Plainclothes Naked (33 page)

Tony wrapped his nongun hand around McCardle’s shoulders. “My best friend. He’ll kill me for sayin’ this, but he’s a peeper, too. Ain’t that right, little buddy? ’Course Mac here, he’s more your bath room type. A specialist.” Zank cupped his free hand to his mouth and continued, in a mock-whisper. “More
toilet
-oriented.”

Tony giggled and wiped away a bubble of blood from his lips. “Mac likes to see ladies wiping themselves. Big ladies. Not Number Two, though. He’s no sicko. Just pee-pee. He likes the way ladies tamp. Don’t you Mac? You done some tampin’ yourself, huh, slugger?”

McCardle retreated, pleading. “C’mon, Tony. Don’t play me like this.”

Zank guffawed. “What do you got to be shy about? You think that Vaseline they got there is for diaper rash? She’s about to go
Last Tango
on his ass. We walked in on a hemorrhoid massage.”

He cackled and snatched Manny’s underpants, revealing the rest of him.
“Whoa!”
Zank stopped laughing and whistled respectfully. Then he dropped the jockeys and elbowed McCardle. “Nice bone for a white man, huh Mac? The guy’s a credit to his race. Which is more than I can say for you.”

He grinned at Tina and Manny, like they were all in on the joke. “Mac got hit by the teeny stick. Right, Dog? But that ain’t the fun

niest. Tell everybody about your auntie, the one you had to ‘tidy up.’ You told
me
enough fucking times. It’s Auntie Big’n, right? Tell the story. Why not bless somebody else’s world?”

“Come on,Tony,” McCardle said again. Then his eyes met Manny’s and Manny knew he’d been made. Tony was the maniac; McCardle was scared. The scared guys were always smarter. Mac smelled cop, Manny could see it. By not saying anything to Zank, he was sending a message. Letting Manny know: If he had the chance, he’d cross his partner in a hot minute and cut a deal.

Manny gave McCardle a faint nod. He recalled, with reluctant wonder, the photo Roos had produced this afternoon. The buff black guy pranging the rangy white psycho over the Pawnee Lodge dresser. Here were the two players, in the flesh. Mac McCardle and Tony Zank.

Tina sat down on the furry toilet seat and Tony leered happily. He held the Python steady, aimed in the general direction of Manny’s newly smooth genitals. With his free hand, he scratched at a gash in his forehead, then fingered the scabs dotting his nostrils. “You must feel pretty lucky, gorgeous, landing a hunk of lumber like him. I respect a slit who knows what she wants.”

Tina didn’t answer, and Manny was impressed, all over again, at the way she handled herself. A beautiful woman who knew how to keep it together with a .357 on her. Now
that
was special. It occurred to him, then and there, if he ever composed a personal ad, he’d include
Must be cool at gunpoint
as a key qualification. It would weed out the dinner-and-a-movie types.

“Dag nab it,” Tony chuckled, “I think we came at a bad time! Tell you what, why don’t you crazy kids go ahead? Might as well party down before I paint the ceiling with your brains.”

He stuck out his thumb and forefinger, went “pow-pow!” then

grabbed Mac in a headlock and gave him a gun-butt noogie. After he let him go he shot Manny a demented wink.

“Here’s a fun fact. Did you know people relieve themselves when they die? Sometimes I trip on that. Guys gettin’ the chair, they gotta walk that last mile in Depends. Reason I know, a celly I had in Lewisburg, he had a brother did hard time down in Texas. Worked in the infirmary. After they fried a guy, they’d wheel the body down and my buddy’s brother’s job was to unload him. You imagine that? Your gig is to take the diapers offa dead fried guys? But he actually
liked
doin’ it. Know why?”

Zank stuck a finger in the hole where his tooth used to be, as if checking to see if it had grown back, then resumed chatting.

“It’s kinda sweet. See, a condemned man gets a visit from his old lady the night before his execution. That’s the law. My man’s bro makes some arrangements, gets her paid ahead of time to slip the dude a big balloon of dope. All he’s gotta do is gulp it, and when my buddy’s brother gets his body the next day, after he’s state-sautéed—voila!—he just plucks the stuff out of his diaper. Nature does all the work. Neat, huh? The dope comes out precooked. Ready to shoot.”

“Dead Man Packing,” said Tina, from her spot on the toilet seat, and Tony slapped his knee. Everybody juked, but Tony didn’t notice. He just hustled his balls and started chatting again.

“Funny lady,” he said. “I like that. I used to jerk off to Lucille Ball when I was a kid. Ever check out the
mouth
on her? Suck-a-licious! But wait!”

Zank took another lick off the gun barrel, the oil staining the blood on his lips a greasy purple.

“You’re probably thinking, ‘If he’s gonna fry anyway, what’s to keep some condemned motherfucker from pullin’ a rip job? The fuck’s he care?’ Well, this is the genius part. The guy knows, if my buddy’s bro don’t find that dope in his diaper, then his old lady, and his sister, and his mom, and his grandma, and all his fucking kids and babies are gonna get dicked and slit. Somebody’s gonna fuck ’em and cut their throats and they’re gonna do it
slow
. No motherfucker in the world wants to get strapped down with
that
on his mind.” Zank paused to pluck a pulpy scab off his forehead and grinned. “It’s what they call a win-win situation.”

Done with his happy saga, Zank dropped to his haunches, a posture he’d no doubt struck on the yard, and snapped his fingers over his head. Tina and Manny stole a glance at each other, and Manny tried to convey a message with his eyes.
It’s okay. . . . We’re not going to die.

“Mac-a-dino, pipe me,” Zank sang. “I need to beam up. Party-time.” Then he giggled. “Are you guys into the
Lifestyle?
Is that it? This some kinky-swappy thing?” He brushed a bead of sweat off Manny’s brow with that extra-wide barrel. “Tell me the truth.You got some hot blond tied to a washer-dryer in the basement? I read a thing on it in
Maxim
. Goddamn it, McCardle, gimme that glass dick!”

Mac slipped the pipe he’d plucked from the torture kit into Zank’s hand, and Manny again picked up the fear in the tiny man’s eyes. In private, if Carmella’s candids were any indication, McCardle got to be the top; Zank was the bitch. But the bitch got to play shot-caller in public. Which meant what?

Manny’s gut was that McCardle was not as submissive as he came off. That if it came down to it, Mac would put a slug in Zank’s back as soon as anybody else’s. Maybe sooner. The sodomy thing might just be a hobby.

After McCardle lit him up, Tony sucked in a lung-numbing hit— there was some gunky resin lodged in the bottom—and bashed himself against the bathroom wall. His eyes rolled north and he gave a diseased shiver. Waving the .357 wildly, he exhaled a cloud of chemical smoke and, grunting with effort, tugged down his zipper.

Nobody moved when Tony exposed himself. Compared to Manny, his member looked like a boiled shrimp. This, Manny knew from experience, was not good. In any kind of naked situation—it could be a sauna, a locker room, a sex club—packing what Manny packed was like being the biggest guy in a bar: a walking provocation to every non–big boy on the premises. They wanted to fuck you up, to make themselves
feel
bigger. Which might mean giving you shit. Or kicking your ass. Or—in Tony Zank-land—raping your girlfriend before blow ing your brains out.

Zank nudged Manny in the stomach with his gun. “Don’t be a hero, donkey-cock. This isn’t
my
fault. I don’t
want
to dry-fuck your bitch up the ass and make her call me Daddy. I’m actually gentle.
Peace Brother!
” He flashed a hippie
V
as he staggered to his feet. “But I’m

gonna have to get my freak on till she tells me where she put a certain very important something that she stole from my mother’s bed.
My mother’s bed!”
he repeated, in tones of self-righteous shock, as if no one knew he’d dropped the old woman out a window. “You got that? She ripped me off !”

Tony concluded his rant by placing his hand on Tina’s head. He stroked her hair with the Python’s barrel, then pulled her face close to his. Tina tried to avoid his breath, which stuck to her face like malathion. As a child, she’d been caught outside in an EPA pilot pro gram near Wheeling. There weren’t any medflies in West Virginia, but that didn’t stop army helicopters from buzzing overhead and unloading a ton of sticky insecticide on her third birthday party. They thought they’d spray hillbillies and see what happened before they tried it in

L.A. But Mommy didn’t want to waste the Kool-Aid, and dumped in more sugar to hide the taste. Only it didn’t work. That Kool-Aid stank just like Zank’s up-forever-on-crack-and-jerky breath.

“How you doin’, baby?” Tony asked her, and Tina managed a smile. The same one Manny’d seen her give Ranick in the 7-Eleven parking lot. Which reminded him. On the odd chance they lived, he’d have to ask what she whispered to the guy....

It was impossible to know what was going on in Tina’s head. From experience, she’d learned to let her mind off the leash in these situa tions. (
Honey, you just let Big Earl kiss your tummy. Mommy’ll be right here.
) Zoning out could get you through. Until you came back, and things were worse. That was the problem. Reality was like a teenage delinquent: It did what it wanted, but got pissed off if you ignored it for too long.

When Tina tuned back to Here-and-Nowsville, Tony Zank was planted in front of her, milking his rubbery organ. Fresh blood dappled his fingers, from shoving them in and out of his mouth. He craned his head back to Manny and chuckled. “I’m letting you watch, Hoss, but you gotta behave yourself. If you’re nice I’ll let my friend here grease your keister. Once you go black, you never go back.”

Tina fought off nausea as Tony shmushed his fish-white, sagging member against her lips. He began to play with her hair, grabbing her ponytail and twisting. But Tina didn’t unclamp her mouth. She

wouldn’t, even when he wrist-snapped the .357 and tapped it off her eyelids.

“Come on, doll-face, I’m no monster. I’m just trying to cut you a break here. Let you get my petey wet. Dry
hurts,
I know! Just gimme a dribble. C’mon, Precious, kiss Tony’s tubesteak so he don’t have to go in dry.”

Tina pressed her lips tighter, not breathing. Zank’s genitals had the consistency of bleu cheese.

Fuck it
.... Manny took a step forward. Tony caught the movement and swung the gun from Tina’s skull, level with his belly. “You want some, Foot-long, keep movin’. I don’t give a shit. I’m just tryin’ to show the bitch some respect here. Do her a solid. I got contacts, see? I get what I’m lookin’ for, I’ll know what to do with it. Tony boy knows how to bank the Franklins. She plays nice, maybe I’ll kick her down some.”

Manny stayed where he was. Tony shrugged and turned back to Tina. “Tell you what, Mary Poppins, I’ll give you a fighting chance.”

He waggled his eyebrows and, as all three gasped, plunged the bar rel of the .357 in his mouth. Then he bit down hard and let go. The gun dangled from his blood-caked face, locked in his choppers.

It was a freak show. Tony planted his hands on his hips and began to wiggle. He danced like a syphilitic hula boy, force-fed methedrine. Ropy veins the size of pencils ran down his forearms. He looked drug-skinny, made from the same beef jerky he consumed by the case.

Tony was still doing the hula, gun-biting, when Manny made his move. He feinted left, then lunged low the opposite direction. But Zank was faster. He opened his mouth, dropped the gun, caught it on the pivot, and jammed it in Manny’s chest.

“Check my moves, y’all!” Tony milked himself some more, keeping that four-inch barrel in Manny’s solar plexus, and again lifted his saggy manhood to Tina’s lips. “I used to practice in my cell, with a hair brush,” he bragged. “That’s the kind of shit you get good at. But hey, we’re all friends here. I don’t want a kill-party. That’s not
me!
I just want to find Mister Biobrain. If we have some yucks along the way, what the heck! Does that make me a bad person?”

Not being hard didn’t seem to bother Zank. He was beyond shame.

Tina cringed and Manny tried to breathe lightly. The thick barrel poked him harder on the inhale.

Grinning happily while McCardle fidgeted beside the door, Zank swung the gun back to Tina’s head and tried stuffing his putrid organ in her clamped-shut mouth. He used his finger,
pushing,
and Manny forced back emotions he couldn’t name.

“Come on,” he taunted Zank, figuring to piss him off, maybe make him get sloppy. “You can’t even get it up. Eat some fucking Viagra or put it away.”

Zank remained unfazed. “Listen, Jumbo, you think she wants you just ’cause you got that piano leg? I think she kind of digs
me
. Don’t you, beautiful? Sure you do. C’mon baby, say
Ahhh!
Your boyfriend’s gonna enjoy this. Hey, we should grab a photographer. One of those guys from
Swing World
.You ever read that?You can only buy it at truck stops. They got them crazy personals. Man, there’s a lot of lonely freakoritas out there. Mac, gimme another hit, I’m gettin’
drove!”

McCardle extended his stubby, ballooning arm. He seemed to have learned how to reach and flex at the same time. No doubt to impress the pretty things at the gym. He slid the pipe in Tony’s lips and fired it up. Tony sucked until his eyes bulged.

Manny breathed slowly, calculating the odds. Poke him in the throat when he’s holding his breath, he’s out for thirty seconds. Maybe fifty with coughing and gagging. Trip him and step on his windpipe, he’s yours. All possibilities. But he let the moment pass. He had to. Zank’s gun was pointed at Tina’s brain. Even knocked out cold, he could squeeze the trigger on the way to the floor.

Then Tina let out a cry, “Yeee-
ecccch!
” and shoved Tony away. Still soft, the bloodied killer had started to ejaculate, moaning
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
and pounding himself in the head. He squirted on his own thigh and groaned. “You fucking
cunt! That never happens!”