“You killed him, didn’t you, motherfucker!” Ike howled. Buddy Lee stood and leaned back against the pallet. His lungs were on fire. The tamper moved up and down relentlessly. It sounded like Ike was leveling out a mud-filled hole.
“Ike,” Buddy Lee said. The large man’s arms continued to move the tamper like a piston.
“IKE!” Buddy Lee yelled. Ike froze. The head of the tamper was parallel with his chest. It was stained red like a painter’s brush. Ike stared at the garden tool like he had never seen it before. A guttural groan escaped his lips as he tossed it aside. It clanged as it skittered across the floor. It left behind narrow red streaks. Ike dropped to his haunches, then to his ass.
Buddy Lee skirted around the kid’s body and the rapidly expanding pool of blood that was quickly surrounding it. He eased himself down to the floor next to Ike.
“Guess we leaned on him too hard,” Buddy Lee said.
“I … I didn’t think he could get loose,” Ike said.
“Well, what do we do now?” Buddy Lee asked. Ike wiped his face with his shirt. When he looked down at it he saw dark splotches. He let out a long deep breath.
“I got a wood chipper, a bucket loader, and a two-ton pile of manure out back,” Ike said.
“I think that’ll work. He was real piece of shit,” Buddy Lee said. He’d tried to make the statement a joke, but neither one of them laughed.
FIFTEEN
Dome was five seconds away from busting a nut in the mouth of the brunette that had been crashing at the clubhouse since Saturday, when he heard the sound of metal smashing against metal. Reflexively he grabbed his .44 off the nightstand and popped his nut all in one movement. He pushed the girl’s head away and pulled up his pants with one hand. The girl slid off the bed and hit the floor with all of her considerable ass.
“What the fuck?” she said.
“Shut up,” Dome said. He took the steps two at a time as he flew down the stairs. Gremlin was already up and pointing a sawed-off shotgun at the door. Too Much pushed aside the plain brown curtain at the front window and peered outside. They called him Too Much because all the girls said he had too much dick for a guy who was just a frog’s hair over five feet tall.
“It’s Andy’s grocery getter,” Too Much said. His long brown hair fell in his face, and he pushed it aside with the back of his left hand. He had a .38 in his right. Dome opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. Andy’s money-green LTD was parked on top of Keeper’s bike. Keeper was in the garage working on a tat for Cheddar. He either didn’t hear the commotion or didn’t care enough to stop working on Cheddar’s back piece. The parking lights on the LTD were still on, but the headlights were black pits like the eye sockets of a skull. The car’s big block 405 engine was idling rough. It was like the rolling tank was trying to clear its throat. Dome let his .44 fall to his side as he stepped down onto the first step.
The driver’s door flew open and rocked back and forth a few times. Dome pulled his gun up and aimed it at the driver’s side. As soon as he did it he felt foolish. If somebody was planning on spraying them up they wouldn’t have just parked there. Crashing into Keeper’s bike was a shitty thing to do, but it wasn’t the action of an assassin. Most likely Andy and Oscar had gotten lit instead of tossing the house. Grayson would be pissed.
Almost as if thinking his name had summoned him, Oscar emerged from the car.
“Holy shit,” Dome muttered.
The big man’s face was covered in so much blood Dome was surprised he hadn’t bled to death. It was like he was wearing a mask made from his own plasma. Oscar took three halting steps toward the house.
“Hey, Dome,” the prospect mumbled. Then, like a marionette whose strings had been snipped, he fell face-first onto the gravel-covered ground. Dome rushed to his side.
“You guys come on and give me a hand!” Dome yelled. Gremlin and Too Much sailed off the porch. It took all three of them to get Oscar on his feet. They carried/dragged him into the clubhouse. They dropped him on the leather couch in front of the television. Gremlin got some water and whiskey from the kitchen. He handed both to Dome. Dome tossed the whole bottle of water onto Oscar’s head. His face seemed to melt like a candle as the blood was washed away by multiple rivulets. He blinked four or five times before his eyes focused on Dome. Dome put the bottle of whiskey to Oscar’s lips and tilted his head back. Oscar coughed, wheezed, then coughed some more. He motioned for the bottle again and Dome poured another shot down his throat. Oscar nodded his head and held up his hand declining another drink.