Edward Lee - Header 2

“Good. Git the bitch up…”

“Glad she ain’t passed out…”

“Yeah. Best she be awake’n seein… ”

A clunk.

“Trash-mouth little snotty bitch like this deserve what she gits…”

They’ve got a woman back there, Veronica realized, and even though she couldn’t see what they were doing, she easily deduced after the clunk:

They’re putting her on the metal table…

“Tie the fat bitch down now, Micky-Mack…”

Something—an impulse, perhaps—distracted her. She looked down against the bottom of the shower curtain and saw…

My knapsack!

Yes, there is was, and she knew that her cellphone was right on top.

Careful now… She gathered all her courage, reached down and unzipped the top flap, and—

Got it!

—but just as she would take the cellphone up and call for help, Helton’s big hand took the phone from hers, and he pushed back through the curtain and sat in the driver’s seat. His other hand gripped the carry-handle of the Sony.

“Dang! I see you got yerself one’a these fancy phones too,” he seemed to marvel. “A cellphone’s what they call it, huh?”

Veronica slumped. “Yes, Helton. It’s a cellphone.”

“We gots one too, believe it or not. Fella named Paulie sent us one.” He tilted his head in resignation and put the phone in his pocket. “Well, see, Veronnerka, way things is…we cain’t have ya callin’ no one just yet. I’m shore ya understand.”

Veronica wanted to cry.

Some minor clatter, now, came from the back, and then?

Oh, no…

Then she thought she could hear the faintest stifled moan…

Like someone moaning through a gag?

Then a tearing sound, the tearing of fabric.

“Tolt ya she don’t have much fer tits.”

“And lookit all them dick-stupid tattoos. ”

Veronica’s eyes turned to Helton.

“Hon, take some advise. It’s best ya don’t even wonder ’bout what’s goin’ on in back,” the large man said her in a subdued voice. “Buts I do need ta ‘splain a tad more to ya. See, there’s this man named Paulie… ”

“Paulie,” she repeated. “The man who gave you a cellphone.”

“Right. And he’s in what’cha call the MAFF-ee-uh—”

Veronica frowned in the tinseled darkness.

“—he’s like a big crime boss and, well, what he did is he murdered my grandboy Crory in a way too awful to describe’n after that? He made a movin’ picture of the murder and he send it to us…”

Snuff film, she deduced.

“So’s now? Now we’se gettin’ proper revenge by doin’ somethin’ just as awful to one’a his kin.”

Veronica voiced her next deduction. “And you’re going to film that , and send the video clip to him. That’s why you bought the Sony.”

Helton nodded, hefting up the big camera. “Only way li’l Crory can rest in peace is if’n we’se revenge his evil murder. We ain’t city folk like you, we’re hill folk. It’s just the way things’re done out here.” He turned the dim dome light on up front, then leaned over with the camera. “I knows ya showed me before, but I need ya ta show me again. How’s this thing work?”

Veronica exhaled more exasperation, then took the camera, flicked some switches, then passed it back to him. “There. It’s all set to record. When you’re ready, just push the button on the grip, the light comes on, and you’re rolling.”

Helton took it back, impressed. “And then it all gets put on—”

She pointed to the slot. “On the doohicky. The entire video clip you record—the moving picture— gets saved to the doohicky.”

“Dandy! Thanks!” but then he paused as if in speculation. “Just lemme ask you somethin’ now. When you was little, did yer Maw or Paw ever tell you the old Bible story ’bout a fella in olden times named Lot and his wife Edith? ”

In the continuous whirlpool of turmoil, Veronica could scarcely collate the question. “Uh, I don’t know. Something about Sodom and Gomorrah?”

“Right!” Helton enlivened. “Them was the two cities that invented butt-fuckin’ , see, and God, he got all shore-fire pissed ’cos all the folks in these cities, all they did was butt-fuck, and that offended God, so God, He decided ta open a giant can’a whup-ass on them cities and just up’n destroy ’em with fire’n brimstone. But, see, there was two folks there who didn’t do no butt-fuckin—Lot and his wife Edith. They believed in God and they didn’t never offend Him, so God sent a angel to tell Lot’n Edith ta git out’a town so’s they wouldn’t git kilt along with all them sinners—Soddermites, I’se think they was called—so, shit, Lot and Edith packed up and split ’cos there weren’t no way they was gonna disobey a messenger’a God, but ‘fore they left, the angel tolt ’em that no matter what they do while they’re leavin’, they shore as shit better not look back, no matter what kind’a hell-raisin’ they might hear comin’ from them two cities. Shore enough, they’se walkin’ away and alls a sudden they hear a commotion like they never heard’n screamin’n burnin’ and temples collapsin’n what not, and Lot, he wants to look back but he didn’t ’cos he remember what the angel said, but Edith…” Helton shrugged. “Shee-it, Edith—just like a woman—she figger there cain’t be no harm in lookin’ back’n seein’ what’s goin’ and on, so she did, and”—Helton cracked! his hands together—“and right then’n there she turnt into a pillar’a salt! ”

Veronica felt flabbergasted. “Helton, why are you telling me old Bible stories?”

Helton seemed suddenly disquieted. “Well, now, see, you’re no doubt gonna hear some mighty peculiar noises’n carryin’ on comin’ from the back, and what I wanna impress upon ya is that under no circumstances should you take a peek past this shower curtain, no matter how bad ya wanna look.” Helton gulped. “‘Cos if’n ya do—”

“I’m going to turn into a pillar of salt? ”

Helton stared at her. “Ya just might, hon. Ya dag-straight just might,” then he stuck two balled up bits of cotton in her ears, pointed her face forward, hoisted the Sony, and disappeared behind the curtain.

««—»»

A semi-mute, inscrutable nightmare ensued. Veronica kept her eyes wide on the nighted woods beyond the windshield, and in spite of the make-shift earplugs, sounds galore, however muffled, could be detected, the most salient of which was the loud whine of a power tool. This abated rather quickly, followed by silence.

They’ve killed her, she knew, her stomach shriveling. With the power drill… Could she hear words through the cotton? She removed one plug…

“—fer our peckers,” Helton said.

One of the others said, “Dang!”

“Ain’t as much blood as you’d think…”

Veronica stuck the plug back in. My God my God my God! More muffled noises followed, some hoots and hollers, then thunking. Then she heard, at a higher pitch, “Yeah! Eeeeeee-YEAH! Git it, Dumar!

For a moment, Veronica thought of Lot’s wife, Edith, for part of her volition did indeed urge her to steal a peek behind those curtains…

But she didn’t.

In another minute, however, she removed the earplug again—

“Hump it! I say hump it!” Helton raged amid a rapid thunking.

Veronica put back the plug.