The Minotauress (14 page)
Authors: Edward Lee
Portents in the wind,
he thought, emboldened by the coincidence.
Surely it's a sign of Dante's Sisters of the Heavenly Spring, whispering their approval in my ear...
he thought, emboldened by the coincidence.
Surely it's a sign of Dante's Sisters of the Heavenly Spring, whispering their approval in my ear...
Then:
I deserve a drink!
He left and locked his room, only to turn into a burst of commotion. "Gimme that, you ‘ho!" a chubby blonde girl in holey lingerie snapped at a chubby brunette in holey lingerie: "Fuck
you,
Irene! It's mine!" and, of course, she pronounced mine as "man." The pair were playing tug-of-war with a box about the size of a box of aluminum foil. The Writer squinted, noticing the words AS SEEN ON TV! printed on the box.
you,
Irene! It's mine!" and, of course, she pronounced mine as "man." The pair were playing tug-of-war with a box about the size of a box of aluminum foil. The Writer squinted, noticing the words AS SEEN ON TV! printed on the box.
"It ain't yers!" wailed the blonde. Her breasts and a belly of baby fat bounced. "It's both ours!"
"Well I'se usin' it now, so's you kin grow a dick'n blow yerself!" but then both girls looked with alarm at the Writer. Their eyes shot wide and their argument abated.
"Shhh!" whispered the blonde. "It's that famous writer fella! Mrs. Gilman said she'd kick any girl out the house if'n we disturb him."
"Oh, you're not disturbing me," the Writer ingratiated them. "But harsh words and un-civil gestures are no way to solve a disagreement. What
is
that, anyway?"
is
that, anyway?"
The blonde handed him the box, which the Writer took after a quick visual surveillance of the large and mostly visible breasts buoyed up in a lacy brassiere. Then he frowned uncomprehending as he turned the long box around in his hands. NOT AVAILABLE IN STORES! it claimed. The top read WONKO KITCHEN PRODUCTS: THERM-O-FRESH FOOD SAVING SYSTEM! It was one of those kitchen gadgets for keeping leftovers fresh for longer.
In the Writer's head he made a rare departure from his avoidance of profanity:
Why the fuck are two backwoods hookers fighting over THIS?
though he didn't feel inclined to ask. "Flipping a coin seems the most fair manner by which to solve your discrepancy, hmm?"
Why the fuck are two backwoods hookers fighting over THIS?
though he didn't feel inclined to ask. "Flipping a coin seems the most fair manner by which to solve your discrepancy, hmm?"
Both girls begrudgingly nodded.
The Writer produced a quarter. "You call it," he said to the blonde and flipped.
"Heads!" the blonde snapped.
"Aw, you poop-eater, Stacy," sniped the brunette when the Writer caught the coin and showed heads. She thumped off to another room.
The blonde had won the box. "Thanks!"
The Writer figured it out:
She must have children, and wants to stretch her food budget by saving leftovers.
She must have children, and wants to stretch her food budget by saving leftovers.
"So what'cha write about, Mr. Writer?" she asked in a bouncy enthusiasm.
The Writer tried not to groan. "Fluctuations of the human condition in an ever-evolving—or
de-
volving age. I symbolize the tenets of post-Sartrean existentialism in the lives of characters in fiction."
de-
volving age. I symbolize the tenets of post-Sartrean existentialism in the lives of characters in fiction."
She looked crosseyed at him. "Is that, like, havin' folks in a story that's made up do real things like what folks in real life experience?"
"Well, actually, yes."
"Aw, cool! So if'n ever ya wanna fuck me 'cos ya got someone in a story fuckin' an' you cain't remember what that's like, just you knock on my door. And all I'se'll charge ya is ten bucks!"
The Writer was flabbergasted. "Uh, well, I just might do that if I need to reflect that aspect of the human condition in my work."
"Good! ‘Bye!" but, of course, she pronounced ‘bye as "baa!"
Depressed now, the Writer left the house and proceeded at once to the Crossroads, to drink with the gusto of Hemingway...
(III)
Needless to say, McKully rehired Balls and Dicky, upped their twenty-five-gallon runs to a hundred, and quadrupled their pay—and with the jaded event came the actualization—the epiphany—that would forge the true meaning of their destinies. They ran liquor for another man, as well, a man named Clyde Nale. What they each earned on a weekly basis was a fair shake of money, solid remuneration for two young dropouts in an economically wasted town. Balls and Dicky, hence, were a unique pair in Luntville: they were successful.
But Balls, since the genesis of his epiphany, wasn't satisfied with one-dimensional success...
That night, the El Camino cruised smoothly down dark, winding roads. They'd just finished dropping off a load of moonshine in Whitesburg, Kentucky, and now it was time to relax. Each had a beer between their legs and a smile on their face.
"Dang good day, Dicky," Balls remarked, his long hair billowing in the breeze from the open window.
"That it was, Balls," Dicky replied.
Balls went to wipe a booger when Dicky wasn't looking, but after doing so his fingers touched a small pile of odd plastic strips under the ‘Mino's seat.
The hail?
"Hey, Dicky? What're these here funny thangs?" and then he held one up. "Come ta think of it, they look familiar... "
The hail?
"Hey, Dicky? What're these here funny thangs?" and then he held one up. "Come ta think of it, they look familiar... "
"Huh?" Dicky replied, squinting over.
"Oh, I know what these are," Balls finally said. "They're Flex-Cuffs, ain't they?"
"Oh, yeah... "
Balls nodded in the moonlight as the stars streamed by the open window. "The bulls used these things on us whenever they'd transport convicts to another block." Next, Balls' lips pursed. "But, Dicky... What'choo need Flex-Cuffs fer?"
"Aw, see, my Uncle Marty works the state penn, he brings home boxes of 'em. It's always good ta have some in the car in case ya need ta pole-tie a deer. It's the fastest way ta truss 'em up if'n you're out poachin'."
Balls thought about that and found the idea to be quite innovative. But then, in a mental jag, it wasn't a deer he saw pole-tied in his mind's eye, it was a naked woman.
Or better yet,
Flex-Cuff her wrists'n hook 'em over a broken branch-end stickin' out of a tree. Then git ta workin' on her nice'n slow with the manual drill, right in the breadbasket...
Or better yet,
Flex-Cuff her wrists'n hook 'em over a broken branch-end stickin' out of a tree. Then git ta workin' on her nice'n slow with the manual drill, right in the breadbasket...
Dicky was chuckling. "Shee-it, my Uncle Marty's got it made workin' up at that place."
"The state
slam?
"
slam?
"
"Aw, yeah, man. Decent pay and benner-fits, plus he's kin git a blowjob anytime he wants and alls it costs is a quarter."
Balls thought about that, eyes thinned. "Oh, you mean from the female cons on the women's block."
Dicky paused for a number of moments, then blurted. "A'course! What'cha think I meant? From
dudes?
Shee-it."
dudes?
Shee-it."
Balls wondered but dismissed it. Suddenly he was thinking what it would be like to stick a spoon down a woman's throat in order to make her vomit while simultaneously engaged in the act of intercourse...
"But'cha knows what?" Dicky blathered. "I was thinkin'. Since we'se been runnin' ‘shine? I'll'se bet we make more scratch than dang near anyone in all'a Luntville."
In Balls' mind, he was now making the woman drown in the vomit... "Huh? Oh, yeah, Dicky, I'll bet we do, buts ya know we'se'll be makin' even more real soon. You ain't fergot 'bout Crafter's house, now have ya?"
Dicky thought behind the wheel. "Aw, yeah. That fella on Governor's Bridge Road."
"Right. And it ain't but a couple'a days ‘fore he goes to Spain."
"Then we'se'll
really
be loaded, after heistin' all that fancy jewelry he's got."
really
be loaded, after heistin' all that fancy jewelry he's got."
"And other stuff, too, like really old statues'n furniture. Bud Tooler tolt me Crafter even had dinner plates made'a
gold.
"
gold.
"
"Shee-it!" Dicky whispered.
"Yeah, man. So what's our schedule lookin' like?"
Dicky put on his Thinking Cap, which took a while. "Uh, let's see, I'se think tomorrow we got a full run for Clyde Nale, and day after a run'a piece for McKully'n Nale. And day after that... we'se off."
"That's dandier than a double-blowjob from underage twins, Dicky-Boy. So's figgure night after tomorrow, we do the job'n fence the shit in Pulaski the next day."
"Solid."
Dicky drove on through the wooded night, thinking sweet thoughts of all that money they'd have soon. Balls' thoughts, however, remained not so sweet. Now he dredged up the delicious memory of that rucking he'd pulled at McKully's, and recalled the accelerated intensity of his orgasm when he'd sodomized the hill girl once she was headless. He
focused
on the recollection, like a scientist focusing a powerful microscope, and he re-lived the rush he'd gotten whilst scalping her pubis. He
relished
the remembrance of the minute and indefinable sound that the battery brush had made when he'd been scouring off her nipples...
focused
on the recollection, like a scientist focusing a powerful microscope, and he re-lived the rush he'd gotten whilst scalping her pubis. He
relished
the remembrance of the minute and indefinable sound that the battery brush had made when he'd been scouring off her nipples...
And a moment later his maladapted synapses were firing impulses into his libidinal system, and in less time than it would've taken him to say the word "pathological," his penis thudded within the confines of his jeans, painfully erect.
As he luxuriated in these thoughts, he was
pap-pap-papping
his homemade blackjack into an opened palm...
pap-pap-papping
his homemade blackjack into an opened palm...
"What's that?" Dicky inquired.
Balls blinked out of his distraction. "Huh? Oh, this? Ain't nothin' but my jack. Found it in a box'a junk at my Daddy's house. I made it myself when I'se was a little kid, I did. Alls ya do is screw a fishing weight inta the top of a screen-door spring, then ya wrap it up in ‘lecktrical tape."
Pap-pap-pap.
"Kind'a neat, I'd say. Figgure I'll carry it ‘round in case of a emergency."
Pap-pap-pap.
"Kind'a neat, I'd say. Figgure I'll carry it ‘round in case of a emergency."
Dicky's corpulent face screwed up. "What'cha need a dang blackjack fer when ya got that big ole pistol in yer belt?"
"A
quiet-
type of emergency, Dicky."
quiet-
type of emergency, Dicky."
"Oh... But, hey, you ever really
use
it on anyone?"
use
it on anyone?"
Balls' cheeks billowed as he scoffed. "Shee-it, Dicky, you kiddin' me? I'se jacked
dozens
of fellas out with this here jack, and a lots of 'em was really
big
fellas too, I'se kin tell ya. Some turd give
me
a hard time? I just pop him one in the noggin and he's lights out. Then, a'course, I take his green."
dozens
of fellas out with this here jack, and a lots of 'em was really
big
fellas too, I'se kin tell ya. Some turd give
me
a hard time? I just pop him one in the noggin and he's lights out. Then, a'course, I take his green."
"Wow," Dicky responded, impressed.
Naturally, everything Balls had said was a lie. He'd never struck
anyone
with his homemade blackjack—only neighborhood cats as a child.
anyone
with his homemade blackjack—only neighborhood cats as a child.
But
now?
Since his epiphany?
now?
Since his epiphany?
"Where we at now, Dicky?" Balls asked. The 'Mino was cruising through another drab, rundown little town. Most shops stood closed, and no other traffic could be seen.
"Waynesville. Don't'cha worry none, Balls. Won't be more'n ten minutes'n we'll be pullin' inta the Crossroads."
Now, for some unidentifiable reason, Balls scanned the streets more intently, as if looking for something in particular... When they turned a corner, though, he saw a small, dented sedan parked in the front lot of a Peoples Drug Store. It was the only car in the lot, and in the back sat several young children. A haggard fortyish woman with a beehive hairdo was walking away from the store carrying two bags.
"Pull inta this drug store, Dicky. I gots ta pee."
Dicky frowned. "Ya cain't wait ten minutes?"
"I ain't peed in two or three hours, man, and I'se already done drunk a six-pack. My piss-bag's full, brother. Just pull in."
Dicky did so, then Balls jumped out, but instead of heading toward the store... he headed toward the sedan. He leaned over and smiled into the back seat, where three little girls sat huddled.
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