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"God this is great!" The man sat on a moss-covered log and took long drags from a Marlboro cigarette. Satisfaction billowed from his mouth in smoky, white streams--satisfaction from his cigarette, sure, but satisfaction from the job they had completed, as well.
A brief shaft of sunlight weaved its way through the evergreen canopy and split the log between him and the other, a dark-haired monstrosity of a man afflicted with the moon-faced features of Down's Syndrome. The latter had his foot propped on the fallen tree and was peering out into the river where they had just dumped the body. Looking out at the dead man's ossuary, he said nothing. He just silently contemplated the events that preceded and necessitated the burial.
Finally, he turned to the one sitting. In a voice too puerile for a man of his Frankensteinian size he mustered the nerve for some sarcasm and said, "I guess we can consider this debt paid in full, can't we Jimmy?"
Jimmy seemed to be in trance as his bony, little body shivered in the damp shade. He said almost to himself, "What is that? Eight, now, in a year?" His lips pursed into a Grinch-like smile. " 'Course I don't mind. You damage the goods, you don't pay for the goods, I lose money. No problem. I take it out on trade."
Sometimes the brute, Larry, wondered if Jimmy didn't enjoy offing a guy more than he liked taking his cash.
Jimmy's smile receded a bit. "When will those assholes learn that no one screws with my girls but me?" He took another long drag, taking the cigarette to the butt, then flicked it onto the dank ground.
"Kinda hard to get money outta a dead guy, though, ain't it Jimmy?" the big man queried, questioning the method of exchange.
Jimmy turned and gave Larry an icy stare. "I'm trying to make a point here, you dumb Mongoloid. And if this doesn't do it I don't know what will."
Larry just nodded noncommittally. He knew that Jimmy meant business. No favors to nobody. If you wanted a girl, you paid for a girl, whether you happened to be in good standing with Jimmy or not. He cringed at the thought of using friendship as a tool for a free bump and grind the way Mooky Koonts tried because Jimmy wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in your head. As far as Jimmy was concerned, friend was a title designated to no one. The best you could hope for was to stay on his good side with repeat business or be his Punching Judy, which Larry had grudgingly decided was his station in life. With Jimmy, the Golden Rule was 'cash or bash'.
As Jimmy savored another Marlboro, Larry looked back out at the drowsy currents through twisted evergreen boughs. Though it was a pretty sight with sun-sparkles dancing off the gentle humps in the water, its beauty was an antithesis to the golem grave below its surface.
He sighed, though he made sure Jimmy didn't hear it. Frankly, he hated killing people. Or at least he used to. Where once a knot of sour bile would push up from his belly, there was now only a dull ache. Pepto Bismol usually took care of that. Jimmy had told him early on that he had the size and strength of a killer but not the heart. He was a freak, an outcast. No one liked him, everyone was afraid of him, everyone called him Mongol Larry. Jimmy had told him to turn that into hatred and use that as the tool to pull the trigger. To Jimmy's dismay he couldn't. It would hinder him in this kind of trade if he didn't somehow rectify it. Oh well, it was a job. How many people truly like their job? Not many, he suspected.
Though only a few moments had passed, Jimmy was almost through with the cigarette; he smoked like he lived. He squinted, rubbed his forehead with yellow, smoke-tainted fingers and said, "Ya know, I never knew this line of work could give you such a freakin' headache." His lips thinned to not quite a smile. "Don't get me wrong, it has its ups too. The nookie is free and the money's great, but I hate the hours, especially if we gotta keep coming out here and dumping these jerk-offs."
Larry glanced over at him with his eyes but kept his head facing the river. "If we keep this up, I guess all your regulars'll end up at the bottom of the river." He said it in such a way as to imply that maybe killing them wasn't necessarily the best route. But Jimmy, as usual, just ignored him the way everyone else did when they weren't staring at him.
Finally, Jimmy said, "Well the morning's still young, and we gotta do some more things in town, so let's hit the road."
As Jimmy got up and stretched his twig-arms over his greasy, blond hair, Larry gave one last look at the river. He stiffened. "Oh shit, Jimmy! Hold up."
"What the hell's your prob--". He stopped mid-sentence. He saw through the twisted pine branches what had put Larry off. A man and a woman were drifting down the river in a canoe about twenty feet from shore.
"Whatta we do, Jimmy?" Larry begged in a harsh whisper.
Putting up a hand to calm him, Jimmy said, "Let's just see what's up first."
"I thought you said this was a good place to dump the bodies?"
"It was as good a place as any. Shit, how was I supposed to know some freakin' water jockies'd come floating down the river ten minutes after we dump the prick?" He crept up beside Larry to get a closer look.
As the boat drew near, they heard the man and woman gibbering back and forth playfully. They watched as the two splashed each other with the oars, laughed, kissed, fondled, taking full advantage of their seclusion alone on the river.
Larry's hushed voice was one of concern. "What are they saying?"
"What, am I a mind reader? Am I the freakin' Six Million Dollar Man with bionic hearing? He raised a hand to hit Larry but withdrew it as he continued, "How the hell am I supposed to hear what their saying if you can't hear'em, for crise sakes?"
Larry shrugged his shoulders then pondered the couple in the canoe with a faint envy. The man and woman sparked within him, as did every couple he encountered, the thoughts of family. He figured they were probably married, had kids, lived in a cozy, little townhouse with a cat, no-no, a dog and were extremely happy and content. They probably even had jobs they liked. Not many of those around.
But amalgamating with those ponderances, like a witch's hellish brew, came thoughts of his own. He thought about the mother and father who didn't love him because of what was wrong with him. He was their Rose Mary's Baby. They had abandoned him in the streets long before finding out that his affliction was comparatively mild, or even before they knew what kind of person he'd turn out to be. But even in their rejection, their neglect in the raising of their child and completely out of his life, they played a role in who he had become.
Larry watched how the couple interacted. The sincerity of their smiles, the sense of concern for the other. They genuinely liked being together--and not just for physical pleasure. The bond these two shared went deeper, which was as foreign to his world as snow in Tahiti.
Because of his appearance, the happiness and physical enjoyment that this couple was sharing would be forever alien to him. He would have to make due with his pseudo-friendship with Jimmy that so conveniently bordered on slavery. And as far as intimacy went, no amount of money could get him in bed with one of Jimmy's girls, though that was fine by him. They were as dirty as the needles they shared. He had resorted long ago to living out his fantasy of a normal life through watching other people. It was always better than dealing with the reality of whatever was at hand.
Suddenly, the big Down's man imagined Mooky Koonts' lifeless eyes staring up at the two boaters from the muddy bottom ten feet below them. Seven more decomposing sets in that same vicinity were probably all watching if the fish hadn't already gotten to them. He shuddered at the thought.
With a sudden laugh of surprise from the woman, Larry and Jimmy watched stunned as the man unshirted himself and vanished over the side of the boat. Larry let out a quiet groan. The canoers were in almost the exact place where they had towed, then with the help of some heavy rocks, laid the body of that pathetic little Mooky to rest. After what seemed like minutes the man resurfaced and started talking to the woman as he hung over the side of the canoe.
He wasn't sure if it was his nerves, but Larry felt as though something wasn't right. There seemed to be an anxiety in the man's voice as it caromed off the boulders and pines and valley wall. "Shit, th-they know something, Jimmy. He musta saw Mooky . . . o-or one of the others."
Jimmy's initial look of concern had abated, and an off-centered grin replaced it. He slowly bent down to the duffel bag perched beside him on the log. He rummaged through two sets of wet clothes wrapped in a plastic bag and a folded, partly bloodied blanket in which they had carried Mooky. Finally, he found what he was looking for: two Glocks equipped with silencers. He pulled out the pistols and handed one to Larry, who took it reluctantly.
"We don't have to kill'em, do we Jimmy? They don't know who done what. Let's just go. Our job's done and--"
"Stop your whining you big prick," Jimmy broke in. "If these people bring back the cops, it won't be long before they figure out that the only thing these guys had in common was that they was frequent customers of my ladies, and then we're goin' down--and hard.
Without taking his malicious stare from the couple, Jimmy chambered a round. "Time to do a little poachin'."
There was a muffled shot, and simultaneously a piece of the canoe next to the woman's arm shattered into a multitude of wooden slivers. She let out a surprised yelp then both she and the man looked around fearfully as he scrambled back into the canoe.
Another shot rang out, but this one fell short of its mark, piercing the water just in front of the boat with a splunk.
The woman shrieked once more. Her partner motioned for her to get down then he began rowing strenuously for the shore.
"Dammit!" Jimmy complained as he eyed his piece. "These things ain't worth shit for long range shooting."
"Jimmy . . ." Larry pleaded.
As Jimmy pulled off another round, the two canoers disappeared behind a large boulder at the river's edge. The bullet skimmed off the top of the monolith and shattered debris into the air like a rocky fountain. It met with another, even louder scream.
"C'mon," Jimmy said. "We gotta closer to these two if we're gonna get a good shot off." He tucked his pistol into his gray Dockers and started off through the woods. "Leave the bag here. This shouldn't take long, and we'll pick it up on the way back."
Larry had a hard time keeping up with his partner. Jimmy's lean torso slinked in and out of the underbrush as though it were specifically made for those serpentine movements, but Larry's mammoth frame got continuously caught in the briars. Every time he stopped to untangle his saturated tee-shirt, Jimmy's sigh got heavier and his cartilaginous, little face a little redder, like the bulb of a thermometer at its bursting point.
"Let's go, Numbnuts!" Jimmy yelled at Larry's forth entanglement. "They can't be that far ahead, and I don't wanna spend all mornin' with this."
Larry said nothing. He just unfastened himself and proceeded, but all the while he asked himself why these two had to be killed. They could have just turned and left without incident. The two boaters might not have seen anything. And if they did, so what? All but Mooky's body had surely decomposed, and the bodies were dumped a two-hour drive from the city. No one would know who these people were. Would they? Would they?
After giving it some thought, Larry figured, unwillingly, that Jimmy was probably right. He didn't want to be pinned with this. The last place he wanted to end up was in jail. He just wasn't used to killing 'regular' people. This couple had kids to go home to, for crying out loud! They had to feed their pets and clean their house and wax their car and all the other 'regular people' stuff. The world was better off without the people under the river. They had no life, wanted no life and didn't care about life--theirs or anyone else's. He was always the butt of their jokes, and breaking the ice between a new john and one of Jimmy's girl's always came at his expense. They used and manipulated and hurt. They deserved what they got. They were street scum. That fact always made killing them a little easier. But this couple, they were good people. They did nothing wrong, save being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Larry's stomach began to churn painfully. Now, he wished he'd brought along his Pepto Bismol.
The underbrush finally cleared into a relatively more open series of small valleys and ridges. A high canopy of trees filtered all but the drabbest of colors from the landscape. Jimmy stopped at a stand of evergreens about fifty feet ahead of Larry and quickly, with more perturbation, motioned for him. In the same motion, he pulled out another Marlboro and lit up.
"Look here," Jimmy said, flapping the cigarette in his mouth like a spring board as he spoke. "They're headed up along the river's edge." He pointed to two sets of footprints in the soft, almost muddy, ground. It won't take too long to catch up. You take out the guy. I'll do the broad. And don't piss around okay? There's a double-header later today and I wanna get at least one game in."
Larry still appealed. "M-maybe they really didn't see nothing. Can't we just lea--"
His plea was cut short by a crisp slap in the face. "Look, you oversized, deformed piss ant, don't think, just do! You wanna take the chance that maybe they didn't see nothin'? Huh? I don't. Maybe they didn't see nothin'. But maybe they did, then what? Then what! Your whinin' is exactly why five years from now you'll be livin' like a human freak show outta some cardboard box somewhere. You piss and moan too much instead of just gettin' the job done like me." Jimmy put his pistol to Larry's head. He gritted his yellowed teeth together and spoke slowly, angrily, "Killin' really ain't so bad. Just put the freakin' gun to his head like this and pull . . . the . . . trigger. Now do you understand?"
Larry pushed back a tennis ball-sized lump from his throat and shook his head yes.
Jimmy removed the pistol from his temple and smiled sadistically. "Remember, don't think, just do."
Larry stood silent a moment, rubbing the welt on his cheek, though it hurt only his pride and little else.
Then, Jimmy cocked his head at Larry and grinned, almost breaking out into laughter. "Shit, I can't believe I'm telling you of all people not to think!" He then turned, cigarette in mouth, and pushed ahead.
After a few silent moments of rubbing the swollen ridges on his cheek, Larry trudged off behind Jimmy. Was he right? Larry wondered. Of course he was. Jimmy was always right, at least in his own eyes. And in Jimmy's world that was all that mattered. If they were to keep the cops from uncovering this mess then the couple would have to be sacrificed. None the less, it didn't set well with him. Not well at all.
It was at these times that Larry wished he had someone other that Jimmy to be friends with if, in fact, that term could actually apply. He didn't care if he lived out of a box as long as he didn't have to kill anymore. He hated, hated, hated it. Well, the truth was, he did care if he lived out of a box. It scared him. And to be fair, Jimmy did take him in when no one else wanted him. He owed it to Jimmy to do what was asked of him. What little he got, he got from Jimmy. Inexplicably, the word 'little' stuck in his mind, and he couldn't shake it.
Up ahead, Jimmy rounded some large rocks and saw the couple adjacent to him on the other side of a deep gully, just making the crest of the opposite hill. He stopped and spat his spent cigarette onto the ground. "This is too easy," he whispered in an animal-like snarl.
Neither had noticed him yet, so he was able to get a good, long look at the woman. She was long legged and curvy with large breasts hidden under what looked like an I love N.Y. tee-shirt. Cut off Levi's clung to her muddied, heart-shaped derriere. She had been the reason why Jimmy had caught up so fast. She was wearing sandals and found it difficult to trudge across the damp ground, slipping and falling down every couple of steps.
"So pretty," he said to Larry who, panting heavily, had finally caught up. "So damned pretty."
Indeed she was. Ten times better than any girl Jimmy owned, Larry thought as he suffered for air.
"I think I'll have a little fun first." Jimmy pointed his Glock and squeezed off a round. Shards of bark sprayed from the tree beside them.
"Oh God!" the woman exclaimed in a terrified panic that reverberated off the wall of trees surrounding them.
With a renewed vigor, the sacrificial lambs starting running off through the woods again.
"I'm gonna kill you!" Jimmy yelled savagely across the gully at them as he pursued. "But first I'm gonna screw the girl!"
Each word he spat was met with a louder cry and a quicker step.
The man kept yelling back, "Please, leave us alone! We don't have any money, really. Please! Why are you doing this to us?"
Jimmy kept taunting and mocking them as he closed in, but finally, having played enough, he ran up and slammed the butt of the pistol into the back of the woman's head, sending her to the ground. She let out a dull cry as she collapsed, and the back of her head turned from a dull blonde to a bright, sticky red.
The man whimpered and knelt down beside her, but his chest was met forcefully by a swift kick from Jimmy that expelled the air in his lungs with a painful whoosh. He was flung backwards and came to rest at the base of a young birch tree.
Keeping his Glock pointed at the man, Jimmy unbuttoned his Dockers. He then yelled back behind him at Larry, who had just taken the top of the hill, to hurry up. With a quivering lip and a demented grin, Jimmy said to the woozy, groaning woman, "At least your gonna have a little fun before you die, and your play-thing, here, gets to watch."
He turned her onto her back and began to rip and tug at her shorts.
Moments later, Larry caught up and saw the man lying on the ground, holding his stomach and begging Jimmy to let her go. Jimmy could kill him, if that's what he wanted, but he pleaded for the woman's life.
For the first time, Larry saw a man cry. Mooky and the others had pleaded, begged and even offered money in return for their lives, but never did any of them shed a tear, much less offer their life for another person.
After Jimmy pulled up the woman's shirt, revealing her breasts, he turned to Larry, who was standing beside him with a somewhat dumbfounded look on his already oddly shaped face. "Don't shoot the guy yet. I wanna have him watch me do his girl."
Jimmy began to forcefully fondle the girl and lick her. He moved so quickly from top to bottom, from left to right, that Larry had a hard time telling that there was actually another person underneath him. He crawled deliriously over her, sucking and licking and scratching like a Jackal that hadn't eaten for days.
Why is he doing this? Larry asked himself. If killing these people has to be done then let's do it and go.
Suddenly, Jimmy interrupted his thoughts. "I changed my mind. Kill the whiney prick. He's ruining my concentration. And get a close shot, too. I don't want you wasting any more shells than you have to; they're expensive."
Larry turned to the man. He had put his hands over his face as if that might somehow deflect the slug and kept mouthing the words no, no, no as tears streamed down his agonizing face.
I have to do this, Larry thought. If I don't I could end up in jail. I could end up like them. I have to, have to, have to. He walked up to the man and put the barrel of the pistol to his head but hesitated. He looked back at Jimmy and the girl. The blood, the groaning, the ripped clothes. Such a pretty girl. Such a lucky man to have such a pretty girl. Now how lucky? They were both going to die.
Again, Jimmy interrupted his thoughts. "Do it, goddammit! Don't think, just do!" He ripped the woman's shorts down to her ankles, spread her legs then started to pull down his Dockers.
Larry turned back to the man, who by now had turned into a flaccid piece of Jell-O. Life seemed to have already passed from him without a shot being fired. Have to, have to, have to. He chambered a round and put the cold steel between the stranger's eyes. The man, in return, looked up at him momentarily, conceding death, then closed his eyes tight, squeezing out one last tear.
But in those few seconds, Larry was close enough to see his reflection in the man's glassy eyes. He didn't like what he saw.
The single muted crack of a pistol broke the air for an instant then all went quiet.
After a moment, the man opened his eyes. He wasn't dead.
Larry was kneeling down next to the woman. On the ground next to her lay Jimmy, staring lifelessly at the topaz sky beyond the leafy canopy, a small hole that trickled crimson in his forehead.
Larry turned to the man. "What's your name?" he asked.
The man was fearfully quiet and could only quiver uncontrollably.
Larry inquired again.
Finally, with a queer look of perplexity, the man stuttered, "P-paul."
"And hers?"
"Angela."
Larry motioned for Paul to come kneel next to him. "She's cut pretty bad on the back of her head, here, but I think she's okay."
The man, still somewhat confused, slowly crawled to the woman and embraced her, while Larry took off his shirt and placed it over her exposed groin. She moaned slightly but was slowly regaining her senses.
Larry got up and went to Jimmy. He grabbed a limp arm and hoisted the dead man up over his bare shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He then turned to Paul and asked, "When you were out there swimming in the river, did you see anything? Anything that would make you--scared?"
Paul shook his head no.
For the first time that day, Larry smiled. "Good."
With Jimmy on his shoulder, Larry slowly started retracing his way back through the woods.
"Hey," the man yelled to him.
Larry turned.
"Thank you."
Larry smiled again and just nodded.
Paul wiped his reddened eyes. "W-what was this all about?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to," Larry replied. Then, he turned and after a moment disappeared over the wooded hillside.
As he prepared Jimmy for a reunion with some 'old friends', Larry noticed that the pain in his stomach had subsided. In fact, it felt pretty good. He'd decided that, in an odd way, Jimmy was right; killing wasn't so bad, after all.
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