Uschi! (22 page)

The sofa surfer’s screaming having alerted him to trouble on the premises, Tennis Boy screamed himself once he saw an approaching Uschi’s
Revenge of the Zombies
and
City of the Living Dead
double feature at the drive-in gorgeous good looks. He started to raise the rifle, putting the stock to his shoulder and elevating the barrel.

She attacked with the steering wheel, swatting the rifle free of his grasp before he could take aim. His one shot went wild and blasted to smithereens the dirty dishes piled up high in the sink. The report of the shot was positively painful to the eardrums of both Tennis Boy and the built like a brick shithouse zombie.

“Hi there,” she grinned big and told him as hearing returned and the damages in the sink started to settle. After pinning him up against the counter and giving him nowhere to skeedaddle, she raised a hand and made the Mr. Spock fingers split apart down the center Vulcan salute. “Squa Tront, motherfucker.”

There was a dirty steak knife in easy reach. Uschi helped herself to it with her Spock saluting hand. Its stainless steel serrated blade was roughly six inches in length and appeared quite durable. Should work like a champ for what she had in mind.

Tennis Boy saw that the knife was being lowered in a Jack the Ripper on the hunt for a Whitechapel strumpet to butcher menacing fashion toward his face. He raised his arms and grabbed at her arm, attempting to divert it from him and force her to drop it. He couldn’t make any of that happen, his brawn too little against the hellish strength Uschi possessed. Untroubled, the steak knife continued its murderous progress. She inserted the blade’s entire length up his right nostril, piercing deep into the brain. She then jiggled it around for a good, hard while. Tennis Boy’s life span was cut short and a trailer park lobotomy was achieved. The brain was promptly pureed to the creamy consistency of peaches and cream yogurt.

Uschi removed the knife and put her lips to his nose and sucked out the skull smoothie. The mucus it acquired as it passed through the nasal passageways gave it this extra salty kick that did not go unappreciated.

The final trailer house resident was Margo, Hondo’s charming air-conditioning repair trade school student wife. Uschi came upon her in the bedroom. She was on the bed, open textbooks scattered around her, and taking a pause in her homework to smoke some crystal meth. She had the burnt-blackened glass pipe to her mouth and her lighter was just about a dead soldier; she had to work at it a number of frustrating times before a spark caught flame. Long experience with holding the hot pipe made her fingers swollen and blisters callused; the nails chewed down to the quick. The meth melted, turned to smoke, and she inhaled it fast and deep.

Margo looked with her sunken-in eyes up at Uschi standing at the foot of the bed. Her svelte physique was that of the only recently liberated from a concentration camp. The tube top and skirt she wore were barely able to maintain hanging on her. Her skin was spotted in parts with scabbed over sores and pimples. The Thundarr tattoo on her arm and Ookla the Mok on the inside of a thigh were looking poorly. The hair in her armpits was wild and wooly enough for them to make a Bomba the Jungle Boy movie in. She was tweaking; body shaking and grinding her jaws, riding a rush that had her feeling hyped enough to run through a brick wall.

“Was that you out there making all that noise?” She picked at the invisible insects she was confident were crawling over her. “I don’t appreciate loud noises while I’m studying.”

“Yeah, girlfriend, that was me. Well, mostly me, I did have some help. But those boys will be nothing but silent from here on out.”

Fighting with that low on fluid lighter again, trying over and over to get it to make fire. “You wanting to get some more weed, then talk to Hondo. He’s the man for that.”

“I’ve already seen Hondo. He’s dead and his brain is now sitting comfortably in my tummy.”

Margo stopped tussling with the lighter. Paid all the attention she could muster on the weird-ass looking gal. “Do what?” she inquired.

“I’m Uschi.” She had hands on her hips and the Impala’s steering wheel hanging off her grotesquely ample bosoms like some raunchy parody of an ornament on a Christmas tree branch. “And I will be your killer today.”

Quick as a snake, Margo’s arm darted under a pillow and then came back out clutching one mean-ass looking machete. Brandishing it above her head, she bolted off the bed and charged Uschi.

The wheel came off Uschi’s tits and she batted it against Margo’s wrist. The hand went numb and the machete dropped from her unresponsive fingers. Margo was put on the floor when Uschi used the steering wheel to break her clavicle.

Uschi next reached inside Margo’s mouth. Margo gagged and fidgeted and went blue in the face and did a piss poor job of trying to stop Uschi from doing this. A scream from her like a bald tire unable to gain any traction on a slick patch of road escaped past the invading hand.

The flesh inside the meth head’s mouth was rough and dry as old and cracked car upholstery. The tongue was useless in its efforts to expel Uschi. A knuckle brushed against the uvula at the back of the throat.

Uschi made a fist and punched her way through the palate at the top of the mouth, the whole hand intruding into the skull, and got after the brain. Needed to be careful, this one was a particularly slippery thing to wrangle. The son of a bitch eluded her grasp like a slimy stock tank tadpole determined to remain free. Uschi had to work to make this one hers, but eventually her wiggling fingers were able to seize a good enough hold and the brain was plucked off its stem and it now belonged exclusively to her. It slipped past Margo’s lips as simple as taking a 9-volt battery from a smoke alarm.

The laid naked brain was raw pork pink and with tiny blue and purple blood vessels running all through it, the cerebral folds deep and pronounced. She was halfway done with eating it when she stepped out of the trailer home and waved for Denny to get out of the El Camino and join her inside.

He emphatically shook his head no. He would really prefer to stay out of the crack house.

Uschi retaliated with a “Pretty please with sugar on top do this for me” expression on her post autopsy face.

Denny relented. He left the El Camino and started the walk toward the front door.

“Sorry to keep you waiting like that, best thing. Who knew brain eating could be so time consuming?”

“I didn’t mind the wait. What I do mind is being inside this nasty home. I told you I didn’t want to associate with these kinds of people. I’m alright with you killing them; just don’t let me near them.”

Uschi spoke around her final bite of brain. “Now, don’t be a surly bear.”

“I want to go home. I want to be with my books and videotapes and my action figures.”

“I already explained to you earlier, best thing, that part of your life is now concluded. We’re putting this trailer park in our rearview mirror and never returning. You and I are hitting the open road and from here on out will be seeking adventure and things to get in fights with. You don’t need to live vicariously through books and movies anymore. I’m gonna make your life better and more entertaining and thrilling than any book. Even the ones written by Joe R. Lansdale.”

The dead remains of Margo, Tennis Boy and the sofa surfer dude were stacked one on top of the other in a mound in the center of the living room floor. On the television,
Highlander
was done and its end credits were rolling.

“What’s this outré shit?” Denny asked.

Bodacious ta-tas bouncing and hips wiggling, Uschi put her whole physique to work to pull the squeaky skirt of her latex nurse’s costume up around her waist. She then laid herself over her kills and spread her legs ingloriously wide. Her pussy was wet and drizzling and smelling strongly like the dead and sun decayed fish lining the bottom of a draught ravaged lake.

“It’s a fantasy of mine,” she said, “to be fucked while being the cherry on top of a corpse sundae made by my own two hands. Do that for me, best thing. Please make my fantasy come true.”

Now that she mentioned it, the endeavor did sound rather enticing. Denny came out of his pants erection first.

The dead bodies made a fine mattress for their lovemaking. They were comfortably firm but still with plenty of room for sexy action bounce. The occasional trapped gases farting and belching was ignored, along with the unclean contents of released bowels and bladders oozing out of the pile.

Bonanza
was now getting started on the television set. Without ever consciously becoming aware of it, the motions of Denny’s pelvic thrusts fell in perfect synch with the beat of the show’s dynamic opening theme music. They were post coital before the commercials could even begin.

“Sorry about that,” an embarrassed Denny apologized while still on top of Uschi. “You probably wanted that to last longer than what I could give you. Fucker and mother. If it had been one of the earlier episodes with Pernell Roberts as oldest son Adam, I might have managed another five to eight seconds. I let you down. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, best thing. Don’t go into a fit over it.” She was able to hide her disappointment and give him an understanding grin and a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She understood that not every time up to bat could be a homer. “Don’t worry you’re pretty little head over it. We’ll try it this way again real soon. Only next time with more bodies beneath us, I promise.”

Chapter Seventeen

G
ator, his ass planted firmly on the barstool behind the Get It Quick’s sales counter, was for his porn choice of the day enjoying a magazine dedicated to the mysteries and glories of chicks with dicks. Ah the transgender babes, how they make the hours fly by. The tiny TV on the counter was on
Gunsmoke
, and this was doing a far better job of keeping Gator’s attention than anything else he’d watched so far today. Oh heavens to Betsy, it looked like that Festus was in a terrible pickle. Gator would sit and watch
Gunsmoke
, and when the commercial breaks would come along he’d put his eyes on the penises where penises had no business being pornography spread out over his lap.

An El Camino was pulling up beside the gas pumps and Gator was able to make out the shapes of a man and a woman inside the car. Hot damn. Two more to appease the Master’s insatiable appetite.

He paid more attention to the classic TV and smut magazine than he did to what was going on at the pumps. He never noticed the buxotic zombie exit the El Camino and put the unleaded pump nozzle in the El Camino’s tank. Not until he heard Denny Gleeth enter the store did Gator bother to pay any attention to his future victims.

“How can I help you, sir?” Smiling and talking to Denny like all Gator ever wanted in the world was to get on his good side and be best friends with him. “If we ain’t got it, we’ll move heaven and hell to get it for you.”

Denny approached the counter. “Twenty dollars worth from the unleaded, please,” he requested in the soft and timid tone of voice he routinely assumed when dealing with sales people. He kept eye contact to a bare minimum.

“Yessir. Watch me go. I am all over that.” Gator reached below the Formica-coated countertop, and with a practiced ease earned from years of experience as a convenience store employee he never needed to remove his eyes from the bashful customer as he flipped the switch and activated the unleaded pump.

Denny shuffled to the soft drinks cooler and picked up a bottle of Dr Pepper for himself and a Sprite for his pretty cadaver lady. When he returned to the counter, Gator was waiting for him with an important question that was asked with deadly seriousness.

“Son, by any chance would you happen to consider yourself an expert on pussy?”

“Well … Uh … I’m not sure I understand you.”

“Let’s discuss pussy,” said Gator. “You would know it when you see it, yeah? Because I am terribly right at this certain time in need of a pussy expert. And when I say pussy, son, I’m not in any manner referring to the pussy that walks on all fours and shits in a hole it digs in the ground.”

There was a first time for everything. And this was the first time anyone cared to ask Denny for his opinion on pussy. He continued to stammer for a proper response.

“Pussy,” pressed on an even voiced Gator. “The female vagina. Perhaps mankind’s greatest creation. I’m in favor of it. How about you?”

“Uh, well, it does indeed have its merits, sure.”

“Would you say you feel confident you would know one when you laid eyes on it? Reason I inquire is because I’m actually having my doubts if I am actually seeing one in this one situation.”

This peckerwood was talking more shit than the radio. But, got to admit, it was attention holding shit. Denny rested his hands on the counter and leaned himself in closer.

“It all has to do with this new Miller Lite poster I hung on the wall today. It’s your typical buy-this-brand-of-beer attention getter—bright, flashy, got a hot piece of ass gal with a bottle in hand as the main attraction. Our gal in question is wearing a bikini, and this particular bikini is sending me, my eyeballs and my brain mixed signals. Let me tell you, from the moment I first noticed the crotch area on this beer model I have been deeply suspecting her pussy was photographed right at the moment when it was close to eating its way through her bikini bottom. We are talking here, son, beyond mere mortal
Lawrence of Arabia
camel toe goodness. She is letting it all hang out in whichever way it may care to hang out.”

“Crap in a hat.”

“At least I think that’s what I am seeing. I’ve got myself about eighty-eight percent positive at this point that’s what it is. A woman’s holiest of holy regions peeking out and boldly teasing me. But I continue to have these lingering doubts. Could it be a trick of the light? Perhaps a shadow caught coming off her thigh? My imagination running wild on me? I don’t know. This is something that has been bugging and tormenting me all day long. What I need is a second opinion. Someone who knows a thing or two regarding the cooter. You look to me like that kind of someone. I’d appreciate it mightily if you would join me and walk on over here and take a gander at what may or may not be renegade vagina on the loose.”