"Get a load of the belly on her, huh?' came Corey's next enlightening observation. "Gotta wonder if she's knocked up again. Ya never can tell with some of these girls." Corey openly rubbed his crotch. "A'course, if she ain't, I'd be more'n happy ta f.u.c.k up her life a little more'n put another white-trash food-stamp bun in her fat cracker oven."

Rosser wilted.

"Next stop, Crick City crossroads," the driver announced. "Connection for the Number Three bus."

Somebody rang the bell and the bus s.h.i.+mmied to a stop. A teenager sitting behind Shrek moved forward for the doors, but Rosser was looking outside at the bus shelter. In the shelter stood at startlingly attractive woman in her mid-twenties. s.h.i.+mmering blond hair, cut-off jeans and a blazing white halter. Nut-brown tan and legs that never ended. Rosser gulped at the vision, his most spontaneous l.u.s.t ignited at once. Please, please, he pleaded.

Please get on the bus. Not that he would do anything, make conversation, make a movea"

nothing like that. Rosser knew well that he'd never stand a chance with such a local. He merely hoped she'd get on the bus so he could look at her, just to see something lovely.

But she made no gesture to get on.

"How'd ya like to park a wad up that t.w.a.t, Hoss?' Corey t.i.ttered. "I'd hump her from one end of the floor to the other. Pop the first one in her cut then jerk off another in her face.

Cream the b.i.t.c.h up fierce, huh, Hoss?'

In spite of the appallingly vulgar words, the image was irresistible, and just as Rosser noticed the l.u.s.ty spark in his p.e.n.i.s, his partner said, "Shee-it, practically got me full wood just lookin' at that. How 'bout you, Hoss?" A chuckle through the black grin. "Think ya just might be able to git it up fer a piece 'a that angel-food-cake p.u.s.s.y?'

Rosser's erection flexed, straining against the confines of his shorts. "I'd say the prospect of that circ.u.mstance presents a very high order of probability."

Corey cracked out a guffaw and clapped his hands. "Stranger, I don't know what the f.u.c.k you just said but I sh.o.r.e like the way you talk!"

No, the blonde wasn't getting on but the pa.s.senger was now getting off. The scruffy kid didn't even look twenty: long hair, baggy shorts, sneakers with no laces, no s.h.i.+rt.

"d.a.m.n boy must be et up with a case of the dumb-a.s.s," Corey remarked.

"What?'

"The punk's Jess Fuller. Been run out'a town twice and now he's back."

"What was he run out of town for?'

"Makes that crystal-meth s.h.i.+t in his trailer, sells it ta kids."

"What about the police? He should be in jail."

"Cops down here ain't got time, they'se all on the take for the moons.h.i.+ners up in the hills.

They get a cut for every run they protect into Kentucky. The 's.h.i.+ners make it here, sell ta the dry counties across the line."

An interesting societal commentary, at the very least. Rosser was uncomfortable but, at the same time, fascinated. No. lam definitely not from around here.

As the punk debarked, Rosser's eyes flicked back to the window, to the blonde. Seeing her seemed akin to a man in the desert stumbling into an oasis. Sweat glimmered in her cleavage. His eyes ran up her legs to the flat, impeccably tanned abdomen, the pet.i.te slit for a navel. Jesus wept. The waist of her cut-offs seemed to draw a line just above where her pubic hair would start, and the seam between her legs divided her v.u.l.v.a through the faded denim. Rosser sighed.

Then noticed something.

The blonde seemed alarmed; she was stepping back. Two tall bulky figures came around the stand of trees at one side of the bus shelter. Two more identical figures came around from the other side.

What's this?

"Looks like the jig is up fer Fuller," Corey said.

Outside, a confrontation began. The four tall bulky figures were indeed identical, brawny boys in their late teens, identical buzzcuts, identical shorts and s.h.i.+rts. Identical faces.

"Christ, they'rea"" Rosser began.

"The Harkins boys. Quadruplets. They're all nineteen er thereabouts. And lemme tell ya, they don't take no s.h.i.+t. As bad-a.s.s a crew as you'll ever wanna meet. Watch."

Rosser watched, all right. The quadruplets surrounded the punk named Fuller. There was some laughing, shoving, while Fuller pleaded the likes of: "I ain't done nothin' to you guys! I ain't sellin' ice no more, I swear!" and on and on, but the Harkins boys wouldn't hear of it.

"Looks like we're about to see a good old fas.h.i.+oned a.s.s-kicking," Rosser observed.

"Oh, it'll be a tad more'n that Hoss."

One of the quadruplets', in a split-second, slammed a knuckly fist to Fuller's head.

Rosser's teeth grounda"the blow sounded like wet leather snappinga"and that was all for Fuller. He was out cold, flat on his back.

Next the boys were pulling off Fuller's baggy shorts.

What in G.o.d's name? Rosser thought.

"Bet they do a mallet-job on him," Corey guessed.

"What?'

"f.u.c.k his b.a.l.l.s all up is what Look-see? The one on the end..."

Rosser's eyes darted to the last boy, who was hefting a large hubcap mallet while the others cackled.

"Come on, Tucker! Let 'er rip!"

"Teach this cracker piece'a s.h.i.+t not to sell drugs in our towna"

"Sells it ta kids, fer s.h.i.+t's sake."

"Do it! Do it!"

The quadruplet named Tucker knelt down, while another boy held Fuller's shriveled p.e.n.i.s back so that it wasn't laying over the s.c.r.o.t.u.m. Thena"

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!.

Over and over again, Tucker smacked the s.c.r.o.t.u.m with the mal let. Each blow caused Fuller to shudder in spite of unconsciousness.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!.

Over and over.

Rosser was grateful that he couldn't see the details.

"Shee-it Hoss. Ain't no nuts left in that sack, you can count on it. They'se mush. They done popped his b.a.l.l.s."

Rosser didn't need the elaboration. He rushed up to the driver, who'd kept to door open so he could watch the foray. "You must have a radio or something on this bus," Rosser demanded. "Call the police!"

Lurch looked blankly at him. "Why?"

"Why? There's a major a.s.sault going on out there!"

"Ain't no need fer police. Things down here have a way of takin' care of themselves.

When somethin' ain't right, the Harkins boys fix it"

Rosser felt uselessly outraged.

"Sit back down, Hoss." Corey was pulling him back to his seat. "This is how things work down here is all. You'll git used to it. Besides, you're missin' the show!"

Rosser sat back down, dazed. He couldn't believe this. Corey continued to talk but only half the words were getting through:"a" back sh.o.r.e is a motherf.u.c.ker, huh?' and "a"teach his a.s.s." Then: "Look, now they're gonna d.i.c.k-snaggle him."

Something roused Rosser from the outrage. "What did you say?"

"Ain't never heard of a d.i.c.k-snagglin'? Shee-it Hoss. Watch. Learn somethin'."

Rosser dared to let his gaze return to the window. One of the quadruplets was now gnawing on Fuller's p.e.n.i.s.

Not biting it off. Just gnawing, as if on a tough piece of steak.

Rosser's stomach churned churning.

Lurch grinned back at Corey, t.i.ttering. "Ain't seen me a good d.i.c.k-snagglin' in a long spell."

"Me neithers! It's a sight ain't it?'

"That it is..."

The festivities outside were coming to an end. The blonde stood at the other end of the shelter, smoking. She didn't seem at all concerned. An everyday occurrence? Rosser wondered absurdly. d.i.c.k-snaggling? My G.o.d.

"Well," one of the Harkins said, "if he don't learn this time, he ain't never gonna learn."

"Oh. and just so ya cain't make no more crystala"

WHAP! WHAP!.

One of the Harkins smashed each of Fuller's hands with the mallet. Hie punk heaved, convulsing. "Break his legs, too!"

"Naw, ya dope. He cain't leave town with busted legs." "He ever comes back? We'll just kill the piece of s.h.i.+t'n be done with it."

"We should'a done that this time."

"Yeah, but this is more run."

More fun, Rosser thought.

The Harkin's boys disbanded. The blonde tapped an ash. Did she wink at Rosser? He was too disarrayed to even think about it and after the atrocity he'd just witnessed, s.e.x was tar from his mind.

But not Corey's, evidently. "Yeah, I'd punch blondie's little hole but good. Bet she squeaks when ya f.u.c.k her, huh? Then I'd flip her over fer a b.u.t.t-f.u.c.kin'. Man, I'd come so much up her a.s.s, she'd s.h.i.+t cream fer a week."

Rosser felt nauseous. The day was dead for him, and it was only afternoon. Indeed, he needed to come to a different world and. by G.o.d, he'd found it.

The driver snapped the door shut and put the bus in gear. Before he pulled away from the stop, Corey looked right at the blonde and licked his lips.

"Corey Ryan, what'choo lookin' out there at that skinny b.i.t.c.h for?' the woman with the baby said in an irritatingly high drawl. She crudely hefted a breast in her hand. "You wanna real woman, you know where she is."

Corey promptly responded, "I'll tell ya where she ain't Maxine. On this bus."

But the woman just smiled coyly at the insult. "Oh, you know you want it. You cain't jive me."

Corey leaned to one side and cut a fart.

Oh, man, Rosser thought. I am so out of my element.

The monotonous scenery rolled by in the window. Rosser's thoughts blanked. More glurpy baby noises resounded, and Corey was rubbing his crotch.

"Next stop, Pegleg Road, connection to Luntville crossroads," the driver announced.

Rosser wearily raised his hand to pull the bell but it rang before he could. When he looked over, he saw the fat woman lowering her arm.

Corey chuckled gutturally. "Looks like she'n you're gettin' off the same stop. Have fun.

Drop some wax fer me, will ya?' Rosser shook his head.

"Look, I know what'eher thinkin'."

"What am I thinking, Corey? Please. Tell me."

"You're thinkin' you couldn't get it up fer that fat s.h.i.+t-bag in a million years, ugly as she isa"

"I can say with all cert.i.tude: that's not what I was thinking."

"a"so just think about that angel-food-cake blonde whiles yer doin' it. A nut's a nut, brother. We fellas gotta get it whiles we can."

Rosser grabbed his bag and sighed. "1 appreciate the elucidating discourse."

"Yeah, man, I just love the way you talk! Later, Hoss. I'll be seein' ya"

G.o.d in Heaven I hope not.

Rosser stepped off into bristling heat and humidity. The bus pulled away before a wake of dust. His worst fear was that the fat woman would be sitting in the shelter, waiting for the next bus, which was exactly what Rosser had to do unless he wanted to walk a mile-plus to town. Maybe she lives here, he thought Please, G.o.d let it be so that she' s NOT waiting for the next bus. Let it be so that she s already walking home.