Slice

HUBBARD CITY INTERCHANGE

When his face had finally healed it was nowhere near so disfigured as one might imagine. Bullet wounds can heal to be little more than small puckers as the damage recedes with time. Knife, gunshot, and other wounds will sometimes completely disappear with the years, or leave great, sunken cavities in the flesh. It just depends.

Bunkowski's face was badly marked if one looked at it in profile. Two of the punctures looked like what they were, bullet holes, with the third wound having more of a superficial furrow effect.

But straight on or from other angles the marks were not so unusual or noticeable. Unless one inspected the three wounds they appeared to be almost a series of pockmarks the way they were joined so closely in the plump contours and distended bags of his face—what was once referred to as baby fat. They were like insect bites on an otherwise featureless face.

Additionally his face in repose was quite a different face than the one in animation. At will he could manipulate his rubbery mask to reflect any emotion from beatific, disarming innocence to fearsome menace. If you squinted a bit the bullet wounds became little more than dimples.

By working with a mirror he was soon able to learn how to hold himself so the people he came in contact with would see the face at its least alarming. By holding his mouth in an exaggerated way and causing the fat of the cheek to dimple and pucker he could conceal, to some extent, the ravaged appearance of his cheek.

The motorist pulled over and the grateful hitchhiker ran to catch up with the car.

“Hi,” the young man said as he opened the door tentatively.

“Hi,” the huge man said in a deep rumble. “Where ya headed?"

The youngster, just a kid really, tilted his head in the direction they were pointing. “North."

“Where you bound for?” the man asked, jovially, as the car pulled back out into the traffic.

“Lincoln.” He was shirtless. He tossed a small duffel bag into the back seat. “Nebraska."

“Well, I haven't been up there for years."

“You been to Lincoln?"

“Yeah. I was in sales up there years ago. Good town."

“I guess so,” the boy said without conviction, obviously of a different opinion.

“How old are you?"

“Fifteen.” The boy smiled. He had a pug nose and a very deep tan. Rather long hair worn in the current fashion.

“Fifteen,” the driver said in amazement. “I figured you for seventeen or eighteen easy."

“I'm almost sixteen,” the youngster said, as if that explained it.

“Where you hitchin’ from?"

“Huh?"

“Where did you start out from?"

“You mean this morning?"

“No"—what an idiot—"you know, when you started out on your trip? Where did you start from?"

“Lincoln,” the kid said, as if he'd had this boring conversation three hundred times with motorists who'd picked him up. “I hitched down to Jackson,” it sounded like he'd said.

“Jackson, Mississippi?"

“Florida."

“I've never been there. Where's Jackson, Florida?"

“Jacks. You know, Jacksonville."

“Oh, Jacksonville. Sure. That's a fun town, I hear."

“Absolutely,” the kid said, shaking his head. “Bitchin’ party town.” He smiled as if he couldn't take any more party.

“So you sound like you had a good time."

“Had a real good time. I hate to go back."

“I bet. Your folks'll be relieved to see you, though, huh?"

“Don't have any. I live with my sister ‘n her, uh, boyfriend. But I gotta go back."

“You in school?"

“Naw. I quit. Couldn't handle it."

“If you don't have to go back to go to school how come you gotta go back?” The big man had unconsciously already picked up the tone and language of the youngster, subtly easing into his speech rhythms.

“I run outta money.” They both laughed.

“I hear that all right."

“Yeah. I ain't ate since yesterday."

“Oh, hey,” he said jovially, “we can't have that. I'll tell you what—are you in a big hurry?"

“Naw.” The boy shrugged his bare shoulders. “Not really,” he said, looking at the big man behind the wheel.

“Well, I was just thinking. I gotta look at this piece of real estate for sale over by the river. If you have time you wanna go with me?” The man looked up through the windshield. “Looks like it could open up rain anytime."

“Yeah, it sure does."

“And, you know, if you think you can spare the time, you could ride with me and look at the ground with me and when we get done I'll take you to McDonald's or someplace an’ get you some chow, and then I can drop you back on the Interstate."

The kid laughed. “Yeah, okay.” It sounded as good as any other way to kill the morning. “I ain't got anything else I got to do I guess."

“Be a good way to stay out of the rain."

“Yeah,” the kid agreed.

They rode in silence for a while.

“I'll bet you have some wild times on the road hitchhiking, am I right?"

“You better believe it. Man, I mean...” He trailed off.

“I guess it gets pretty crazy, huh?” The kid looked at him and nodded agreement. “What's the weirdest thing you've had happen so far?” Just making conversation.

“Guys wantin’ to blow me."

“Huh?"

“Yeah. Lot of guys wanted to give me, you know, blowjobs."

“No shit.” The big man appeared incredulous at the possibility of such a thing.

“Yep."

“How many fags have you run into?"

“Oh, I dunno, I guess about half or maybe three-fourths of the guys that pick you up want to give you a blowjob."

“Jeez, really? I can't believe there are so many faggots, eh?"

“Yeah.” The kid laughed.

“What do they say to you? I mean, how do they, uh, ask you ‘n that?"

“I dunno. They just say ... oh, different stuff. Sometimes they just come out and ask me if they can suck my cock. You know.” Like he was talking about the weather.

“How do you handle that?"

“Huh?"

“Well. You know. A young man like you, fifteen—almost sixteen like you say—and a grown-up guy ‘n all, but still, by yourself. What do you say to these faggots when they want to suck you or whatever?"

“I"—he shrugged with his face and arms and shoulders all at once—"uh, just let ‘em blow me, I guess.” A little pause. “I mean it's THEIR MOUTH, ya’ know?"

“Yeah. Right.” Their mouth. What a punk.

“But that's it."

“Mmmm?” Eyes on the Interstate, waiting for the exit road.

“Nothing else. I mean I'll let ‘em give me a blowjob but that's it. Nothin’ else, ya know."

“Right.” And then Daniel blinked and looked over at the boy and asked “What else do they try to do?"

“Some of ‘em'll try to fuck me in the butt if I'll let ‘em but I don't go for that shit. No fuckin’ way.” He shook his head. The driver said nothing. “For one thing I don't go that way, ‘n another thing, you know, you got to be careful now."

“Izzat right?"

“Oh, yeah, that AIDS ‘n shit, man."

“Oh, yes.” His mind had drifted elsewhere as he was watching for that road.

“This one kid I know in Lincoln, he's eighteen. He was getting guys to take him to the fuck movies, ya know, ‘n he'd let ‘em suck him off and butt-fuck him ‘n that, an’ like—onna weekend he'd make like three or four hundred bucks easy."

“Really?"

“Yeah, an’ this one guy they found out, this guy was stickin’ him in the asshole alla time, he's got AIDS, man!” The kid laughed. It was funny to him to think about it.

“What's the wildest thing you've let a guy do to you?"

“The WILDEST thing?"

“Yeah,” he said with a dimpled smile. “Just curious, ya know?"

“This one guy"—the kid started to laugh but he changed his mind and said seriously—"he jus’ wanted to stick his tongue in my ass."

“Jeezus."

“Yeah. Crazy son of a bitch. You know, I go, Well, it's your tongue, man."

“You let ‘m?"

“Yeah.” Shrugging again. “I let him eat my asshole out, what the fuck do I care, man? If he wants to stick his tongue up my ass that's cool."

“What did it feel like?"

“Nothin'. You can't hardly feel nothin'. Just a tongue in your ass. That's about it."

“Wow. That's pretty freaky."

“Back home I'll make a couple hundred in two days just letting these three guys suck me off all weekend."

“Two hundred bucks?” As if he were interested.

“Really. These same three dudes jus’ wanta suck my cock over and over. An’ they'll be beatin’ off or whatever, and I just let ‘em suck me and then another one'll start. And I don't have to do nothin'. I'll just mellow out, you know, an’ smoke or whatever, and just kick back.

And these three guys'll blow me over and over all weekend long. And they..."

Chaingang tuned out on the boring story of the kid's sex life as he planned what he would do next. He was pulling over onto a service road that ran parallel to the busy traffic.

“You a real-estate salesman?” the boy asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Right. Yeah. I'm a developer."

“We gonna go look at a development?” the kid asked, not even knowing what he was talking about. He was hungry.

“Yeah. Well, no, not exactly. A land site. I'm considering developing the property.” There was a gravel road and he eased the car off the service route. A pickup zoomed by him, the driver in a hat with an ad on the front, and Chaingang saw the man lift a finger from the wheel in the universal rural motorist's greeting. Chaingang automatically smiled and lifted one of the fingers of his left hand from the wheel. There would not be much traffic along a road like this.

He drove about three miles along the gravel, the kid talking about blowjobs or whatever as Chaingang took the winding curves slowly. Cottonwoods and towering hackberries and maple, choked with weeds of every description, hung out over the road ditches that flanked the twisting gravel road, and you couldn't see opposing traffic until it rounded the curves and was right on top of you.

After three miles or so he came to a county blacktop and he drove slowly across it and up a mud road set into the face of a steep levee. It felt like he was standing the car straight up for a minute and the kid said, “We're out in the boonies."

No shit, the man thought. Brilliant, punk. But he grunted noncommittally.

“Yep,” Chaingang finally said after they had eased down through the dark barrow pit, pronounced “barr pitt” by the people who lived there. “But this is potentially good property. You can still buy it right.” He mumbled some nonsense about land.

They drove slowly through a field that appeared to be maybe eighty acres or so planted in beans. And Chaingang stopped in a small access path that ran adjacent to a tractor turn row. He got out and the springs of the car groaned in relief. For the first time the boy got some idea of the bigness of the driver of the car.

“Let's go over and look over there. That's the part that I'm considering buying.” He intuitively knew that the kid had just felt a quick stab of uncertainty when Chaingang had gotten out of the car, and smoothing those feelings over now as he talked reassuringly of land and profits and business deals, popping the trunk and taking a blanket and some other things with him, and they began walking.

“All right,” the kid said as they walked through a crowded stand of willows and they saw the river for the first time.

“Man, it's hot,” Chaingang said to the kid as he pulled his huge shirt off.

“Right,” said the kid as he shook his head in agreement. Chaingang threw the old army blanket down on the bank under the willows. “We gonna stay here awhile?” the kid asked somewhat rhetorically as the huge man lowered his bulk onto the blanket and patted it for the kid to sit.

“Might as well be comfortable, right?"

The kid was relaxed now that he knew what the score was. He'd been down this road before. Big dude was all right. He'd get a ride and a blowjob and a big meal out of it, just like always. He sat very close to the big man.

“Man it's hot, ain't it?” the huge man said as he laid a gentle paw on the kid's Levi'd leg beside him. The boy seemed to move imperceptibly closer as he whispered, “Yeah. Really hot,” very softly.

“Slide outta those jeans. Let's see what all those fags have been sucking on,” Chaingang said to him, and the boy shrugged slightly and obediently began unbuttoning the fly of the bleached and faded Levi's. He wore cotton shorts and the big man said, “Take those off too.” As the boy was complying he felt something encircle one wrist and then another and his hands were suddenly behind him and there was a click as the steel bit into his wrists and it all happened as fast as he realized it had occurred, all in a quick, smooth, metallic SNNNIIIKKKKK that pinned his hands together behind him first one and then the other and he went, “Hey!” Still not scared just surprised, and the big man leaned over right by the boy's ear and whispered, “Now no big deal. Don't worry. I just get off this way, dig? I like to have a guy—you know, vulnerable.” Big smile. “For MY protection. I mean I could be doing something and you hit me in the head and take my car. I don't know you from Adam.” And then he was putting his weight on the boy and doing something to one of the legs and more steel no this time a kind of nylon rope was being snuggled up around his knee, then again at his right ankle and the big man getting up with a great effort and waddling over PULLING THE BOY BY THE ROPE as he walked, pulling him effortlessly, the boy protesting but even as he did so feeling his leg pinned up against the trunk of a willow. The kid feeling the first fear now for real. Leg right by the tree, and the man pulling out a huge knife.

“Hey, now, mister, please—"

“Oh, no sweat, babe. Really. I'm just cutting rope here.” And Chaingang bent over with a smile still plastered to his scarred face and sliced the rope near where he'd made it fast and brought the cut end over and started to tie it around the other ankle and the boy was going to kick the hand away but Chaingang had the ankle before he could make a move and then he ran the other end over to another tree, not tying it as tightly.

“There,” Chaingang said, repositioning the blanket and dropping beside the kid's body with a groan. “That's better, eh?” The kid was now nude, on his face in the hot sandy dirt, hands handcuffed behind him, legs spread. Nobody within howitzer distance. A passing barge maybe.

“OH,” the kid cried out.

Chaingang had eased the handle of the knife into the boy's rectum. Just playing.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you.” Very tender. And with that Chaingang took his own pants off and entered the boy from the rear. In that position the kid looked just like a girl from the back, he thought, and he began doing it to the boy, who only grunted under the enormous pressure.

“You like it, don't you?” he said to the boy.

“Yeah,” the kid said unconvincingly just as Chaingang quickly orgasmed. The kid saw a blur of movement and Chaingang was off him and up and moving away from him. The kid wondered if the crazy man were going to leave him trussed up like this. Damn. He had to get loose somehow.

“Yes,” Chaingang said with an immense, dimpled grin spreading across his doughlike face. He pulled a well-worn .22 Colt Woodsman, blued metal with checkered wooden grips, from the kid's belongings. He would bury everything else. “Yes,” he repeated, “I think we'll just hang on to this.” He looked at the kid on the ground. “As a souvenir.” And he racked a long rifle round into the chamber and tried it for balance.

It felt good and he aimed to the left of the kid's head about an inch but he missed, shooting the boy in the back of the left ear. There was screaming and lots of blood, and he barked out a laughing cough and muttered, “Calm down. I'll get the hang of this with a little practice.” And he shot the boy again, this time on purpose. “See? No problem.” He squeezed the trigger again. The trigger pull was crisp but it was okay. He could live with it.