeys.

“Oh, God.” Nothing more than a whimper now.

“Will you shut up already?” Gabe said.

Lyle didn’t hear him. He was too busy splashing around the pussy end of the pool. All he could hear was his own damn whining. How’d he end up with such faggots working for him?

“We were a team.” Lyle hitched between blubbery words. “We were a team.”

“Who said anything about a team?” Gabe laughed. “You’re my fucking subordinates. Get it? I’m the fucking boss. And your employment is over.”

Lyle looked up at him with tear-filled doe eyes. “I just wanted to help people.”

“Guess what? The joke’s on you ain’t it?” Gabe shot him through the right eye. “Ha-ha, motherfucker.”

He took in his work. Two worthless backstabbing pieces of shit. Handled. Hell yeah.

What about Betts and Pronger?
he thought.
Well, we’ll just have to see how they react. Either they’ll be two good little bitches or two dead little bitches. But they’ll at least acknowledge they’re my bitches.

The thought made him laugh. He scratched the side of his neck and the crook of his arm. Could use another hit. Just had to find some more. Maybe there was still some dust on the hood.

THE AMATEURS

By the time Bunny dragged Kitten out of the tent and half-carried her toward Guy, his bladder was on the verge of exploding. He couldn’t wait for them anymore. Couldn’t hold it while watching Bunny death-grip Kitten’s waist with her left arm while clenching the wrist of the right arm wrapped behind her neck.

“Come on, bitch,” Bunny said, “You’ve got more energy than that.”

Kitten’s head lolled and her eyes blinked hard and in slow-motion.

Fuck this
, Guy thought and shuffled over to them. “Get her on her knees.”

Bunny let go and Kitten hit the ground like a dead body. No sound. No movement.

Guy stood over her, holding his groin, pee-pee dancing. “Camera ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Start rolling.”

Bunny knelt to the side and focused the camera. “It’s hard to get all of her and your dick in the shot.”

Damn it
, he thought. He nudged Kitten’s shoulder with his foot. “Kitten, it’s time for the shower scene. Come on, be a pro and rally. We need this shot.”

“Do it with Bunny.” The voice was mumbled, barely audible. But it was there. And there was energy in it, just like Bunny had said while getting her ass this far out of the tent.

Guy gritted his teeth. “Bunny did the anal scene. Did all the scenes today because your ass was in a dope haze. Now it’s time to pull you weight. If not, no money and no more crank.”

Kitten moved. Not slow. She rolled onto her ass and pulled her legs in so they crossed, Indian-style. She looked up his dick into Guy’s eyes. They were soft but narrow. Dirt crossed diagonally from her right shoulder across her tiny breasts. Looked liked claw marks in the moonlight.

“You wouldn’t.” Her voice was ice.

“Oh, you fucking bet I would.” Man did he want to piss on her. Piss on her right now. But he needed it to look good. Need to keep it professional, not personal. “This isn’t crank welfare. You want your taste, you need to put in time. Want your money, you need to earn it. Time to earn it.”

She crossed her arms. Defiant. “I want a taste now then.”

What the fuck side of the bed did this bitch wake up on? First she’s almost in a drug coma. Hell, she’s almost dead. Now she’s dictating the rules of their business arrangement. Fuck that.

But Guy had to piss. Piss like twenty racehorses.

“Hurry the fuck up and take a hit then.”

Kitten smiled. Mocking. She took her pipe from Bunny. Preloaded with rocks. She sparked up and inhaled and moaned. Orgasm moaned. She took another.

“Hey, ones enough for now,” Guy said, shifting his weight back and forth between the balls of his feet. “I need to film this.”

“Fine.” Smoke rose and then drifted away on the light breeze. She handed her pipe to Bunny. “Ready when you are.”

A gunshot echoed around them.

“I knew I heard gunshots earlier,” Bunny said. “That’s why a dreamt it.”

“Probably someone drunk and shooting in the air.” Guy looked over at Bunny, who was taking her own hit. “Hey, are you rolling?”

Bunny coughed and set the pipe down and picked up the camera. “I am now.”

Fuckers. “Okay. Kitten, try to push those itty bitty tits together. And look up at me.”

Kitten did. Even smiled at him.

Another gunshot.

“Wonder what’s going on,” Kitten said.

“Who gives a shit,” Guy said. “Sounds like a pistol. Probably shooting beer bottles or something. Now let’s do this.”

“I thought I didn’t want to get peed on,” Bunny said. “Figured it was a sad statement on life. But this is worse, filming it. Like I’m not even living a life. Like I don’t even exist.”

“Will you shut the fuck up and just record!”

“Recording.”

Guy looked down at Kitten. Down at her smiling face and tiny breasts. Down at her gaunt neck and bony shoulders. And started to piss.

***

It smelled it. Smelled it on the wind. Not much. Just the faintest scent. But it was enough.

Bigfoot blinked. It’s eyes shifted. Back and forth. Back and forth. The scent. It had it. Had it on the wind. Wanted it. Wanted to find it.

It rocked to its side and pushed up to its knees. It moaned. But it didn’t stop. It moved to its feet. Straightened up. Moaned some more and rubbed its wounds. Blood still seeped from its chest and arms. Not as bad. But the pain…

Needed more. Need to follow the scent on the wind.

Bigfoot trudged forward, looking for food.

MANNY

“So you were camping by yourself?” Manny said in a whisper.

A twig crunched under Seph’s foot. The sound echoed around them. Manny winced reflexively. She had just given them away. If this were a game of life and death, they’d be caught, maybe dead. If they were being tracked, the hounds would be on them. But nothing like that happened.

Because it’s not that kind of situation
, he thought.
We’re not humping through enemy territory or evading an aggressor force. We’re just hiking to my home. Bigfoot wanted drugs. Simple as that. Relax already.

“Yeah, I was. I don’t want to talk about it though.”

“Fair enough.”

They walked for a few seconds without exchanging another word. Manny was relieved for the reprieve. For the first few minutes, Seph had done nothing but explain over and over how Russell had led Bigfoot right to her. Manny didn’t interrupt, letting it pour out of her like water from a fire hose. He wouldn’t point out how Russell hadn’t done anything malicious. Stupid, yes, but he hadn’t meant to involve her. If Manny had said something like that, he knew he’d be enemy number one by proximity. He couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. After all, she’d been peacefully camping. Drinking beers and sitting by a fire. Next thing she knew, there was a panicked man and a wild beast ripping through her world. Nope, couldn’t blame her at all.

But he couldn’t blame this idiot Russell either. Yeah, he’d had a bag full of drug money. And yeah, there’d been baggies of meth in there that Bigfoot had caught the scent of. Just a shitty situation all around. He wouldn’t pass judgment. Not yet at least. In the end, what was gained from the finger pointing? Nothing. A big waste of time. What mattered was making it home and seeing the sunrise without any other complications. He wished Seph understood that. He wasn’t about to explain it.

“You’re a Marine right?” Seph said.

The question forced his head to cock at an unnatural angle. Like a dog hearing a mysterious sound for the first time. How’d she know? He didn’t have visible tattoos of an E.G.A. or a bulldog wearing a Smokey Bear. No Semper Fi shirt either.

“Yes,” he said. “What gave it away?”

“The haircut.” Her voice was soft. Almost mischievous.

Manny thought,
Maybe
. He forgot his skin close high and tight stood out like a hooker in church.

She said Marine, though. Plenty of military personnel had similar haircuts across all branches of the services. She could have easily guessed Army or (heaven forbid) a squared away squid. But she didn’t. She zeroed in on him with the precision of…well, a sniper.

“What made you say Marine?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I keep my hair like this because anything longer and I feel like a hippie.” Manny hated hippies almost as much as cops. “But that’s not what gave me away. Why Marine?”

“Honestly?”

“Absolutely.”

She chuckled for a second and then said, “You blouse your pants with boot bands.”

Manny smiled but didn’t look at her. Instead, he proceeded into the night, pine needles crunching under his boots. Yep, she nailed him. Another old habit. He bloused the bottom of his cargo pants with boot bands instead of tucking them in. Marine’s don’t tuck. Tucking’s for Army pussies.

“Well done,” he said. “I assume you or someone you know is a Marine.” Manny knew she wasn’t based on her outdoor skills thus far but figured why insult her with a verbal assumption.

“My dad was.”

“Was? I’m guessing he’s passed on.” Because once a Marine, always a Marine.

“You guess correct.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Long time ago.” Seph waved her hands back and forth. “It was a long time ago. But thank you.”

“Sure.” Manny focused on the direction they were walking. He took his bearings, making sure they still headed south-southwest toward the Loop and his house. “What was his M.O.S.?”

“His what?”

“What did he do? Infantry? Artillery?”

“Force Recon.”

“Oooh-rah.”

“What about you?”

“Sniper.”

She was silent a moment. Manny wondered if he’d scared her with his answer. Why not? It was a scary answer.

“Makes sense,” Seph said after a few more steps of silence.

Manny smirked. “That’s obvious too?”

“No but with all the crazy shit that’s happened tonight I asked for help.”

“I don’t follow.”

“When I was in that tree with that asshole Russell, I silently prayed for help. I asked God to protect me. And now I’m walking through the woods with a Marine sniper. I mean any Marine would work but a sniper…well, I can’t imagine what would be better protection against Bigfoot. A sure shot’s nice to have in your hip pocket.”

Yeah, if you can still shoot,
Manny thought and bit his bottom lip, drawing blood. Actually the better question was if he could still kill?

“Glad to be of service,” he said. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come to something like that.”

“Amen.”

A gunshot ripped the night. Manny lowered to one knee and motioned for Seph to do the same. She did. The echo of the shot continued for another second. Pistol. Probably a .38 or .357 shooting non-magnum loads.

A cop’s gun
, he thought.

Maybe the Sheriff had gotten the beast. Manny shook his head at the thought. No way. Not with a handgun. Not even with one at close range.

So who’s that son of a bitch shooting then?

“What direction was that?” Seph said.

“Toward the side of the Loop where all this shit started.” Manny listened, waiting to hear cheers or screams or something. Only there wasn’t anything. Not even the rustle of branches in the breeze.

Another gunshot. Same as before. Exact same echo, too. Fired in the same position near the cabin on the Loop which had been the home of those idiot meth cookers.

Two shots two minutes apart. Same gun. No screams.

Deliberate
, Manny thought. His experience with deliberate and well-paced shots all boiled down to the same explanation: execution.