Alex Bledsoe - The Hum and the Shiver

Bronwyn looked up at him with hatred stronger than anything Pafford had ever encountered. She was breathing hard and quick through her teeth, and spittle collected at the corners of her mouth. “All right,” she whispered, and then more loudly said, “All right! I’ll suck you off, just don’t shoot him!”

Pafford blinked in confusion. Before he could reply, Bronwyn got to her knees and whipped off her T-shirt, exposing her breasts to both the night and the dashboard video camera. “Yes, sir, anything you say,” she cried. “You can come on my tits. Do you want my pants off, too?”

Pafford stared, speechless. Bronwyn Hyatt half-naked was a sight to make any man pause, and the utter incongruity of it froze him in place. It was only belatedly, after she’d said, “Yes, sir, I remember what you told me to do the last time, when I was sixteen,” that he understood what she was doing.

He got to his feet and backed away, the gun still pointed at them. “You goddamned whore, ” he huffed.

She stayed on her knees, chin high. “Yes, sir, I’m a whore, whatever you say. Do you want me to lick your balls again, too?”

He scuttled backward to the driver’s door of his car. “I’m letting you off with a warning!” he yelled, his voice higher than normal. He got behind the wheel and spun burning tires backward as he pulled onto the deserted road.

Bronwyn winced as the tiny rocks stung her bare skin. Then she laughed as Pafford awkwardly turned around, nearly going rear-bumper-first into the opposite ditch, and roared off into the night the way he’d come. In moments, the only sounds were the normal ones.

“Holy shit,” Terry-Joe gasped as he knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

Bronwyn pulled her T-shirt back on and got to her feet. She could barely contain her giggles. “I always heard a pair of tits could bring down any man,” she said. She saw his expression and had to laugh. “Terry-Joe, if you don’t close your mouth, the skeeters’ll lay their eggs in your spit.”

He shook his head. “I just… wow.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Take me to the hospital now, okay? We won’t have any more trouble tonight.”

Kell looked up from the gurney as Bronwyn pushed the plastic curtain aside. His black hair was tangled, and the fluorescent light gave his skin a deathly pallor. The sheet was pulled down to his waist, exposing a swath of bandages around his ribs. On one side, two tiny red spots soaked through the gauze. He sighed and closed his eyes guiltily. “Don’t say it,” he said.

“You moron, ” she wanted to yell. Her whisper was somehow worse.

“Good to see you, too, sis.”

She stepped into the enclosed area and yanked the curtain shut behind her. A woman with one of the other patients hummed “Amazing Grace,” and a child coughed laboriously. She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know where to even start on the list of things about this that piss me off.”

He pressed the button that raised the bed beneath his upper body. “You’ll pick one.”

“You picked a fight with Dwayne. Over me. Who are you and what did you do with my sensible, level-headed brother, the one who’s never been in a fight in his life?”

“That’s not true, I got in a fight with Hobart Tilling.”

“That was in grade school. ”

He sighed helplessly. “I can’t explain it, Bronwyn. He just made me mad.”

“Mom’s going to kill you,” Bronwyn said.

“I know. Is she with you?”

“No, they don’t know yet. Terry-Joe came and got me first, and you better be glad he did because it gives us both time to think up something to tell Mom and Dad.”

“Look, I didn’t go there looking for Dwayne. I was there first, even. Things just…”

“What did he say that was so bad? That you haven’t heard people say about me before?”

He looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She stepped closed and grabbed the hair on the back of his head. “Well, I do. What was it?”

He slapped her hand away. “Stop it. It was bad enough.”

“What?” she insisted.

“You really want to know? Okay. He said the only reason the Iraqis didn’t kill you was because you… gave them all great oral sex. I’m paraphrasing.”

Bronwyn was silent. The woman now sang “Shall We Gather at the River.” The child continued to cough. “Well,” Bronwyn said at last.

“There were a lot of people around who heard him say it,” Kell added. “A lot of Rockhouse’s people. They started laughing. I just couldn’t let it go.”

She looked down at her feet for a moment, waiting for the blush to fade. It was no secret among Cloud County’s males that the old Bronwyn Hyatt, the Bronwynator, enjoyed giving oral sex as much as they enjoyed getting it. The sense of power, of reducing these posturing overgrown child-men to moaning helplessness, was better than any drug she’d found. Most of the time the men were appropriately grateful, and both parties were satisfied and discreet about it afterwards.

But Dwayne had never been able to climax that way, and became resentful of the stories of Bronwyn’s skill. Of course he would say something like that to get a rise out of her brother. Still…

“It was the grin, really,” Kell continued. “I could’ve ignored him saying it and everyone laughing about it. But his goddamned, shit-eating, smug-ass grin —”

“Mr. Hyatt?” a firm new voice said. They turned to see a sheriff’s deputy standing at the foot of the bed. He was tall, lean, and had the steady gaze of a man with a clear moral compass, the opposite in every way of Bob Pafford. He held his hat and nodded to Bronwyn. “Excuse me, ma’am, I need to speak to the gentleman.”

“This is my sister,” Kell said. “You can talk in front of her.”

The deputy looked at her as if he knew her, but couldn’t quite place it. Then with mild astonishment he said, “Aren’t you Bronwyn Hyatt?”

She nodded, too tired to be sarcastic.

“It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am. We said a prayer for you at church every Sunday while you were in the hospital.”

Bronwyn managed a smile. “That’s nice. It must’ve worked. Thank everyone there for me.”

“I will do. And thank you for serving our country.”

He turned his attention back to Kell. “Now, about your little altercation. I talked to folks at the Pair-A-Dice and they all pretty much agree Mr. Gitterman started it. Add to that use of a deadly weapon by a fellow on parole, and he’s in some pretty deep shit, pardon my language, ma’am. Do you want to press charges?”

“Yes,” Bronwyn said before Kell could answer.

Kell glared at her. “I was going to say yes.”

“No, you were going to be all tough-guy and noble and say, ‘It was all a misunderstanding.’” She deepened her voice in mocking imitation of his. To the deputy she said, “But he will press charges.”

“Yes,” Kell agreed, still scowling.

“All right, I reckon that’s all I need right now. We will need a statement from you as soon as you’re up and about. In the meantime, you don’t worry. We’ll find him. Fellows like that, they always mess up. Especially when they’re scared.” He nodded to Bronwyn again. “Ma’am.”

When he was gone, Kell mimicked, “Ma’am.”

“Shut up, rest, and let the police do their job,” Bronwyn said. “I’m going to go break the news to Mom and Dad.” She kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, you know. Jackass.”

“Bitch,” he replied with a smile.

In the waiting room, Terry-Joe sat wriggling uncomfortably in one of the ancient vinyl chairs. He stood as Bronwyn strode over and said, “You know where Dwayne is, don’t you?”