Moses & Curio & Old Man River's Gimp

Moses and Curio and Old Man River’s Gimp







Freebird!

Eddie Nesbit could not carry a tune under the best of circumstances but with only the uncaring wind to hear him bellow, emulating Ronnie Van Zant was not the hardest task.  Above the hearty drone of the 351 Ford motor pushing him up the mighty Mississippi in an old Ski Nautique, Eddie and the late Van Zant sang their hearts out in praise of the also-deceased Duane Allman.  His hands tapped the steering wheel in increasing ferocity, lamenting the world they could not chai-e-ain-e-ain-e-ainge.

“Won’t you flyyyy hiiiiigh…Freeeeeebird, yeah!”  The impossible flurry of the triple-lead guitars took over for an eternity.  Nesbit rocked his head, taking in the notes as if he was hearing the old tune for the first time all over again.   

Kentucky bluegrass weed had a firm grip on his mind.  Its haze filtered the gloriously bright world around him; his senses alight in the incessant sun.  With the roar of the powerful ski boat chained to the whims of his hands, very little boat traffic around, most of his trip behind him and the tunage cranked wide-open, life was extremely good for Eddie.  His travel had gone without the slightest hiccup.  The boat was a dream to pilot.  He had a lil money, a lil weed, and a sixer of talls in the cooler.  The width of the river gave him great latitude in avoiding traffic.  Even when barge traffic made its way near him, the tiny boat weaved around such vessels with ease. 

Though a mere speck in the water of America’s mightiest waterway, Eddie Nesbit felt himself omnipotent on the sunny day.

He waved casually at the occasional SeaDoo or Bombardier jumping wakes behind him every so often.  He nodded and held up a flippant hand to old men in john boats chasing flatheads and gave giddy thumbs-up to sun-roofed pontoons laden with shirtless old men and their wives and daughters taking time to get some tan lines to take home after a day in the sun.  The occasional cabin cruisers would pass him as would pricey bass boats, usually helmed by a pair of serious looking anglers wearing khaki fishing vests festooned with endorsed patches and permanent albino patches around their eyes and temples from fighting the glare from the water’s surface with only the finest Ray-Bans.  Acknowledging other nautical souls was a mere courtesy.  Though enjoying himself immensely, Eddie Nesbit was not on a social call.

He was many miles below Robinsonville, Mississippi and far above Helena, Arkansas, ecstatic to be far from Baton Rouge and Natchez, where the traffic was heavy and the Coast Guard was on the prowl.  He hated stopping in Helena for gas with Robinsonville not that much further, but the Nautique was a thirsty bastard.  There were still game wardens and the Coast Guard around, but he dismissed the threat.  It was the sheriffs of parishes and counties adjacent to him that posed the main problem.  If someone had tipped someone off about a certain Nautique running dope up the mighty Mississippi, ostensibly to avoid a random traffic stop, local lawdogs had only to keep a boat hanging out in the channel awaiting him.  One certainty about the river run, the only directions were was only upriver and downriver. 

Eddie was no fool.  Foolhardy in some small indiscretions- namely having a dugout that started in Baton Rouge fully packed with sensemilla and was now nearly empty.  There was a snub-nosed five-shot .38 stashed under the dashboard next to the dugout.  Both could be flipped overboard discretely and both would sink if he caught some Johnny Law in a skiff eyeballing him.  The sixer was two short and surrounding by a great many cans of normal soft drinks, bottled waters and sandwich makings.

For three days and nights, Eddie had lived on two packs of lunchmeat, a huge bag of trail mix, a loaf of bread, and a Lay’s Chips variety pack.  He camped on the numerous sand bars when his eyes grew heavy in the waning sun, sleeping on a mat on the soft sand.  In the throes of a mid-October drought throughout the South, he left the tent and other camping gear he normally took with him on the upriver run behind.  Rain was a forgotten notion.

  It was clear sailing.  Taking in the sun, waving at the baby dolls in string bikinis riding by toasting him with beer cans.  Seeing the odd flash of a whitetail’s ass as it rushed into the tree line, maybe a gator lying with its snaggle-toothed smile on a sandbar.  Ducks aplenty, otters, fish jumping, the occasional beaver slapping the water before diving deep.  Towboats with an impossible number of barges tied to them meandered with loads of coal and grain heaped high upon them with deck hands clad in orange work vests wandering the decks and giving him a nod. 

Here and there, the river would pile up a fresh sandbar teeming with skipjacks boiling in panic as a school of predators approached them.  The eons-old cycle of kill and be killed, eat and be eaten…at least until one died and was eaten anyway...played out in endless sandbar microcosms all around him.  Especially in the morning as the rising sun glared from the shiny scales as the little fish went about their day.

The occasional giant carp would slap at water as they eased along their day.  There had been a tremendous gar hovering near a finger-slough near Vicksburg when he awoke that morning, easily a six-footer and maybe closer to seven.  A first glance he mistook it for a gator as it meandered down the length of a sandbar.

Seeing the big gar reminded him of some of the folks he worked for as a younger man.  Fresh from Ohatchee, Alabama then, working his way through New Orleans as a roofer, he had worked alongside many Creoles, black folks, roughnecks, Latinos, and country boys.  Those folks would catch a big gar such as the one he saw, or even a goo or a buffalo, skin it and drop it in a pot of crab boil.  When the meat had cooked away from the bone, they would pick the spicy flesh from the bottom of the pot, roll it into their hushpuppy batter and fry up the concoction into walnut-sized fritters.  Dip them in remoulade sauce, and man, they were some fine eating.  And all from a big trash fish that folks in other parts of the country would toss on the bank in disgust. 

He was making great time.  Looking at his watch, Eddie looked at the map he had folded to where his position was noted and pinned to the windshield. 

Almost noon!  Hot damn!

Having made the run numerous times, certain landmarks and river markers told him where he was, but the river was forever changing its banks.  With the mile markers and other signs, he had a good idea of his location and how much further to go.  Assuming his rendezvous went as scheduled, he would be back in New Orleans by eight that night. 

Just in time to catch Bonnie Raitt with Laura over at Tipitina’s tonight!  Eddie hunkered over a Bic’s flame and caught up the tip of a Marlboro Light aflame.  After a shower!  The idea of a long, hot shower was suddenly a driving force.

He was smitten with a doe-eyed Colorado transplant named Laura Arresco.  A sweet girl, kind of an earth mother type, but forgiving of his more rednecky attitude toward the beast in the field, the bird in the air and the tree on the ground.  She was tall, laid back and prone to say, “right on,” to anything she agreed with in spirit.  She accepted his travels and did not push his buttons about what he did.  Of course, had she delved further, Eddie was more than qualified at lying.

Before he made the acquaintance of one Bertrand “Grizzly” Fontenot back in ’85, Eddie Nesbit was no more than a string bean twenty-two year old pounding nails into new starter homes out in Slidell and Mandeville.  By day, at least.  By night, he soon demonstrated a willingness to do whatever was required to make a grand or two...as long as his sex remained hetero and his hands remained blood-free. 

Without much education beyond taking the occasional head slap from upperclassmen at Ohatchee High, he nevertheless did pretty well for himself under Grizzly’s umbrella.  What he lacked in book learnin’, he more than made up for by keeping his mouth shut and his ability to slide into whatever persona a situation warranted.  Seamlessly, he could weave with false histories, current facts, fake drawls, and appropriate clothing into whichever public persona the day required.

Eddie was a chameleon, his liar’s wit as fast as the lizard’s tongue.

For a sports fan, he would quote chapter and verse about the Bear, vociferously expounding about how Stallings was probably the last of the Bear’s direct progeny to take the Tide to the Promised Land.  The duffle bag he would leave behind was full of the growth aids needed to ensure puny JV student athletes had ample assets to later show the college scouts as the mad scramble for furthering their education at the cost of blood left on some faraway hundred yards of turf began in earnest.

For a movie buff, he could rattle off quotes from any number of scenes.  He would often muse that the only reason that Alabama retard beat out Travolta for an Oscar was that Forrest played for the Bear and even ten years after he died, Paul Bryant was still God.  His paper bag he brought with him was full of leafy products meant to ensure the movie experience would be a much-enhanced, if not perhaps a hazy, one.

With a Brooks Brother suit, he would carry a briefcase full of problem-solving multi-colored tablets to a harried civil servant in some Jackson or Baton Rouge government building, giving the shark grin and the ole’ ‘two-pistol’ fingers at some receptionist as he strolled through the double doors on his way to some purported power lunch.

With some Carhart overalls and a ubiquitously dirty ROLL TIDE cap, he could sit on some redneck’s couch, pound some Busch cans while debating climber stands versus a good ole shooting house with a recliner in it.  He’d ell any good ole boy he left a package with about how sweet it was for a SEC team like Alabama to shut them Miami sons of bitches’ mouths up.  Beat ‘em like they stole something, by God!  He would smirk, nod, and clink his cold one with his confederates before bending over a sample line of crank.

He could discuss Chomsky or Amis with burgeoning leftists at the Naked Bean down in Belhaven.  Affecting a goatee and John Lennon-glasses, Eddie would hand over a Crown bag laden with tiny bits of paper designed to make one’s mind that much more open to the greater universe.  That glorious far-beyond, way past that false cookie-cutter bourgeois Ozzie and Harriet mind-control fallacy the Establishment tried to cram into their vaccinations at birth, man.

The word of God came to him if need be, nice preacher’s coif atop his head for effect.  He was careful to be a Catholic in a Baptist’s company and vice versa.  Most religious debates ended when it was found he was that other denomination.  There was no point in debating one’s piety when the denomination of the other was a flawed path leading straight to hell and pious politeness steered them to the lewd business at hand.  Besides, there were riches to be had on earth, passed from one sinner to another in an envelope crammed with greenback reverence.

A rap CD was never too far from the changer if a soul brother’s paranoia about whom exactly that cracker was with the dope needed assuaging, Tommy Gear sweats and even a necklace sporting a giant X if necessary.  He was a NWA fan, straight up, yo.  And could quote them lyrically.  An older man or woman got a dose of Marvin Gaye or the Delphonics.  And Keith Sweat was played for the ladies…

Eddie could rave in a warehouse full of strobes; he could fish under a ball cap in the sun.  He could lie, cheat and steal and tolerated those who did so.  Using the term, “Big Daddy” casually as he chatted amicably with average Joe’s as he rocked jovially in his loafers, he rarely seem ill at ease in mixed company.  A woman was always Ma’am.  Any man was a buddy.

If pulled aside and boarded today, he was an all-American recreational boater out for a ride on the mighty Mississippi. 

Just taking the old boat out to blow the dust off of the pistons…

Truth be told, officer, he was always smile and slow his cadence to a slow drawl that always set a cop at ease, it was a rare treat indeed to be able to get away from the kids and the old lady and get the boat out of the dry dock he paid an arm and a leg for.  Hell, he thought he oughta move into it and set up his home there, for the price he paid to store the darned thing.  Things kept going heck in a hand basket, he may have to sell it.

He wore an old pair of black cut-off sweat pants with the emblem for the 24th Infantry Division (Mechanized, he made sure to tell anyone who asked how much riding in a Bradley sucked) stenciled on one leg and a holey olive drab t-shirt.  Oakley shades covered his eyes beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat with the front lip fitted with a transparent, green-tinted visor section.  His feet bore tan lines that were nearly permanent after a summer making the river runs twice a month.

A good boat needed running, of course.  Right, officer?  Straight, mundane hours of circulating gas and fluid through it made a motor happy.  Maybe he would wind it up a little to get some wind in his teeth and the feel of the water breaking away from the hull under his feet. 

Darned lucky to get away from the family, too.  Means I can run a while without stopping to let Mama and my lil girl jump out and pee every twenty minutes (insert wry smile and shake of the head, of course) and having to slather sun block on everybody fifteen times an hour.  Here, look at these pictures, though!  Ain’t them the cutest kids?  Boy, they’re a mess.  The boy can play shortstop pretty good, though!

Board and search?  Why, of course!  You can search the boat and the ice chest, sure!  Got me a few Mountain Dews and few cold ones for a friend in need of a good cold one on a hot day like this.  To be sociable, you see?

Yeah, that Bryan’s make some great ham, don’t they?  For me though, you just can’t beat that ham my grandpa used to get when he slaughtered his own hogs for the smokehouse.  Get a ham fresh from the noose if you know what I mean.  Kinda’ sad, if you ask me.  A lost art, really.

ID?  Here’s my license and insurance and all and my fishing license to go with those three spinning rods and that tackle box back there.  I thought about dropping back into some of these little oxbows and pickin’ off some specks if I can find some wantin’ a jig for their supper. 

Oh yeah, you got a good eye, buddy.  Where did you serve?  Yeah, that’s my old rules of war card they used to make us carry.  Yeah, I had been out since a few years back.  Got called back up when we had to go kick Saddam’s ass up around his ears.  Me?  Naw, I didn’t make it over to the sandbox.  I watched the war on TV with some popcorn and some beer up at Fort Campbell.  Who wanted to be over there with an ass crack full of sand stuck out there around all them durn camel jockeys.  I mean, someone had to man the phones back home, right?

The boat?  Got real lucky on the price.  I bought it a few years ago off an old boy over in Canton who just got laid off.  He had just put a new motor, a new impeller and refinished the interior and then the folks he worked for went belly up.  Hell, it ain’t but an ’84 and only had six hundred hours on the hull before he got the new stuff put in.  Truth be told, I don’t think he knew much about boats.  Some folks got more money than sense.  I expect you officers seen a lotta' them kind out here like that, eh, big daddy?

Yes sir, it’s a great day to be alive and on the river!  You guys seen much barge traffic up from here?  I try to stay away from them big boys.  They got enough to worry about without having to watch out for us fast-movers.  And I hate that wake they throw.  Shakes my teeth.  Hell I bit my tongue one time when I hit harder than I thought I would.  I see a lot of kids jumping those big wakes on those SeaDoo’s.  Man, they catch some air on them.

Yes sir, y’all have a good day, too.  Don’t see how ya’ can’t have a good day on a day like this!  God willing, we’ll see a lot more of them.  Y’all be careful out there and watch your six!

You fucking saps…you piggy cocksuckers!  Have a nice day!

Eddie Nesbit chuckled to himself as he slouched in the seat and gazed at the blue sky.  Freebird ended and Life in the Fast Lane started on the mix tape.

“Hell yeah!”  He cleared the area for threats and pulled out the dugout.  Clearing the final two batties-worth of the weed- turned to mere dust as the grinding of the metal pipe emptied the amount after a few days on the river without resupply- he flipped the dugout into the river as a precaution.  No sense having paraphernalia aboard if the herb was gone.  The Eagles’ torrid song about strung-out lovers blared from the speakers and he gave the Nautique a lil more gas.

The four kilograms of coca paste his ass rested upon in the driver’s seat and the other kilo sewn into the throwable life was nearly home.  Several miles ahead in Robinsonville, there was a man waiting with a car for him and a truck and trailer for the boat.  Fresh cigarettes at a boat-slip convenience store that also had a lady who made some of the best fried chicken.  And then a ride down Hwy 61 to Baton Rouge, pick up I-12, head to the house, get a shower.  Get paid.  Meet Laura later, get lit, party a while, and make a night of her.

A channel marker flew past.  He plotted his location on the map again. 

“Ten miles!”  He exclaimed happily, running through a checklist of gauges and speaking mental notes in the lilt of some ancient mariner.

“Aye!  Gas a-plenty!  Me buzz is firmly stowed aboard me head, ye Captain.  Sunny skies for miles…”  His eyes fixed on an oncoming small boat far ahead of him, heading downriver.  Something was odd about it.  He grabbed a pair of binoculars from their nook on the dash.  “And land Ho, Captain!  Lookouts be seein’ naked trim afloat at two points to port.  And closing fast!”

A deep-hulled Bayliner, grungy white with faded red lines along its beam hurtled toward him, riding bow-high despite a woman spread eagle on her back draping her legs over the bow.  In the binoculars, Eddie could see she was topless immediately.  Her breasts tipped with dark nipples that jiggled as the boat wiggled in the water.

“Ahoy there, tit-taaays!”  Eddie smiled.  Riding the river frequently yielded a courtesy flash now and again, but to see a nude sunbather riding the bow of a powerboat for all the world to see was slightly odd.  Definitely not in a bad way.

Eddie nudged to wheel to starboard.  It was a courtesy gesture.  The river was easily a mile wide and only a suicidal boater could hit another small craft.

He stood up from the seat, tossing his hat to the floor lest the slipstream take it away.  Squinting, he could make the pilot to be a man wearing a floppy hat similar to his but the woman covered the cockpit mostly.  Even a half-mile away, he could see immediately, she was one of America’s finest.     

“Niiiice!”  Getting flashed happened often.  Abundant sun and beers, miles between boats, and the brashly all-natural attitude of an exhibitionist set many a mammary swinging side to side from beneath a bikini top that was struggling to keep them hidden anyway.  Getting a split-second nipple shot and maybe an occasionally festive “cup ‘em and shake ‘em” from some screaming tart on a jet ski was one thing, but this girl was just lying on her back giving the world an amphitheater-sized display.

“Of allll her money-makers!  Ho-ly shit!”  Eddie’s eyes feasted as the boats closed on one another.  Apparently, the strings hold an electric lemon-yellow bikini bottom had not held it in place.  The tiny triangle of the crotch flapped behind her like a naughty ensign, held in place by her dainty hand.  An added bonus, she then brought her legs up and planted her feet on the bow, opening and closing her tan legs casually for his gaze.  “I hear ya, baby!”

She was a tight package.  Short, he could tell by her coverage of a beach towel she laid on and the basic knowledge of the front of a Bayliner.  Young, he figured her twenty maybe.  Pouting lips and a button nose with a pair of sunglasses hiding her eyes.  Brunette, short hair.  Took care of herself.

“Great tits with noooo tan lines!”  He admired her physique as the boats closed rapidly.  Eddie immediately wondered if she might be foreign.  French, Spanish, maybe a Greek.  Most Americans did not lay out so explicitly in the sun in public but the Europeans had nude beaches.  It was not modesty that kept American women clothed.  It was the law.

“This ain’t the Costa del Sur, honey.  Be a shame for some Bubba with a badge to write you up out here.”  She gave the faintest hint of a smile as the boats passed each other over a hundred-feet distant.  He waved and grinned, then saluted the driver of the boat with a few toots of the horn, a salute, and a rebel yell.

A hard glance at the driver before his attention turned to the wake he was about to hit told Eddie the man was at least a good ten years older than he.  Rugged, shirtless with a farmer’s tan that highlighted a lot of ink on his torso.  Just a skinny rawhide-looking, lucky SOB with a dirty ole Bayliner and a sexy nudist on his bow.

“I gots tah git me one of those!”  Eddie cut into the wake and looked back at the Bayliner again.  “Lucky sugar daddy bastard.” 

He noticed the man stand up and look back at him, his hat flopping behind him as the wind carried it from his crown and snagged by the chinstrap.  Eddie could just make out a pair of tiger-stripe camo shorts on the man’s legs.  A lone fishing rod jutted from the stern, a white and red bobber flailing in arcs from its tip.

Life in the Fast Lane continued grinding through the speakers.  Despite being up and down the highway, the lovers hadn’t seen a goddamned thing.

The boat was slipping slowly to port behind him, cutting into his wake as Eddie had his.  He smirked at the dull life in the boat’s colors.  It looked moldy, unkempt.  Granted, it was just an old Bayliner but taking a woman, that sexy and wild, out to soak some sun on her cooter should have at least rated a spraying off at a car wash.  The boat did not appear nearly lavish enough to match the bow art it sported.

“Not much of wallet for a sugar daddy, I reckon.”  Eddie looked ahead to clear his traffic and looked back again.  “And I bet he blows up that motor right quick gunnin’ it all day trying to blow some wind up that little darlin’s cooter.”  He pushed his own throttle ahead full and slumped into the seat, watching the boat in the rearview mirror.

“Man, she was fine as hell.”  He sighed and noticed the boat turning sharply to port and then coming about.  “And…coming around for another pass!  Why howdy to you, too, sexy lil' naked girl!”  He throttled back a bit, turning his head to watch.

“Something you forgot to show me?  Can’t see what I might have missed.”  He chortled. 

But something was amiss; he sensed it in the boat’s turn.

Yellow alert, Ed!  Wait one fuggin’ minute…

He did not know what forced the pistol from his dash drawer and into his hand, but something seemed maniacally amiss suddenly.  Immediately, he pulled his boat directly into the middle of the mile-wide channel.  The ever-changing flow of the sandbars was a thing to be feared.  He did not relish the idea of ripping out his drive train by running shallow out of stupidity. 

The maneuver also gave him some wiggle room.  Putting the hammer down to the throttle, he gazed in wonder and increasing paranoia as the Bayliner made a sweeping turn to starboard under full power, the driver using the width of the river to space his turn without sacrificing speed.

“He never cut power a lick!  Damn boy!  You gonna’ throw that naked lil girl you got perched up there out into the drink if you do that once too much.”  When the boat had turned enough to show the bow, he could see the girl had a death grip on the bow cleats mounted on either side of her.  Her feet were jammed under the thin rail that rounded the bow.

Eddie tried to calm himself, remembering he was highly stoned and probably halfway sun-stroked and tired from the trip.  But the way neither of the two people in the other boat never cut power and made a safe turn nor averted their gazes from him was unsettling.  Being flashed and passed before by people on jet skis and from the decks of passing boats had occasionally earned him a conversation with the ladies in question and the guys with them.  But usually a driver would wave him down, make a leisurely turn and cut his power while the girl would whistle and wave, and make it known they wished to maybe share a beer and say hi.

Someone wanting to steal five kilos of fine Colombian booger sugar on the other hand would turn exactly like that.  And they would close full throttle… just… like… that!

Eddie saw an impossibly big rooster tail of water jet from the Bayliner and realized only then was he seeing full throttle.  The boat soared upriver toward him.  Absent-minded in a growing panic, he tried to push his throttle ahead further and realized the boat was maxed.

Red alert, Ed!  The klaxon from the Enterprise went off in his head as he realized the Bayliner had ample river to catch up to him and was doing so all-too-quickly.

He shook his head and gulped, “Oh man, I’m too high for this.”



“That’s him!”  Curio Phelonie yelled back over her shoulder as she flipped a pair of tiny pink binoculars over her shoulder into the passenger’s seat of the Bayliner.

“I think you’re right, baby.  You get hot!  Remember, no blood if we can.  Up close is better than the shot!”  Moses Holliday yelled up at her through center of the open windscreen.  He throttled back a bit to get a good look at Eddie Nesbit when they passed.

“I hear ya, Daddy-o.”  Curio squinted as the wind smacked her eyes though the wide sunglasses covered a wide area of her face.  Nesbit closed rapidly on them.  She waved her knees open and closed slowly, thinking of Kathleen Turner swaying the testimony of that old pervert witness against her in Serial Mom.

Have a look-see, homeboy.  It won’t bite cha’.  I might though… 

You ran fast to be this far upriver, Eddie, thought Moses.  I figured to catch you a lot farther downriver.  That sucks. 

From the put-in at Robinsonville, Moses grew more and more nervous as he saw the amount of barge traffic aimed downriver and counted all the emptied boat trailers in the parking lot at the dock.  Radars on the pushboats could track them; their images were recorded in case of a mishap or collision.  Eyeballs of men and women lounging on the river in whatever capacity could certainly describe an old white Bayliner and a Nautique.

Especially if this gets messy…  Moses could not know how many boats were coming upriver either.  The sooner they could get Eddie Nesbit to stop breathing or surrender the Nautique, the better.

Curio watched Eddie watching her.  She had his rapt attention, knowing he was lusting her.  She was no stranger to it.  She thrived on it just as she thrived on the thrill of the hunt. 

That’s right, baby boy!  I’m just a pretty little thing out here for a little pleasure cruise.  Oops!  Did I forgot my swimsuit?  I guess I did.  Guess you taking a gander at my unmentionables right about now.  Well baby, what can I say about it?  It’s as good as you probably sittin’ over there thinkin’ it is.  But, you like a great many men, will never get to know it.  Now you just be a good little boy and stare at these tits while my man back here turns you into turtle chow… 

The Nautique roared by them.  Howdy asshole!

Eddie roared by in the Nautique, tooting his horn and whooping.  She heard his music as it was carried off into the wind and Curio smiled. 

The quarry had been found.

“Hold on!  I’m turning around!”  Moses yelled and pulled a six-inch dagger from a cargo pocket.  He swung the wheel to port as they crossed the Nautique’s wake and then turned as sharply as he could back to starboard without breaking the plane and causing chops that would stifle his speed and give the Nautique any more lead than necessary.  He watched her lock her hands on the cleats, hooting in excitement as the centrifugal force tried to rip her away.  Moses jammed the dagger upright into the side of the fiberglass armrest and used it as a secondary handhold as he fought the rudder.  The Bayliner scythed through the murky river.

When they were straightened out and aimed toward Eddie, Moses smiled behind his shades and punched it.  The Bayliner’s disheveled outward appearance belied its true potential.  Under the engine compartment was a supercharged engine with a specialized transmission and a heavy-duty prop.  He pulled away the Velcro patches that covered the extra air vents cut into the engine cover, maximizing the air sucking into the motor as it howled.  A huge rooster tail erupted behind the boat as it soared close to sixty miles per hour.  Moses and Curio each saw Eddie’s reaction to their turn.  The Nautique increased its speed.

“We spook him, you think?”  Curio yelled back at him.

“Had to.  He got smart.  Otherwise ain’t no way a man gonna’ run that fast from a naked woman lookin’ like you do out here in the middle of nowhere!”

“You think I’m gonna’ hafta take the shot?”  Curio yelled again.

“I don’t know!  Get back in here!”  He bit his lip and shook his head in disgust.  “Dammit!” 

The plan did not have a high-speed boat chase in it.  It was time to rumble.

Curio rolled over and eased through the gap in the windscreen, struggling to pull the hinged section closed.  She was wet from the spray and shook her hair like a dog.  Reaching into her purse, she pulled a lipstick and dabbed her lips in the rearview mirror.

“You gotta be kidding.” Moses gaped at her.  Her sensibilities were an odd lot to him.

“You want me looking good, don’t you?  It takes upkeep, baby.  Always upkeep.”

“You always look good, fool.”

They could see they were closing on the Nautique.  Moses watched his gauges.  Curio smeared the lipstick into its proper boundaries with a fingertip and kissed the air a few times.

“I told you we should have just caught him on the road.  Curio pulled her Luger and cocked it before laying it on the dashboard.

“You tell me a lot of things, lil lady.”

She cocked her head and smirked at him.  “I thought you said no one ever tells you shit.”

“I said no one ever gives me shit.  Get ready!”



“No doubt about it, they are fuckin’ chasing me!  What in the holy hell?”  Eddie’s mind tried to process the situation.

No plausible reason why they were closing on him full speed made sense to him.  He gripped the pistol in his right hand firmly, breathing rapidly, his eyes bloodshot and fixed on the two heads behind the windshield of the Bayliner.  The two were talking between themselves.  The wake and obvious power of the Bayliner was evident.  He knew time was fleeting.  Clearly they would close on him soon.

Doctor Feelgood suddenly followed the Eagles.

I’ve got five kilos of the powdered goods aboard, he reflected.  And it didn’t end well having the powdered goods for Rattail Jimmy, the second-hand hood.

Whatever was about to happen, it was about to happen quickly.  His first thought about the why of them chasing him was he had been sold out by someone.  He was about to be robbed.  Running illicit substances for a gangster had its drawbacks, of course.  Being sold-out was one.  Sweating now, he kept watching the Bayliner in the mirror, glancing over his shoulder constantly in panic.

Something about it did not sit right.

A robbery?  Come on, Ed.  Don’t be an idiot, Big Daddy!  Out in the middle of the fuckin’ river?  They gonna’ rob ya’?  Then why out here?  They could easily catch you at the dock.

Again, he questioned if he was being overly paranoid.  Could it be the old boy just wanted to show his big boat’s fast dick to some dude in the river to impress the lady?  Maybe they had some weird swinger thing going.  The old boy got off watching his hot little girlfriend go down on some random guy under his instructions, perhaps?

“Ed, are you really running away from a hot naked chick and some skinny bastard in a fast boat?”  He debated himself.  “Yeah, you are, big Daddy.  Just because you’re paranoid, don’t mean they ain’t out to get you, son.”

Maybe four people knew who he was and where he was supposed to be and why. 

Can’t be cops.  Ain’t their way.  No point in risking me dumping the coke at the first sight of them.  Better to catch me at the dock.  So who…!

An incident from two years prior clicked in his head.  His eyes shot backward, binoculars jumping to them.  His pursuers’ faces were clearly visible until hers disappeared beneath the dash, presumably to look inside the cargo compartment in the bow. 

Eddie Nesbit felt his heart pounding.  It felt like an enraged Hulk stomped up a stairwell from his chest into his throat.

“Grizzly and Pete know exactly where I’m supposed to be.”  Eddie swallowed hard.  “And now they must know I’ve been taking a taste.”

Nesbit had more than forty-five thousand dollars in pilfered funds stashed in a few bank deposit boxes.  The stash started when one of Grizzly Fontenot’s lieutenants, Albie Aldridge, decided in a state of meth-induced psychosis to march into the office of a Deputy U.S. Attorney’s office and offered to roll on his longtime employer in exchange for witness protection. 

Albie was an old druggie who managed to keep in favor with the Fontenots long after he deserved.  His was a personal history that was a sampling of America’s tastes in drugs.  LSD and pot in the late Sixties morphed into pills and smack in the early Seventies.  Then came the days of cocaine as disco took hold in the late Seventies and he degenerated into crack in the Eighties and cheap crank as the Nineties rolled. 

The Feds took notes as he babbled uncontrollably about murders and numerous felonies Grizzly Fontenot was involved in directly.  It was clear most of his faculties were far beyond askew.  He thought it would be easy to walk in and point them at Grizzly and be jetted away to Arizona or New Hampshire or somewhere else far from Louisiana.  He was incorrect.  Though some of his rambling was of interest and manna from heaven for one Randall Jowanski, the Deputy U.S. Attorney who was always interested in putting the Fontenots away forever, one look at the wild, almost frothing Aldridge told them he was useless on the stand.  There was no way the Feds were going to run down Grizzly Fontenot with the God’s honest, so help him God, absolutely true, testimony of Albie Aldridge.

They dismissed him, slapping a possession charge on him at the door when he reached in his pocket for his keys and pulled out a baggie of crank that fell at his feet while he tried to deny it was his.

Albie was left out to dry.  No money except whatever Henri Chellette felt Albie’s veins could handle that week, bridges he burned by his idiotic move left him on a veritable island of shame from which he eventually disappeared.

Eddie heard the story floating around for a while about Albie and realized if he were ever caught smuggling he too would be in a bad way.  He was paid well to carry the loads but he was just a mule and a mule that could not carry its load was dispatched quickly.  Moreover, though he made good money, he also had a party streak that took a lot of money to keep up.  With next to nothing saved, a simple arrest with a load would cost far more than he could afford.  Certainly more than the Fontenots were eager to pay to get him out of his ineptitude.  Problems like felony charges on some lackey were an easy fix.

He started skimming.  It was a risky choice to make, he knew.  He never went too overt but since he usually carried raw paste, he could take a small amount and cut it many times to sell to his friends.  It was pure profit.  As many times as he carried money back to New Orleans, he never pocketed a single bill.  Product loss was a hazard.  Coming up short on an audited amount that was agreed to could lead to a war between the two factions, the seller and the buyer.  Over time, he reckoned someone began checking the weights and finally a decision was made to put the obstinate mule down.

One final detail about the Aldridge affair that set him to stealing from the boss came to mind as he looked through the binoculars.  He heard a conversation between Grizzly and his fat brother, Pete, while Eddie sat waiting for his pay at the pool hall where the Fontenots frequently held court for their lieutenants.  He did not catch who it was, but he definitely heard the part about “Moses and Curio handling a retirement.”  For months, there were hushed rumors about a couple who handled problems that required a firm hand without being tied to the Fontenots too directly.  No one visited by the couple was around to confirm it.

I’m a little fish, out in the middle of nowhere.  And now a hot chick and a mangy old fuck are here to take me down.  Nine years, Grizzly.  I’ve been a good soldier for you for nine fuckin years and you send these two to pop me and leave me for the fuckin catfish to nibble on, didn’t you?  You sent the fuckin sharks!

A channel marker flew past him.  Quickly, he plotted his location again and looked for something, anything, to give him an advantage.  They had him in speed, but not in agility.  The open water was a deathtrap for him unless he saw some boats around.  Witnesses made it less likely for them to start shooting at him or try to board his boat and take him out close quarter.  A nook denoting a channel on the left side of the river caught his eye on the map.  He looked at the scale and knew the nook was coming up soon.  A backwater channel ran behind a peninsula and made it an island.  He hoped he could somehow get into that narrow backwater, where the tighter turn radius and shallower draft of the impeller could be used to his advantage.

Get them into that bottleneck, pop a few rounds at them.  Get them to juke, maybe hit one if I’m lucky.  I get a hard turn and gun it.  They can’t make the turn all the wide and maybe bottom out that big prop or something.  It damn sure beats them running me down and doing whatever they got planned.

A quick look behind him told him the girl now had an assault rifle in her hand.  She was fumbling with it, assembling its components.  His .38 suddenly seemed drastically underwhelming.  Impulsively, he turned for the mouth of the backwater.

“Oh shit!”  He watched as she slapped a magazine into the rifle and pulled the charging handle.



“Get Cletus, baby!  We ain’t got time for this!  There’s too many boats up ahead from here.  We gotta get him slowed up.”  Moses fumed at the possibilities ahead.  Eyes on them were a definite no-no.  The water was not an easy place to leave from in a hurry.

Curio reached into the cargo compartment, pulled out a duffle-bag sized red first aid kit, and unzipped it.  Inside was the usual assortment of gauzes and other aids, but beneath it all was a false bottom which she pulled up.  There inside was Cletus, Moses’ venerable AR-15 rifle, disassembled into its primary components.  She began putting it together, finally seating a 4x scope to the receiver and slapping a twenty-round magazine in the well.

“He’s making for that draw over there!”  Moses yelled.  “I’m going to put a round in his engine when we get back there.  You driving!  Switch with me!”

Curio chambered a round and waited on the edge of her seat, still naked.  Her crotch was awakened.  Adrenaline surged through her as she saw the gap closing between them and their quarry.

“Get ready!  When you get behind the wheel, watch out for trees in the water and watch out for Johnny and Joe sitting back here fishing and drinkin’.  I don’t want no collateral, but I ain’t going down because of some sympathy for a couple of old geezers catching perch either.”

“Gotcha'.  No pluggin’ geezers.”

Moses eased around his chair, angling himself to get the gun fluidly as she took the wheel.

“I hit that motor up there with a couple of rounds.  And then it’s just like we planned, okay?”

“Don’t fuck up.”  She joked.  “Be careful!”

“What the fuck is careful about this shit?”  He winked at her.  “On three.”  He looked ahead for obstacles once more and looked at Eddie Nesbit, fortunately.

“Fuck!”  He pulled her head down.

Pow!  Glass erupted at the starboard windshield panel exploded, showering them with shards of Plexiglas.



When he caught sight of the composite stock of the rifle, Eddie realized he was a goner whether he stayed in the river or in the backwater of the island. 

The long gun had reach and firepower.  It was an easy stretch for him to figure they had more weapons aboard.  Also, they had a plan and a mandate.

And me with this fuckin’ peashooter!  Christ!  I’ve never even shot this thing before!

Curio readied the gun as Eddie entered the backwater.  Immediately, the area grew tighter around them.  Whereas the river was a mile wide and sunlit, the backwater had trees on either side and was only two hundred feet wide at best.  He laid the boat to starboard to avoid a tree hanging dead on the port side as he turned to aim at the Bayliner.  When they were only a hundred feet from the mouth of the backwater, he chanced a shot with one of his five bullets. 

He aimed for Moses but the Texan saw it coming and ducked slightly as he yanked Curio to the ground.  The soft-nosed bullet punched out the windscreen.  He saw Moses clutch his face and roll out of his seat. 

“Fuck you!”  He screamed at the couple as the unguided Bayliner sliced to port.  Moses managed to get a hand on the wheel and right his course to shoot the gap between the island to starboard and the bank of the river to port. 

“Shit!  Hard right!”  Curio screamed as she saw the leaning tree on the port side. 

Moses’ face was peppered with bloody gashes and imbedded shards of Plexiglas. 

“I can’t fuckin' see!  He hit me in the face!”  Blood ran into his eyes and he clawed at his face to clear his sight.  “Fuck!”

“Move, baby!”  Curio pushed past him and stood behind the wheel as he fumbled on the floorboard behind him for a gallon of water.  He grabbed it and wrenched the cap off. 

Eddie cut his power and wheeled the boat around, knowing he had the turning advantage and Moses was incapacitated.  Curio bore down on him full speed, unwilling to cut the throttle and give him time to think and get set for a steady shot.  Moses dumped most of the jug on his face, forcing his eyelids open to clear the blood.  With a blunt swipe of the hand, he wiped the shards of Plexiglas from his wounds

Eddie came out of his turn and nosed the throttle ahead two-thirds.  The sleek Nautique purred and smoothly planed out as designed.  His turn went shallow and the prop churned up the soft alluvial muck behind him.  He juked to starboard, passing them port-to-port.

There she was, standing naked behind the wheel, trying to reach for her Luger on the passenger side dash but not daring let go of the wheel.

“Die, you naked ass bitch!”  Eddie screamed and fired three more shots at her as he passed them fast.

“Fucking shot me!  I’m hit, baby!  My leeeggg!”  Curio felt a bullet whiz thru her hair.  She could smell the singe, knew since her hair was cut so short, that bullet should have killed her.  Another .38 slug creased her ass cheek, burning a furrow across the skin and punching through the hull at the waterline.  It stung like hell until the third shot passed right through her right calf and punched another, smaller hole in the hull.  The soft-nosed bullet’s impact knocked her leg aside.  The pain was electrifying.  It was nothing she had ever thought possible.  Only her vise-like grip on the wheel kept her from being knocked to the floor.  She immediately hopped on her good leg, swearing.

Moses wiped his face as clean as he could with a loose t-shirt and saw the tiny entry hole on Curio’s calf start to ooze blood as she raised it to keep her weight off it.  Rage boiled within him, directed more at himself than his quarry.

“That fucking fucker!”  He roared and trembled with fury.  Water was trickling in through the holes in the hull.

Got her!  Eddie saw her leg kick to the right as one of his shots hit it.  “Hell Yeah!”  He screamed. 

Now they both had something else to think about besides him at least.  Adrenaline was kicking in hard.  He knew he had to do something.  With only one more bullet, his options were limited.  Of course, they did not know he had one shot.  The only useful shot he could make was either a lucky hit on their motor and run like hell.  Or hitting one of his attackers in such a way they had to make a decision about their life or his death in an instant.  He could not merely gun it away from them regardless.  With the rifle aboard and their faster boat, the open water was a deathtrap.

Not that in here ain’t a deathtrap, too.  He turned the Nautique around and saw Curio doing so as well.  Laying the .38 across the windshield, he took aim, trying to keep her head down until he could pass them against and get another try at them without the protection of the bow.  The pair was now the hunted, not the hunter.  He wondered how they felt about that.

Moses was on his feet in an instant, Cletus in his hand.  He sighted in and saw Nesbit already had the draw on them.  The Nautique turned a few degrees to port, putting them on a collision course as Nesbit saw Moses aiming.

“Shoot or turn, asshole!”  He punched the throttle ahead, ducking behind the console. “Shoot or turn!”

Curio cut the throttle back to nearly idle, letting Nesbit close on them full-bore and Moses got a sight picture.  The boats closed on one another traveling at nearly fifty miles per hour each.  At the last possible second, Eddie could see Curio was locked in on his face.  Her pretty face registered only rage and malice as the rooster tail erupted again behind their Bayliner.  She even hunched forward, readying for impact.

That crazy bitch!  He cut his throttle back a third to give himself a extra second to maneuver and cut his wheel to port, trying to put Curio between Moses’ long gun and the Nautique. 

Moses saw the feint to the left and tried to get a round off before he lost the position.  When he pulled the trigger, nothing happened.

Fucking safety!  He felt like an amateur in a split second.

The boats missed each other by six inches, scratching each other amidships as she turned the wheel to starboard and leapt…all five feet of bloody, beautiful, naked Curio…into the Nautique.  She landed with a thud and a hellish scream between the padded engine cover and the aft end of the hull.  She collapsed in the space between.   

“What the fuck?  Curio!”  Screaming in shock, Moses grabbed the wheel and cut it hard, the Bayliner rocking violently as the wakes from the two boats began clashing against each other as they rebounded from the tight banks on each side of the battle.  He punched the throttle as he came about from a near-dead stop in the choppy slough.  Wiping fresh blood from his scalp, he clasped Cletus by the pistol grip and laid it across the shattered remnants of the windshield.  The boat swung around sharply, slinging Moses to the left.  He reached without looking for the dagger’s handle he had impaled in the hull as a handgrip. 

It was missing.  Scrambling to get the gun ready and to close on them, he shook his head in anger.

“Wild ass woman.  God…damn…it.”

Eddie watched as Curio Phelonie leapt like a cat and landed behind him as he tried to avoid swapping paint with the Bayliner any more than necessary.  His eyes bulged as he momentarily could not help but notice she was wearing only sunglasses.  Knowing Moses was holding the rifle, he gunned the motor ahead full, trying to put distance between them so Moses would be hesitant to fire on him, with his woman in the boat.  Eddie was scared now.  He saw the look on her face as she tried to plow into him head-on behind the wheel of a boat.  There was no fear, only a spiteful smirk as she attacked.

She knew I would chicken.  Crazy sexy bitch!

He looked over his shoulder; she was trying to get on her feet.  Her shot leg was enshrouded in smeared blood.  A lot was smeared on the padded engine cover she broke her fall on. 

“I’m gonna’ kill you, you fucking cocksucker!”  She railed at him as she tried to get a balance on the bad leg.  He knew she was keyed up on sheer hate, probably not feeling the injured leg at all.  Suddenly she had a knife in her hand, gripping it for a downward stabbing assault.  He cut the wheel from side-to-side violently, throwing her to the floor. 

Curio collapsed on her unsteady feet, smacking her head against the side of the hull.  Keeping her wits, she looked up at him and flipped the dagger over in her hand.  Gripping the blade, she threw it at Nesbit. 

Quick as a whip, Eddie felt a searing pain in his back.  “Ahhh!  Goddammit!”  The Spyderco was imbedded to its hilt in his left lower quadrant.

Shit!  My kidney! He grabbed instinctively at his back in shock.  Oh shit!  Oh shit! Oh shit!

Immediately, he knew all chances of him getting away, however slim they may have been anyway, was nixed.  He needed medical attention, fast.  The only possibility was to somehow get clear of those two and make a full throttle dash up to Robinsonville.  Lay on the horn, jump out and say somebody tried to rob him and stabbed him.  Of course, it meant cops searching the boat and questioning him.  Probably meant he may end up being killed in a hospital bed before he got his story out.  But all those were potentials.  The certainty was that if he did not get loose of Moses and Curio and get a doctor to look at his back, he was a dead man.  Sooner rather than later.

Moses closed on the from behind, the Bayliner still having the speed advantage on a straightaway.  Curio tossed the knife smartly into Eddie’s back, just as she practiced countless times before behind his house.  Shot, naked and still able to instinctively go for the kill in whatever manner she could muster, he shook his head in agonized incredulity.  Reaching up on Cletus, he flipped the bipod down and sighted in one-handed as he steered the boat.  Curio stood up again, ruining his shot. 

“Dammit baby, just duck for me!”  He could see Nesbit still had the pistol in his hand.  And she was empty-handed.

Curio staggered to her feet, spitting blood from a cut on the inside of her cheek.  Eddie reached behind his back and pulled the knife free from his back.  Now he held the .38 and the dagger in one hand and the wheel in the other.  Nervous about Moses behind them, he decided to not rock the boat and knock her to her feet again, lest he open himself up for a clean rifle shot.  He could see the Bayliner closing on him again.  Moses hunkered down behind the scope. 

One shot…  Eddie dropped the knife into the driver seat and shook the wheel again.  Curio fell again, grabbing the engine cover to minimize her fall.  She tried to rise again and her leg slipped on the plastic carpet.  Looking down, she realized the carpet was slick with water and her own blood.

“Dickhead.”  She muttered.  Eddie fired his final shot at the Bayliner and threw the gun at it.  He missed with both.  The channel was widening.  Turning to face Curio as she scrambled to her feet again, he clasped the dagger in front of him.  His pain emboldened him as well.  Nothing was going right for him.  It was a Buzzkill of the highest order.

“Come on, you wild ass whore!  You fucked with the wrong motherfucker today!”

Curio looked past him.  Less than a quarter mile, the channel was nearing the end of the island.  She could see the gap in the trees where the channel widened and meandered to the right as it accepted the river. 

There was a giant Corps of Engineer dredging platform anchored at the mouth of the channel, unused. 

No way around it and no fucking time unless the motor stops…  Her eyes widened and immediately she reached down and started popping latches on the engine housing.

“Not this boat, bitch!”  Eddie started to lunge at her.

Curio pointed behind him.  “Behind you, you stupid asshole!”  Eddie smelled a trick and took a step toward her.  She crouched, readying herself to defend against him.  Eddie’s right shoulder exploded suddenly in a red mist before he got even an inch closer.  The dagger went clattering to the floor beside her.  She lunged for it quickly and grabbed it.  Jumping up on her good leg, she took one more look at the dredge ahead and charged Eddie, screaming maniacally.

Moses saw the bend in the channel approaching and noticed the dredging rig as soon as she did.  He expected her to point it out to Eddie but realized as fast as she did there was probably not enough response time for even he to turn the boat and he was probably not going to cut the throttle from sheer fear of the Bayliner catching him.  Curio ducked to the ground, trying to pop the engine cover loose.

Eddie lunged at her and Moses got a perfect bead on him.  He hit him in the right shoulder, knocking the good arm holding the dagger useless.

Nesbit screamed and slumped to his knees between the front seats, clutching his crumpled shoulder, shrieking in agony.  Curio was upon him in an instant, dagger in hand.  She glanced at the dredging rig, only seconds from impact.

“This is from Grizzly, you thief-ass bitch!”  She slashed his throat open and grabbed the throwable life preserver from its mount next to him.  With a running leap over the stern of the boat, she screamed, “Shiitttt!” and hit the water hard.  Moses watched her skip like a stone a few times as throttled back to idle and turned the boat sharply to cut his momentum.  The dagger went somersaulting across the water a few times and disappeared. 

Eddie lay in shock, hand on his gurgling throat as the Nautique collided with the giant pontoon ballast of the dredge and disintegrated.  Moses watched as pieces flew high into the air and fell back into the water after a few pregnant seconds.  Curio went under for a few seconds, her wind knocked out by the impact of the water.  Feeling herself floating submerged, she snapped back to life and swam for the surface.  When she kicked a few times, she broke the surface.  Unable to catch her breath, she waved frantically to Moses.

He pushed the boat quickly to her.

“You okay?”  Her face was panicked.  “Baby!  Talk to me!”  Moses cut the throttle to idle and let the momentum carry him to her.  He began to smell gasoline, saw a sheen spreading toward them as the Mississippi spilled part of its girth into the channel beneath the dredge.

Shit, we’re downriver of a gas leak!

Curio finally sucked in a lungful of air, choking and coughing before tears caught her unaware and she sobbed.

“Fuck, Moses.  Baby, I think I cracked a rib!”  She stammered and coughed, retching on the muddy water.  “I’m hurtin'!”  She pulled the life preserver to her and laid her head on it.  Moses could see the rainbow hues of the gas and oil slick clearly. 

“Baby, come to me!  Hurry!  That gas could go up!”  Sobbing in pain, she thrust out flaccidly with her arms and legs, looking more like a damaged tan frog than the hyper-confident and gorgeous woman she had been just ten minutes before.  She left a trail of her blood behind her as her leg oozed.

Moses finally closed on her enough to get his strong arms under her shoulders.  He rolled her into the boat, still clutching the life preserver, and laid her across the rear seat.  As she reclined on the seat, coughing and crying softly as she tried to get her shit together, Moses noticed for the first time the water inside the boat had enough volume to be noticeable.  His eyes glared at the stream of water steadily pouring in through the two bullet holes.  One was the diameter of an acorn.  The other was a walnut, though.  And it was a few inches below the waterline.

“Shit!  We’re sinking!”  He kicked off his sandals and plugged his big toe across the larger breach.

Gripping her bruised side, Curio sat up gingerly.  The gas in Eddie’s tank found a hot place on the crankcase of the destroyed Nautique and erupted in flames and black smoke.

“Oh fuck!  That’s gonna be noticed.”  Curio winced and laid back down on the seat in pain as Moses turned the Bayliner downriver and hammered down as the slick caught afire, spreading toward them. 

“Shit hot!  It’s gonna set that island on fire and the dredge, too.  Shit!  Half the damn country gonna’ be putting in up at Robinsonville and coming down here to investigate.” 

He flipped the bilge pump on and hoped the water stayed out of the engine and transmission long enough to put some distance between themselves and the wreck. 

“Lucky there warn’t no crew on that dredge, baby.  We’d be fucked if there was.  That was stupid of me to follow that asshole in there without knowing what and who was on the other side.  Dammit!  Dammit!  Dammit!’  Moses tried to hold his composure.  He could see she was in extreme pain. 

Her left side was bruising up.  She spat a glob of bloody spit and snot over the side.  The exertion of even that movement brought her hand to her side and she muttered, “Ow, ow, ow!” through clenched teeth.  Clutching her side, she sobbed like a child.

“Here,” he reached into the cargo compartment and retrieved a t-shirt.  “Put this on, baby.  There’s gonna’ be people coming to the smoke soon.  We gotta’ get downriver and get ourselves a hideaway in one of them sloughs until we get the boat squared away and get a band-aid on some of these war wounds.”

“My ass is burning, baby.”  Curio rolled on her side, sniffling as she looked at her butt.  “He nicked my ass.”

“That ass is always burning, mon cheri.  Just think if you really had that fat ass you always keep saying you have.  He woulda’ plugged you dead in it.  I tell you your ass ain’t fat and you don’t believe me.  See?  It could always have been bigger.”

“My leg hurts.  My chest hurts.  My ass hurts.  I think I sprang a titty when I jumped outta’ that fuckin boat.”  She looked at her leg.  Immersion in the water had washed it clean but blood ran again her shin. 

“Better a sprained tit than an actual cracked rib.  We gotta’ get you patched up.  Get you to the Delandry’s and get some antibiotics in you.  Real soon.”

“I just need some stitches.  It’s through and through.  I’m hackin’ it.”

“Baby.  You can’t dip an open wound in the Mississippi River.  Half of the country flushes their shitters in it.  It’ll rot off in a week.  But not today at least.”  He shook his head, as panicked as she had ever seen him.  “Fuck, we’re in a bind.” 

“Wonderful.”  She coughed and moaned as she sniffled.

He began pulling loose slivers of Plexiglas from the window frame and flipping them overboard.  Suddenly, the mouth of the channel was upon them and then behind them.

The vast, bright world of the sun-soaked Mississippi suddenly enveloped them as they left the trees behind.  Moses fumbled in the first aid kit until found a pack of heavy gauze and handed it to her.

“Come sit up front, lay your leg in my lap and lean back so people can’t see you.”

“You seen your face, Tex?  You the one whose gonna scare the fuck outta’ people with the goddamned cattle slaughter you got on your mug.  You don’t feel that?  It don’t hurt?”

“Huh?”  He looked quickly at his face in the rearview mirror as Curio hobbled up front and flopped into the seat.  “Oh shit.”  Moses scowled and shook his head.  His face was almost completely red from the blood trickling from numerous cuts and gouges.

“Fuck.  We look like we just hit that dredge, not that fucking Nesbit.  Shit, man!”  Moses pounded the wheel.  “We gotta’ get hid and quickly.  Can you hand me that water jug?”  The bright summer sun has never seemed so illuminating and hot upon him.

Curio reached around and grabbed the nearly empty jug.  Moses took notice.

“Drink it.  I just want the jug.  You swallow much water?”

“Not too much, I think.  I’ve swallowed a lot worst.  I’m sure.”

She shook the jug and swilled the last few cups.

“Grab that little pocketknife in the tool pack in that first aid kit and hand that and the jug to me.”  Moses popped the dashboard and pulled out his river map.  The wind wailing through the busted windscreen made it a tough go as he unfolded it to where they were and crimped the excess paper away.  He exchanged the map for the knife and the jug with Curio.

“Find channel marker 114-Tango on there.  We are just a little south of it.”  Moses flicked open the tiny Schrade and carved away the top of the jug, making a dipper.  Never taking his toe from the bullet hole, he scooped up a half-gallon of water from the river and leaned over the side as he poured the water over his face, wiping his skin with his hand to scour the trickles of blood that were already hardened.

“I found it.  And there is that backwater we were just in.”

“Good.  Hand me the whiskey, love.”

“Not the best time to be taking shots, Moses.  But I want one, too.”

“And I agree with you.  It’s a goddamned shame.  But I need it nevertheless.”  Curio found a bottle of Rebel Yell whiskey, unopened in the false bottom where Cletus rested when not in use.  She handed it to him. 

“Alright, stash Cletus and start hunting another one of those backwaters somewhere close-by downriver.”  Moses leaned over the side and began washing his face with his prized whiskey.  Curio winced as she disassembled the rifle and hid it in its tuck-away.  The cuts had to be on fire with the whiskey dumped on them.

“Clear your pistol.  Make sure it don’t got no water in the pipe or in the mag.  Fuck, that smarted.”  Moses closed the bottle and ladled another half jug of river water on his face to quell the stinging.  Curio picked up her Luger from the floor and checked it.

Satisfied he had the cuts wiped away, he looked in the mirror.  Several were oozing already.  One gash near his left eyebrow would need tending to most certainly.  It would bleed relentlessly.

“I see a little spot about a half mile further on the Mississippi side, if my math and my scale is right.”  Curio had one hand clamped on a gauze pad on her bullet wound and the map in the other.  The Luger rested on the dash.

“Let’s hope it ain’t full of cottonmouths and dickheads catching the hell outta some bluegills back in there.  Look further down on both sides.  You see any boat launches?  Any place where a road ends in the water or there’s an actual noted boat ramp?”  Moses cut across the river.

“There’s a bunch but the first one ain’t for at least two inches from where we are.”

“Two inches?”

“Hang on.  Ten miles on this scale.”

Moses saw an oncoming boat.  “Shit.  Already.”  He put his sunglasses on and pulled his boonie hat far down on his brow. 

“What?”  Curio sat up, remembering to put her shirt on as she saw what triggered his alarm.  “That a cop boat?”  She shimmied into the shirt and had the pistol in her hand in a minute, grimacing and biting her lip as she raised her arms.

“Looks like a fishing boat.”  Moses looked through her ridiculously pink binoculars.  “Yeah.  It’s just two ole boys in a Skeeter.  They’ll see that smoke in a bit.”  Moses sighed and swung the boat as close to the bank as he thought safe.  They would be passing starboard-to-starboard, much closer than the river offered.  He thought twice and swung hard to starboard.  Eyes on the pair at such a close range was simply too much to chance.  Holing up in the slough that close to scene of the crime was asinine.  He looked back at the bilge stream spewing out from the rear.  It was spurting, no longer streaming forcefully.  Looking down he realized the smaller hole he could not get a tow into was barely at the waterline when they were at speed.  There was time enough to put some distance between them and the dredge.

And a bunch of sloughs to hide in…

“We’re skipping this one.  Find the next lil place we can hole up.”  Curio put her nose into the map.

“Not too far there’s one.”

“We want far.  A least a few miles.  That place is gonna be a Coast Guard and local yokel parking lot in a few hours.  You seen all them boats that was a-already up by the dock.  All that has to come downriver at some point but that does kinda’ bottleneck the place from that way.  But we are now a one-way expedition and that’s downriver.”

“Sounds like our lives in general, don’t it baby?”  She laid her leg down from his lap as the Skeeter closed on them.  She laid the gun on the dash and scooted up against her seat.

“Party time, boys!”  She whooped and pulled her shirt up for the gaping men as they passed five hundred yards to port.  Moses hollered and tooted the horn a few times for effect.  Pulling her shirt down as the show was over, she clutched her side.

“Fuck that hurt!”  She ground her teeth.

“And not necessary.”  He shook his head at her flair.

“All they’ll remember is a dumb chick showing them her titties now, not two people who just passed by in a boat with a shot-out window and bleeding like stuck pigs.”

“Always thinking, you.”  Moses chuckled.



The slough they came upon a few miles downriver was perfect at first glance.  One entrance into the backwater, deep enough for their draft and it was well-hidden behind a wall of trees, vines and wild privet.  Carefully, he eased into the slip, trimming the motor high in fear of a sandbar or submerged tree fouling them up.  The backwater was sprinkled with dead trees.     

“Oxbow.”

“Huh?”  Curio did not know the term.

“This is an old oxbow that one of the floods got to and reopened.”  He motored over to the bank just on the north side of the entrance and beached the boat.  For the first time in nearly two hours, the air was quiet of boat noise.

“How’s that?”  Moses immediately set about administering to her leg.  He needed more room and light than they had.

“Move to the back seat, sexy.  The love doctor is gonna tidy you up.”

“You’re bleedin’ again, Tex.”  His brow was dripping.

“It’ll keep.  You’re shot.”  Curio lay on the long padded seat on the starboard side, scooting up so she could prop her leg on her seat.

Moses jammed the Nautique’s life preserver under her foot as a prop and swiveled in his chair with the entire first aid kit at his feet.

“So, Moses Holliday,” Curio propped up in the sunlight, shades hiding her eyes but a delectable smile on her sweaty face.  “How we getting outta this God-awful mess of bullshit?”

“Piracy in all likelihood.”  He examined her leg on both sides.  “You got lucky.  Missed the artery, missed the knee, missed the ankle, missed the bone.  Just moved a little meat aside and passed on through.  Theo will have to look it over better than I can do in the middle of the river and get you something to cure infection.  But at least I can give him a head start.”  He shook a bottle of betadine vigorously as he stared at her pussy peaking from the bottom of the t-shirt.

“You want me to squirt a little of this up in you while we’re here?”  He pointed casually at her crotch. “Just in case?”

“Do what?”  She looked at him queerly.

“You know.  For any possible infestations.”

She jumped up on her elbows.  “What the hell you mean?”

“Well.  I mean, it’d be a shame for some Minnesota clit-slug to have a-swum up in you down there when you pulled that fucked-up Greg Louganis off the back of that boat.  Two weeks later, you feel all great and squat down to take a pee and have some fucked-up maggot fall out of you in the shitter maybe.  It’d be like in that fly movie when she births that big maggot baby, remember?”  He chuckled at her agape mouth. “You might not survive the shock.  Hell, what if I went down on you and came outta’ there a-yellin’ with some mutant Mississippi River crawfish with hangin’ from my lip?”  He imitated a claw grip on his bottom lip and crossed his eyes as he groaned.

“Are you serious?”  He could see the panic.  Vaginal worms or some weird invasive parasite was the quiet terror of all women.  Probably most men as well.  Moses laughed at her.

“No.”  He rolled her leg to get an angle on the exit wound.

“You sure, right?  Be serious, man!  Moses?  I ain’t havin’ no leeches or no crazy shit in me.”  Stand By Me immediately went into her mind.  Will Wheaton whimpering with a bloody leech in his hand horrified her as a teenager.  She had seen the movie for the first time when she happened to be on her period and not slept soundly for two nights straight.

“I’m kidding.”  He waited as she relaxed, convinced. 

“But I’ve been wrong before.”

“What?”  She jumped and he poured a few ounces into the hole in her leg. Contorting and beating the side of the boat, she screamed, “Fuck!” quite a few times.  Moses let the pain subside before doing the other side.  He adjusted her ankle on the life preserver as he unpacked an ace bandage and another giant gauze pack.  Being in Vietnam and being in Grizzly Fontenot’s employ had taught him many things.  One of them was one could never have too much ammo and too much gauze.

Something about the life preserver sparked an interest in him.  It looked normal enough at first glance.  But a corner of the stitching was loose.  He thought, at first, her impact with the water must have popped it, but realized it was something else. 

Curio turned her face into the seat, murmuring curses in pain.  He laid her leg on the passenger seat carefully as he pulled the life preserver from under it.  He dug his finger into the tear in the stitching and ripped it open further.

Ahem, ahem!  That ain’t Styrofoam, Mr. Nesbit.  Please step out of the vehicle…

He grabbed the folding Schrade and cut the packet free.

She must have had her eyes closed beneath her glasses, for she did not flinch at the sight.  He smiled at the find.

“Leg hurts like hell, don’t it, baby?”  He commiserated.  “I been there.  I know.  Hurts like the fire, don’t it?”

“Yeah, it fuckin’ hurts, baby.  Kiss it and make it better.”  She whimpered, sniffling.

“I can do a lil’ better than that, I think.  I’m pretty sure I can knock the edge off.”

“I’ll hug you and kiss you and call you George.”

“Kiss me then, sexpot.  But who the fuck is George?”

Curio opened her eyes and raised her shades as she saw him fondling a cellophane bag.

“You shitting me?”  She raised her eyes to the sky.  “Thank you, God!”

“About a kilo would be my guess.  Call me, Jorge, baby.  That oughta’ knock the sting out.  Reckon Grizzly won’t mind too much.”

“Fuck him!  He can bill me!”  Ripley talking to Burke in Aliens tickled her.

“No charge.  The load burnt up, sexpot.  For the record.”

“Please, Moses.  My leg is sore as shit.” 

“I know.  I know.  It’s paste, though. Hold on just a minute.  I gotta’ break it up a bit or it won’t dissolve in the hole.”  He sliced into the packet with the knife, stabbing into the crumbly-dry paste until he had some pebbles churned up in the bag.  Laying the map on the floorboard, he dumped what he chopped onto it.  Tossing the life preserver to her for a pillow, he picked up her Luger.  He popped the clip, slipped a single 9mm round from it and reinserted it.  Using the bullet, he tamped the paste into a gritty powder and carefully raised it to his knees.

“It’s gonna’ probably sting before it starts to work.  But, it’s straight paste.  Oughta' work like a charm.”

“Maybe your devoted and gunshot lover needs a toot to keep the screaming at bay then?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”  He folded the map into a crease to channel the powder into a line and then fished around in the kit until he had a snakebite kit in his head.  Moses withdrew the suction dropper from it and pulled off the rubber end, making it in effect a large glass straw.

“Straw, madam?”

She sat up, grimacing as she swung her leg to the ground.  “Such a gentleman.”

“You won’t be a-thinkin’ that when I wrap that hole up, Miss Curio.”

“Cross the bridge when I get across these railroad tracks, Tex.”  She inhaled two nostrils worth and tilted her head back.  “I said, Goddamn!  Goddamn!”

She cocked her head as the coke dissolved in her runny nose immediately.  “For real, goddamn!  Whew!”  She wiped her teary eyes.  “Edge?  What edge?  The edge is officially knocked off.”

“Ready then?  We gotta’ get a-goin’.”

“Do as you wish, master.  I think I can manage now.”  She sighed and lay back on the life preserver, giving it a little kiss of gratitude.  “Thank you for smuggling in a life buoy, Boss.”

Delicately, Moses packed the bullet holes with dollops of powder and decided against gauze.  Better to seal it up where the blood would clot inside and pack it instead of trickling through the gap between the Ace and the skin.  He grabbed the duct tape, eyeing the two holes in the hull.  Beaching the boat lifted them both above the waterline.

Tearing a long piece of the silver miracle worker, he inspected the holes once more and scooped some more cocaine into them both.  “Here goes, baby.”

“No problem.  I’m kinda’ smiling right about now, sexy.”  She beamed in the sun’s glare as wrapped the tape around her calf tightly.

“All done.  Let’s see that ass cheek.”

She cocked up the t-shirt and rolled slowly.  Her chest still hurt.  He inspected the graze.

“That might leave a scar.  He creased you just bad enough to get a burn.”

“Fuck, really?”  Curio grumbled and sighed.  “I’ll kill him for that.”

“Good to know.  He deserves it for that.”  Moses kissed her wound and dumped some powder on the blistered wound on his otherwise unblemished tan ass.

“You jumpin’ in that boat was the dumbest thing I ever saw, baby.”  Moses frowned and slapped her smartly on her undamaged cheek.  “Please don’t do that kinda’ shit again.”

“Noted.”

“I mean it!  He coulda’ swerved!  You coulda’ missed.  Or misjudged the speed and ended up crushed or get a prop cutting across your gut.  He coulda’ shot you dead, too.  I don’t see how you judged that jump anyway, but don’t fuckin’ do that shit ever again.”

“All true.  But that sorry motherfucker never saw no naked, fine bitch do no shit like that before.  Surprise is the best offense, right?”

“Wearing the shades was a nice touch, I thought.  Some bloody, naked chick wearing shades jumps me in a speedboat with a blade and an attitude, yeah.  Call me surprised.”  He patted her good ass cheek.  “But all you did was take me out of the fight.  I was about to shoot his ass and go home.”

“Call me crazy.”

“Crazy.”

“There you have it.”  He got her settled and jumped overboard with the tape.  The exit wound on the boat was jagged.  He had to whittle away the splinters to get a flat surface to affix the duct tape.

“Reason number seventy-seven why a roll of duct tape should go every a man goes.”  He pushed the boat from the beach and jumped in.  “Never know when a bullet hole might sink your boat.”

The bilge began pumping whatever was left in the aft end.  They floated in the still waters of the oxbow, bumping softly against a submerged snag now and again.  Moses dug out the superglue in the first aid kit and a box of matches.  Knowing what he was about to do, Curio moved forward.

“Let me, baby.”

“You okay?”

“Better than average.”  She sidled up to him, grasping his face and bending him down where she could work.  Looking him over, she frowned.

“You got more scars than Tiberius.”  Tiberius was a jet-black tomcat that Curio occasionally left some food out for when she saw him marking his territory now and again.  He was a battler, with frequent gaping wounds and permanently shredded ears from encounters with opossums, raccoons and other suitors.

“I earned them, honey.”  He handed her the matches.  “Job hazard.  I’m gonna have to take Grizzly to OSHA about the safety concerns I have about the working conditions around here.”

“I’m sure he can reach a settlement agreeable to you and him both.”  Curio sniffled hard as the drain in her sinuses dumped into her throat.  She shuddered and wiped her nose on her forearm.  “Shit, that paste is the way to go.”

Moses looked at his face in the mirror again and leaned to her.  “Cauterize the worst bleeders and glue that bleedin’ lil bastard over my eye.  I can’t be drippin’ like some twelve-year-old practicing with his daddy’s dull razor all day if we have to do some horse tradin' with some sumbitch downriver.”

“Most of them are scabbing up already.”  She kissed him.  “My tough man.  Remember,” Curio kissed him again quickly.  “I only do this because I love!”  She selected who was getting the match ends and began.  One by one, she lit a match and quickly blew it out as she jammed the hot end into the cuts on his face, casually flipping the spent ones overboard. 

It had to sting like hell, but only a subtle tic of his jaw belied each burning.  Moses never said a word.  He only looked at her in amusement and love.  She began to kiss the wounds as she worked.  After burning ten of them, she considered her match-work done.

After working some cocaine into the bleeder above his eyebrow, she leaned him back and used a match to daub superglue into the gash.  Curio blew on his wound softly, her breath cool and subtle on his forehead as she pulled the edges of the gash together until the glue hardened.  Moses rather enjoyed it.  He preferred superglue to stitches or staples.

“We happy?”  He smiled at her, lifting her shirt to look at her bruise again.  It looked painful, but nothing busted up too badly.

“We happy!”  Curio admired her work and looked at her own face in the rearview mirror.  At some point, her lipstick got smeared all over her mouth and blood had trickled down her chin.

“Fuck!  I’m a mess!  Why didn’t you say something?”

“It could wait.”  He handed her a fistful of alcohol wipes.  “Get situated.  We’re getting gone from here as fast and as far as this gas-guzzling bastard will take us.”

She flopped in her seat, reaching down to zip the cocaine into the duffle bag and slide it into the cargo compartment.  Before securing the door, she pulled her shorts and sandals out.

“So what’s this piracy thing you mentioned?”  Curio wiggled into her cargo shorts as Moses cranked the boat and dipped the prop into the water.  He eased them ahead to the cut in the sandbar.  When they were clear and into the Mississippi proper, he opened up the 454 wide open.

“Exactly what you think.”  He spoke loudly over the motor.  “We got no way to contact Pete or Henri or anybody and let them know we need outta’ here without finding a phone.  Now we might happen upon someone with one of those cellular phones out here, but neither of us are in a chatty way right now.  Eddie bought it on a Corps dredge.  That makes it a Fed case and while it might take a while to figure out what to make of the guy hittin’ the dredge full power, it won’t take long for them to figure out who he is unless he’s a crispy critter.  Feds mean Jowanski eventually and Grizzly don’t need no more goddamned Jowanski.  We need outta here A-S-A-P and by any means necessary.”

“Ain’t he a crispy critter?”  Curio looked forlornly at the trees to port.

“I dunno.  He should be.  I wished I coulda’ had time to clean it up better up there.  Hell, I wish I was pulling this big bastard up on the trailer right now and headed home.  Ain’t headin’ nowheres near that mess up there with us all fucked up.  It is what it is though.”

“How much gas we got?  Can we make it far?”

“I’m trading distance away from the scene of that monumental fuck-up for gas.  Here’s what I’m thinking.  There’s a lot of fish houses and campin’ houses on the banks around here.  I say we motor down a ways.  Find us a little house around here and invade it.  Get either a phone if we can hole up without the owners coming around or just take a car and get gone.  The river will close in on us right quick if they start a dragnet.”  He scowled suddenly.  “Shit, barges.” 

A tow of six petroleum barges meandered slowly upriver.  Moses altered course and gave them a wide berth.

“Sounds okay.  But what if we hit one full of people?”

“Play by ear, baby.  Innocent and needing help if we can.  Dirty as fuck if we can’t.  We gotta get clear of this and fast.  Pirates weren’t known for being kind.”

“Argh, matey.  Fucking argh.”

They motored south for an hour, not speaking much, occasionally tooting up from the kilo when the pain got back into full swing.  The gas gauge read a quarter tank and the map indicated they were nearing Helena, Arkansas.  People on jet skis began to be plentiful, jumping their wake now and again a few times.  Barges and fishermen as well.  Moses was growing nervous.  Sighting a lone house trailer on the east side, he decided above Helena was good enough.

“That one.  That’s perfect.”  He aimed for the rotting dock that ran from levee back to the trailer.  “Somebody’s old fish shack I hope.”

Curio, freshly numbed and anxious, put her binoculars to her eyes.  “Two cars.  One ain’t running though.  It’s a shithole over there.”

“Let’s hope the other does run.  Either which way, that’s our huckleberry.”  He cut the throttle, coasting dead slow toward the dock.  “Floods wrecked that dock I bet.  No money to fix it either.  Place looks okay for us to use.”

The yard was strewn with junk- old appliances, car parts, busted household items, there was an old johnboat on a trailer with a flat tire and a rusty camper shell perched across it.  Clutter did not begin to describe it.

“Not much fishing going on outta that place.”  Moses muttered.  The trailer had a long porch built around the rear of it, enclosed in mosquito screen.  An age-weathered and tattered Razorback flag fluttered from a rusted flagpole near the bank. 

“Whatcha' think?”  Curio jammed her Luger in her back pocket.  Moses nosed around in the bag and found a diving knife he kept.  He lashed it to her good thigh and pulled her shorts down to conceal it.

“I think we play damsel in distress.  I’ll cover you from the levee.  You go up and go knock-knock, please meester, can you help lil ole me and my dumb boyfriend?  If it’s a houseful of nuns, you make a call and you tell them you flipped a jet ski on a tree and something stuck you.  If it’s some old geezer, you bend him to your will and wave me up.  I don’t wanna shoot nobody else today but we getting outta this here cop-trap of a boat, right damn now.”

“Why don’t you just go up there?  Baby, my leg hurts again.  It’s stiff as hell.”  A rooster crowed behind the trailer.

“Because if some drunk off-duty sheriff and me get into it and he gets the drop on me somehow, you can’t drive a boat for shit and you can’t run for shit.”

“Dammit.  It’s hurtin’ again.”

“We get in there.  I’ll repack it and retape it.”  The Bayliner bumped against the crumbling dock.  Moses kept on eye for wasps as he helped push her by the ass up a wood ladder.  She swayed as she breathed through pain and cinched up the drawstring on her shorts.  She jammed the Luger into her waistband and covered it with the long t-shirt.  Moses put his own t-shirt on.  It was an old UTEP shirt he found somewhere.  Curio smirked at it. 

“They even got a team at that sorry school?  Geaux Tigers, bitches.  Sorry cow-tippin' ass football team.”

“Make me proud.  I’m beaching the boat and I’m on you with Cletus.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, babe.  Take your time, you might be being watched now.  Oscar time, right?”

“Fuckin’ Meryl Streep ain’t got shit on me when I get up there.”  She winked at him.  “They’re gonna like me.  Really, really like me.”

“Be discreet.  Thorough, but discreet.  We got enough shit up here goin’ on already.”

“I’m gonna be me, baby.  When have I ever been discreet?  I can't even spell it.”

She began hobbling down the dock toward the trailer.  Moses pushed away from the dock and puttered around in a circle to line up on the bank.  Then he gunned it forward, raising the prop up as he cut the motor and beached the boat.  The levee, obviously not mowed for decades it looked like, hid the boat from the vantage of the porch.  He put the AR-15 back together and put his Army Colt .45 in his cargo pocket.  As he leapt from the boat and crawled up the levee, Moses sincerely hoped no one was home.

Curio limped up the long sidewalk, her shaded eyes never leaving the windows of the trailer as she searched for movement.  An unseen rooster crowed again.

Please, no dogs.  She had a healthy respect for the danger of a dog. 

She meandered past trash piles, scrap metal mostly.  Dragged up to take to the can man whenever a whiskey bottle got low, she reckoned.  The yard was shaded by many cottonwoods and pin oaks.  One was split by a lightning strike and quite dead.  Its base was surrounded by its limbs, as they broke free over time.  No one picked them up.  No one did much of anything around the place.  That was apparent.

The trailer was the color of a faded pistachio filtered through a teal mold coating.  The skirt around it was ripped away in many places; exposing tires so sick of being flat, they would never hold air again out of sheer spite.  Leaves were piled high along the gutters.  A giant garden spider sat on its great web stretching between the south end of the trailer and the raised hood of a rusted-up old Volvo station wagon that she bet had not been touched in twenty years if a day.  All four windows were either rolled down or broken out.  The car sat out in the open on a pad that maybe served as a parking area, but was now strewn with tufts of wild St. Augustine and junk layered with spider webs and pollen-dusted trash bags spilling out old beer cans.

Halfway up the walkway, Curio began to hear bass drums thumping inside the trailer.  Assuming someone had not left a radio cranked up wide open, she knew for sure the house was not empty.  She cursed to herself at the bad luck.  The place gave her the creeps.

Spiders were everywhere.  Wolf spiders scurried around, diving into piles of junk or beneath the planks of the ramp as she limped along ever closer to the porch.  Enormous funnel spiders sat at the maw of their dens, patiently waiting for an ant or ladybug to tickle a leg.  Water spiders, orb weavers so common near watering holes, skittered all over the place.  She smelled something dead.  Gnats fluttered around her face and she swatted without dispersing them one iota.

Behind the station wagon, a neon purple Toyota Camry was parked in a garish slant.  It had a pair of silver racing stripes offset to the left of the body.  The stripes slashed from the front bumper, over the hood and cab and even followed a high spoiler mounted to the trunk.  It looked outlandishly out of place in the decrepit yard.  The car was clean, immaculate almost except a few fresh splatters of dust from a drive on a dirt road.

She tried to get a read of its owner, factor who would drive such a gaudy automobile.  For a moment, she thought maybe a Latino or a black guy.  As she closed on the porch, her eyes beheld an Elvis air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror and decided it was neither.

A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her Moses was watching.  She could see the grass parting subtly on the levee as he pushed Cletus ahead of him.  She limped up the two short steps to the porch. 

A screen door hung loosely on hinges whose screws were more out than in.  A faded straw floor mat lay at her feet as she shuffled inside.  A well-worn image of Yosemite Sam brandishing two six-guns with the caption: “Yer Darn Tootin You Ain’t Welcome” gave her pause.  Curio surveyed the long porch.

The porch reflected the yard.  At the far end an assortment of old smokers and butane bottles sat on a ping-pong table whose green surface was long ago yellowed with pollen.  A few old fish fryers with pots sitting on them surrounded it.  Old Christmas lights were stapled around the inside.  Curio figured it was a long time since they worked.  A long hand built shelving section stretched along the riverside of the porch, festooned with old clay pots of earth and the final desiccated corpses of whatever flora had once lived in them lay draped over the sides.  A lone cactus remained green and alive.

Fishing rods of all description were lying against the screen surrounding the porch.  Carpenter tools sat on the floor along the length of the wall adjacent to the trailer.  An old dog bowl, chewed and not used for a long while if the crud in it was any judge, sat next to the sliding glass door that led into the trailer.  Everything was covered in cobwebs and fresh orb weaver webs.  A few flies and bumblebees buzzed around inside with her.  Daddy long-legs by the dozens crawled along the walls.

The techno beat kept bumping at the rear of the trailer.  She tried to reconcile the music with the location and it did not compute.  The locale reeked of “old decrepit man’s fish shack.”  The music and the car were at odds with that.  She reckoned there was no way some old fart would tolerate a kid blaring away with that brand of music for long in his trailer and there was no fucking way some good ole boy would be caught dead in a neon purple Camry in BFE, Arkansas.

Again she knocked, pressing her ear to the door.  Someone hung heavy burnt orange drapes across the doorway inside.  They hung to floor.  Curio kept listening to the beats coming from the rear of the trailer.  Closer to the glass door now, she could almost make out a familiar song but it was still muffled.  Looking over her shoulder one last time, she gulped when she realized the sun was setting on the opposite side of the trailer.  Not only was she in a room with a bug screen that was so completely filthy she had a hard time seeing outside from four feet away, the sun was probably in Moses’ eyes and he could not see her through the glare.

She knew her man.  She knew her man would not sit idly by not being able to see her and her situation for long.  Knowing that, she knocked on the door and waited.

No one came.  She knocked again, looking around for a doorbell button and making a note that the door had no obvious alarm or locking bar in the slide-rail.  It would help sell her as a damsel in distress if she really banged on the glass so she rapped hard for about five seconds, certain someone had to hear it over the din inside the rear of the trailer.

Nothing.  Not even a fuck off yell.  Just the pounding bass beat, subtle in the rear of the trailer.

What the fuck?

Moses watched her stagger up the sidewalk, her gait forced but normal.  His eyes watched the curtains of every window for the slightest twitch and saw none.  With the absence of boat noise, he heard music, faint at the distance but obviously cranked up for him to hear it at all through the trailer’s walls. 

When she entered the porch, it became apparent he could not see well enough through the screen.  Immediately, apprehension caught his throat.  He tried to breathe, anxiously raising Cletus to his shoulder and peering through the scope in an effort to better see her.  He made out her knocking on the door a few times and looking back at him. 

“I’m here, baby.  Go ahead.  I’m here.”  He muttered.

She pounded on the glass door.  He was certain someone would open it after that.

No one came.  He saw her slide it open, reach behind her back for the Lugar and disappear inside.

Exhaling slowly, Moses Holliday slid down the bank on his belly and began creeping toward the walkway, hunched over, his eyes still watching for motion and his ears waiting to hear whatever Curio decided was discretion…

         Fuck it, I gots to know…

         Remembering the thug staring at Dirty Harry with the question of how many bullets were fired in his apprehension in the air, Curio Phelonie pulled out the Luger.

         Enough of this shit.  My ass has a scar and my leg fuckin hurts…

Curio slid the door open, pistol in hand and parted the heavy drapes smartly.  Immediately, she was looking at a large wooden kitchen table.  The door opened into a dining area; the kitchen doorway immediately in view beyond the table.  No one in sight.

She turned to her left, sweeping the room with her pistol outstretched.  The living room was in sight, an open area, sectional couch and the obvious “command chair” empty.  A hallway emptied the room between the end of the couch and the chair.

Remembering Moses’ constant admonition to “feel her surroundings,” Curio stood silent, her eyes washing over the scene.

The overpowering smells of old tobacco smoke and broken sewer pipe hit her nostrils, along with just a tiny hint of…weed!  She cocked her head around the room, curiosity immediately peaked.  The table had two plates and two wine glasses on it.  One glass had a sliver of white wine still in it.  She noticed the caked-on red remnants of some blackened catfish skin on a plate, with some kind of veggie hodgepodge leftovers on one of plates.

Last night’s dinner, she figured.  White wine with fish?  How erudite!

She crept into the kitchen, covering the hallway as she moved.  The music was still blaring.  It was some industrial metal headfucker riff blaring.  She did not know the tune but it was not foreign, either.  A quick look into a doorway next to the fridge yielded a laundry room.  Lint-sprinkled spider webs caked the corners of the ceiling totally.  There were no clothes lying around.  She ignored the room. 

Carefully, she looked in the fridge, careful to use her t-shirt as a glove.  The contents were sparse.  Old packages of dry food, grits, oatmeal, pancake mixes and such, all looking too old to cook sat in the door.  A few loose beers and an unopened pack of white grapes were on the bottom shelf.  A box of Franzia chardonnay sat front and center on the top shelf, flanked by a half-drank two-liter of Big Red on one side and a full jug of milk to the other.  The other shelves had a variety of take-out boxes and old condiments.  The inside smelled old, the food tired of just sitting there.  She closed the door.

A large dolphin with crystals dangling from it hung over the large windowpane in the kitchen next to the stove.  She admired it for a moment.  The sun was on the wrong side for it to work but she imagined that at sunrise it would throw off dozens of little rainbows in the kitchen.

Such a nice thought!  She pursed her lips and nodded in admiration.  I need something like that for my house!  She loved dolphins and she really loved her some rainbows.

Must be nice frying up an egg with rainbows dancing all over you.  How sweet!  Damn, that’s cute!

Aside from the skillet and a few pots and utensils in the sink, the kitchen was surprisingly clean.  She moved out of it and cautiously looked down the hallway.  Four doors, all closed.  At least one with the music blaring.  Her eyes cut to her right.  Next to the command chair and console TV, a long buffet table with trio of hip-looking alley cats playing jazz atop it stood.  Between it and the TV was the front door.  It had a key hanging from the deadbolt.  She rushed quietly to the door, made sure it was locked and pulled the key out.  Her eyes looked around and she decided to stash it under one of the cats, the one sitting behind a three-piece drum kit.

Moses’ words were in her head.  “Control the scene.  Minimize the ability of help to arrive from different vantages.  Lock yourself in with the enemy where it has to be you or them.  Of course after making sure you’ve taken precautions to be damned sure it’s you!”

Front door secure, baby.  So far, it’s us, not them.  She scanned the counters and tables for keys.  Not one goddamned set…

Covering the hallway with the pistol as she crossed the entrance, she eased over to the other side of the living room.

Well, well, well!  She looked at the wall behind the couch.  A giant, framed promotional poster from the movie Cabaret was mounted on it.  Liza Manelli…!  Clue number three for a thousand, Alex.

There was a giant glass coffee table in front of the sectional.  Immediately her eyes told her whoever was home was no prude. 

White wine was one thing.  A hookah sitting on a coffee table was quite another.

More importantly, the hookah’s bowl sat atop a ceramic air chamber that was sculpted to look like a man rapturously embracing another man from behind.  The hookah had two hoses.  Both ran from the cock of the sculpted two men.

“Oh my.  Oh my.”  Curio chuckled and shook her head incredulously.  The mystery of the Camry was solved, at least.

She walked up to the table, noticing also a record album was lying open with a dusting of white powder coating it.  Elvis in Hawaii…it fits actually.  And lookee-lookee-lookee!

Two real glass straws, a visa card, and a cheap gas station grinder sat of to the side with a fresh pack of razor blades.  And not one, but two lil’ twist-tied baggies just sittin’ there!  Tsk, tsk! Don’t y’all know that’s illegal?

She nodded her head in approval, dragging a licked finger across the dust and tasting it.  Fuck!  Curio winced and wiped her tongue hurriedly.  Cheap ass crank.  Blah!  Upgrade those party favors, boys!

A heavy clay ashtray shaped like a catfish sat on the corner of the table, heaping with butts.  Curio noticed two brands. 

Pall Malls and Camels?  And lookee, lookee, lookee!  A fat, roached joint sat atop the pile of stubbed cigarettes.  She pulled it from the pile and sparked it with a lighter on the couch.  It was acrid.  Stifling a cough with a balled fist, she exhaled slowly.

A murmured voice came to her ears from down the hall.  The music abruptly stopped.  Curio crouched into a kneeling shooting stance, the joint smoldering between her lips, her leg afire from the weight she pressed down on it.  It was almost enough to make her scream out as she crouched without thinking.  Breathing the smoke in and out as she pointed the Luger at the entrance to the hall, she hoped Moses was closer than he was.

The voices laughed through the walls and then she heard the unmistakable sound of a bed’s squeaking as someone flopped on it.  The sound of the title track from Blood Sugar Sex Magik by the Red Hot Chili Peppers started playing.  Another body jumped on an unseen bed.  Slow, slinky, and flippant, the guitar intro made her head bob instinctively as she heard it.  Again, she could hear laughing in the room. 

“Get over here!”  She heard a man say distinctively.  He said it in a way imitative of the Scorpion character in the Mortal Combat video game. 

“Nice.”  She staggered to her feet timidly, biting her lip to stifle a cry as she snuffed the smoking roach back in the tray.  The taste of chemicals was on her tongue.  She smacked a bit, trying to discern the taste.

“A fuckin’ primo.”  She shook her head in dismay.  It was laced with some kind of dope other than weed.  “Fuckin’ cranked-up joint.  Tastes like shit.”  Curio muttered and began walking down the hall slowly.

Moses moved up the path slowly, rifle at ready.  When he hit the corner of the trailer, he looked at the Camry.  It appeared to have been driven there recently.  He saw tracks in the dust behind it and assumed there had been no rain.  Something caught his eye and he walked around the trailer.

Immediately, he froze, his eyes beholding a newer model Lincoln Continental parked on the far side of the trailer, out of sight of the water.

And it was unnoticed by Curio as she walked up the trail straight to the back door of the trailer, he knew immediately.

Shit!  Moses heard the music stop abruptly and began to panic.  As he crept around to the back porch, a new song began playing.  He eased off the mental alarm a smidge but still walked with a methodical purpose toward the glass door.

Curio cleared the first door on the left as the Chili Peppers covered her noise for her.  It was a spare bedroom, crammed with endless stacks of old magazines and newspapers.  No furniture, no clothes.  Just six-foot stacks of periodicals.  She looked at one closely for an instant.

Saturday Evening Post?  They even make them anymore?

The room was just junk from ceiling to floor, written off as dead space decades before.  The door to her right was not latched completely.  With a bare toe, she nudged the door open, Luger at the ready.

It was a restroom.  Old lime-green tile was laid halfway up the walls, yielding its dull grip to recently painted eggshell white drywall that rose to the ceiling.  The fixtures were old, made for functionality in some bygone decade.  The room was surprisingly clean.  The sink’s porcelain was bleached white, the brass tap handles immaculate.  The rugs around the base of the commode and the larger floor rug laid in front of the old claw-tub were fairly new looking, the same drab lime-green and plush.  A wadded towel was lying across the lip of the tub. 

The tub was huge.  She smirked at its simple opulence.  Ever-appreciative of a good soak in a large tub, she was suddenly enamored of the big kettle.  Mentally, she made a note to ask Moses to find her one just like that one for her cottage.

The toilet lid was down, a likeness of a giant catfish with its mouth open to receive its dinner carved into the wood.  Knowing what a mud cat was most likely to smell and eat in the Mississippi, Curio thought the carving was a hoot. 

Suddenly her chuckle yielded to a swoon.  Eyes suddenly feeling thick behind her orbs, she reached and clenched the towels hanging from the ring bolted into the wall. 

What in the hell?  Curio shook her head a few times, trying to clear a fog that seemed to come from nowhere and rolled in fast. 

I’m fuckin’ tits up!  She had always heard Moses and Grizzly use that term between them.  It was some military way of saying fubar that she did not quite understand.  Somehow, her state of mind could only be tits up.  The inane clarity of the phrase occurred to her.

Getting her bearings, she released the towels, noticing the cotton clothes were embroidered with a trio of giant crawfish, playing jazz obviously.  Raucous musical notes floated visibly from the linen.  She giggled silently.  One of the crawfish, the guitarist, winked at her, then nodded at her and doffed his derby hat.

Do what?  Her eyes widened as it seemed to turn and look over its shoulder and motion with an antenna at her.  Then suddenly, the trio started playing the Chili Peppers song blaring from the next door on the left, swaying to the tune as she released the fabric abruptly.

She noticed suddenly an old red douche bag hanging from the curtain rod on the tub.  The sight of it made her almost gag.  It was curiously out of place in modern times, yet in the trailer’s semi-rustic restroom, totally vogue.

“Thank God for progress!”  She whispered as she shook her head in dismay.  Why it took so long for some idiot man to dream up a more demure squirt and toss douche bottle was beyond her.  To her shock, the douche bag’s hose and nozzle suddenly lifted its nose at her, gliding through the air like Kaa the Python in the Jungle Book movie she loved as a child, beguiling her with a plastic smile rather than the kaleidoscope irises of the cartoon snake.

It sang to her, in Anthony Kiedis’ sultry, low voice, the opening lyrics to the song blanketing the trailer.

“Blood sugar sucka fish, in my dish.  How many faces do you wish?  Step into a heaven where I keep it on the soul-side.  Girl please me, be my soul bride.  Every woman has a piece of Aphro-dite.  Copulate to create a state of sexual light.  Kissin’ her virginity, my affinity.  I mingle with the gods, I mingle with divinity!”

All too aware she was getting muy loco, real fucking fast, Curio Phelonie listened to the song erupt from its slinky slow groove into the raucous refrain, the crawfish pounding their instruments and jumping up and down on their little fanned tails.  The one playing the stand-up bass even resembling Flea as he slapped the big bass’ strings, in and out of focus as her field of vision began breathing.

“Oh shit!  I hear ya!  Rock out with your cock out!”  The comedy of the trio rocking to the L.A. band was euphoric.  She almost cheered and would have thrown a few bills in the tip box, if they had one.

If she was going to go on a trip, she was prepared for it mentally.  Given the situation, Curio reasoned getting that messed up that fast meant something, high-quality dope.  Grinding her teeth, she inhaled deeply and flashed her tits to the band out of respect before blowing them a kiss and throwing a peace sign to the singing douche nozzle.  The crawfish playing drums, a hipster sort wearing little black sunglasses, threw a boiled-red claw to its ear mimicking a phone, waved a clandestine antenna at her, and whispered, “Call me!” behind the back of the guitarist in front of him.  She nodded in understanding, winked at it and waved goodbye coyly.

She began to feel tingly down her spine as she crept down the hall, shuddering as someone walked over her grave.  The old arousal in her shorts was there.  A slight clitoral arousal that never failed to surface when she was on a job.  But now her whole body was awash in prickly tingles.  Her mouth was numbing by the second.  Her leg pain seemed to evaporate every second and that was a positive.  But Curio could feel herself getting light in the mind and body.  Her mouth numbing by the second, she felt her tongue go pasty, her upper palette chalky and deadened.  Those were effects she may have paid damned good money for in an alternate setting.  Creeping in someone’s house, while they were jamming out and fucking, with a gun in her hand and a bullet hole in her duct-taped leg was not a great milieu for a psychedelic experience, however. 

She tried to keep her shit together…but, goddamn it was funny!

She stifled a giggle, a little bit of the laugh sputtered on her lips, covered by the doors and the music.  It unnerved her, though, sobering her consciousness abruptly as her focus lasered in briefly on the last door on the right.  Tiptoeing up to it, she noticed it had a deadbolt lock on the door.  Like the other three doors, it had no windows.

Gotta’ be an outside door.  The back door!  She used her t-shirt to make sure it was latched.  Then savagely she smacked down with her palm to break the key off in the lock.  Ain’t nobody going in or out of that one.  Moses got the back door covered.  Let’s see who the hell is getting off behind door number three, Bob!

Backing up three deliberate yet wobbly steps, Curio shook her head out a few times, trying to steady herself for the final door.

The hallway was lit by a single florescent fixture that flickered nonstop.  The carpet was deepening, the fabric seeming to encase her feet in the substantial shag.  She pointed the pistol at the door and tried to grab the handle.  It moved on her and she missed with her first attempt.  Glaring at the ceiling in disgust, Curio breathed deeply and stared at the handle.  Inside, she could hear a mattress protesting whatever was testing its mettle.  Moist in her panties, ready for anything, gunshot, suntanned, tits up and armed with a dead Nazi’s personal sidearm, she gripped the handle firmly, her t-shirt wrapped around her sweaty palm.

“Aromatic is her flower, she must be moist!” yelled Anthony Kiedis. 

“You’re goddamned right it is!”  She whispered. 

Curio turned the handle and when the door opened from its latch, she gave it a barefoot kick and stumbled clumsily.  Regaining her balance immediately, she gave her most menacing sneer and glared at the room as she took a step inside.

Abruptly, she halted any attempt to dominate her surroundings, as Moses would have done.  Instead, she gaped, her mouth falling open and then trembling into a crippling spate of dreamy giggles that had she not been holding a gun on a lesser foe may have been debilitating to the point of being deadly.

It was a manic few seconds before she could giggle, “Holy shit!”

“Jee-zus!  Who duh fuck are you!”

The voice was high-pitched, country as grits and cornbread, shocked into a shriek that could have flat-out been mistaken for a woman’s had she not been looking at him.  The shrieker was naked from the midriff down, sickly-thin.  His elbows nearly broke the skin, it seemed.  Pasty white skin clashed fiercely with a red leather corset he wore around his pitiful, shaved chest.  Not even a hint of farmer’s tan, Curio wondered how anyone in the south managed that bodily shade of pale.  His body was devoid of hair, shaved away.  He was wearing faded stage make-up.  She could tell that immediately.  It was heavy on the shadow and the lipstick much too waxy to be mere over-the-counter cosmetic.  His hair was shoulder-length, blond as the hay bale he was probably conceived in, coifed flamboyantly in feathered bangs and swept garishly to the rear.  A pair of hoop earrings dangled from his ear.  His reaction reminded her of some old maid who jumped up on a stool at the sight of a menacing mouse.

And he spoke only after he bolted upright on his knees as he wobbled on the mattress at the foot of the bed, leaving the hard cock of the other guy glistening with fresh spit in the flash of a strobe set to minimum speed.

“Who the fuck is she, Freddy?”  The shrieker slapped the hard dick he had only seconds before been so kind to.  Curio knew the sign of a woman’s jealousy in an instant.  She smiled broadly for an instant. 

Feel the room…only Moses would never advocate feeling a room when it’s spinning like a slow merry go-round.

Curio noted the lone vertically rectangular window was blacked out with aluminum foil.  Until she opened the door, there had been no light but the strobe and an orange-lit lava lamp.

Holding the Luger on the shrieker, she stared at the bound man in the solid black leather headpiece with his mouth zipped shut.  He was cuffed to the cast iron headboard, a fearsome frame with studs welded all over it.  He started mumbling loudly, his voice stifled by the mask, but she could clearly make out, “Fuck you!  Get out, bitch!” through the leather.  He had on a pair of black leather chaps and nothing else.  Her eyes noticed some sort of leather biker jacket on the floor at her feet.  A pair of black shitkickers lay askew to her left, clearly tossed nonchalantly by the tall armoire on which the blaring jam box sat. 

A matching leather ensemble!  I’d like to solve the puzzle, Pat.  Yes, your Honor, we have gays!  Real-life flaming non-heterosexuals.

She cocked the Luger and smirked at them as she found a light switch trying to slide away from her down a wall that seemed to be expanding and contracting as if it were a black-lit bellows.  The glare of four sixty-watt bulbs in a ceiling fan canceled the strobe effect and allowed her to focus her dilated eyes on the pair.

“I’m gonna say this exactly once, you freaky fucks!”  She screamed over the Chili Peppers, “You are easier to deal with as a corpse than a person!”  Her voice projected shrilly in her ears, distorted and almost sticky with the cottonmouth caking up her tongue.

The shrieker began stammering incoherently, his hands raised innocently as he stared at the gun.  “Shut that shit up!”  She ordered.  He gulped noticeably, his neck skinny enough to show an Adam’s apple that Curio thought morbidly was more like a swallowed golf ball.  “Hands on the back of your head.”  He gulped again and locked his fingers nervously behind his hair.

Again, her cognizance failed her.  She swooned as a wave of giddy pressure swirled around her mind, driving her sideways into the threshold of the door.

Fucking stupid smoking that, you idiot!  She shook her head as she wiped her eyes.  Suddenly, her leg hurt again out of nowhere.  She swallowed hard, tears running from an eye.  Just hold them, Curio.  My baby will be here any second.  He’ll handle this…Woowee!  Tits up!

“You okay, ma’am?”  The shrieker asked timidly.

“It’s best you don’t look too much in my direction, sweetness.  I’ve had a real fucking bad day.  Turn around and face the wall and maybe you live through this.”  She sucked at the inside of her cheek and wiped her clammy brow with the back of her free hand.  The shrieker whimpered and turned on his knees and faced the wall.  The cuffed man just glared at her.

“Eyes right, bro.  Nice tool by the way.”  She waved his face away from her.

A hot rush swept over her from toe tip to scalp skin.  Swallowing hard, she grunted loudly as she tried to step over to shut up the radio.  Her motor skills were not happening fast.  She swooned but caught herself.

“What the fuck did y’all put in that weed?”  She pointed the pistol at the masked man, whose eyes widened as he murmured beneath the hood.

“Keta-meen, ain-jool dust and ecstasy.”  The country queen blubbered.

“PCP?  What the hell?  You faggots can’t just drink wine and blow each other no more?  Hell, when does the whore-fuckin’ donkey and the gang of Spanish midgets in drag show up?”

The bumpkin shrugged a bit, never unlocking his hands or looking back.  “We ain’t never used no don-key, may-am.”  His twang tickled her.

“Joking, sweetheart.  Goddamn,” she noted the black-light posters and general debauchery of the room she observed through her breathing eyes, “you guys know how to party.”

“Ma’am?”  The shrieker asked meekly.

“What?  I suggest you don’t ask or talk too much, sweetie.  It comes with that ‘you may live through this part’ I just told you about.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.  But you gonna be here a while?”

“I fucking hope not.  Why?  You got somewhere to be besides sitting here naked with Leatherboy’s ball sweat on your tongue?  I’m sure you probably do.  Trust me, honey, I know what you mean.  Anybody else coming out here?  Better tell me now cuz if I hear a car I’m shooting you two dead without thinking and my man is cutting down anything that moves near here.

Leatherboy mumbled some more.  The shrieker spoke aloud as the song came to an end. 

“It’s just that…this is kinda embarrassing.”

“For us both, sweetie, believe me.  I’m all kinda fucked up and this lil scene ain’t what I signed up for.”

“Ma’am, I kinda gotta little dildo in mah ay-ees.  It’s turned on high and sitting up like this, well, truth be told, it kinda hurts me, you know?  Can I please have permission to take it out?”

Curio exploded in laughter, covering her mouth as the dryness gave way to a glob of drool flying from her mouth unexpectedly.  Leatherboy’s dick was now flaccid but it wagged from side-to-side like a metronome to her as the skinny hick squirmed on his knees and made the bed sway.

“Of course, sweetie.  Us girls can’t take it too damn deep for long, now can we?”

“Lisa!”  Moses bellowed from the living room.

Curio saw her prisoners look at each other in terror.  There are two of them…

“Clear in here, Joe!”  She leaned back and looked at Moses loped down the hall, looking in the two open doors as he came to her.  “Baby, I’m fucked up.  Hope youuuu didn’t hit that joint in there.”  She slurred and giggled.

The shrieker leaned forward, his hands fumbling at the ass as he groaned in pain.

“What in the hell?”  Moses grabbed her chin and looked at her black eyes.  Her head lolled on her shoulders, a dreamy gaze and grin on her face.  He grabbed her gun and stuck it into a cargo pocket.

“Just having a few words with my Elvis fans in here."

“You alright?”  Moses first thought was she was over-dosing on the coke.

“Hey sugar booger!”  She draped an arm over his shoulder, smiling vacantly as she stroked his solid arm.  “So strong…”

“What in the hell?”

“Kiss me, sexy!”  She snickered and flopped onto his chest.  “Woo!  These fucks know how to make a fuckin primo!”

Moses shook his head, trying to get an idea of what he missed.  Apache Rose Peacock began playing as the CD player shuffled its tracks around.

“I wanna be in New Or-leeeans, baby!  I wanna suck you in N’awlins!  Soon, baby!  Promise me!”  She seemed drunk, her legs rubbery.  He pulled her into the hallway and pressed her against the wall.

“Sit tight, Lisa!”  He said the false name sternly.  “I’ll handle this.”

“Handle me, baby!”  She wailed giddily and whispered, “I’m so horny right now.”

“Fuck.”  He shook his head in dismay and raised Cletus to his shoulder as he entered the room.

The shrieker had finally dislodged the five-inch silver vibrator from his anus.  He flipped it half-heartedly behind him as Moses took a full measure of the scene.  His anus was wide-open and glaring at Moses before he sat back upright.  The vibrator rolled from the bed and fell to the hardwood floor, buzzing obscenely and spinning itself in little circles a number of times before rolling with a humming purpose against the hollow cast-iron bedpost.  It then held firm to the iron, clamoring like an alarm clock that rumbled up the metal post.

Curio laughed at the sight of it running in circles.  “Run, Forrest, ruuunnn!”

“Man, I could have gone my whole life without that mental image and died a happy man.”  He kicked the vibrator away from the post.  “Sorry we seemed to caught you two at a bad time.”  There was something familiar about the leather mask on the man’s face.  Moses could not quite make out what.  With the shaking redneck naked on his knees unarmed and the other guy tied up, at least the threat was minimal.

“All rooms clear, Lisa?”  Moses asked aloud, glaring at the masked man.  He could see tears in the eyeholes.

“All except this last one.  It was locked with a key.”

Moses froze.  He looked the prone man’s body up and down.  Mid-thirties, thick, muscular.  Had a tattoo of the Guns n Roses emblem on his left bicep and a decent tattoo of Jailhouse Rock Elvis above his left tit.  Uncircumcised.

The shrieker was young as well.  Early twenties at most.  Bony, probably so poor he couldn’t get out of sight if it cost him a quarter to see the world.  Shuddering violently from fear.  Le femme in the relationship, obviously.  Moses himself shuddered at the thought of them together before raising up the muzzle and firing a silenced round into the wall in front of him.  Plaster erupted.  The shrieker shrieked.  Leatherboy contorted in his handcuffs.

“What’s in the other room?  The next bullet’s going straight into zippermouth’s ear if y’all lie to me.”  Moses aimed at the masked man.  He mumbled wildly under the leather.

“Our other friend is in there, sir.”  The shrieker stammered. 

Panic hit Moses Holliday immediately.  His first thought, reflexively, was lessen the number of threats.  Cursing Curio in his mind for fucking up the assault on the house, Moses shot the shrieker in the back of the head.  A red film and gore sprayed against the wall as the body catapulted forward and tumbled to the floor.

Curio was sitting on her butt and whooped at the sight of the wall turning red as it breathed.  The stains looked like fangs coming to consume her.  “Woohoo!  The horror, baby!  The fuckin’ horror!  I’m still wet back here!”

Moses shook his head and shrugged his embarrassment about her to the bound man.  Then he shot him through the left eye and shut the door. 

The Chili Peppers kept singing.  “Twinkle twinkle, lit-tle star, shining down on my blue car.  Drivin’ down the boulevard, she was soft and I was hard…”

Curio pounded on the wall behind her with her fist.  “Hey!  Asshole!  You better come outta’ there right damn now.  Me and my man need to use a phone or a car…”  She trailed off, “Somethin’.”  Another thought struck her.

“Hey!  Cocksmoker!  Open uuuuup!”  She knocked on the door wildly.  “My man’s in the Klan!  They hate dem white queers more than dey hate dem blacks and Jews!”

Moses shook his head at her.  He was not in the Klan.

Phone! 

Moses rushed over to the locked door, saw the broken key on the ground.  If someone had a phone on the other side of the door, they were finished.  Glaring in rage for just a millisecond at Curio, he raised his rifle and bellowed, “Hey asshole!  You better open this goddamned door or I’m punching a hole in it and rolling a grenade in it with you!  We done killed two in here.  Three don’t make no difference to a jury!”

Nothing happened.  He could not hear a thing through the wooden door.

“Fuck it.”  He stitched a near-perfect half-moon with .223 bullets around the deadbolt and doorknob.  Hot brass showered her.  She giggled and dragged one up her thigh, savoring the heat on her skin.

“Tickly.”

The magazine empty, he pulled her Luger and his own Army Colt .45 from his cargo pockets and kicked the door open.

“Git ‘em, Tex!”  Curio clapped her hands and knocked on the wall again.  “You in some deep shit now, buddy boy.”  The thought of gay sex made her laugh and she spoke to the dead men on the other side of the closed door.  “Deep shit!”  She giggled again.

Moses charged into the room, pistols in each hand, looking around for anyone.  There were no targets readily apparent.

What in the hell?

The room was a shrine to sexual deviancy.  Walls and ceiling painted black.  Posters featuring highly stylized depictions of people having all sorts of fetishes catered to adorned the wall.  A promotional poster from Quiet Riot’s Mental Health album was framed on a far wall.  The manic eyes behind the metal mask peering intently from the picture.

The lone window was boarded in and painted over to match the black wall seamlessly, but Moses could faintly make out the outline of the frame beneath the paint.  No one had left from the room unless there was a hatch in the closet or some kind of trap door, which he doubted existed.  A red light bulb in the ceiling fixture casting everything in a bloody hue.  Moses walked over to the tiny closet and cleared it.  Fumbling for a Winston, he found his crushed pack in a front pocket, shook one out, and touched a Zippo to it.  Smoke curling up from his fingers, he looked the room over.

A futon couch was pressed against the far wall but it was the only normal furniture in the room.  As he stepped into the center of it, he could only marvel at the assortment of sexually-based equipment around him.  The centerpiece of room was a stock and irons straight out of the Puritan era.  Moses inspected it and it still worked, though he reckoned no one in the 1600’s thought to drill a cock hole through the main leg of the contraption. 

Mannequins were posed wearing all manner of fetish gear were posed in various surly positions.  Someone bolted a set of bindings from the ceiling.  One of the mannequins hung from it by its feet upside down, wearing a studded strap-on dildo.  Another mannequin standing on the floor had its plastic balls deep in its plastic gullet.  Various fetishistic articles of clothing and phallic contraptions hung from nails driven into the walls.  There was some method to it, he noted.  Almost an art exhibit effect to it.

Curiouser and curiouser…  Moses looked around, his eyes suddenly noting an immaculately polished mahogany coffin on the floor.  A candelabrum with five long black candles burning sat on one end of it.

         Training the pistols on it, Moses walked up slowly to it.

         “If you’re in that coffin, I suggest you get out right now!  You don’t come outta there right now, it may not be till you smell bad and the fire ants have had their fill before they find you.”

         He heard shuffling and mumbling from inside.  His first impulse was to shoot it up.  But without opening it, he could not know if he had indeed killed whoever was inside and also, if they had some captured runaway child inside, it was not fair.  Of course, teenage runaways died all the time. 

So did men and women convicted of murders most foul.

         Looking more carefully, he noticed the coffin had a padlock on it.  Whoever was inside had to be let out.  He or she could not get out voluntarily.

         “Curiouser and way fuckin curiouser!”  He whispered to himself.

         Curio stumbled into the room, rubbing her eyes, looking very much like a little girl just waking from a kindergarten mat nap.

         “Shit!  He’s in a coffin?  Kinky!”  She stopped in her tracks as the enormity of the room hit her in the face.  Moses held his hand up, halting her.

         “Room ain’t clear, Lisa.  Stay there.”

         Curio gazed around the room’s illicit grandeur in a trance.  “My God.”  She simply said.  Her face told Moses she was probably wondering how much her soused mind was imagining and how much was real.  Enamored, she stroked a gorilla mask hanging on the wall beside her.  A dong shaped like a banana was affixed to the mouth.  She sighed and chuckled in bewilderment.  Moses knew if he was flabbergasted, stone-cold sober and on edge as he was in the room, his lady had to be far beyond insane as she looked slowly around.

         “If you hear me, I see the lock on this thing.  You a prisoner?”  Moses crouched down to what he guessed was the head of the box.  “You need some help?” 

         Funky Monks came on the jam box, faintly heard through the walls.

         A man’s confined voice rumbled through the dense wood.  “I need out of here.  This shit ain’t fun no more, Freddy.  Who the hell brought a woman out here?  I thought we understood each other.”

         Moses smiled.  Whoever was in the box was in for a rude awakening.

         “Where’s the key?”

         “That ain’t funny.  Move that candleholder so I can get outta here, Freddy.  It’s gotta be getting late, isn’t it?”

         Moses smiled and picked up the candelabrum with a silk scarf he snatched from a mannequin bent nearly in half as it got its eunuch crotch gripped by a lady mannequin holding a riding crop.  The base was seated on a hole bored through the lid of the coffin.  A hard dick pushed itself through the hole, with a key tied with a bit of twine around the shaft.  Moses jumped backward, surprised.  He knocked over the mannequins.

         “Whoa!  Shit, man.”  He started laughing.

         “Hurry up, Freddy.  I have to pee.”  The voice echoed again from the coffin.

         Moses picked the riding crop and used it to flick the key off the prick.  Looking around, he grabbed a Zorro-style eye mask from a dummy and tied it around his face.  Curio watched him and nodded.  She put on the Gorilla-mask and sidled up beside him on rubbery legs, still looking around the room in awe from behind the ape-cock masquerade.  He handed her the diving knife she normally carried strapped to her thigh and pushed her back with a forearm, holding a shush finger to his lips before popping the lock and removing it.

         “Come on, Freddy!”  The man in the box whined.  They could hear him shuffling inside.

         Moses flipped the lip up quickly, jamming the big Colt into the man’s face as he sat upright.

         “Oh my God!”  A reflexive jet of piss shot in a perfect stream for an instant through the key hole before the man flinched his aim askew.  The stream arced toward Curio, who took no notice.  She giggled immediately.  For an instant, they heard the urine stream striking the interior until he gathered his wits enough to cinch the release.

         The man sitting upright in the coffin was clad in pink leather.  A metal O-ring with a chain and latch was clipped to the straps that crisscrossed his chest.  The straps were stitched to a setup on the groin that Moses thought looked like a medieval chastity belt.  His hands were cuffed with little pink fuzzy handcuffs and chained to the O-ring.  He was blindfolded but must he must have managed to pull up one eye at some point by dragging the strap with his head.  It was crooked but the exposed eye widened as it beheld the muzzle of a .45 pistol an inch from it. 

Moses sighed as he looked the sorry state of affairs both they and the man in question had found themselves.  Dried semen was clearly all over him, scaly and flaking away as the leather bent from the man’s motions.

“Good afternoon, Precious.”  Moses Holliday spoke, smiling and shaking his head subtly in dismay.  The blindfold had “PRECIOUS” sewn into it.

“Mister, I don’t know who you are,” he looked at Curio as she stood beside Moses, hard nipples jutting through her t-shirt, sandy shorts displaying a duct-taped leg and wearing a gorilla mask he knew all too well, “or what you’re about, but I don’t want noooo trouble.”

Moses sized the man up immediately.  Slight build, pushing fifty.  Close-cropped hair with more pepper than salt.  His hands looked soft, palms pink as the leather.  The face was soft, a hint of shadow on the jaw but he bet the man kept it shaved smooth as a habit.  Something about the man spoke of money or stature.  He could not pick which but Moses would have bet his bottom dollar the man was not concerned with dying near as much as being discovered compromised thus.

“Well, bud, I’m afraid there has been a bit of trouble.”  Curio kept giggling from behind her mask.

“What ever it is, it has nothing to do with me.”  He stammered.  Moses reached over and pulled the blindfold off completely.

“You think they got that in my size, baby?”  Curio looked the outfit over.

“Somewhere, I’m sure.”  Moses jammed the pistol in his waistband and crouched into a catcher’s stance.  “I’m bettin’ you don’t rightly go by Precious, now do you?  You gotta name, handsome?”

“I like Precious.”  Curio nodded, the banana cock rising and falling on her face as she discovered a bit on the end of the dildo with which she can manipulate to tool with her mouth.  “It’s cute.”

“My name is Hugh.”

“Hugh what?”

“I don’t think I need to tell you that.”

“The pistol says you do.”

“Driscoll.  My name is Hugh Driscoll.”

“Well.  Good to meetcha' there, Hugh Driscoll.  This is Lisa and you can call me Al.”

“A pleasure I’m sure.”  He nodded.  Curio saw him staring at her tits and smiled behind the mask.

“You eye-fucking me, Precious?”  She pointed the knife at him.  So typical, he could end up eating a bullet and still a pair of perkies caught his attention more.

“No ma’am.  I just never thought I would see that mask on a woman in here before.”

“The mask is up here,” She tapped her forehead.  “with my eyes and all?” 

“Sorry.  It’s instinct, I suppose.”

She lifted her shirt and gave him a lingering look.  “There, now you know, Precious.”  She forgot about her bruised chest.  Hugh looked at the tits but visibly winced as he saw the discolored skin on her side.  His eyes also studied the tape around her leg and then looked at Moses face.  What was not covered by the Zorro mask was a mess of cuts and pockmarks with fresh scabs.

Moses looked at her side and winced.  Something about the bruise reminded him that time was a factor.

“We kinda had a lil boat trouble today, Hugh.  I’m sorry we broke up the whatever the fuck kinda' party you guys got goin’ on up here, but we kinda in a bind.  We need a car.”  The smell of piss suddenly rolled from the coffin.  Moses coughed and shook his head.

“Where are Peaches and Freddy?  You can take their car, I’m sure.”

“And we will.  I assume that’s your Oldsmobile, not theirs.”

“Yes.  I would rather you took their car not mine.  Losing mine out here would pose a serious problem for me, if I may be blunt.”

“They won’t be a-needing it no more.  That much is certain.  Question is, Hugh Driscoll, is whether you’ll be a-needin’ yours.”

Hugh turned pale.  He knew without saying what they meant.

“I gather you a man of some importance around these parts?  What are you?  Alderman, city councilman, mayor maybe?  Bank president?”

Hugh paused and swallowed hard.  He looked away and murmured.  “I’m the pastor of a local church.”

“Preacher Precious!”  Curio wailed in laughter and walked away to inspect more mannequins.

Moses shook his head at her.  “You have to forgive her Hugh.  She hit some of that shit y’all were smokin’ and is a lil under the weather…well, hell that ain’t right.  She's all tits up in the clouds someplace right now.”

“Peaches and Freddy do that stuff.  I do not.”  Hugh gulped.

“Did that stuff, Hugh.  In case you had any doubts.  They did that stuff.”

“Kill him, baby.  And come fuck me.  I’m feelin’ sooo fuckin’ good over her!”  Curio stripped off her mask.  “Fuck that thing’s hot as hell to wear!”  Moses looked at her and then to Hugh, drumming his fingers on the grip of the .45.

“Lord, please be with me, your humble servant in this, his time of need.”  The preacher closed his eyes and locked his pink-handcuffed fingers together.  Moses thought he never before had heard a word uttered to God so sincerely. 

“I humbly ask your forgiveness and please be with my family, in Jesus name I pray.”  He opened his grey eyes and expected the pistol to be in Moses’ hands.  “Amen.”

Moses scratched the back of his head.  Old sweat from the day’s jaunt was itching him all over.

“Who’s house is this, Precious child of God?”  He pulled up a stool, tossing aside a mannequin getting a rim job from another aside with a casual shake of his head.

“Peaches.”

“Peaches would be the catcher fag in the other room, I gather.  I’m guessin’ by his appearance anyway.  Enlighten me.”

“He was a submissive, yes.”

“This house doesn’t speak dainty girlie faggot to me, Hugh.”

“It was his grandparents’ house.  They’ve passed away a long while ago.  He inherited it.”

“I see.  And the other fella?”

“His name was Freddy Ainsworth.  He lives, lived, not far from here.  He was a prison minister over at Parchman.”

“How may people know you’re here, Hugh.  I suggest you be extremely forthcoming right now.  You are in fact in some serious debating for your life right now, I gotta tell ya in all fairness.”

“Only us three.”

“Only you, Hugh.  The other two don’t know much.”

“Only me.”  Hugh swallowed hard.

“Where you right now?  Officially.”

“I’m at Parchman ministering to a death row inmate.”

“That how you met that Freddy fella?”

“No, but he gave me the idea to use that as a cover.  Not many phone calls allowed in and my wife wouldn’t bother me there.”

“Wife?”  Curio strolled back over.  “I figured you didn’t like poonanny, Precious.”

“I have four kids.”

“Dayum!  Baby, we got us a real pussy go-getter!”  She flipped the diving knife over and over in her tiny hands.

“Apparently.”  Moses pulled the .45 and laid it in his lap.  “How’d you three come to be hookin’ up in a trailer in Arkansas, Hugh?”

“Peaches and Freddy knew each other a long time.  Peaches was a member of a community theater troupe over is Jackson.  They did a show at the prison some years back and the two of them met there somehow.”

“How does a preacher man come to be in a pink leather thingee gettin’ hisself all came all over in a fuckin coffin?”

“For real.”  Curio sneered.

“I met Peaches at a rest stop bathroom that I knew a lot of gay men hang at.  Eventually, we started all coming here when we could.”

“Ewww.  You glory-holin’ lil’ devil you.  Damn, men do some messed up shit.”  Curio shook her head.  She felt herself coming back down to earth somewhat.

“I’m not proud, ma’am.  I always knew it may come back to haunt me.”

“Yeah, in hell, Preacher Precious.  What kinda’ preacher are you, Man?”

“I’m a man of God.  We’re all fallen souls.  I pray for the good Lord to guide me away from my desires, but I am weak.”

“Clearly.”  Curio flopped on the futon.  “Bring out the gimp!”  She chimed.  Hugh chuckled nervously.

“So is this a normal Saturday for you, Hugh?  Or is this some special occasion kinda thing?  You snatch up your good book, put on a blue suit, kiss the wife bye-bye and come get ass-drilled every Saturday by a coupla’ dudes cranked up on geek?  Y’all just sit around here getting baked as lab rats and take turns playing coffin cocksucker?”

“It’s my birthday, actually.”  Hugh said, embarrassed.

Moses erupted in laughter.  “You don’t say!  I’m not even gonna ask how you take the cake candles.”

“Happy birthday, Precious!”  Curio called.

“This has been a fantasy of mine.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Hugh.  You the gimp, then?  You a catcher, too?”

“I am.  The idea of being in a coffin in such a manner has a perverse attraction for me.  I don’t understand it, so I don’t expect you to.  We were re-enacting that gimp scene she just quoted from.”

“From Pulp Fiction?  No shit.”

“Gimp’s sleepin’!”  Curio chuckled.

“Well, that’s neither here nor there.  Sorry to break up the party, Hugh.  Excuse the intrusion.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nope.  You don’t get to ask me a damned thing.  Another line you may recall is ‘I don’t remember asking you a goddamned thing!’  I suggest you play the role of Marvin or end up like Marvin.”

“Forgive me, but you two just came in a home not your own and killed two men.  Maybe me as well, I know not yet.  I think I’m entitled to hear an explanation.”

“Shoot him, baby.  Fuck this.  My leg hurts again.”

Moses locked his fingers behind his head.  “We came to be in this house because God Almighty put us in here, Hugh.  That needs to be a sermon for you.  Divine intervention, right?”

“I hardly think you two are servants of the Lord, forgive me for saying.”

“And you would be correct.  But what you need to decide is did he send you to call you to heaven, send you to hell, or renew your faith and callin’.  Maybe move on afterwards and to try real hard to be a true shepherd of fallen men.  Rather than the sheep in pink leather getting ass-fucked by them.  I hate a hypocrite, Hugh.  And my girl, there, she really ain’t too big on men of the cloth hiding their boners beneath them.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?  I don’t think so.”  Moses had the pistol at Hugh’s head in a split second.  “Bang!  It’s over.  What happens to Hugh?”

A single tear erupted from each of Hugh’s clenched eyes as the muzzle pressed into his ear.  He flinched.

“I die.”  He blubbered.

“Kinda simplistic, ain't it?  What kinda preacher are you?”

“A sinful one.  Please don’t shoot me, sir.”

“I meant denomination.  Baptist, Methodist.  Penny-cost?”

“Assembly of God.”

“Big congregation or small?”

“About two hundred regularly.”

“Not too bad a flock, Preacher Precious.  I bet you’re all about Leviticus, aincha’?  All that fire and brimstone Old Testament scripture and a good heapin’ helpin' of that tried and true Revelations to use on the noncommitted when there’s a juicy natural disaster on the television?”

“I know where you’re going with that.  You can stop.  Though I am a sinful man, I do not condone my behavior in the eyes of God.  And yes, I do preach against it, forcefully.  It leads down the road to hell.  Look at me now, two murderers with a gun to my head, clad in this set of clothes, in a coffin where we lay our beloved to earth.  Defiled by the seed of men.  But yes, I do preach against sins of the flesh.  I abhor sinful behavior because it leads one on a path away from God and toward evil.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.  Sounds like pride.”

“FUCK PRIDE!”  Curio yelled.

“If I can keep even one soul from the pit of hell by preaching the true word of God and yet end up in hell by my own behavior, I still will die with a clear conscience.”

“How many people will point to your example as a beacon of the Lord if you die right now?  Do you not understand that as a clergyman you are in a profession whose stock has fallen pretty fuckin’ steeply?  You die here and now, in a pink leather suit with cum all over you, every elegy and sermon you ever gave is for naught because however sincere your intentions behind the pulpit, it’s the gossip they’ll remember more.  They’ll sneer at you and your family.  You got sons?  Think of what they’ll hear at school when they get old enough for hair on their nuts.  For all the good you may or might have done, it’s how you end up that counts.  Pretty sorry if you ask me for a man of God to carry on in such a manner.”

“You sound like a man whose been hurt by the church, Al.”

“Hugh, I’ve been hurt every which way but Sunday.  I’ve never known a God.  Only man and men who claim to know God.  Most of those we give drugs to or lock up because they’re fuckin loony.  The rest we pass a plateful of cash to fifty-two times a year.  Me, I give a shit either way because I don’t do psychos or pews.”

“You don’t fear God then.”

The pistol retreated from his ear.

“I don’t fear anything but losing her.”

“Yet you may.  Whatever it is you two are into, the wages of such actions are never the sweet embrace of paradise.  The wages of sin is death.”

“I read that bumper sticker, too.”

“It’s true.”

“Yeah, well, try fucking her one night and you would know the sweet embrace of paradise.  Where’s the car keys around here?”

“In here with me.  I make them throw them in here.”

“Trust but verify, huh?  Wise man.  You get mighty hungry if they didn’t come getcha'.  A man can’t live by cum alone, eh.  Lisa!”

Curio hopped up and walked over on swaying legs.  He handed her the Luger.  “He flinches when I get the keys, you gut shoot him.”  Moses chuckled and stood up.

“You hear me talking, hillbilly preacher boy?  Trust me, she will get medieval on your ass if you act up.”

“Please, get the keys.  I just want to leave.”

“See, Hugh?  Common ground.  We both just want to walk the earth, don’t we?”

“Like Kane in Kung Fu.”  Hugh nodded.

“Then you be Fonzi while I get the keys, shitbird.”

Moses fished under Hugh’s armpits and found the handcuff key and two sets of car keys.  He tossed the Camry set to Curio.  She missed them and murmured, “Get him, Zed!” to a pair of mannequins fucking doggy style beside her as she picked the keys up.

Moses retreated to his stool.  “So, Hugh Driscoll.  Pastor of a bigass church, father of four, devoted husband.  Grandkids?”

“Not yet.  My children are young.”

“How did you get out of cake and ice cream?”

“We are supposed to eat at Ryan’s tonight.  First, of course, I had to go to minister at the prison.”

“Prison is way over across the Mississippi, Hugh.  Maybe you got lost and now you are found.”

“I am.”

“Hugh Driscoll, longtime Pastor of a bigass church, devoted heterosexual husband, father of four.  Veteran?  I’m just trying to show you how you would prefer your obituary to read.”

“I was in the Navy.”

“Fleet?”

“I served aboard a destroyer during Vietnam.  I was a chaplain then.”

“Does that sound good as an obituary when you pass away after a good fight with colon cancer or a car crash.  Maybe a nice heart attack in your sleep or something in about twenty years?”

“If it’s God’s will.”

“Right now, it’s Al’s will.”  He shrugged as Curio stroked his short hair while handing the Luger back to him.  “And Al’s will is kinda leaning toward local clergyman found slain in houseful of fucked-up dead perverts with dope and fetish gear everywhere.  It would be so much easier to just shoot you, you do know that, right?”

“Is it easy to shoot people?”

“One gets used to anything after a while.  First time you got dicked in the ass, I’m sure you cursed yourself for it and all.  But, it got easier.  Just something you do now.  With her, it got to be kinda a desire-inducing thing.  Gets her all wet, if you know what I mean.”

“Gushing just standing here, Precious.”  Curio said, dancing the tip of the knife across her palm.

“For me, it’s just what it is.  I don’t enjoy it.  But if you think my hand will tremble before I shoot you, you are wrong.  Ordinarily you would be dead as fried chicken by now, Hugh.  I started to empty a clip into the coffin and drive away.  I would not have even read the papers around here to see who it was in the box and I wouldn’t have gave a flyin’ fuck anyway.  As it stands, I’m glad I popped the top of the box since I now have the keys in my hand and we are leaving to go walk the earth, hide under a rock or fuck like rabbits.”

“Ooo, I vote all of the above, baby.”  Curio purred, watching Hugh as she sucked Moses ear.  “I’m soo fucked up horny wet right now.”

“It would have sucked to not known the keys were in there with you.  I could have hot-wired it, but that’s not a good idea.  But, here we are.  So, what’s it gonna be, Pastor Driscoll?  A long life of serving God and watching the kids get old or disgracing the family by dying in a pervert’s sex coffin on your birthday?”

“Obvious choice.”

“Thing is, it’s my choice.  I’m as close to God right now as you’ll get in my opinion.”

“Blasphemy, sir.  You are no God.”

“I agree.  Except I can lay my vengeance upon thee.”  He looked at Curio and patted her on the ass.  “Ain’t she the finest vengeance you ever laid eyes on?”

Hugh Driscoll looked into her eyes, the pupils black as coal from the drugs’ effects.  He knew he saw evil standing before him clutching a knife.  Al’s hand on her ass was a leash on a hungry tigress, he thought.

“She is beautiful.  You’re a lucky man.”

“Yeah, I kinda am.  You wanna eat birthday cake and soft-serve ice cream at that Big Kahuna Ryan’s tonight, you need to understand me very clearly.”

         “I’m listening.”  Hugh watched her stare at him as Moses spoke.  In the glare of the red light bulb, she did look demonic with her skin soaked red in the light and her black eyes.

She only needs horns…

“It’s like this Hugh Driscoll, father of four, devoted husband, sole eyewitness.  That buffet and birthday cake can happen for you.  No one and I mean no one, knows you’re here?”

“Not anymore.”

“How many times you been here?”

“Three.”

“That’s not good, Hugh.  Fingerprints are here.  You being a vet means you got prints on file.  They dust in here, you’re gonna probably get a knock on the door at some point.”

“I haven’t touched anything much.”

“Only takes one to put you away, Hugh.  But, at least you can have all the man-love you wish in prison.  Without holding back in secret.  But I suspect you kinda wish to still keep that a secret.”

“I do.”

Moses imitated a passionate preacher on a revival stage.  “Then the all-consuming fires, uh!  Of hell, uh! Must-a, wash-a this sinful place clean!" He then deadpanned. 

“But that’s on you.  It’s your life to do with as you please.  I’m giving it to you.  Call me a fool, but I tend to think a man in your position will probably have a lot to toss around on his birthday drive home away from this mess.”

“Come on, baby.  Shoot him.  No sense in fucking taking the chance for this weirdo piece of shit.  So what if his old lady and them lil’ angels find out daddy played catch with grown-ups instead of them on Saturdays?  Serves him right for not being at a hospital checking on sick laymen or writing a sermon.  Or actually talking to a dead man walking at the prison instead of fucking some sicko perverts.”  Curio palmed the knife, a scowl on her face.

“I don’t kill just to kill, baby.  You know that.  I’m just contemplating the if’s.”  He winked at Hugh.

"Muthafuckin ifs."  Curio chuckled as she rolled her eyes.

“There is good in you, Al.  I don’t want to die and I’ll do whatever needs to be done to get free of this.”

“Good!  You see, Hugh, it’s the little things that get you busted.  It doesn’t happen today, it happens a month from now when some random thing like a guy at a gas station remembering a guy in an Oldsmobile from across the river buying a can of gas the day this place burned.  Or maybe Peaches talked about the preacher who swallowed his sword to a guy who heard Peaches was found burnt up in a fucked up trailer in Arkansas and drops a dime to Crimestoppers.  These are things that you will lay awake in bed and think about a lot.”

“I’m sure.  You saying I need to burn this place and get gone.  I understand and I will.”

“One thing you need to remember when you lay in bed sweating it out.  If by chance I hear or read about a preacher implicated in a brutal double murder a few months from now, I’m coming for you.  And to spare the missus and those kids all that embarrassment about you being a queer and all, I’m sending them to meet the Maker before you have an accident in a shower room in whatever jail you’re in.  The people I work for find out what happened here?  It won’t be a quick and painless end for those kids.  And we’ll all be dead.  Us both and all of y’all.  And whoever they send to make sure you stay quiet won’t give a damn how they do it.  Comprende?”

“I understand.”

Curio was at his throat with the knife suddenly.  Her tiny nose pressed against his bulbous snout.  “You better fucking understand.  I don’t know why in the fuck he’s letting you go.  I defer to him but I don’t fucking agree at fucking all with it!  Right now, I gotta pee, and I want to go home!”

“I won’t talk, Lisa.  I just want to go home, too.”

“Yeah, well that’s all fine and dandy.  But the next time you watchin’ some movie beatin’ off and see some big buck nigger getting ass raped, before you get wood and think to yourself, hey, that’s gotta be some kinda fun, Hugh, I suggest you turn the fuckin TV channel over to PTL or that old nun channel and do some goddamned praying.  You’re a sorry piece of shit excuse for a husband and even worse as a man to be looked up to…Precious!”

         Hugh wondered how a beautiful young woman could have such a dark aura about her.  He was about to lecture her on the pot calling the kettle black, but relented.

         Curio kissed him softly on his sweaty forehead and whispered, “Go with God, my faithful and humble servant.”  She reared back on her haunches as Moses handed her the handcuff keys.  She popped the lock and put the handcuffs in her pocket.

         “These are too cute.  I’m taking them.”  She stood up.  “And by the way, Daddy-o, don’t be too much of a…”  She imitated outlining a box to Hugh.  “square.”

         Hugh scooted up and lifted himself from the coffin.  Moses offered a hand.  When he stood up, they could see the leather leggings the O-ring harness was attached to was ass-less.  His hairless and flabby white cheeks glowed hot pink in the red light.

         “Jesus.”  Moses chuckled and stuck the pistol in his waistband.  “Hang in here for a minute, you two.  I’m gonna get the boat secured.”  He handed Curio her Luger and glared at Hugh Driscoll as he stood in the coffin, unsure what to do.  “Now Hugh, I cut the phone line.  Near as I saw, there ain’t no one within screaming distance and I doubt even if you’re hiding a portable telephone up your ass it don’t get no juice out here.  This girl is about half-nuts on the most mundane of days and all fucked up like she is, if you get out of line, she’ll gut you.  I mean that.  She will gut you.  She warn’t treated too good by those heathen Catholics priests you probably talk shit about with your Protestant brethren so you best shut up and sit tight til I get back.”

         “I understand.  I’ll be still.  I promise.”

         “Sit here.”  He offered the stool.  Hugh sat on it.

“Lisa, chill out with him.  He gets up or spits on the floor too fast, plug him.”  Curio nodded and sat back on the futon, knife gripped tightly in one hand, the pistol in the other.  She grimaced as she settled her leg.

“I’m headin’ out.  Hugh?  For a man who insists on following commandments as a vocation, I’m commanding you to sit down and shut the fuck up.  You still ain’t past the point of dying, understand?”

“I do.”

“Alright.”  Moses walked over and kissed Curio.  “I’m scuttling the boat and getting the bags.”  He whispered.  In the next room, the song, The Righteous and the Wicked began playing aloud.  “When I get back, we’re leaving in a hurry.”  She nodded subtly, eyes closed as she sucked her teeth with her mouth closed.  “You okay?  Still with me?”

“Yeah, I’m coming down I think.  See if there’s something to drink.  I can’t remember what was in the kitchen.  I’m feelin’ shitty.”

“Okay, baby.  We almost gone from here.  Hang tight.  I'm proud of ya.  And Ringo's proud of ya!”  Moses pointed once more at Hugh with the Colt.  “Don’t move, shitbird.  Make me proud, too.”  And then he left the red-lit room.

Sweating, Hugh Driscoll sat facing the wall between Curio and the closet by the coffin.  He said nothing.  Finally, Curio wiped her sweaty face with her palm and sighed as she tucked her chin on her hand.  She half-smiled at Hugh, the Luger dangling from her fingertips loosely, swinging.

“This is pretty fucking trippy ain’t it, Precious?”

“I was told to keep silent, Lisa.”

“Then will you silently listen to my confession?”

“I’m not a priest, Lisa.  But if your heart is burdened, perhaps I can listen and give you some comfort.  Despite what you may think of me as a man, as a member of the clergy I do have close to forty years of counseling those in need.”

“Yeah, I was kinda thinkin’ it’s a lil bit of physician heal thyself about you.  But I’m a little fucked up right now and what can I say?  I’ve had a bad few months lately.  Shit, I’ve had a bad life from time to time but I been through some real shit lately.  So what do ya say?  Hear me out for a minute?  X kinda’ makes the mouth run and I don’t really get to chat with a lot of folks nowadays.  Hell, I ain’t seen a bonafide preacher in years.  Since we are in a unique situation just sittin’ here and all, let’s talk a bit.”

“I’ve been told that about the ecstasy.  I’ve never done drugs in my life.”

“Not even a beer with the sailors?  Never smoked cigarettes?”

“I tried smoking as a teenager, sure.  But I didn’t like it.  Never drank a drop though.”

“I pretty much quit smoking.  Kinda’ wish I hadn’t sometimes.”

“There’s no solace to be found for a troubled soul in the methods of man, Lisa.  Only in the arms of the Lord.”

“Really?  Only in the arms of the Lord?”  She nodded in mock acquiescence.

“No intoxicant can free a soul from the chains of despair man has been shackled with since the days of Genesis.”

         “Kinda’ takes the edge off though, don’t it?  You surely get high off the sex don’t you?  I mean,” Curio beamed at him, her fellow catcher, and winked.  “We don’t do it because it sucks, right?  Gettin’ off is a real nice thing.  I’m thinking you need a little more than a simple pump and spurt to get the jewels to feelin’ right though.  I mean, obviously.  Look around.”

         “It is.  But it’s an empty feeling when it’s done.  I cannot explain the allure of it.  I despise it, actually.  Yet I seek it and always have.  For years, you know, I prayed and prayed for some other calling to draw me as sharply as the sex.  The service, the pulpit, missionary work, my marriage, my children.  I do all those things and they define me.  They make me proud.  Yet here I am.”

         “You are as God made you, maybe?”  Curio shuddered, a flashback jiggling her spine.  She clenched her eyes shut. 

“I don’t believe that.  Look around this room.  Does any of this speak of the Lord?  It’s the devil’s work.”

“You know I was raised Catholic?”

“I heard a tinge of a Cajun accent on you.  It made sense you might be Catholic, yes.  Do you still have your faith?  Do you still practice it?”

“Not in many years.  I’ve thought about it a lot recently.”

“You don’t look that old, Lisa.  Many years can’t have been that long ago.  How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“When we you last active in the church?”

We are as God made us, my child.  That’s what he said before he pushed my head to his crotch...

She flinched as she thought of her last day in the hands of her church.

I am the Father and you are my fallen girl…who will seek her salvation in my flesh and be punished by my pure flesh to purge you or your sin…

“Until I was ten.  I was raised in Catholic school because my mother was a doper.  I was a charity case from the day I was born, you might say.”

“And did something happen at ten to make you doubt the true word of God?”

“I nearly bit off a priest’s dick.” Curio stared at Hugh’s reaction, gnashing her teeth and faux snarling.  Surprisingly, he had none.  Only calmness and even a hint of pity.

“He molested you?  I’m sorry to hear that, Lisa.”

“Oh, he just tried to molest me.” She sneered haughtily. “He caught me in his office one day when I was on my normal detention duty.  Fucker gave me a glass of sweet tea and told me how I was growing to be such a pretty woman and all.  Tellin’ me how he heard I was being immoral, his term, with the boys and how that was a sin that only he could absolve me of, of course.”  Curio sneered imperiously.  “I’m bettin that fuck hasn’t tried to pop no more cherries since that day though.  He had a long recovery and a transfer up somewheres in Illinois after that day.  I wish I had severed it.”

“That sounds typical of many child molesters.  It’s abhorrent for men to take advantage of the young in such a manner.”

“It got me kicked out of school.  And then my mama got shot dead in front of me by some gangbangers about a year after that, so I lived with my aunt for a while.  But then she started trippin' about me having boyfriends and my attitude or whatever.  So then, it was foster homes.  And that didn’t end up too well.  They talked about an orphanage and I said fuck that.  So I hit the streets.”  Her lips quivered just slightly as she rambled.

“Life has been hard for you, Lisa.  Such a horrid life can drive one insane.  I’ve seen many such cases in my time.  Most do not end well because they grow comfortable eating whatever drivel the wages of sin see fit to bestow on their plate, never questioning if the portion on their plate is even poisonous for them or not.  They just take it all in because it’s there.  But you need not have to, Lisa.  The next day you draw a breath on this earth offers a chance to come back to sanity, to come back to the arms of a loving God.  The Lord misses you always when you are far from him.  He misses your love and he wants you to find him again.”

“You don’t miss him when you got a key to a coffin lock tied to your cock though, huh Precious?  He can always be put on hold for just a lil while, can’t he?  Right?”

“I know it must seem that way.”

“It is that way, Preacher Precious.  If I was a devout man of God, a true believer in Hell and eternal damnation, there’s no way on God’s green earth I would do what I do…in your case.  The thought of an eternity as such would keep me a humble servant of him.  But because he is intangible and in my opinion just a means to keep the sheep from jumpin' the fuckin fence with too reckless an abandon, you can always tell yourself somewhere deep inside that hey, it’s probably much ado about nothing.”

“That’s not true.  God is not intangible.  He is all around us.  He is in every breath you take.”

“Is he an energy field that flows through us, guides us and gives us strength to do great things?”

“Perhaps that’s one way to see Him.”

“Then when do I get my lightsaber to go with that force, Padre?  Opening doors with a wave of the hand would be a most useful gift for me and my man to have.  I’d fuckin love to get me a lightsaber.  A nice big red one.  Ha! A laserbeam cock!” She demonstrated holding one at her waist. “It’d be way cooler to wave around on a sidewalk preaching to the masses than a mere bible.  Motherfucker sees an old dude with a book screaming about the glory of God, he just laughs or says amen, brother.  Motherfucker sees a hot chick going frickin' jedi with a lightsaber, they’ll come to hear anything she has to say!  And then I use the jedi mind trick on them and tell them to give me money.” She snickered, her youth suddenly evident in the laughter.

“You should not belittle God in such a manner.”  Hugh nodded and flipped a finger at her cautiously.  “Maybe not today, young lady, and maybe not by me and my example, but one day, you will see the power of Him.”  He pointed a sermon finger to the sky.  “I hope you will see that power in the form of his unceasing love for you, Lisa.  I really, sincerely do and I will pray for you.  But the path I fear you and Al are walking will not carry you in God’s arms and never shall it be able to.  Everyday we get on earth is a blessing from the Lord, Lisa.  By the looks of you as you sit there, today could’ve been your last.  Were you to have perished, would you burn or be blessed?  That is the question which I ask of myself as I sit here and of you.”

“Difference being, Padre.  I don’t ask myself those questions.  I just am.  I save the thinking for Al.  He’s the thinker.  He’s my soul.  Me?  I’m the body that belongs to him.  I willingly accept that any day might be my last and I cherish everyday I get now because I get to spend them with him.  Ours maybe a thing far beyond your understanding, though because you are obviously a man driven by the carnal nature you may actually understand me more than you would understand him.  Before him, I was lost.  I probably woulda’ just ended up cut up or choked out some place like my mama.  Just some dead bitch endin’ up dead in a rathole motel or a gutter.  I have no doubt I woulda’ ended up a true junkie, some useless whore like Mama pretty much raised me to be.  Just a piece of trash that no one noticed.  Now I’m found.  I have a purpose.  I have a lover who would strip naked and duck-walk his hanging balls through the charcoal briquettes of hell to save me from singeing my fuckin’ hair with a curling iron.  I have a soul mate, for lack of a better term.  He’s enough almighty for me right now.”

“How has things gone so completely wrong for you?  You are a pretty girl.  You have your head about you.  You’re on a path to damnation yet you don’t seem to care.”

“I’ve been damned since I was conceived, Padre.  I made my peace with that a long time ago.  I may burn in hell for what I do if there is one to burn in.  But my man will be there with me and somehow that makes me happy to know and easy to blow.  He’s good to me.  God never was.  I choose him over Him.  It’s as simple as that.  Free will’s a bitch, Precious.  Sometimes it puts you in a coffin waiting to rimjob some fairy in Arkansas and sometimes it makes you choose the chance of a coffin to be with the one you love.”

“Your will causes the pain of others, though.  Do you never think about that?  The two men you killed had no idea about your existence until you took their life from them.”

“Somedays you’re the dog and some days you’re the hydrant, Padre.  If a tree woulda’ felt across the trailer and killed y’all in the middle of the assfest y’all been planning, people woulda’ said God had it in for you.  I am not of God, rest assured.  I’m just a bad day.  They happen to motherfuckers all the time, whether they sin,” she drew quotes, “or they’re some deacon’s wife who gets shot in the gut by a bullet shot by crackheads meant for a junkie whore who owed them money.  Shit happens.”

“You underestimate the power of God.” He sighed.

She had her pistol extended in a flash.  He screamed as she smiled maliciously at his powerlessness. “You underestimate me.”

“Please!  No.”

“I almost died a lil while back.” She snickered and lowered the pistol. “Hell, I probably almost died today and we ain’t exactly clear of the jamb we’re in right as of this second.  But you know what?  Somehow because I was with him, I wasn’t worried.  He took me through it.”

“God took you through it.  It wasn’t your time.  When he wants you, he’ll have you.”

“Same thing happened to Mother Mary, it sounds like.”

“Keep on.” Hugh shook his head. “It’s easy to mock.  You’re young and you’ve not been open to God’s love.  You mock what you don’t understand.”

“I was open once.  I wanted so bad for God to help me outta’ the bullshit life I had.  You have no idea how much praying a six year old does when she hears some drunk bastard kicking her mama half to death while she’s hiding under her bed.  You have no idea how much I wanted someone, God, Jesus, Oprah, fuck, anyone to come and carry me away from all I had to put up with.  But he didn’t.  I wasn’t worth it.”

“You’re always worth it.  He let you live when you should have died countless times, I bet.”

“If his heaven was so awesome, I wished he would have taken me there instead of to the fuckin’ Upper Ninth Ward when I was seven.  Boy, mama hit the rock hard fuckin’ core that three months she was fucking Latrelle’s fat fuckin’ ass out there.  He coulda’ carried my poor ass anywhere but there.”

Curio sighed and shook her head. “I was kicked in the gut a few months ago.  I got busted up inside and like to died.  Check it out.” She lifted her shirt and showed him the football-lace scar. “I’ve been putting this cream on it to make it not scar but it’ll always be there.  I’m thinkin’ of getting a tattoo over it in case I forget about it and need reminding.”

“How could you need reminding that you almost died?”

“It wasn’t the first time.  It’s just the first time it left a mark.”

“How many times does it have to happen for you to change that which puts you in that sort of danger?”

“Not many more.  When it happened Al got freaked out so we’re gonna’ change our ways to something that ain’t so problematic.” She shrugged and lifted the shirt a little further.  Nudging aside her breast with one hand, she looked at her bruised torso and then dropped the shirt and tapped at the graze on her tush.  “Gettin’ kinda rough in our line of work.  It really used to be a lot more fun.”

Hugh looked at her ugly bruise on her belly. “That bruise looks awful.”

“Hurts like a bitch, too.” She winced and rubbed it. “I fell out da boat.”

“You lead a dangerous life.”

“We all do.  It’s a dangerous planet.  With a vengeful Lord on High who slaps the shit outta’ all us bad children to make his point from time to time, right?”

“Everything is in God’s plan.  Those of faith take solace in the fact that it is not up to us to know what lies ahead for us or why.  We pray for guidance and forgiveness for the times we stray from the teachings of the Bible and we await our fates as God’s plan sees fit.”

“Well, if there’s one thing me and my soul mate’s peculiar employment has taught me personally, it’s that the best laid plans often go all to shit when it hits the fan.  When you consider how big God is, I rather not think about plans that large hittin’ a snag, you know?”

“That soul mate almost got you killed today through his fucking up a plan.”

Their heads snapped as Moses walked through the door, toting two duffel bags and Cletus slung over his shoulder.  Hugh gulped.  “And maybe Lisa doesn’t need to talk to Hugh too much more about peculiar employments?”

“We ready, baby?”  Curio jumped up gingerly, smiling and winking at Hugh.

“We’re gone.  The boat is about to go boom in a bit.  Come on, we’re outta here.”

“Goody!  My leg hurts again…” She winked and tapped her nose at him.

“Got that covered, too.”  He nodded at a bag then turned his leg toward her.  A Schlitz beer, already sweating in the room’s dry heat, was in his cargo pocket.  He flipped it to her.

“Thank you!  Fuck, I’m cottonmouthed like a motherfucker!” She popped the tab and slurped down a huge foamy gulp.

“Damn, that’s good!”  She coughed as a bit went down the wrong pipe.  “A can of Shitz never tasted so good.  Praise the Lord.”

She held up the cold can to Hugh Driscoll and semi-offered it to him. “Never had a drop, huh?  If you can taste the seed, surely a lager can’t be that bad.”

“Never touched the stuff.”  Hugh shook his head.

“Then I’ll guess you’ll never get a chance to know how good a cold beer is on a hot day when you’re thirsty as hell.  That ain’t in God’s plan either, huh?”

“It’s the staying out of hell part that concerns me most, Lisa.  That’s the plan I’m most concerned about.”

Cocking her head in bewilderment at the oddity of a tee-totaller standing firm in his beliefs, despite the absurdly pink and ass-less chaps, Curio smiled at him as she raised the Luger abruptly and aimed it at him again.

“Yeah, good luck with that, Pastor Precious.  See you soon.  God willing.”

She shot him in the forehead and grinned at her man. “Aw man, I just shot Precious in the face.” She mimicked Travolta’s hushed accent.

“Talked too much about you, didn’t you?”  Moses winced yet smiled as the body tumbled from the stool.  He picked up her spent casing so she did not have to stoop in pain.

“Nah, not really.  But ya know, fuck him, right?  Pervert bastard.  What kinda’ dickhead of a Father goes ass-fucking in a gimp suit on his fuckin’ birthday?  Let’s go, baby.  This place is depressing me.  How the fuck can I be depressed on X with you and all these horny ass men all around me in a room like this?  Don’t make no sense.”

“You must be gettin’ old.”

“Lucky me then, right?  Ain’t that what you say?  One more year older is more than I deserve.  Let’s bug out of here before the buzz dies off.”

He sighed and hoisted up a gas can to his hip.  “Get the car started.  I’m a-gettin’ it all lit up and then I’m right behind you.”

Curio kissed him on the cheek.  “I love you, Pumpkin.”  Limping slightly on a duct-taped bullet wound, Luger loose in her hand, she held her sore side as she shuffled down the hall toward the living room.  “Wish I had a chopper to ride the fuck outta’ here.”

Moses watched her as she left and shook his head in amusement.

“I love you, honey bunny.”

He began dousing things with kerosene as he backed out of the trailer.  When he reached the sliding glass door, he struck the Zippo first to a Winston and then to the closest puddle.

“Ashes to ashes, eh, Precious?”









*  *  *