by Stuart Woods
The tall girl was spread-eagled on her back on one of the picnic tables. The other girl was standing over her, stroking her breasts and belly. They were both naked. The tall girl’s eyes were closed, and Sonny had approached from behind the other girl, so they did not see him. He stood, tensely, and watched. The short girl leaned over her friend and bit her nipples, which immediately came erect. Then she kissed her way slowly down the girl’s torso and along the insides of her thighs. The tall girl moaned and opened her legs wider.
Sonny bent slowly and set the beer down, then slipped out of his bathing trunks and jock strap. He was fully erect, huge. The short girl now knelt and slowly spread her friend’s vulva, stroking with her tongue. The tall girl came suddenly, making little noises and rolling her head back and forth. Both their eyes were closed now. Sonny walked softly over to them and placed one hand on the tall girl’s belly, pinning her to the table, and the other hand on the back of the short girl’s neck, locking his fingers in her short hair. They both started, but the tall girl was in too ecstatic a state to care what was happening, and he had a firm hold on the short one.
“Hey, now,” he crooned to the short one, “why don’t you let me do that, and you can suck this instead?” He thrust his swollen penis into her face. She pushed it away and began getting to her feet.
“No!” she said, backing away, assuming a fighting stance, her thick, muscular legs spread and slightly bent.
“Okay, okay,” Sonny said, trying to placate her. “You just hang on there for a minute, and we’ll have a real fuck, but right now I think your friend needs it more.” He turned to the tall girl, who was trying to sit up, and pushed her back down onto the table. She attempted to close her legs, but he was already between them. He stepped in, guiding his penis with his free hand.
Behind him the short girl clenched her fists, stepped forward and kicked upward as hard as she could.
At the moment Sonny pushed into the girl the feeling of the wet, tight, heat of her was overtaken by another, overwhelming, sensation, the fiery shock of his testicles being driven hard up against his pelvis. He screamed and fell back onto the ground, curling into the fetal position, clutching his crotch.
“Come on!” the short girl hissed to her friend. “Get your stuff on, and let’s get out of here.” She was already half way into her own bathing suit.
The tall girl began struggling into her clothing. “Jesus, he’ll kill us! Are you crazy!”
Sonny continued to yell with every breath. The short girl stepped behind him and kicked him again, this time in the kidney. He screamed again and fainted. The girls ran.
He came to in a few moments, but he was still in excruciating pain. He vomited a couple of times, and it was half an hour before he could get to his feet. The bitches had taken his bathing suit, but he found his jockstrap. He was filthy from rolling on the ground and cleaned himself up as best he could using the beer. He walked slowly and painfully up the path. He needed ice, he knew, but he dreaded the thought of holding it to his balls. The woods stopped a few feet from the pool fence, and he saw that they had left his suit hanging there.
It was late afternoon now, but there were still people about. He cursed the girls for putting him in this humiliating position. He waited for another half an hour before finding a moment when no one seemed to be looking, then he dashed for the fence, retrieved his suit, and got back behind a tree, whimpering at the effort. He got back through the fence, limped to the pool, and sank gratefully into the icy spring water. That would keep down swelling even better than the ice would.
In a few minutes he felt better, well enough to walk without limping noticably. He wrapped his blanket about him to hide the bruises around his kidney, went to the dressing room, and got his clothes on. He thought about looking for the girls, but he had no idea where they were from, didn’t know what kind of car they were driving, didn’t even know their first names. Still sick and trembling with anger and humiliation, he climbed gingerly into his car and headed back over Pine Mountain toward Delano. He got a pint of whiskey out of the glove compartment and started to drink.
When he got back to his boardinghouse he went through the back door to his room and collapsed on the bed. He dozed fitfully for the rest of the afternoon, waking now and then to take a pull on the bottle. His anger, like hot metal, cooled and shrank into something cold and hard, and a terrible pressure began to build inside him. As it began to get dark outside, he remembered it was Saturday night. He got up, found another pint of whiskey and, still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, drove to the police station.
When Sonny entered the station room, Charley Ward had his feet propped up on a desk, dozing. Sonny kicked his chair, sending him spinning across the room, nearly capsizing. “Jesus, Sonny,” Charley whined, getting to his feet, “you scared the shit out of me.”
“Listen, you’re lucky it was me and not some council member.”
“Yeah, well, there wasn’t nothing happening.” “Well, you get your ass in the patrol car. You and me are gonna make something happen.”
16
MARSHALL and Annie Parker stayed on at the church for a few minutes after the veterans group had wound up their Saturday picnic and dispersed. Marshall raked the small grounds, and Annie made sure there were no paper bags or cups left lying around. Since the event had been held on church grounds there were no beer bottles to worry about.
They drove back toward Delano at twilight, sitting close together in the car. “We have a pretty good week this week?” Marshall asked.
Annie smiled. “Sure did. You had that ring job, and Smitty paid off his bill. We took in nearly two hundred dollars, and I reckon a hundred and fifty after overhead.”
“That’s our best week so far?”
“So far.”
“I saw in the paper there’s a sale on down at Fowler’s. You think I could make you buy a new dress?”
She laughed. “You might could.”
Marshall drove on toward downtown Delano. “Looks like ol’ Junior’s going to work out all right, don’t it?” Junior Turner was Marshall’s new employee.
“Yes, and I’m sure glad we got him. Now you can stop working at nights.”
“I guess I can get home a little bit earlier. You know, he can do ‘bout anything I can, except maybe rebuilding some of those parts. But parts ain’t so scarce now, so that don’t matter much.”
“He’s a nice boy, too. Folks like him.”
“You know, honey, if anything should go and happen to me, he could run it, with you keeping the books.”
“Something going to happen to you?”
“Well, you know, if I got in a wreck or got sick or something. You have to think about things like that. You’d have my GI insurance, too.”
“I don’t even want to talk about that, Marshall. You too young to be talking like that.”
“Now, honey, you have to think about the worst could happen, sometimes. If it happens, I want you to go see Colonel Lee. He’ll straighten things out for you. You hear me?”
She put her head on his shoulder. “All right, now. That’s enough about that. Talk to me about something else. Talk to me about building a house.”
He talked to her about building a house all the way to town.
Henry Fowler stood on the sidewalk in front of his store and looked up and down Main Street with some satisfaction. It was nine o’clock, and still the block was busy with cars, wagons, and buggies. A reasonably cool evening and the late-summer sales were keeping folks out; he could judge that it would be ten-thirty before he closed. Not like the Christmas season, when he’d often stay open until midnight, but still good. He saw Marshall Parker and his wife drive past looking for a parking place and waved at them. They continued down the hill and out of sight in their search.
As he turned to go back into the store, he saw the police car, Charley Ward at the wheel, cruise slowly past. What caught his attention was an incongruity: Sonny Butts was sitting in the passenger seat wearing civi
lian clothes, not a uniform, a T-shirt, in fact. This offended Fowler’s sense of propriety. He would complain to the first councilman who came into his store. Sonny leaned out the window and called out something to a girl walking down the other side of the street. Fowler left the sidewalk in disgust.
Shortly, Marshall and Annie Parker appeared in the store, and Fowler waited on them himself, flattering Annie on her choice of a dress and helping her talk Marshall into a new shirt and tie for himself. He took some pleasure in seeing a young couple so obviously happy and prospering in the community. It surprised him that he found himself thinking of them in just those terms, not considering their color, as a couple like Billy and Patricia.
Fowler waved aside Marshall’s check and charged the purchases to their account. As he bade them good night, he looked forward to having them as good customers for many years to come. The next time he saw Jim Parker, he would have to mention to him what a fine boy he had raised.
“Turn around. Drive back up Main Street.” They were at the grammar school, and Sonny had not found what he was looking for. Charley obeyed. As they started up the hill in front of the post office, Sonny suddenly said, “Ahhhhhh, look at that.” He nodded to his right. Marshall Parker and his wife were walking down the hill carrying some packages. Sonny looked at his watch, then up and down the street. It was after ten, and the Saturday night crowd on Main Street had thinned markedly. This downhill end was deserted except for the two late shoppers.
“Pull over, Charley.” They got out of the car.
Sonny motioned Charley behind the couple and walked toward them, smiling. “Evening, Marshall.” His voice was casual, even polite.
Marshall and Annie stopped. “Evening,” he replied tonelessly.
“I’d like a word with you, Marshall.”
“Go ahead.” Annie was clutching at his sleeve.
“Well, I think it might be better if we talked about it down at the station.”
“What’s this all about?”
“We got some new information about that moonshine out at your place. Why don’t you send your wife on home with your stuff. We’ll see you get a lift after while.” Sonny could see the tenseness in the nigger. His wife was scared stiff.
Marshall hesitated for a moment, then turned to Annie. “Here’s the car keys. You go on home and wait for me. I’ll be on later.” She was wide-eyed with fright. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Call Colonel Lee,” he whispered without moving his lips. He stood back and looked at her. “Go on, now. It’s going to be all right. These men just want to talk to me for a little bit.” She took the keys and hurried to the car.
Sonny stood without moving on the sidewalk and waited for her to drive away. As he heard the car pull out, he said, “You black son of a bitch. You’re mine now.” His eyes flicked over Marshall’s shoulder, and Charley hit Marshall hard from behind with his blackjack. Marshall staggered forward, reaching for Sonny, then fell to his knees.
“C’mon, Charley! Get the goddam cuffs on him before he comes around. We can’t do this on Main Street, for crissakes!”
Annie drove as fast as she dared and tried to keep calm, but her breath was coming rapidly and in gasps. She made it home in little more than five minutes and ran for the door, leaving her packages in the car. She grabbed the telephone book and searched it fruitlessly. Then she remembered that the Lee number would not yet be in the book. She snatched up the receiver.
“Operator.”
“Please, ma’am, can you give me Colonel Lee’s telephone number out to his new house?”
“Sure, Annie,”—the operators knew everybody—”they’re still in the trailer out there. The number is 120-W. You want me to ring it for you?”
“Oh, yes, please ma’am.”
The phone rang, then rang again. Annie stamped her foot in impatience. Five rings. No answer.
“No answer, Annie, but they could be over in the new house. They’ve got a loud bell outside the trailer. I’ll ring a few more times.”
The phone rang ten times, fifteen.
“Looks like they’re not at home, Annie. Billy’s probably out campaigning somewhere. Better try later.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Annie collapsed into a chair and tried to think. Then, in rapid succession, she tried Hugh Holmes’s and Brooks Peters’s numbers. No answer from either of them. In desperation she ran for the car and started back to town.
Marshall Parker came to, face down on the back seat floor of the police car, his hands handcuffed behind him, Sonny Butts’s foot on his neck. The car squealed to a halt, and Marshall heard the front door open and close. In a moment the two policemen were dragging him roughly from the car.
He was still dazed, but he knew he was at the police station.
Billy and Patricia Lee were returning from Talbotton, where Holmes had arranged a barbecue at the home of a supporter. Patricia was driving and had pulled ahead of the Holmeses shortly after leaving the event.
Billy was slumped in the passenger seat, tired, but not sleepy. “What do you think of all this campaigning, all these country people?”
“Well, it’s hardly a new experience, you know. Nobody loves politics better than the Irish. Being the candidate’s wife is new, though, gives one a different perspective.”
“How so?”
“I’d never thought much about the differences in the ways people react to politics. At home, everybody talked about it, and some were more interested than others, but standing next to you at these gatherings, like tonight, I can see the differences.”
“Go on.”
“Some are just there for the fun of it, for the party. Others support you personally, maybe because you’re a veteran or because they knew your father or your family, or because you’re Hugh Holmes’s candidate. Others want something. They’re putting their support in the bank now, and they’re going to want to have something in return later. I wonder how much of a problem that will be for you.”
“I’ve talked about that with Mr. Holmes. Most of those who want something later don’t have anything definite in mind, now. They want to have an in just in case, and the things they want will be small—help with some state department, something like that. They’ll be easy to accommodate.”
“What about the ones with larger expectations?”
“I don’t know how large their expectations can get with a state senator. If I were running for governor, they might want all sorts of things. Still, I’ll help them if I can, I guess, unless they want something they’re clearly not entitled to, and then I guess I’ll turn them down.”
“I’m going to remind you that you said that one of these days.”
He grinned. “Okay.”
“By the way, have you thought about what we’ll be doing on election night?”
“Lord, no. You think we ought to have a victory celebration or something?”
She laughed. “Well, if Mr. Holmes’s concerns about the election mean anything, planning a victory celebration might be presumptuous.”
“You’ve got a point, there. Still, he thinks we can pull it off without too much trouble. He just doesn’t want to say it out loud for fear of making me cocky.”
“Why don’t we have a housewarming, an open house?”
He straightened in his seat. “Are you really that far along with the place?”
“Not far enough along for a proper housewarming, but the work will be essentially finished by then. We can clean out the place and wait until afterwards to finish the floors. That way, everybody will get a good look at the house, and we won’t have to worry about their tracking mud in. We can have the refreshments outside and let them wander around the house at will. If it rains, we can all go inside and stand around.”
“Sounds good to me. Maybe we can get somebody to phone in the results from each district during the evening.” He lay back again.
They were over the mountain now, and driving through town. Patricia saw a car, apparently in a hurry, run a stop sign
ahead of her, crossing the street on which she was driving.
“That looked like Annie Parker,” she said.
Billy lifted his head, but the car was gone.
“Just Annie,” she said. “I didn’t see Marshall.”
Billy lay back again. “Yeah, well, she’s probably picking him up somewhere.” He looked at his watch. “The stores might still be open. I’ll bet Mr. Fowler is.”
Patricia laughed. “I’ll bet he is, too.”
They continued toward home.
Brooks Peters and his wife left the Rialto Theater after seeing a rerelease of Guadalcanal Diary. At the entrance they ran into Dr. Tom Mudter, who was alone. They walked together for a block, before separating to go to their respective homes.
“You were in the Pacific, weren’t you, Tom?” Peters asked.
“Yeah. Hospital ships during the island invasions, then when we had essential control of an island, regimental field hospitals ashore.”
“Was it bad?”
He nodded. “A lot worse than in that picture. I don’t think anybody can ever make a picture that’ll show it as bad as it really was.”
“You get shot at any?”
“We had kamikazes on the ships, and a strafing once in a while ashore, usually a single plane, but nothing like the guys on the beaches took. It amazes me to this day that troops could go up a beach like that. It was both inspiring and frightening. I still don’t think that people at home have any idea of the resistance those boys met. The Japanese simply would not give up, wouldn’t surrender. We’d invade an island with twenty or twenty-five thousand Jap troops on it and end up taking two or three hundred prisoners. It was unbelievable.”
