Mother Puncher (8 page)

21

    
Tea laughed loudly, slamming her hand against the steer wheel. “Oh my fucking God!” she squealed with delight. “Can you believe we just did that? They bought it! Are we good or what? Oh my God, what idiots!”
    She continued on that way for the entire ride, with Ed occasionally interrupting to give her directions.
    When they neared the turnoff, Ed said, “Drive right up to the gate.”
    Tea looked in amazement at the long brick wall with gold lettering that surrounded most of the community. “You live at Envision?”
    “It’s a lifestyle,” he said.
    “It sure is, but not the one I imagined from the ads.”
    They pulled up to find one side of the huge cast-iron gate hanging crookedly from its post. It looked as if someone had rammed through it with a tank.
    Ed felt sick to his stomach again.
    The guard shack was empty as they drove by, thumping over a plastic garbage can that had been thrown into the driveway, the garbage strewn everywhere over the manicured lawns.
    “What happened here?” Tea asked softly.
    He didn’t respond, but the deeper they drove into the community, the more obvious the answer became.
    Residents, some of whom Ed recognized, wandered around in a daze, looking at their previously beautiful half-million dollar homes, vandalized. There were smashed windows, doors kicked in, profanities spray painted across cars, mailboxes kicked over. Gardens had been ripped up, flowers and shrubs tossed every which way. They passed a large burning oak, the fire just beginning to die down.
    “Whatever it was, I think we missed it,” Tea said.
    “Look!” Ed pointed to one house, a message five feet tall, sprayed across its front, windows and all. The message read: GIVE UP THE MOTHER PUNCHER!
    “Oh, shit.” Tea breathed.
    Ed was wondering what had happened to Drizzle. The kid hadn’t called him again to notify Ed of his arrival at Envision. Now, he was afraid he knew why.
    “That’s the one,” he pointed again, this time to his house, which by all appearances, was dark. “The one with the Firebird in the driveway.”
    Tea pulled up to the curb and parked, but kept the engine running. “Looks deserted.”
    “Yeah. But I don’t think it is.”
    He got out of the Volkswagen, pulling off the bandages that covered his skin. Then the dress he’d put on over his own clothes, the fat belly and rolled up pillows falling to the pavement silently. While he did this, he kept his eyes on his home, searching the windows for movement, for any sign of life at all.
    There wasn’t any.
    Ed walked around to the driver’s side and said, “You wait here.”
    “I don’t think I want to,” Tea said. She sounded afraid.
    “For once, don’t give me any crap. The second shit goes down, I want you to drive this piece of shit car of yours as fast as it will go and get the hell out of Dodge. Don’t even look back. Got that?”
    Silence from inside the car.
    He bent over, stuck his head in the window. “Thanks for all your help, Tea. You’ve been a blessing.”
    Her eyes widened, mouth opening to say something that she didn’t quite have words for. It was then he noticed that she wasn’t even looking at him, but
behind
him.
    Ed spun around in time to see the silent crowd rounding the back of his house, coming from both sides, not moving particularly fast, but not slow either.
    Bowie was leading the crowd approaching from the west side, shoving Ash along, a knife to her throat.
    Behind him, he heard Tea whisper, “Jesus.”
    From the eastern side, another man Ed didn’t recognize pushed Drizzle ahead of him with the barrel of a shotgun.
    Ed tried to count the number of people, found he couldn’t. There were just too many. Maybe six dozen, maybe more. And most of them seemed to be carrying weapons of some sort.
    Trying not to sound panicked, he said, “Tea. Drive.”
    But she didn’t. He didn’t know if she was frozen in fear or if she intended to do battle beside him. He hoped it was the former and that her fear would eventually break and she would go, before it was too late for her.
    “Howdy, Champ!” Bowie called cheerfully. “Look who I got here. Why, it’s your purdy little wifey. Ain’t she a beauty? A little too skinny for my taste, but what the hell. She got a snatch, right?” His laughter boomed and echoed like the voice of God.
    “Let her go, Bowie,” Ed said. “She didn’t do anything.”
    Both crowds had become one on his lawn and stopped walking towards him. They simply stood and stared.
    “You’re wrong about that, buddy,” Bowie said. “She did something alright. She loved and supported
you
! She harbored a goddamn lowlife woman-beating MOTHER PUNCHER! She should die for her sins, same as you.”
    “And this one too!” the man pointing the shotgun at Drizzle shouted.
    Ed ignored the stranger, keeping his eyes on Bowie. “You fucking hypocrite.” He wished he could wrap his hands around the snake’s neck for just one minute. Just one. The he addressed the rest of the crowd. “This man is lying to you people. He’s a Mother Puncher too. The worst kind. A fucking vigilante!”
    The crowd murmured but Bowie silenced them quickly.
    “
Bullshit
” he screamed, giving Ash a hard shake. “Tell them, woman! Tell them the truth!” He pushed the point of the blade against her throat, just beneath her earlobe. Ash cried out and Ed saw blood flow freely down her neck.
    “It’s true!” Ash cried. “This man…Bowie…never laid a hand on any woman ever.” She burst into tears and Bowie cut her again, making her scream.
    Ed felt like crying himself. Instead, he shouted, “You fucking bastard! I’ll kill you! Be a man and face me, one on one!”
    “Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you,” Bowie grinned at him.
    “Fucking right I would,” Ed agreed. “Will you people pay attention? He never hurt a woman? What the fuck is he doing right now?”
    “
Shut up
” Bowie screamed. He shook Ash again. “
Tell him
”
    “I’m pregnant with Bowie’s baby!” Ash sobbed. “Okay? Okay? I told him!”
    All the blood drained from Ed’s face and he felt it go. “That’s a lie,” he said, his voice low. “You’re making her say that!”
    “Am I?” Bowie asked, grinning once again. “You need to pay for your sins, Champ. A man should not lay an angry hand upon a woman, so sayeth the LORD ALMIGHTY!”
    Narrowing his eyes, Ed asked, “What the fuck scripture is that from?”
    Bowie laughed. “No idea, Champ. But if it ain’t in there, it sure as hell should be. AM I RIGHT, PEOPLE?”
    The crowd cheered, all of them leering at Ed with hunger.
    It was then that Ed knew he was beaten. There wasn’t going to be any escaping this. Hell, maybe they were even right. Maybe he’d taken the wrong path all along, had been a monster, working for monsters and had been too self-righteous to know it.
    Quietly, he asked Bowie, “Will you let my wife and friends go?” He heard Tea start to cry behind him.
    “Of course we will, Champ. You have my word as a Christian and a gentleman. You just have to come with us, and then everything will be back to normal. We just need to send the rest of the American people a message. A message that says
you do not have to tolerate the abuse of your women
!”
    Again, the mob cheered wildly.
    “YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE PUNISHED FOR DOING WHAT THE GOOD LORD PUT YOU HERE TO DO! AND THAT’S PROCREATE!”
    This time the people screeched their agreement so loudly that Ed felt vibrations under his feet. He waited for them to settle down, waited to see if Bowie was finished with his bullshit sermon on the mount. When Bowie said nothing more, just stood there grinning like the cat that ate the fucking canary, Ed raised his hands above his head and said, “Okay. Let them go and let’s do this thing.”
    Bowie studied him carefully, probably trying to assess if Ed had some trick up his sleeve. A moment later, evidently convinced that Ed was out of tricks, he smiled and said, “Ladies. He’s all yours.”
    And the surge of women came forward like a wave, falling on Ed and dragging him off towards the woods behind his house. He fought to see around them, to see that Bowie was keeping his word and letting Ash and Drizzle, and hopefully Tea as well, go free. He struggled wildly, trying to peer over shoulders and between legs and passing heads, but his sight was blocked in every direction. All he could see was furious red faces and once, he caught a glimpse of the darkening gray sky.

Gina Ranalli is an author of bizarro fiction, including
Wall of Kiss, Suicide Girls in the Afterlife, Chemical Gardens,
and
13 Thorns
(with outsider artist Gus Fink).
Her short stories have appeared in zines and print collections, such as
The Dream People, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, Falling from the Sky
and
The Bizarro Starter Kit.

    
You can visit her at www.myspace.com/ginaranalli

E. Riggs paints out of his basement in upstate NY. There has never been a time he has not felt the need to create kicking at his skull. He has a degree in Industrial Design and works as a full time designer. He paints when he can and relishes its freedom from the confines of the ever-smothering world around him.

    
See more of his work at: myspace.com/ill_lit_er_art