New Title 1 (45 page)

(VII)

Paulie and Argi walked briskly toward the store. Argi had an overcoat on but hadn’t yet fastened it. Paulie frowned.

“Argi. What’d’ya think you’re doin’? We’re going into a
store,
you know? A
public place. 
Ya got your ball hangin’ out of your pants.”

Argi stopped, wincing at the persistent pain. “I know, boss, but shit, if I put it back in my pants, it even hurts more.”

Paulie leaned over to look. “Fuck, man. It’s swollen up the size of a fuckin’ avocado!”

Argi daintily dabbed at the distended scrotal sack. Indeed, the afflicted testicle had inflamed to several times its normal size. “Big as it is now, I probably couldn’t get it back in my pants if I tried. I’ll just have to leave it out and keep the coat over it. Wouldn’t want to offend any Christmas shoppers.”

“Naw, you’re right. We wouldn’t wanna do that…”

The doors yawned open; they strolled into the brightly lit store. Immediately a spiked-haired young man greeted, “Welcome to Bust Buy, and happy holidays. How can I help you?”

Paulie wagged the cellphone and broken charger. “I need a phone charger. Now.”

“Right over here, sir.”

The clerk took them to the phone section. In the background, at the television department, dozens of super-bright flat-screen TV’s showed a local male newscaster with a crooked red- and green-striped tie pointing to a weather map of North America. “And, folks, this just in! NORAD has just reported Santa’s official entry into U.S. airspace!” He chuckled. “Let’s just hope the Air Force doesn’t shoot him down!”

The clerk produced the necessary charger. “Here you go, anything else?”

Paulie busted the charger out of its box. “Yeah, I need to charge my phone here, I’ll pay
extra.
I gotta make a
real important
call.”

The clerk’s brow rose. “It’ll take a while to charge up a totally dead cell, but I’d be happy to loan you my phone.”

“Naw, naw, the number I gotta call is on
this
phone…”

The clerk squinted at Paulie’s cell. “That’s the same Blackberry I have, sir. Here”—he took the battery out of his phone and put it in Paulie’s. “Go ahead and make your call.”

“Argi, give him a C-note,” Paulie said and started dialing.

“Sure, boss,” Argi said.

“Why, thanks very much, sir!” the clerk beamed.

Paulie ambled off, phone to ear. The line was ringing, then—

“Hello?” came the voice of Helton Tuckton.

“You Gomer Pyle redneck fuck! Nobody fucks my kid in the head!
Nobody!
”

“Yeah? Well
we’se
just did.”

“How can ya fuck a dead baby in the head!”

The clerk gulped, and asked Argi, “Uhhhh…
what
did he say?”

“Nothin’, kid, nothin’.”

“Easy. ’cos it was
your
baby,” Helton’s voice replied over the line. It was strange, though. He seemed to be
whispering.
Why would he do that? “And lemme tell you this, Paulie—I’se never had such a good cum in my life.”

“So fuck all this movie shit! We’re havin’ it out! Tonight! You name the place, we’ll
be
there. And we’re gonna grind your hillbilly faggot asses into ground chuck!”

Helton chuckled over the line. “I’se name the place, huh?”

“Yeah! Then we go head to head!” Paulie yelled. “Tell us where to meet ya!”

“All right. How’s about we meet…right
here?
”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about! I’m in a goddamn Best—”

The clerk began to object, “Uh, sir? What’s going on?”

sheeeeeeeeeeeesh…SWACK!

The clerk hit the floor like a metal duck in a shooting gallery.

“Holy
fuck,
boss!” Argi yelled and drew his gun.

Paulie gaped at the clerk, who now had a red hole right in his forehead.

“Aw, sheee-it. I up’n hit the wrong fella,” Helton’s voice echoed, but not over the phone.

From somewhere in the store.

Paulie and Argi ducked behind the phone counter.

“They’re in the fuckin’
store,
boss,” Argi stated the obvious.

“How the fuck they get in without us seein’ ’em?”

“Must’ve busted in through the back.”

“Helton, you fuck!” Paulie bellowed. “Where are ya?”

Helton’s voice boomed like a megaphone now. “Why, I’se right here…”

Paulie and Argi peeked over the top. Beside a dump-stand of
Microsoft Office Home And Student
stood Helton, shielding most of his hulking frame. He held a slingshot.

Argi nudged Paulie. “And over there, boss.”

Dumar knelt beside a row of compact disk bins. Only half of his face could be seen, but held out
before
that face was a
big
pistol.

Helton extended his arm, the slingshot dangling from his hand. “All right. Let’s see just what kind’a
man
you really is. No weapons, just bare hands. Right here. Us against you…”

“You’re on, Jed Clampett!”

Helton smirked. “
Who?
I don’t know no…,” but he just shrugged and dropped his slingshot. Then he stepped fully out into the aisle.

Dumar—

CLACK!

—dropped the big pistol.

“I’ll take the long-hair,” Paulie said. “You take Helton.”

“It’d be a
pleasure,
boss.”

Both mobsters threw their guns over the counter, then stood up—

“EEEEEEEEE-Haaa!” Dumar yelled and was already somersaulting through the air. His body smacked across Paulie’s chest and toppled him. Helton charged as well, clotheslining Argi as the beefy lieutenant was trying to take off his overcoat. And from this point on, sheer pandemonium ensued.

Dumar pummeled Paulie on the tile floor, then—

THUD!

—several teeth flew out when Paulie hoisted a lucky knee to the redneck’s chin. Helton and Argi duked it out in fisticuffs, big knuckles colliding into faces. But when Argi rammed his head into Helton’s belly, Helton went down. This gave the lieutenant time to finally divorce himself of the cumbersome overcoat.

Helton sprang back up but paused, gaping. “What’s that there hangin’ out’cher pants, fella? That ain’t a
ball,
is it?”

“It sure as fuck is, hill-trash!” By now inflammation had swelled the injured testicle to something almost as large as a mango. “That blond-haired hillbilly
punk
busted it with his slingshot!”

Helton chuckled at the ludicrous sight. “Well, I’ll be bustin’ the other one fer ya, and then I’m gonna
fuck ya
in yer head!”

“Go ahead and try, Gomer!”

Helton scratched his head. “Why the hail yawl keep callin’ me
Gomer?
”

Glass shattered. Fists rammed into ribs. When Paulie kicked Dumar’s feet out from under him, the backwoods man had an entire revolving rack of MP-3 players hauled down on his back. Paulie climbed onto a counter, poised himself, and jumped, knees heading for Dumar’s chest, but—

Dumar rolled out of the way at the last second.

“Fooled you, city boy!”

Paulie rocked on the floor in agony, and as he did so—

whisssssssssssssssssss…

Dumar urinated in his face.

Meanwhile, Helton and Argi had rough-and-tumbled their way toward the kitchen appliance section. When Helton heaved a Galantz 0.6 cubic-foot microwave at Argi, the latter man ducked and heaved back a Haier-brand mini-refrigerator. The fridge struck Helton right in the head—

“Have a headache on me, Gomer!”

Helton merely blinked, shrugged, then laughed.

They shambled down the aisle, heaving every conceivable appliance at one another: blenders, toaster ovens, knife-sharpeners, can-openers, even a rotisserie hot-dog cooker. Helton took a Brellville Fountain Elite Juicer right across the sternum, he fell over, sprang back up, and—

WHAM!

—hit Argi right in the exposed testicle with a George Foreman Grill. Argi’s eyes crossed, his cheeks billowed, and he collapsed in incalculable agony.

“Now
there’s
the ticket!” Helton rejoiced.

Quite bemused, he watched the convulsions of his adversary. The ox-like Argi cringed in a series of caterwauls, shrieks, bellows, and outright baby-bawling, hands clasped to the vandalized organ.

That fella won’t be gettin’ up soon,
Helton reasoned. He loped back to check on his son, noticing that the entire phone department was trashed now, every glass counter blown out. Then, like someone at a tennis match, Helton looked left but his gaze swerved right watching Paulie fly through the air and crash headlong into a DVD display that boasted: HORROR MOVIE BLOWOUT SALE! BUY
NINE LIVES
STARRING PARIS HILTON FOR $1.99 AND GET
PINATA: SURVIVOR ISLAND, THE DEVIL’S CURSE, VENOM, THE EMPTY ACRE, THE SANDMAN, JUST BURIED, DEMONESS, BARN OF THE NAKED DEAD, THE HOUSE WHERE HELL FROZE OVER,
AND
BLOOD SHACK
FREE!

Lousy DVD’s flew everywhere.

“Well, hey there, Dumar!” Helton complimented, “That there’s some’a the finest man-throwin’ I’se ever seed!”

“Thanks, Paw,” Dumar said, dusting himself off. “T’was easy.”

They both grinned as a pummeled Paulie crawled dazedly away on hands and knees.

Argi remained shuddering on the floor between the washers and dryers when his boss caromed around the corner.

“God
damn,
Argi! Those rednecks are kickin’ our asses!”

Argi’s teeth chattered when he replied, “You ain’t kiddin’, boss…”

“That skinny kid was throwin’ me around like a frisbee!”

Agri nodded through persistent agony. “And that big one? Fuck, I must’ve punched him in the head ten times—
hard
—but it was like bangin’ my fist into a
rock.
I even hit him in the head with a fuckin’
refrigerator
and nothin’ happened. Then he got me in the nut with a Foreman Grill—”

”Ouch!” Paulie wiped blood off his face. “We gotta get our guns back—”

“Yeah, but they’re all they way over the in phone section.”

“We don’t stand a chance…”

Chuckling could be heard, then Helton boomed, “You citified fellas cain’t
hack
a tussle with real backwoods men.”

“Guess they’se need a breather, Paw. We up’n tuckered ’em out.”

“S’fine with me. Go ahead, Paulie, take a breather, then we’ll have another go and finish this. Been dickin’ ’round with you low-lifes fer too long. Yeah, we’ll finish it, all right, and then we’ll fuck both yer heads.”