Chapter 14

Squiggy would have thought this was hilarious if Mule wasn’t in such pain.

“Pipe down, Mule,” he said. "You's gonna wake the dead."

“I’s hurting, Squiggy!” Mule said. “I done think he broked my leg again.”

“It’s broke, not broked,” said Big Uns, who realized Mule was staring at her chest and crossed her arms to cover up, like that did any good.

“Whatever,” Squiggy said. “Big Uns, go get a dadgummed shirt on before you get Mule all excited.”

“It’s not like he ain’t seen em before, Squiggy,” she said.

“Do what? When’d Squiggy see your hooters?”

“I ain’t never seen them jugs,” Mule said. “Best I can recall.”

“I thought you was there in the bar that night when that guy paid me to flash em.”

“I must’ve been drunk,” Mule said.

“How much’d you get paid?” Squiggy said.

“A six pack,” Big Uns said. “I didn’t have no money.”

“Not a bad deal,” Squiggy said. “Did you get any tips?”

“Yeah, somebody said I needed a breast reduction.”

“Naw, I meant did anybody else pay you anything.”

“One guy offered me a dollar to put my shirt back on,” she said.

Squiggy nodded. He recalled hearing about that night. He’d paid a whole lot more than a six pack to see those babies. “What should we do with him?”

“Probably need to take him to the doctor,” Big Uns said.

“This guy?” Squiggy said, pointing at the man laid out on the ground. He had a big gash right on the forehead and blood was pouring out.

“Naw, I was talking about Mule. Let’s put the other guy in the storm cellar with all the bugs and spiders.”

“Yeah, that’d work. Mule, that leg broke?”

“I don’t know. It does hurt badly,” he said.

“Would it help the pain if Big Uns took her bra off?”

“How the crap would that help?” she said.

“Take his mind off the pain.”

“Naw, I’d still be hurting. But you can take your bra off if’n you’d like, Big Uns,” Mule said.

“I ain’t gonna just show you my boobs unless I get to see your…”

“Naw,” Squiggy said. “Ain’t nobody gonna get naked. Go help Mule up, Big Uns.”

“Do it yourself,” she said. Big Uns was a little irked. She had a pretty good deal working until Squiggy messed it up.

Squiggy shook his head and walked over to where Mule was lying down, moaning and staring at Big Uns.

“Boy, they’s big,” Mule whispered.

“You reckon that’s why I call her ‘Big Uns’,” Squiggy said. “Duh!”

Mule accepted Squiggy’s hand and was pulled him up. He had just about decided his leg might not be broke. It hurt like the dickens, but there wasn’t a bone sticking out of the skin this time.

“I’d like to kick him in the leg,” Mule said.

“Go ahead,” Squiggy said. “Might as well kick him in the growing while you’s at it.”

“The what?” Big Uns said.

“The growing, you know, his private area,” Squiggy said.

“It ain’t ‘growing’, you idiot,” she said. “It’s groin.”

“Naw, I think it’s called his ‘willy’,” Mule added.

“I was trying to talk proper, Mule!” Squiggy said. “They’s a female here.”

“Yeah, but it’s just Big Uns.”

Big Uns stuck her lower lip and glared at him as Mule limped over to where the man was laid out. He noticed a puddle of blood forming on the ground. He kicked the man in the leg, but all it did was stub his toe. “Doggone, I think I broked my toe!”

“Shouldn’t kick him in the bone, Mule,” Big Uns said. “Kick him in the sack!”

“Okay,” Mule said, smiling at Big Uns. He was in the windup when the man groaned.

“Hold up there, Mule,” Squiggy said. “Let’s haul him to the cellar fore he wakes all the way up. It’d be easier to do it now.”

“Okay,” Mule said. “But can I kick his testiculars then?”

“Fine with me,” Squiggy said. He grabbed one arm while Mule got the other and they drug him toward the cellar, Squiggy’s home after his mobile home got repossessed and his new house was built.

------

Police Chief Arnold was still in a lot of pain. He’d never been shot before and decided that was not something he wanted to experience again.

He was laid up on his couch at the house, drinking beer and watching Jerry Springer. Chief Arnold didn’t much care for Springer, but liked listening to the guests get after each other. Plus, COPS came on after this.

The doctor had told him not to drink alcoholic beverages, but Chief Arnold decided a little beer wouldn’t hurt. The little beer quickly turned into a lot of beer. The wife and kids were gone and the bottom drawer of the fridge was filled with confiscated beer.

The chief was helping himself to all the beer he could drink, courtesy of some drivers who made the mistake of getting caught while drinking and driving. They had decided to fork over the beer instead of getting a ticket. Chief Arnold was pleased with that little trick. Some of the beer was the good stuff, not the cheap crap he usually had to buy.

He was enjoying the time off from work. The chief wasn’t exactly a hard worker and would much rather spend his days doing this. The thought of an early retirement due to a disability had gone through his mind several times, but his attorney said it would be tough to say the chief was disabled from a wound that should heal in two to three weeks.

A guy and his girlfriend were about to get into it when the dadgummed doorbell rang. “Crapfire,” the chief said. “Who the crap is it?”

“It’s Mrs. Hunt,” said the person at the door. “I’m Michael’s mother.”

“Who?”

“Mike Hunt,” she said.

The chief spewed his beer. “What about it?”

“What about what?”

“Never mind,” the chief said. He sat up on the couch and turned the television off. “C’mon in.”

The chief realized he was wearing a pair of boxers that were flaring open in the front. He also decided that Mrs. Hunt was going to see a little more of him than she would probably prefer so the chief covered himself with a blanket.

He was wearing a sleeveless tee-shirt that was a little tight. Half his gut was showing and his boobs were almost coming out of the sleeves. The chief also got a whiff of his latest outburst and wished he had not let go gas just a few seconds ago.

Mrs. Hunt came walking in the front door. Immediately, her nose crinkled up. “My word, what is that dreadful smell?”

The chief knew exactly what caused the smell but shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t smell nothing.”

She pursed her lips and almost gagged. “Chief Arnold, you might need to call the exterminator. I think something must’ve died in here.”

“Yeah, I’ll look into that.” He needed to fire off another round but decided Mrs. Hunt had been through enough trauma lately without experiencing his flatulence. “What can I do for you?”

She was dressed in her best clothes, as usual. The dress was a flowered one that almost reached her ankles. The shoes were polished and shined. Her hair was in perfect shape, thanks to a trip to the beautician this morning. Most of the grey was gone, for the most part. In her right hand, she carried a legal-sized envelope.

“Michael received this in the mail and asked me to give it to you,” she said.

“What the crap…excuse me. What is it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said and avoided eye contact. “I don’t open Michael’s mail or go through his things.”

That’s not what Michael had said, the chief recalled. “Hand it here.”

Mrs. Hunt looked around the room. It almost looked like it deserved federal disaster aid. There was no way she was coming one step farther into this place.

“You need to come get it,” she said.

“I can’t get up,” the chief said. “I got gun shot in the foot. Can’t walk.”

She looked down at the beer bottles on the table. “How’d they get there?”

Dang woman! She was smart. “The neighborhood kids check in on me ever so often. When they do, they get me a brew.”

She nodded but showed a little skepticism. Mrs. Hunt leaned closer and tossed the envelope on the couch next to the chief’s bandaged foot.

The chief caught himself trying to look down the front of her dress. He realized that it wasn’t cool to try to sneak a peak on an old widow woman, but it had been a long time. After she stood, the chief reached out and grabbed the envelope.

“It has something to do with the shooting,” she said.

“How’d you know that?”

“Oh, never mind,” she said, opened the door and walked out.

The chief read through the material in the envelope. He didn’t know what some of the words meant, but did pick up enough to know there was some bad stuff coming down in Langford.