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They pulled the head out, then pushed it in, pulled it out, pushed it in…several times in a row.

“Longer this time,” and— schhhhhluck! —the head was re-admitted as the most horrendous odors were pumped from the vagina.

“Don’t know what she smells worse than, Paw,” Dumar laughed. “The gut-can at Hack Doobler’s butcher shop or the pit Charlie Fuchson’s uses to git rid’a his cows that die.”

“This gal’s pussy, son, I’d say smells worse that both them things.”

More muffled screams could be heard from the corpulent mass. Menduez began to enter death-throes.

“Look’s like he’s kickin’, boss.”

“Yeah, and I hope all them puppies he killed are waitin’ for him in hell.”

But, again, Helton whispered something in Paulie’s ear.

“Shit! Yeah!” the don exclaimed. “Argi, pull him out!”

“Pull him out, boss?”

“Pull him out! I want him alive!”

schhhhhhhhhhhhluck-THUMP…

Menduez’s head was extracted. The young man lay motionless now, eyes seared open by unmitigated, unutterable, and indefatigable organic horror.

“Aw, shit, he ain’t dead, is he?” Paulie complained.

Dr. Prouty’s finger touched the man’s jugular. “I’m afraid he’s no longer among the living, sir.”

“Well, fuck that, Doc! Get down there and do that doctor shit you do!”

Dr. Prouty made an aghast face. “Umm, pardon me, sir?”

“Come on! That CRP shit or whatever, like they’d do on that old show with the bimbos in the red swimsuits? Shit, those girls were packing some camletoe— Baywatch, that’s it . ” He snapped his fingers. “What’s the word I’m lookin’ for, Doc?”

Prouty’s lower lip trembled. “You want me to… resuscitate him, sir?”

Paulie beamed. “Yeah, yeah! That’s it!”

The doctor paled, already wobbling at the spirit-upheaving odor and the mere sight of the Hispanic’s rotten-margarine-and-dead-vaginal-slime slathered head. “Really, sir, that would be a very trepidacious undertaking…”

Paulie stared. “Doc. If you don’t bring that puppy-killin’ scumbag back to life, you know whose head’s goin’ in Melda’s pussy next.”

Prouty was on his knees in half a second, first opening Menduez’s airway, aspirating air into the lungs, then administering expert cardiac compressions.

Helton, Dumar, Paulie, and Argi all watched quite raptly.

Thirty seconds. Forty. Fifty.

A minute.

“Oh, dear!” the doctor wailed. “It appears that—”

—but at a minute ten seconds, Menduez lurched, hacked, threw up in a volcano-like plume, and screamed.

“The Doc did it!” Paulie yelled.

“Well ain’t that sumpthin’!” Dumar declared.

“The doctor done reached down inta the valley’a death itself and pulled this evil fella right out!” Helton celebrated.

“Good job, Doc,” Argi commended, but then winced when he gingerly touched his swollen testicle.

Dr. Prouty—vomit-bespattered now—sighed, walked over to the portable bar, and poured himself a drink. Without thinking, he rubbed his crotch.

Paulie gaped. “Doc!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you just rub your crotch?”

Confusion bloomed on Prouty’s face. “Why…I believe I did, Mr. Vinchetti”—suddenly he looked lost—“and…for no apparent reason…”

“You’re finally gettin’ it, Doc!” and then Paulie and Argi laughed aloud.

“The Doc saved your life, kid,” Paulie returned his attention to the captive. “Ain’t ya even gonna say thank you?”

“Chit, mang!”Menduez wailed. “I’m beggin’ chew! Don’t put my head back in dare! Choot me instead! Knife me! Anyting! But not dat! ”

“No, no, kid, you really gotta leave this to us…”

“So what now, boss?” Argi asked.

“Helton got a terrific idea!” Paulie alighted. “Come on, guys!” and then the men piled out—save for Dr. Prouty—and with them they dragged the convulsant form of Menduez.

They dragged him from the Winnebago, across the pavement, and into the back of Helton’s truck.

When the door closed behind them, Helton’s enthused voice could be heard, “What we’se gonna do with this here puppy-killer is something’ that ain’t never been done is all’a history! We’se gonna have ourselfs…a quadruple-header! ” and from within, it became difficult to discern as to what screamed louder, Menduez or the hole-saw…

— | — | —

Chapter 17

(I)

An hour later, the deed was done, and the four men stood outside the truck to catch their breath in the crisp December night. Their penises had been duly slaked via the head of Menduez, into whose skull had been cut not one, not two, not three, but…

Four holes.

Paulie shook his head in bewildered awe. “Damn. There’s somethin’ about fuckin’ heads that’s-that’s…shit, I don’t know.”

Argi lit a cigarette, shaking his head too. “Boss, that was hands down the best nut of my life.”

Paulie nodded and rubbed his crotch.

“Yessir,” Helton appended—and he rubbed his crotch too, “No matter how tight the pussy or how fine the blowjob or cornhole, a head is always better ta fuck. Don’t know why, just ‘tis. Maybe there’s some special juices in the brain that yer dick soak up ta give ya such a humdinger of a nut…”

Dumar rubbed his crotch. “And it were even dandier on account it were a puppy-killer we done it to.”

Helton nodded with authority.

All four men exchanged grievous glances in the warehouse parking lot, all shuffling their feet.

“Shit,” Paulie said.

“Shit is right,” Helton remarked. “We all just had ourselfs a great cum but now?”

Dumar stepped right up next to his father. “The fun’n games are over, and the feud’s back on.”

More silence, more glances.

“It’s fucked up,” Argi said, preposterously large testicle throbbing.

“Yeah, I could be spendin’ Christmas with my wife in Vegas,” Paulie griped, “but, no, you guys had to fuck it all up.”

The outrage of the statement seemed to cause Helton’s neck to cock his head forward. “Oh, we fucked it all up, huh? Well just you tell me, Paulie, how ya arrive at that! ”

Paulie pointed and blared, “Your family started all this shit way back when! All I was doin’ was pulling some legitimate vendetta for my wife! Only reason any of this is happening is because your nephew, Travis Tuckton, fucked my wife’s father in the head!”

Dumar howled while Helton’s face reddened, and then the elder blared back, “Well, I hate ta tell ya this, Paulie, but the only reason my nephew, Travis Tuckton, fucked your wife’s father in the head is ’cos your wife’s father, Thibald Caudill, fucked Travis’ mother in the head!”

The heaviest silence of all dropped over the scene.

Paulie’s mouth fell open. He looked to Argi, then he looked back at Helton. “ What? ”

“You heard me!” Helton thundered. “Thibald Caudill, your wife’s fuckin’ father, was a cad, a creeker, and a thief, and he stolt valuable land from my brother Tuff, he did! So when he hears that Tuff’s fixin’ ta sue, Caudill killed Tuff and then ta add insult ta injury, he fucked Tuff’s wife, Joycie Tuckton, in the head! Joycie Tuckton was Travis’s maw! ”

Paulie and Argie stared, slack-jawed.

Helton continued to roar, “So it was your side that started this feud, not mine!”

More seconds of silence ticked by.