Bullet Through Your Face (reformatted)

by Edward Lee

  And then a’corse there was this business with the radiant Captain Majora. Why were she packin’ a gun the Army no longer used? How’d she git ta the County Watch-House fer Boys faster’n he and Hays did? And where she run off to so quick just a little while ago when she doin’ the nekit version of the Denise Austin Aerobics Show?

  “Aw, shee-it, Chief,” Hays remembert. “Now that I thank of it, I never did finish my story ‘bout Martha, did I?”

  “Yes,” the Chief asserted, his belly hitchin’ at the thought. “You did.”

  “Naw, naw, boss, I never did get to the end and told ya why it is they call her Martha the Tail.”

  Well, as a matter’a fact, that were true, but right now the Chief shore didn’t want to hear no more disgusterin’ stories from Hays, ‘specially after that double pork burger he’d picked up at R.A.’s Barbeque Stand. “Fergit it, Hays. I don’t wanna hear.”

  “Shore ya do, Chief—”

  “No, Hays. Just shut up and drive!”

  “That’s a big negatory, boss, ‘cos it ain’t right fer a fella to start a story but not finish it proper. So’s I’se gonna tell whether ya like it’re not.”

  “Hays, if ya so much as—”

  “See, boss, like I tolt ya, after I put that big ten-beer piss up her ass, she gits ups ta go to the bathroom, right—and, shee-it—I shore as hail didn’t have to go to the bathroom myself, no sir, not after drainin’ my bladder up that old cumbucket’s brownhole. Anyways,

  like I were tryin’ta tell ya, she gits up, and—Chrast, Chief!—I’se can hear all my piss just sloshin’ in her’n her belly’s stickin’ out like a sack’a grain I peed so much in her, and then, Chief, then—”

  But Hays stopped just then, and began to slow down. “Dang, Chief, looks like I’se’ll have ta tell ya later ‘cos we’se here.”

  Kinion thanked the Lord for that, and so did Kinion’s breadbasket. Shore enough, Hays had just pulled into the parkin’ lot’a VWF Post 3063, and he were correct in what he’d previously related: all the lights were out: the buildin’, the lot, even the big VFW sign out front. But—

  VVVVVROOM!

  The sound jolted ‘em, and suddenly there were a bunch’a dust fillin’ up the lot, and then the Chief jumped out the car’n looked behind him, he saw—

  “You gotta be shittin’ me!”

  —a great big long bus roarin’ away, and before it roared away completely, Chief Kinion could see the stenciled letters on the back of it, letters which read—

  “State Health Department!” Hays jumped out and read out loud.

  “Those fuckers again?”

  Kinion and Hays stood in the dust. The bus, now, was long gone down the road. The two men approached the VFW hall, and at once Hays noticed something.

  “Looky, Chief. See that?”

  “See what?” Kinion answered.

  Hays pointed to the front winders of the hall—

  No glass, the Chief realized.

  “No glass, see that, boss. All them winders’ve been busted from the outside in, just like Doc Willis’ place.”

  “Well ain’t this just a dandy kick in the ass!” the Chief complained.

  “Yeah, and there goes a dandier one . . .”

  At the other end of the darkened lot, another vehicle was pullin’ out and stompin’ off like real fast: Captain Majora’s government sedan.

  “Still think she’s legit, boss?” Hays goaded. “Second time today she done beat us to our own calls.”

  The Chief stroked his gibbous chin. Shore, it was a great big heap of strange that seemed to be pilin’ up ‘round the luscious Captain Majora, but—

  “Now wait a mintue, Hays, only reason she got out here before we did is ‘cos we was delayed on account of, uh, well . . .” “On account’a you wanted to peep in her winder whiles she were nekit so’s ya could gander that tight l’il butt’n red gash on her—” “I was doin’no such thang, I’se already tolt ya!” Kinion hollered, “I was merely investergatin’ a suspicious situation!”

  “Well, whatever, boss, and you can waste the rest of the little time you got tryin’ ta ‘splain yerself, or you can git on after her, see where she goes.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Foller the dirty, lyin’ bitch in the town car. You still got time ta catch up.”

  Kinion considered this suggestion and—dang—it seemed like a purdy good one. Then he snapped to, lumbered toward the car.

  “Come on, Hays, git in!”

  Hays threw Kinion the keys. “You go on yerself, boss. See, I gots some investergatin’ of my own ta do back at the station.” Kinion looked back, duped. “Well, how the hail are ya gonna git back to the station without a car?”

  Hays turned up a subtle smile. “Leave it ta me, Chief, and you best git rollin’ n’less ya wanna lose her.”

  Hays was right—there weren’t no time ta argue. So’s he jumped on in the Luntville patrol car and spun wheels outa that VFW lot fast as if he were persuin’ a moonshine run, follerin’ the same direction that Majora had left.

  And when the Chief were well on his way, PFC Micah whipped out his set’a lockpicks and begun ta look for a car ta steal . . .

  IX

  As Chief Kinion drove with the pedal to the metal, cruisin’ a mite quick down Old Harley Road, he did n’fact wonder what Hays had on his mind but he were quite a bit more intensely concerned about what Majora might be up to. Not only was it funny ‘bout her Colt .45 not bein’ in the Army inventory no more, but it were even more so funny ‘bout how she coulda got noterfied ‘bout whatever went on back at the VFW Post. She couldn’t possibly have heard it on a police scanner as she’d said she had earlier ‘bout the County WatchHouse fer Boys ‘cos the Chief seed fer hisself when he was ganderin’ her bare ass that she didn’t have no such scanner in her room, and nor had she picked up a phone, and nor had her phone rang, so... How in the hail did she know ta come out to the VFW Post and call them dang State Health Department folks again?

  It weren’t too long, however, before the Chief caught a glimpse of her tail lights up ahead, and so’s he let off the speed a tad. He didn’t wanna catch her, he just wanted ta see what she were up to now, and she shore as heck weren’t goin’ back ta her motel room ‘cos this were the blammed oppersit direction. So he just set ta follerin’ her, discretely like so’s she wouldn’t suspect she were indeed bein’ follered. And in the meantimes, he got hisself an idea...

  “Dispatch, this is Luntville Unit Two-Zero-Eight, ID-1,” the Chief said into his portable Motorola. “I need me a 10-17.” “Go ahead, Two-Zero-Eight,” came the static response of the county dispatcher.

  See, the Chief weren’t as dumb as some would think, and he knowed full well that any emergency transport call would be logged with State MAC computer no matter if it were local, county, or state, and he also knowed that the county-band dispatcher had access to

  that infermation, and what he knowed thirdly was that any medical transport respondered to by the State Health Department would have a status-tag on that there log!

  “I need arrival’n desternation status of the State Health Department’s response to the Luntville VFW Post 3063, please,” he said into the mic.

  “Standby, Two-Zero-Eight.”

  Over the line, the Chief heard the dispatcher tappin’ them computer keys. But then there came a pause, and she got back:

  “Two-Zero-Eight, the State MAC log reports no transport dispatch of any Health Department vehicles to that location.”

  The fuck? “Well I just seen ‘em myself, leavin’ the post not five minutes ago!” Kinion complained to his radio. “What about earlier today? Check fer a State Health Department dispatch to the County Watch-House fer Boys out on Mount Airy Road.”

  More static, more keys tappin’, then: “Sorry, Two-Zero-Eight, State Health Department reports no dispatches of any of their vehicles today, not to the locations you mentioned, and not anywhere.” At first the Chief was fixin’ to pitch a fit on account he’d seen
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  these vehicle with his own eyes both times but then . . . Hmmm, he thought. “Thank you kindly,” he said in the mic. “I must’a had me some faulty infermation. Two-Zero-Eight out.”

  Yes, sir, that heap’a strange was just gettin’ higher’n higher it was. Not just from what the dispatcher had just tolt him, but from what he noticed this here instant.

  See, way up on ahead’a him, he could still see Majora’s tail lights on that government sedan, and what that sedan done next, see, was it turnt left offa Old Harley Road and right smack-dab onto County Road 3, and if there was one thang Chief Kinion knowed was that there weren’t nothin’at all on County Road 3 but one single house . . . Doc’n Jeanne Willis’ house.

  X Micah had hisself a fair choice’a cars in the lot, all of ‘em a’corse belongin’to them old VFW geezers, so he picked a nice Olds 4-door with some room and used his HPC-brand lockpicks to git in ‘er’n git her started. See, the PFC didn’t see no harm ‘cos he weren’t really stealin’ the car; he was instead appropriatin’ it fer urgent police business which it said you could do right there in black’n white in the State Annotated Code, it did, and besides, the owner shore didn’t need it right this second since he was in the back’a that great big State Health Department medercal transport bus’n probably was unconcious anyhows with his pants down and his old peter hard just the same as all’a them boys at the County Watch-House. So’s Micah hopped right in’n drove off he did, headin’ back fer the station just like he done tolt the Chief. A’corse it were at least a little bit of a white lie since although he were headin’ fer the station it weren’t the station he was plannin’ on immediately returnin’ to.

  It were the White Horse Motel.

  Yeah, he knowed, all right, he knowed the Chief—fine man that he was—weren’t seein’ thangs quite as clearly as he should be on account he had eyes fer that red-hairt cum-trap Majora. Funny what pussy could do to a fella, ‘specially a fella like the Chief since he problee ain’t had hisself a good lay since back before we put fellas up on the moon. But Hays knew a lyin’ fur-pie when he saw one, and that’s just what Majora was. Shore, she was a looker, and Hays wouldn’t mind blowin’ a big dick-loogie right up any or all’a her holes ‘cos that’s all gals were foremost: 3-holes for fellas ta put their peters in’n have a good come. A looker, yeah, but Hays weren’t nearly so as impressed as the Chief was. A little too prim’n proper she seemed, and a little too sqweaky clean. What a gal like that really needed was to first have her starch broke and git dirtied up some the ways women should be. Yes sir, git ten good, hard fellas together and treat her to a All-Night Pool-Table Special. Ooo-eee, that’d break her down’n git the sass out of her a right quick. Lay her smart ass down and put a fuckin’ on her from dusk till dawn, put so much cum in her she wouldn’t be able to git no more in, and she’d shorely be grateful fer it after. See, what Hays—in his incontrovertible experience—reasoned was that the more ya treated a gal like a lowdown dog-dirty whore, the more they liked it ‘cos it fulfilled some inner need they alls had to be treated like spunk-drains. Personally, Hays couldn’t figger it fer the life’a him, but after treatin’ well over 700 gals like just that, he were posertively convinced. That’s right— no lie—n’fact the PFC’s tally were done up to ‘zactly 721—that’s 721 different gals he’d had his trouser-meat in, and a fair share’a them he fucked more times than he could count! And it weren’t no lie either that well over a hunnert of ‘em he fucked the dogshit outa ‘fore he was 16 years of age! Shee-it, when Micah Hays were but 7 years old, he was ballin’ the stuffin’ out of his babysitters, and he shore as shit were ass-fuckin’ by 10. In junior high school he wasn’t just fuckin’ all them l’il 7th-grade gals but he was also fuckin’ the daylights outa bunch’a his teachers. Shee-it, he remembert one time when he weren’t but 13’n didn’t even have all his dick hair yet and though he could shore as shit get wood’n come, his nuts weren’t yet makin’ no spunk, but anyway, he remembert this one big chunky science teacher he had named Mrs. Christian who had like kind of a dumpy bod but a primo set’a tits and one day Micah was sittin’ in class lookin’ at those big rib-melons and thinkin’ how great it’d be ta see ‘em in the buff and—shore ‘nuff!—he popped hisself a huge boner right there in his pants and since he were sittin’ in the front row, see, Mrs. Christian got a good look at it, no doubt thinkin’ to herself: What in tarnations? That there 13-year-old little boy’s got a dick that’s three-times bigger than my husbands! so ‘acorse she asked Micah to stay after class and let’s just say he put more than his pencil in her school box. Wound up fuckin’ that bitch coupla times a week till he got on to high school. Word travels fast, see, and when a fella’s hung like Micah Hays (not ta mention when a fella’s so good a lover’n can git a gal’s pussy off so fine), it might as well’a been broadcast over the blammed intercom. By 9th grade, n’fact, he was not only fuckin’ a coupla different girls ever week but more’n

  a handful’a teachers, like Miss Brill—she were one’a the gal phys. ed. teachers, and she was skinny’n tall and didn’t have hardly no tits on her at all but that didn’t matter to Micah Hays, no sir—she might not’a had no tits but he shore as hail knew she had a beaver ‘tween her legs, but anyways one day outa the blue Micah were on his way out to little league practice but Miss Brill just up’n grabbed him’n hauled him back into her little office’n locked the door. See, she’d heard all about how good Micah Hays was, and she shore’s shit wanted in on some’a that action herself so she just hauls off her sweat pants’n hauls Micah’s pants down’n a’corse he’s hard already so’s then she eyeballs it’n about shrieks, sayin’ “Good Gawd, Micah Hays, that is the biggest tallywacker I ever done seen!” (and keep in mind, he were still just a kid back then!) so Micah, bein’ the dillergent student he was’n always wantin’to exceed the expectations’a his teachers, he got to layin’ some serious dick on Miss Brill humpin’ her hard’n fast just like women wanted, and she just kept squealin’“Harder, Micah! Harder!” so harder it was till it got to the point that she might as well’a had a jackhammer up her twat, and, shee-it, this scrawny bitch just couldn’t git enough so’s she pulls her knees back to her ears and just keeps shriekin’“Harder!” but then somethin’happened, see, and at the time, bein’ so young’n all, Micah couldn’t quite reckon what it was but he heard a wet poppin’ noise and alls of a sudden Miss Brill’s shrieks of whore-heaven bliss turnt inta screams and all this blood starts pourin’ out her snatch like tappin’ a keg’a cherry wine and, well, ta make a long story short what happened was that Micah had fucked this woman so hard he transectered her blammed cervix, he did! and she wound up havin’ ta go to the harspital! He felt a mite guilty ‘bout it at first—Holy shee-it! he’d thought. I done busted Miss Brill’s hole!—but, hail, he was only givin’ her what she were askin’ fer, right? So it weren’t his fault, not really, and since he popped her cunt before he came hisself, he didn’t feel guilty neither ‘bout jackin’ it off the rest’a the way. So’s, anyway, that there is the story’a the very first poon ta be broke wide open by Micah Hays, but little did he know back then that there’d be many more ta foller.

  Well, er, dang! It seems that this here narrative has become a tad sidetracked what with the preverus passerge’a redneck smut, but what Micah Hays were doin’ right now, see, is he were drivin’ back ta town in a big plush Oldsmobile he just up’n stolt—er, not stolt but appropriated via the proper provisions’a state law—from the VFW lot and then he pulled right on in to one’a the parkin’spaces out front of the White Horse Motel, and it weren’t but a coupla seconds later, he was walkin’ ‘round back’a the motel to where’s he earlier found the Chief winder-peepin’ on that squeaky-clean, red-hairt, needsta-have-her-hole-bustedfierce, lyin’ white-trash whore and problee fixin’ta jack hisself off whiles lookin’at it. That would be the second winder along back but a’corse before Hays could git to the second winder he hadda pass the first winder but there weren’t no one in there ‘cept some short, fat
fella with fucked-up hair and a beard that looked more like he’d smeared peat moss on his face, and—Chrast!—this here fella had ta be ‘bout the ugliest fella in all’a northern America, like he had a face that could not only stop a fuckin’ train but maybe even cause that train ta turn full around on its track’n go back the way it came, yes sir, that’s how ugly he was; in fact this fella’s face looked more like the bottom of a lame foot than it looked like a face, but that all was besides the point. This fella—quite chunky he was—was sittin’there on the bed in his scivvies, see, watchin’the television’n he was pickin’boogers out his nose one after another’n wipin’under the bed’n on the nightstand, but what he was doin’ with his other hand was he was givin’his crotch a good feel-up he was like he was maybe milkin’ a cow rather’n takin’ a dick-squeeze, and then this fella pulls his shorts down’n starts jackin’! A’corse it looked like Mother Nature had taken a giant shit on this poor fella ‘cos not only was he problee the ugliest fella on Gawd’s Green Earth but he had hisself a boner that looked about maybe three inchers—and that were a generous estermation. Then Hays spied what had gotten this fella’s wood up— er, not wood, really, but maybe Tinker Toy—and that would be some silly show on the television with a bunch’n hot Calerforna-lookin’ bimbos runnin’ around on a beach wearin’ red swimsuits and, like, savin’people’s lives who was drowin’in the water. The chicks, shore, they was fine-lookin’, yes sir, fine-lookin’ enough ta fill a seminary with hard dick, but the last thang Micah Hays wanted ta do was stand here watchin’ what might well’ve been the ugliest livin’ member of the human species beat his meat, so Micah went on ta the second winder’n, well, committed an act that might be described as, well, breakin’ and enterin’.