Jeff Jacobson - Wormfood

Pearl thrust her knifelike chin at Ray’s body. “Drag him outside. But don’t push him all the ways in the water. Not yet, anyway. Dangle his head out there for a while. Use him for bait. See if we can’t catch anything. Only damn thing he’s good for.” She looked for me and I realized that she knew about the worms too, as if she were reading my mind again. “Case somebody don’t feel like cooperating.”

She glared down at Fat Ernst. He wasn’t moving or saying anything, just staring at the floor through half-open eyes. Bert bent over Ray, grabbed the deputy’s leg with his left hand, and dragged him over to the front door. Bert’s broken right arm dangled from his shoulder as if it wereattached with just a piece of rope. It swayed back and forth, bouncing off his hip once in a while. He let Ray’s leg drop back to the floor and Ray whimpered once. He wasn’t dead yet, but I figured it wouldn’t be long. Bert opened the front door and pulled Ray out to the steps.

Junior had dropped into the seat opposite Misty and was taking a long swallow of tequila. He jerked the bottle away from his lips and held it out to Misty. She grabbed hold of it with her bound hands, tilted the bottle back. A sudden flash of hot jealousy washed over me and I almost said something, but I didn’t want to piss off Pearl again. Misty had been drinking tequila with me just a half hour ago, dammit. Junior whispered something at her and then Misty had to go and wink at him, taking another swallow of tequila.

That bitch! I thought.

Slow down, slow down . I realized that she was just playing Junior, trying to fake him out. Buying us some time. At least that’s what I hoped, that’s what I assured myself, but as hard as I tried to believe that, a small sliver of doubt got stuck between the prayers.

Pearl let her cane fall sideways across her body, where she caught it deftly in the crook of her ravaged left arm. Her right hand trailed up Fat Ernst’s body, blackened fingernails sliding up his rayon shirt in a flurry of ragged whispers. She extended her index finger, knuckles standing out like knots in a twig, and caressed Fat Ernst’s bulging chins. Her fingernail scraped against Fat Ernst’s thick gray stubble and it sounded like the tip of a knife being drawn through sandpaper. She slid her finger up his cheek, through the nest of blackheads along the side of his wide nose, pausing at the corner of his right eye. He shut both eyes, squeezing them tight.

“You know,” Pearl said, “it don’t have to be this way. It ain’t nothing to make you wish you was dead.” Slowly, damn near gently, she increased the pressure of her index finger, forcing it slowly into the tender gap between Fat Ernst’s eye and the bridge of his nose. It made me squirm just to watch, but I couldn’t look away. He tried to pull his headback, but there was nowhere to go. Pearl just kept pushing, pushing. Fat Ernst’s boot heels lifted off the floor, driving the pointed toes into the wood. But he never made a sound.

Pearl sighed. “You’re one tough nut to crack, I’ll give you that.” She withdrew her finger and I could clearly see the moisture clinging to the fingernail. One single gossamer strand stretched from the tip of the blackened nail to the corner of Fat Ernst’s eye, snapping as the finger drifted down his face, stopping long enough to massage his thick bottom lip. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”

I glanced over at Junior and Misty. They were staring at each other, giggling and whispering. Junior had his right hand under the table, on Misty’s knee. The bottle was almost empty.

Pearl started swaying her hips, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, index finger still lingering on Fat Ernst’s lip. Then her shoulders got into the act, dipping and rising and rolling with the rhythm of her hips, knees rocking back and forth. It took me a second, but I finally realized that Pearl was dancing. Not just dancing, but lap dancing, like some long dead, rotting stripper that couldn’t give up the job.

I almost wished she’d stop and shove her finger back in Fat Ernst’s eye.

Fat Ernst didn’t seem to like it much either. His boot heels had settled back on the floor, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the twitching scarecrow between his knees. His right eye had gotten all puffy and red, and a glistening track of tears rolled down his cheek, collecting at the base of his nose. I think he was testing the strength of the barbed wire around his wrists, because I could see welts of blood gathering under the thin metal cords.

Pearl kept dancing. I could hear her humming something softly under her breath but couldn’t place the song. Her knees kept getting farther and farther apart, until the outsides of her sticklike legs were pressed firmly against the insides of Fat Ernst’s knees. Then she started thrusting her pelvis around at odd angles like she was trying to imitate some moves she had seen long ago, but her hips just weren’t letting therest of her body perform properly, so it kind of looked like she was having an attack or something.

Between the humming, she started whispering to Fat Ernst. “See?” More humming. “It doesn’t have to be bad. I don’t want to hurt you.” She spread her legs and her pelvis swayed and dropped, like she was doing the limbo. “You’ve been good to the boys, treated ’em fair. So I don’t want this little”—she made some sort of big band, trumpet, wah-wah sounds softly with her mouth—“misunderstanding to end our relationship.” Her knees hit the floor and her right hand clutched at Fat Ernst’s chest, squeezing his nipple.

Bert stuck his head in the front door. He looked even worse, worried too, like he might throw up at any minute. “Hey, Ma? There’s these things, these … worms, they been eating at Ray’s head.”

Pearl snapped her head over Fat Ernst’s thigh. “I’m busy here, boy. You go on back out there, keep an eye on things. I’ll let you know when you need to come back in.”

Bert nodded, scratching at his cast, then stepped back outside.

Over at the booth, Junior threw his head back, tilting the bottom of the bottle toward the ceiling. When he dropped his head down, a puckered little tequila worm was caught between his teeth. He grinned proudly at Misty, then leaned across the table, shoving his face at her. I got a quick glimpse of Junior biting the worm in half as his mouth closed over Misty’s lips. Her body shuddered slightly, but she didn’t pull away. As he dropped back in his seat, Misty chewed once, twice, then swallowed. The worm was gone.

CHAPTER 29

Fat Ernst still wasn’t saying anything. Pearl kept swaying her hips around, still on her knees between his legs, face right in his crotch. Her right hand crawled over and squeezed his other nipple, then slid back down the rayon shirt in another round of ragged whispering until it finally stopped at the huge belt buckle. I wondered for a second if he’d been crazy enough to simply hide Slim’s gold and diamond buckle in plain sight as it were, just wearing it himself, but when Pearl carefully unbuckled his belt, I could see that it was just his usual buckle.

Then she unzipped his jeans, and in the silent restaurant, the zipper sounded like Junior starting his chainsaw.

Fat Ernst started breathing hard.

Pearl licked her uneven lips with a very long, very pink tongue.

I wanted to look away; I really did. I wanted to look at the floor, the ceiling, the rain outside the shattered windows—anything, anything at all—but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of Pearl kneeling before Fat Ernst, face right in his crotch. It was like watching two trains smash into each other; you couldn’t look away.

Pearl peeled the top of Fat Ernst’s jeans away from the zipper likeshe was opening a well-read book. Fat Ernst’s eyes were still shut tight; I don’t think he wanted to see Pearl’s ruined face so close to his dick.