Edward Lee - Header 2

SHHHHHHHHLUCK!

—sunk her head back into Melda’s vaginal barrel.

“Paulie! Come on, man! You’ll kill her! What happened?”

“What happened?” he growled. “Oh, I’ll show ya what happened!” and suddenly he strode back to the forward room, abandoning Highball. When Melda saw that her boss had left, she relaxed her vaginal muscles and expelled Highball’s head like someone disgorging, say, a meatball from their mouth. The prostitute thunked to the floor only moments before she’d have suffocated.

Case Piece ran to the living area where Paulie manically fiddled with a laptop computer. “Those redneck mother fuckers emailed this to us!” the don exploded. “Watch!”

Case Piece stared at the bright laptop screen, and a crude, glaring image stared back: the rear compartment of, apparently, a large step van, and a metal table. A thin man in a tacky jacket, whose head remained out of frame, was now tearing the nightshirt off of a pudgy teenaged girl with frightfully pink hair. The girl shuddered where she lay, her baby fat jiggling, screeching ineffectually through a gag her mouth. The man tied her to the table.

“Paulie?” Case Piece droned. “What the…what the hell…is this? ”

Paulie’s rage turned his face nearly as pink as the girl’s hair. “Just watch!”

Case Piece watched.

On the screen, a gruff redneck voice said, “Here, son. Hold the camera while I’se show ya how ta cut the hole,” and then the image jig-jagged and suddenly a larger man in a tacky jacket stepped into the frame.

He held a power drill, and locked into the drill’s chuck was a 3-inch hole-saw blade.

“Watch careful now, boys…so’s ya know how ta do it.”

The screech of the drill was bad enough but worse— far worse—was the sound of the next process, when the large man pressed down on the girl’s face with his hand and applied the high-rpm hole-saw to the center of the top of her skull. Eventually, the circle of bone and scalp was removed, revealing a clean-cut hole, and the hole itself now revealed a circle of raw, whitish-pink brain.

“Now,” the faceless big man said, “we gots ta cut a slit fer our dicks, ” and then he produced a formidable knife and inserted it into the aforementioned hole. This event caused the gagged girl to reflexively twitch.

“Yessir! See, when ya do it right—like I just done—she don’t die right off. It’s always best they still be alive when ya first put’cher bone in.”

“Hot dog, Unc!” celebrated another off-screen voice. “She is! She is still alive!”

I’ll’se go first’n show you boys how it’s done,” the voice said next. “Son? Here. Point the camera down…”

The camera-angle deflected to the man’s crotch, where he’d already extracted his quite uncircumcised penis. He masturbated dexterously until an erection was achieved, and it was then that he…

Well, the dutiful reader can guess.

What Case Piece watched on that screen for the next series of minutes was something he could never have fathomed in a million years. Amid this redneck perverto circus came caterwauls of the most robust sort, a dialect-riot of hoots, Rebel yells, and exclamations such as, “Now hump that head, boy! I say hump it!” and “”Yeah! Yeaaaaaaah! Ain’t no better feelin’ than that’a yer dick stuck all the way inta a gal’s brain,” and “There it is, there it is! How’s that feel, baby? You like all’a my nut squirtin’ in yer white-trash head?” and “Holy shit, Paw! That there might be the best nut’a my life!” etc, etc.

When the film ended, Case Piece simply stared.

“See!” Paulie yelled. “See what those rednecks did!” He banged his fist so hard on the utility desk, the laptop jumped. “That fat kid was my step-daughter! ”

“Your-your…”

“Yeah! They cut a hole in a 16-year-old’s skull and fucked her brain! ”

Case Piece’s jaw vibrated. “That-that some hardcore jack-down, Paulie, some super-groaty gross-out shit, man…”

“You’re tellin’ me!”

Case Piece stood slightly dizzied from what he’d just seen. “That shit they do? That’s even grosser than you guys stickin’ people’s heads in that fat woman’s giant cunt. Them dudes? They is tough. ”

“And— fuck! —the worst part is, we’re the kings of hardcore snuff! Me and my guys! And these hillbillies just beat us at our own game!” Paulie kicked the wall and bellowed. “And did you see that resolution? God damn! Even their fuckin’ camera is better than ours!” and at the peak of this next tirade, Paulie lurched back into Melda’s room, enfrenzied. He picked Highball up again and sunk her head back into Melda’s agape vagina.

“Paulie! Man! ” Case Piece exclaimed. “Why you goin’ ape-shit on Highball? She didn’t do nothin’!”

“I know,” the don cracked. He cupped his hands under the prostitute’s armpits and pushed hard. Highball twitched as if being electrocuted. “I’m mad! When I get mad, I gotta-I gotta vent my frustrations!”

“Come on, Paulie. That ain’t right. She our ‘ho. She got the toppest trick-time bod on the street. Can’t kill her just ’cos you’re mad.” Case Piece dared put his hand on Paulie’s shoulder. “Listen, bro. Fuck this. Let’s go inside so’s you can cool off. Then we’ll think of a way fer you ta get back at these dudes…”

Paulie let the consideration sink in, and, just as Highball was re-entering death throes, he let her head fall out. “Yeah, yeah. I…guess you’re right.”

Highball shuddered on the floor, eyes fit to pop out. When Case Piece pulled the duct tape off her mouth, she lurched, arched her back, screamed, then passed out.

“Come on, Paulie. Let’s get in the crib,” the black man urged. “Get you chilled.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paulie said desperately, running his fingers back through his hair.

“‘Bye, Case Piece!” Melda said.

Case Piece took one aghast glance at the morbid woman—whose fat-bulged face grinned ludicrously. Drooling, she flapped a fat, dirty hand.

“Uh…yeah,” Case Piece said and ushered Paulie out.

In the warehouse “day room,” Paulie sat on the bedraggled couch, wringing his hands. Argi, Cristo, and Dr. Prouty stood in nervous silence. Case Piece grabbed a soda from the battered fridge and gave it to Paulie. “Here, blood. Have a grape drink. It’ll make ya feel top.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the don replied.

“Sung,” Case Piece directed next. “Turn on some tunes. Let’s jam awhile.”

“Oh, shewer, Clase Preece!” and then the Asian turned on the boom box, which immediately blared, “It’s duh ‘hos and duh bitches, my dick-bag itches, here come Dr. Dre, with the Tangeray and duh motherfuck, duh motherfuck, duh motherfuckin’ AK!”

“Turn that shit off!” Paulie, Argi, and Cristo all yelled at the same time.

Sung turned it off.

“Shit, Paulie,” Case Piece said. “Just trine ta get you mellow. But them redneck dudes? We gotta think of a way for you ta break some bad on ’em.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Paulie sputtered.

“We ain’t been hit that hard in..in, well, ever, ” Argi observed.

“Burns me up,” Paulie blistered. “We gotta do somethin’ back to them that makes what they did to ‘Becca look like babies blowing spit-bubbles.”

“Dudes lay disrespezzy on you like that? Just you say the word,” Case Piece offered, “and me’n my dawgs? We help you pop hard trunk on the motherfuckers.”