Edward Lee - Header 2

“Man,” Archie said and winced. “You really are a prick.”

“So?”

“Aren’t you even going to call her, see if she’s all right?”

Mike took out his cellphone, looked at it, then put it back in his pocket. “No. If I’m lucky, she got wise to me and the Greeter, so she quit. Then she’ll be out of my hair forever.”

“Time Magazine Man Of The Year.”

“Um-hmm.”

Archie took a look at the Greeter’s trim waist and commendable buttocks. “Shit, I forgot, but…what’s the Greeter’s name?”

Mike frowned. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

(II)

What on EARTH? Veronica thought when it became apparent that the digital video file Paulie had sent was over. She’d watched the three men as they watched the video—she’d watched their faces go from troubled, to aghast, to appalled. She’d watched big rugged grown men cry. What is it? What is ON that video? All any of them had said during the viewing was this:

Micky-Mack: “Holy fuck, Unc! Is that… Is that…”

Helton: “Yeah, boy. That’s our  house a’burnin’…”

Then, moments later:

Helton: “Awwwww, Lord. Awwwww, no…”

Veronica thought she heard some unintelligible squawking from the voice track. Did someone with a Jersey accent say “There’s our bitch. Good job, guys”?

Now all three men stared at the laptop screen as if staring at a hundred-foot tidal wave.

“They’re diggin’ her up!” Dumar wailed. “Oh, my God! They’re diggin’ her up!”

Veronica tried to tune out the rest, grateful at least that these madmen hadn’t forced her to watch as well. Whatever had transpired on that screen…Veronica didn’t want to know.

At the clip’s evident conclusion, Dumar howled like a sick dog and passed out. Micky-Mack stood shuddering and blubbering, “You see that, Unc? You see what them evil fellas did ta my Aunt Mary Beth?” and then he fled the truck. Helton merely sat in the fold-down chair. He had tears in his eyes.

Many solemn minutes passed before Micky-Mack returned.

“What we gonna do , Unc Helton? We ain’t throwin’ in the towel, is we?”

“Hail no, boy. We gotta think. We gotta think ’a how’s we can pay ’em back.”

“More’a Paulie’s kin. It’s the only way.”

Helton nodded.

“But that black fella said Paulie’s wife was out’a town.”

“Then we gots ta think’a someone else.” Helton now looked like a backwoods version of The Thinker at Columbia University. Then, very slowly, his cruxed gaze turned to Veronica.

“Hon. It saddens me ta tell ya that this feud we got goin’ probably ain’t gonna be over any time soon—”

Veronica wilted.

“—which means we’se gonna need ya fer a spell more.”

Immediately, she began to crack sobs. “You’re never going to let me go, never…”

“Now, no cryin’, hon. See, we need more’a yer help, and the more ya can give us, the sooner it’ll be that ya can leave.”

“What!” she blared. “What do you want now? More oral sex?”

Helton’s bushy brows fluttered. “Some more tweakin’, why shore—thanks fer offerin’.”

Veronica’s face collapsed into her hands.

“But a’fore that, we need ya to help us find some’a Paulie’s kin. See, we’se hillfolk, hon—the kind’a smarts we got’s backwood smarts. But you got smarts for the outside world.”

Veronica’s mind just kept spinning. “So, what? You want to know where Paulie’s relatives live?”

“Why, yeah!” Helton beamed. “I mean, all I heard is he got hisself a house in some place called New Jersey, and also in that country way far away by the name’a California.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, and he also got a place in New York City. But—shee-it. We don’t know no addresses or nothin’. You reckon you can think of a way?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. For the love of— “Hand me my laptop and I’ll google his name.”

Helton shuddered, while Micky-Mack turned with a start. “ Google! ” the younger man said, “What’s that? Some disease?”

“Sounds like a hex, boy.” Helton looked excited. “You fixin’ ta hex Paulie?”

Veronica ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ll look his name up on the internet! Jeez! Don’t you people know anything?”

“The…internet? Oh, yeah, that magic stuff that’s connected ta yer fancy ‘puter.” Helton passed the laptop down to her. “Please, hon. Ya gots ta help us.”

Veronica frowned and went to Google. “What’s Paulie’s last name?”

(III)

“ Vinchetti, ” Helton told her. “Paulie Vinchetti. It Eye-tallion I’se think,” and then the big man sat in the fold-down chair as pleas and prayers spun round his head. Please, God. Let it be so that Veronnerka can help us git a line on this devil-lovin’ Paulie…

He jolted when the cellphone rang.

Veronica looked up from her keyboard. “Who on earth could that be?” she said with more sarcasm.

Helton opened the tiny phone. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Helton, ya big redneck pile’a shit, ” Paulie’s voice cracked. “I’m just calling to see how you liked our little movie,” and then laughter spilled from the tiny phone.

Helton’s soul began to boil. “Hear me, ya evil prick, and hear me good. We’se gonna git you back like you never could ‘magine!”

“Sure, Gomer, sure—”

“And stop callin’ me that! I don’t know no Gomer!”

The tinny laughter crackled. “Grow a brain, buddy. Go home…” then the laughter exploded. “But, aw, gee, now that I think of it, you can’t go home, can you? ’cos we burned that fuckin’ shit-hole you live in down! ”

“Ain’t no big deal, Paulie,” Helton recovered. “I’ll just build me a new house…once I pawn all them diamonds’n gold chains’n such that I stolt out your whore wife’s jewelry boxes.”

Paulie’s laughter faded. “Lemme tell ya somethin’, Helton. Nobody fucks with Paul Vinchetti. Nobody. I never had so much fun in my life as when I was takin’ a shit in that cracker tramp’s dead mouth, but you can count on something else, too. One day, real soon, I’ll be takin’ a shit in yours. ”

The line went dead.

Helton re-sat himself with a sigh. He closed the annoying phone.

“Fuck, Unc,” Micky-Mack said. “Was that him?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“What the evil bastard say?”

“Just trash talk, boy. Burns me up, though. Patience is a virtue—says so in the Good Book. Reckon I just gotta work a tad harder on that myself.”

“We’ll git him, Unc. We’ll git him.”

Helton watched Veronica fiddle with the little keys. “Havin’ any luck?”

“I think so,” she answered. “Paul Vinchetti is all over the internet. Mostly court dockets, pre-trial announcements, things like that. Shouldn’t take me long…”

“Hot damn! ” Micky-Mack celebrated.

Helton clasped his hands together. Please, God. Please…

Moaning resounded from an opposite corner. It was Dumar, rousing. The stringy-haired man sat to stare, blinked, then brought his hand to his belly as if sick. “Aw, my Gawd, Paw. It weren’t a nightmare. It were real. ”

“Just git’cher mind off it, son.”

“How could they do that ta my lovin’ wife? Shorely only the most devilish’a men could do what they done…”

“The more ya think about it, the worst you’ll feel. Best ta think ’bout what we’ll do ta git ’em back.”