Authors: Header
So's Travis, then, rememberin' the technique, screwed the hole-saw inta the power drill and got ta openin' the top'a Chessy Kinney's head. Tears of glee shined in Grandpap's old, rheumy eyes whiles Travis were doin' the job. Made a hell of a racket, it did, but in less time than it take ta blow a snotwad out'cher nose, that little circle of bone popped right out, an' Travis didn't waste no time stickin' the knife in the hole ta make a good deep slit fer his pecker, and when he did just that, even though ol' Chessy were still unconscious from the brass knucks, her fat and kinda hairy legs kicked up once, and that was that. She were dead on the table, deader'n dogshit.
Blood poured out her head like tappin' the bilge drum onna hot hooch tank, but once all that cracker blood got out, Travis got in—with his woody, that is, and a might good it certainly felt humpin' that still-warm cracker brain'a hers. Travis kept his eyes closed whiles he was doin' it 'cos he didn't wanna be ganderin' Chessy's body, no sir. What a mess of a woman she was, rolls'a fat jigglin' under that slinky dress, her big dirty feel stickin' out over the opposite edge'a the table. She had big tufts of hair unner her arms which reminded Travis of the balls'a steel wool he'd hafta clean pots with on chow hall duty in the slam, and one'a her tits popped out just then, big as a baby's head it was, an' it just kinda lolled there like a bag'a chicken fat, and a coupla skanky black hairs stickin' outa a nipple that looked more like a bloody hock someone'd just spat. No sir. Travis didn't need ta be lookin' at that 'less he wanted ta lose his woody right there inner head.
"Hump it. Travis!" Grandpap rallied on, now pink-faced as he was jackin' hisself in the chair. "Get that nut
right up
in her head, boy!
Hump
that cracker!"
Well, hump that cracker Travis did, an' it didn't take long. Travis felt the feelin's' buildin', and they was like no other feelin's' he'd ever felt. Travis' eyeballs crossed, they did, and he grabbed Chessy Kinney's big dirt-seamed ears an' humped harder he did, an' it was almost like that knife-slit in her cracker brain were a hot suckin' mouth onna five-dollar roadhouse whore, and right then, Travis went up on his tiptoes, moanin' right away, and he blowed hisself a long an' hearty nut inta the middle of Chessy Kinney's corpus callosum, not that Travis hisself knowed just what a corpus callosum were, nor did he know what a central sulcus 'er a occipital pole were either. Suffice ta say, he blowed hisself a long, hot dicksnot right inta the middle'a her cracker head, an' it felt a right good, it did. Ain't come that good in his life.
"Aw, shee-it, Grandpap. Lemme tell ya, that was one
dandy
nut!"
Travis stepped back, slick with sweat now, and he let his limp pecker slide right outa that newcut headhole.
"Yeah boy!" Grandpap agreet. "Headers're somethin', ain't they? Who needs poon when ya kin hump a head?"
"But—Grandpap." Travis stalled, feelin' a might guilty. All this time he was havin' so much pleasure fer hisself, and there was poor Grandpap, with his old bone still hard an' stickin' up outa his lap.
"Shee-it, Grandpap. You ain't had yerself yer own nut yet."
"Aw, no matter, boy, Ol'coot like me, take a while it does. Just watchin's fine enough. Watchin' a strong young man like yerself humpin' a head, reminds me'a the good
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l' days, and lemme tell ya son. I humped myself a fair share a heads."
"I'll'se bet ya did, Grandpap," Travis concurred, zippin' up. "So why's don't ya hump yerself a head right now? Got a fresh one right here on the table, we do, if ya don't mind no sloppy seconds."
"Aw, shee-it, son. I 'preciate ya thinkin'a me, but my head-humpin' days're over. Cain't stand up outa this blammed chair. Ain't gots no feet on the end'a my legs."
Travis smiled a great big warm family-lovin' type smile. He knowed a way, he shore did!
"I'll'se
be yer feet. Grandpap," he said, and his big brawny, muscular 28-year-old arms hoisted Grandpap right outa that curs'd chair an' walked him over ta Chessy Kinney's dead white trash head. "Ain't no way my Grandpappy's gonna sit by an' watch me have a header but him not." Yes sir! Travis hoisted the
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l' man outa that chair like he weighed no more'n'a duck- feather piller. "No don't'cha worry 'bout me turnin' queer in the joint Grandpap, 'cos I ain't no queer, but I'se got ta grab yer pecker a sec, ta guide 'er in." And then Travis took a quick grasp'a Grandpap's stiff root, still holdin' the man up with but one arm 'cross his chest, an' he guided that
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l' feisty bone right inta that waitin' wet hole in Chessy's redneck head.
"Aw, Travis." Grandpap wheezed in unearthly delight. "Cain't tell ya how good it feels ta have my dog inna gal's brain after all these here years."
"Go fer it, Gramps," Travis urged. "Hump that head!
Hump
it! Get'cher'a load'a yer peterjuice right up that hole!"
Wizened as he were, Grandpap humped, held kindly aloft by his good, strong grandson.
"Take yer time, Grandpap. Cream her head up good, goes ahead! Hump it!"
Grandpap's flat
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l' butt pumped away, an', old 'er not, it didn't take more'n'a' minute 'fore he was gaspin' an' shudderin' an' shakin' like a leaf in orgasmeric bliss. "Ooo-yeah, ooo-doggie, yessir!" his ol' throat crackled. "Aw, shee-it, Travis. I'se spunkin' up her brain fierce! Got enough cockhock in my's
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l' balls ta fill a blammed shit-bucket!" Spittle dribbled inta his white billygoat beard, and Grandpap's roadmap eyes rolled back in his head. "Aw, it's just the best feelin' in the world, it is! Chrast, boy, I just pumped me load so big I'se surprised my juice ain't squirtin' out her big cauliflower ears!"
"Good fer you, Grandpap!" Travis commended. "You shore showed that blammed Nedder Kinney fer rippin' you off. Done had yerself a nut in his wife's head!"
Travis set the old man back in the wheelchair once he was done comin'. But at once Grandpap just set there, an' he looked up at Travis and started cryin'.
"Aw, shee-it, Grandpap. What's wrong?"
"Boy." Grandpap wept freely, and then his Adam's apple bobbed as her swallered. "That, I say, that is goodliest thing anyone ever done fer me in my life..."
Travis wiped a big booger in Chessy Kinney's ratty white trash hair, and he smiled with pride that he'd done somethin' ta make his grandfather so happy. "The ways I sees it, Grandpappy, is whiles I was in the stone motel, there's was a lotta hillfolk out here who done my fambly wrong, an' like you said, when someone does ya wrong, it's only fittin' an' proper that ya do 'em wrong back. Say's so in the Bible, don't it?"
"That's right, son, it shore does. An eye fer a eye, it says."
Travis weren't lookin' forward ta luggin' this big 250 pounds of cracker trash out ta some field, but he'd worry 'bout that later. "An' since so many folks these parts done dag dirty things over the years ta my fambly. I say we'se gonna have ourself quite a few headers fer quite a spell. How's that sound. Grandpap?"
Grandpap's crinkled face fell to his open hands, and he cried on in sheer happiness. "Thank ya, God! Thank ya fer blessin' me with such a fine young grandson!"
Travis nearly cried hisself seein' his grandpap so delighted. He hunched down an' slid Chessy Kinney 'cross his back. "I'll'se be back in awhiles," he bid. "Gots ta dump this stinky fat cracker in the woods somewhere. I do." he articulated. "Hope the possums don't mind eatin' stinky redneck fat."
........
It wasn't the thousand a month; cops on the take never lasted long. But Cummings knew he'd played it right. He'd work his way in slow, get to know the turf, the points, and the scumbags in charge of them. No way this Dutch dude was going to start him off driving huge orders of primo product. It might take a few months, but Cummings would prove his worth, and he'd keep his ears open while he was doing it. Never touch any of the bags of product, so he didn't have to worry about prints, and whenever he drove a run, he replaced his federal-issue Smith & Wesson Model 13 with his unregistered Webley revolver. If things got hot one night, and Cummings had to pop caps, he wouldn't have to worry about any ballistics striations that could be tied to his service piece. So that's how he played the gig. Eventually, he'd get wind of a big drop, and—
Well, he'd think about the rest later.
He'd set the meal tray up in Kath's lap, got her settled into the lounge chair in front of the TV. She hadn't touched any of her dinner.
"You should eat, sweetheart." he said. "You need your strength."
Her tired eyes fluttered. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry you went to all this trouble to fix dinner. But I'm just not hungry at all. I can't eat "
"That's all right." Cummings said. "Maybe we should go to bed now. You look tired."
All Kath could do, then, was nod.
He'd clean the dishes later. He picked her up, wan in her nightgown, and carried her to bed. But just as he got the covers over her, he noticed that she was crying.
"Honey?" His hand lovingly touched her cool cheek. "What's wrong?"
She hitched and sobbed and sniffled, blinking up at him. "Stew, I'm so sorry. I should've told you but I didn't. I know how hard you work as it is. But—"
"But. what, Kath?"
Her pretty face looked flattened when she finally told him. Dr. Seymour's putting me on another antibiotic. And it cost—it costs—oh, Stew. I'm so sorry!"
The poor girl. She was so sick, yet she didn't even have the courage to reveal the cost of the medicine that might cure her.
"It's going to cost another three hundred a month, along with what you're already paying for the others."
Ordinarily. Cummings would've wilted. But that's not what his wife needed to see, was it? A man collapsing against the weight of a grim reality. The thousand a month he'd be raking from Dutch, plus his hooch protection for Spaz' people, would more than cover the added pharmaceutical expense. So all Cummings did was smile.
"Don't worry, sweetheart." he was happy to be able to say. Then he lied, but it was a white lie, wasn't it? "I finally got that promotion today."
He knew it took all the strength she could muster to squeal with delight and wrap her thin arms around him and kiss him. Feeling her lips on his, after so long, made his heart surge, and it revitalized his love.
"Stew, I'm so proud of you." she whispered.
Jesus, if she only knew,
he thought. But that didn't matter. He was going to shake down a drug dealer. So what? He was doing the only thing he could do to help his wife.
"Baby," she hushed, pulling at him. "I know I've haven't been much of a wife these past months, and—"
"Don't say that! You've been sick. It's not your fault."
"—and I know I'll get better soon, and I'll make it up to you. But right now—" Her voice turned sultry, her whisper drenched with passion. "Right now—" Her hands fell hot on his neck. "Right now... I want you to make love to me."
Cummings nearly ejaculated in his pants at the words. He loved her
so much,
and it had been
so long.
But he also knew that her words were pre-emptory. She was too sick. She'd never be up to it.
"I want to too, honey, but you need your rest," he said, and it wasn't easy, not after masturbating in the bathroom or in the car for six months. But how considerate would that be? Climbing on top of his sick wife? "You're going to get better real soon. I know you will, especially with this new medication. Then we're going to go on a second honeymoon that'll knock your socks off!"
"You're such a wonderful man" she murmured, but already she was falling asleep.
Cummings went back downstairs, washed the dishes, cleaned up a little. He cracked open another beer and changed channels to the Yankees' game— when the phone rang.
"It's fuckin' 10:30 at night!
he objected.
"Cummings." he said into the phone.
"Yeah. Stew, look, I been out here two hours, man, and I'm dog hungry."
It was Chad Amburgy, the night man. Decent kid, if a bit redneck. Done Cummings several favors.
"Out where?" Cummings asked.
"Kohl's Point. I was on reglar patrol, gonna check out McKully's old haunts, see it he was putting back anymore stills, when I saw it. so I radio'd the state."
Cummings blinked, shook his head. "Saw what. Chad?"
A crackling static pause; Amburgy had obviously radio'd the state dispatcher and rerouted the trans through the phone, via a landline hookup. "We got another murder out here. Stew. And gawd knows how long it'll lake these state police nimrods ta get the M.E. out here. How's about givin' me a break and bringin' me out some samwiches or somethin'. Anything, man. I'se starvin' out here."