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by Edward Lee

  They’re putting her on the metal table…

  “Tie the fat bitch down now, Micky-Mack…”

  Something—an impulse, perhaps—distracted her. She looked down against the bottom of the shower curtain and saw…

  My knapsack!

  Yes, there is was, and she knew that her cellphone was right on top.

  Careful now… She gathered all her courage, reached down and unzipped the top flap, and—

  Got it!

  —but just as she would take the cellphone up and call for help, Helton’s big hand took the phone from hers, and he pushed back through the curtain and sat in the driver’s seat. His other hand gripped the carry-handle of the Sony.

  “Dang! I see you got yerself one’a these fancy phones too,” he seemed to marvel. “A cellphone’s what they call it, huh?”

  Veronica slumped. “Yes, Helton. It’s a cellphone.”

  “We gots one too, believe it or not. Fella named Paulie sent us one.” He tilted his head in resignation and put the phone in his pocket. “Well, see, Veronnerka, way things is…we cain’t have ya callin’ no one just yet. I’m shore ya understand.”

  Veronica wanted to cry.

  Some minor clatter, now, came from the back, and then?

  Oh, no…

  Then she thought she could hear the faintest stifled moan…

  Like someone moaning through a gag?

  Then a tearing sound, the tearing of fabric.

  “Tolt ya she don’t have much fer tits.”

  “And lookit all them dick-stupid tattoos.”

  Veronica’s eyes turned to Helton.

  “Hon, take some advise. It’s best ya don’t even wonder ’bout what’s goin’ on in back,” the large man said her in a subdued voice. “Buts I do need ta ‘splain a tad more to ya. See, there’s this man named Paulie…”

  “Paulie,” she repeated. “The man who gave you a cellphone.”

  “Right. And he’s in what’cha call the MAFF-ee-uh—”

  Veronica frowned in the tinseled darkness.

  “—he’s like a big crime boss and, well, what he did is he murdered my grandboy Crory in a way too awful to describe’n after that? He made a movin’ picture of the murder and he send it to us…”

  Snuff film, she deduced.

  “So’s now? Now we’se gettin’ proper revenge by doin’ somethin’ just as awful to one’a his kin.”

  Veronica voiced her next deduction. “And you’re going to film that, and send the video clip to him. That’s why you bought the Sony.”

  Helton nodded, hefting up the big camera. “Only way li’l Crory can rest in peace is if’n we’se revenge his evil murder. We ain’t city folk like you, we’re hill folk. It’s just the way things’re done out here.” He turned the dim dome light on up front, then leaned over with the camera. “I knows ya showed me before, but I need ya ta show me again. How’s this thing work?”

  Veronica exhaled more exasperation, then took the camera, flicked some switches, then passed it back to him. “There. It’s all set to record. When you’re ready, just push the button on the grip, the light comes on, and you’re rolling.”

  Helton took it back, impressed. “And then it all gets put on—”

  She pointed to the slot. “On the doohicky. The entire video clip you record—the moving picture—gets saved to the doohicky.”

  “Dandy! Thanks!” but then he paused as if in speculation. “Just lemme ask you somethin’ now. When you was little, did yer Maw or Paw ever tell you the old Bible story ’bout a fella in olden times named Lot and his wife Edith?”

  In the continuous whirlpool of turmoil, Veronica could scarcely collate the question. “Uh, I don’t know. Something about Sodom and Gomorrah?”

  “Right!” Helton enlivened. “Them was the two cities that invented butt-fuckin’, see, and God, he got all shore-fire pissed ’cos all the folks in these cities, all they did was butt-fuck, and that offended God, so God, He decided ta open a giant can’a whup-ass on them cities and just up’n destroy ’em with fire’n brimstone. But, see, there was two folks there who didn’t do no butt-fuckin—Lot and his wife Edith. They believed in God and they didn’t never offend Him, so God sent a angel to tell Lot’n Edith ta git out’a town so’s they wouldn’t git kilt along with all them sinners—Soddermites, I’se think they was called—so, shit, Lot and Edith packed up and split ’cos there weren’t no way they was gonna disobey a messenger’a God, but ‘fore they left, the angel tolt ’em that no matter what they do while they’re leavin’, they shore as shit better not look back, no matter what kind’a hell-raisin’ they might hear comin’ from them two cities. Shore enough, they’se walkin’ away and alls a sudden they hear a commotion like they never heard’n screamin’n burnin’ and temples collapsin’n what not, and Lot, he wants to look back but he didn’t ’cos he remember what the angel said, but Edith…” Helton shrugged. “Shee-it, Edith—just like a woman—she figger there cain’t be no harm in lookin’ back’n seein’ what’s goin’ and on, so she did, and”—Helton cracked! his hands together—“and right then’n there she turnt into a pillar’a salt!”

  Veronica felt flabbergasted. “Helton, why are you telling me old Bible stories?”

  Helton seemed suddenly disquieted. “Well, now, see, you’re no doubt gonna hear some mighty peculiar noises’n carryin’ on comin’ from the back, and what I wanna impress upon ya is that under no circumstances should you take a peek past this shower curtain, no matter how bad ya wanna look.” Helton gulped. “‘Cos if’n ya do—”

  “I’m going to turn into a pillar of salt?”

  Helton stared at her. “Ya just might, hon. Ya dag-straight just might,” then he stuck two balled up bits of cotton in her ears, pointed her face forward, hoisted the Sony, and disappeared behind the curtain.

  ««—»»

  A semi-mute, inscrutable nightmare ensued. Veronica kept her eyes wide on the nighted woods beyond the windshield, and in spite of the make-shift earplugs, sounds galore, however muffled, could be detected, the most salient of which was the loud whine of a power tool. This abated rather quickly, followed by silence.

  They’ve killed her, she knew, her stomach shriveling. With the power drill… Could she hear words through the cotton? She removed one plug…

  “—fer our peckers,” Helton said.

  One of the others said, “Dang!”

  “Ain’t as much blood as you’d think…”

  Veronica stuck the plug back in. My God my God my God! More muffled noises followed, some hoots and hollers, then thunking. Then she heard, at a higher pitch, “Yeah! Eeeeeee-YEAH! Git it, Dumar!

  For a moment, Veronica thought of Lot’s wife, Edith, for part of her volition did indeed urge her to steal a peek behind those curtains…

  But she didn’t.

  In another minute, however, she removed the earplug again—

  “Hump it! I say hump it!” Helton raged amid a rapid thunking.

  Veronica put back the plug.

  The black and white of it socked right into her brain: They’ve just murdered a girl with a power drill. They’re having sex with the corpse. She gulped. And they’re filming it with the camera I sold them…

  Eventually the dim commotion ceased and Helton pushed through the curtain, bearing the big Sony. He pulled out her cotton balls. “We’se all done, sweetie”—he looked at the camera—“I shore hope I did this right. You shore the movin’ picture’s on here now?”

  She flicked the dome light back on and took the camera. “Yep,” she said, trying as best she could to sound normal, to sound like she had no idea what went on back there. “The properties bar says that 19 minutes of space have been used on the memory card.” She snapped it from the slot and handed it to him. “The doohicky.”

  “Well that’s just peachy, Veronnerka!” but then he scratched his beard. “Now all’s I gotta do is think’a the best way ta git the doohicky to Paulie, so’s he can watch the movie…”

  The SNUFF mov
ie, she corrected with a chill. Again, she struggled to act normal, unaffected, as though she had no clue as to what they’d actually done. “You could leave it in his mailbox—”

  “Naw. He wife’s house is just over yonder but…the fella there’s more’n likely calt the police by now.”

  Act normal!

  “Then send it to him through the mail.”

  Helton seemed doubtful. “I’se guess we could but—jiminy, hon—we want him to have it soon as possible.”

  “How about leaving it someplace and calling him up and telling him where to find it. Do you have his phone number?”

  Helton winced. “Aw, see, he calt us once”—he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone—“on this here cellphone he had delivered to our house, but he never give us his number.”

  Veronica frowned. “Didn’t you say that this man Paulie was also a crime lord? In the Mafia?”

  “Well, yeah, hon.”

  “If he really is into organized crime, then he surely has some mode of internet access—”

  “Huh? Oh, you mean ‘puters’n all that?”

  ‘Puters. My God. “Yes. Does he have a computer with email access?”

  Helton looked mystified. “Shee-it. I gots no idea.”

  “He must. Of course, he might not want to give you his email address, but I can create a screen name for him on my account, tell him the eddress, then he can download the movie himself. Right now.”

  “Don’t know what’cher talkin’ ’bout, darlin’,” Helton said with enthusiasm, “but if’n you could make it so he could see our movin’ picture right now, why, I’d be so dang happy…”

  “Happy enough to let me go?” she dared to ask.

  “Why, shore!”

  Veronica reached around. “I’m just getting my laptop,” she said and lifted her knapsack off the floor behind her.

  “Lap…what?”

  “It’s a portable computer,” she wearily explained, “that has a mobile-wireless card. If you want Paulie to see the movie, you have to let me use my laptop.”

  “Well, fine. Go on ahead,” and then he watched in confused fascination as she extracted the laptop, booted it up, and went online. It took less than five minutes to create the guest-account, download the video clip from the memory card, and email it. “Now,” she said. “Call Paulie back on the phone he sent you.”

  “I done tolt ya, hon. He didn’t gimme no number.”

  Veronica sighed. “If he called you on it, the number’s on the phone. Was he the last person to call you?”

  Helton frowned at the tiny phone. “Well, yeah. He’s the only one ta call us on it.”

  “Then highlight the number and push the call button.” How can people be so OBLIVIOUS! she thought. “Here. I’ll call him,” and she took the phone from Helton’s huge hand, hit the number of the last call, and listened.

  “Yeah?” a gruff voice answered. A Jersey accent.

  “I’d like to speak to Paulie, please,” Veronica said.

  “Who the fuck is this? You Tuckton’s whore or somethin’?”

  Veronica hated foul language. “My name’s Veronica. I’m calling on behalf of a man named Helton—”

  “You fuckin’ asshole! What’d’ya want!”

  Appalled, Veronica covered the mouth-piece and whispered, “He’s very rude. He called me an asshole, and he doesn’t even know me!” She resumed the call. “I’d just like to talk to Paulie—”

  “He’s asleep!”

  “Well, I have an email for you. Do you have internet access?”

  “Of course, you stupid broad! We’re in the Mob! We got dozens of blinded email accounts,” the man bellowed.

  “Would you please stop yelling!” she shrilled in response. “I’m trying to give you information! Get a pen and piece of paper, please!”

  A moment passed, then, “All right, I got it! Now what the fuck do you want?”

  Veronica grew infuriated. The nerve of some people! “Go to AOL-dot-com, click the guest box. I’ve created a screen name for you on my account. Got it so far?”

  “Yeah! Who the fuck are you!”

  Veronica rolled her eyes. “Your screen name is Pauliecrimeguy and your password is your cellphone number.”

  A pause. “What the fuck is this all about!”

  “I’ve sent you an attachment from Helton,” she continued, tempering herself. “Go to your in-box and download the attachment.”

  “What’s the attachment!”

  “A digital video file—”

  click

  The connection severed. “He hung up!” Veronica snapped. “That was the rudest man!”

  But Helton seemed concerned. “So’s…how do we know he got the movin’ picture?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll get it, all right. And I have a funny feeling that when he does…” Veronica gulped. “He’ll be calling you back real fast…”

  ««—»»

  Helton took her into the back of the truck and re-cuffed her wrist to the table. “Howdy, Miss Veronnerka!” the younger man said. He was wiping the floor with paper towels. The smile on his face couldn’t have been broader. “So’s Unc Helton tolt me you figgered some fancified way’a sendin’ our movin’ picture to Paulie.”

  “Yes,” came her glum response. “Over the internet—”

  “Dangest thing, tek-nollergy,” Helton said in stifled awe. “She had this here li’l ‘puter box that sent the movin’ picture ta Paulie, and it didn’t even have no wires on it.”

  “No wires?” Micky-Mack asked, bewildered. “How’s can that be?”

  “Just…don’t worry about it,” Veronica told them. “It’s magic.”

  “Wow!”

  When the blond one finished wiping up the floor, he exhaled some aspect of relief and—

  Oh for goodness sake!

  —rubbed his crotch.

  “I’ll tell ya, Unc. That there was fer shore the finest nut I’se ever h—”

  Helton pointed his finger. “Quiet.” Then he looked down at something, grit his teeth, and—

  SMACK!

  —laid an opened palm across Micky-Mack’s head.

  “Holy fuck, Unc Helton! What’cha keep smackin’ me fer!” the man wailed, a hand to his temple.

  “I done tolt ya to clean this place up! We cain’t have Veronnerka seein’ anythin’ that’ll be upsettin’ to her!” Helton grabbed some paper towels, then knelt before the power drill, which lay on the metal floor.

  Veronica caught one glimpse…

  One was sufficient.

  A strange hollow cylinder stuck out of the end of the drill, a cylinder rimmed with saw-teeth. Blood dripped off of it. Helton very quickly wiped it up.

  I don’t want to know, I don’t want to know… She tried to remain naive. “Where’s the other man? The dark-haired one?”

  “My son, Dumar,” Helton answered.

  “Yeah,” Micky-Mack piped up. He was still rubbing his crotch. “Dumar, he’ll be back in a sec. Hadda git rid’a the b—”

  SMACK!

  “Gawd DAMN, Unc! That fuckin’ hurt!”

  “Next time I’se just might bust my hand on that thick head’a yers, boy. Just keep yer mouth SHUT.” He pulled something from a plastic bag. “Here, Veronnerka. Have some…” He squinted at a small snack bag. “Veggie Chips, whatever the hail they is.”

  She looked aghast at the offered bag. “I don’t want Veggie Chips, Helton! I want to go home! I want to be with Mike!”

  Helton chuckled huskily. “Aw, that silly fella, ya mean. Hon, that cocky boy ain’t good enough fer you.”

  Micky-Mack cracked a smile. “Sound like she all mushy in looooove…”

  Veronica was about to wail another objection; however—

  The cellphone rang.

  Helton and Micky-Mack tensed up.

  “That’s got to be Paulie,” Veronica said.

  Helton looked uncomprehending at the tiny phone. “Shee-it! I’se fergot how ta answer it!”

&
nbsp; “Helton, just open the phone!” Veronica snapped.

  Clumsily, the man did so. He put it to his ear. “Hello?”

  At this distance, Veronica could decipher nothing, but she was aware of a very irate squawk coming from the cellphone. “Yeah?” Helton said, amused. “Well I just think that’s dandy, ya snake-shit-eatin’ city fuck…”

  More squawking, then Helton said, “Well then bring it on, buster ’cos you snot-nose uppity city types gots no idea who yer messin’ with…” Then he hung up.

  “Was that Paulie, Unc?”

  “Shore as shit was, and he’s more riled than a pitbull with a ball-bag full’a ticks, he is!” Helton leaned hugely over and kissed Veronica on the cheek. “Veronnerka? You’s a flat-out genius!”

  “So Paulie saw your movin’ picture,” she deduced.

  “Oh yeah he did—”

  “EEEEEEEE-ha!” Micky-Mack rejoiced, and then Dumar came in through the back, and when he was informed of the news…

  “EEEEEEEE-ha!”

  The three whooped, jumping up and down, high-fiving. The truck rocked from the impact of their booted feet.

  Helton roared, “And ya knows what that city faggot tolt me? Tolt me he was goin’ ta all at WAR with us!”

  More high-fiving and raucous hoots.

  “He wants war, Paw! We’ll show that fucker war!”

  Helton was so happy his face was turning pink. “This calls fer a cellar-bay-shun!” and then he extracted a liquor bottle from another bag. “Whatever cheap-ass rotgut swill this is, it don’t matter ’cos we stolt if from him!” Helton passed the bottle around. The label read JOHNNY WALKER BLUE - 40-YEAR.

  But Veronica just seemed to sit and spin in this ever-increasing kaleidoscope of madness. “Helton!” she barked.

  “Yeah, hon? Oh, you wanna nip?”

  “I don’t want a nip! You said if I got the movie to Paulie, you’d let me go!”

  He looked down in all sincerity. “Aw, hon. I’se already tolt ya we’ll let ya go…” and then his brows inched up. “Just…not any time soon. We’se just started gettin’ our revenge ‘gainst Paulie, and we’se gonna need ya fer a spell, fer yer exper-teese.” He laughed. “We’se gonna need you ta send lots more movin’ pictures ta Paulie!”