Dumar looked sheepish. “Gotta admit, Paw, that thought crossed my mind many’a time. Shit, Crory didn’t look a bit like me.”
Paulie stepped up. “Hey, don’t feel bad, kid. When you guys dug my baby up the other night, sure, I was pissed, but deep down I always had to wonder. Yeah, Marshie said it was mine but I had my doubts. A liar is a liar, you know? Plus, the kid was a girl, and I’m Italian. I need a male heir. And as for ‘Becca? Fuck. You guys did me a favor by snuffin’ her. A greedy, whiny, ungrateful bitch, just like her mother.” Paulie’s eyes suddenly lit up. “But now I don’t have to pay for her fuckin’ college!”
He and Argi high-fived.
“Feels good ta clear the air, huh, Paulie?” Helton posed.
“It sure does, Helton.”
“And since we’se on that road, I feel a right low down now ’bout, well, fuckin’ yer maw in the head.”
Paulie guffawed. “You wanna know the truth, Helton? I hated my mother. She treated me like shit for my whole childhood, and milked my father for all he was worth, and then wound up fuckin’ nagging him till he croaked from a heart attack over a plate of linguini. I ought to pay you guys for punchin’ her ticket.”
Helton stroked his massive beard. “Well now that ya mention it, you did my maw a favor as well. Horrible as it was the way she die, shit, Paulie, she was dang tired of livin’. That nursin’ home? She couldn’t stand it. Took all her dig-ner-tee away. Peein’ in bags, shittin’ in pans, gettin’ pushed ’round in a blammed wheelchair. Couldn’t abide the fact that they was keepin’ her alive just ta collect them damn medicaid payments. She felt it were a violation’a nature fer the state ta keep her livin’ like that against her will. But then you fellas come along and send her straight to the Pearly Gates, so’s you was actually doin’ her a service.”
All four men looked at each other and laughed.
“Well, shit,” Helton boomed, “I guess we’se all friends now, huh?”
“Put ‘er there, Helton,” Paulie exclaimed, and then they all shook hearty hands.
To Argi, Helton offered, “Sorry ’bout what happened to yer nut, fella.”
Argi gently cradled said “nut” with his finger. “No big deal. Hurts like a motherfucker, but the doc said it’ll heal up.”
Paulie leaned to peer at the exposed gonad. “Was big as a grapefruit a little while ago but now it’s back down to avocado-size. Sounds like a good sign to me, Argi.”
Argi nodded, then shrugged and told Helton, “And now that we’re all friends—fuck, Helton—I feel bad about killin’ the blond kid. Your nephew or somethin’, huh?”
Helton scoffed. “Don’t let it worry ya none. Him dying was just a case’a him payin’ fer his misdeeds. It’s ‘tween him’n God now, and I ‘spect he’ll do all right.”
Dumar stepped up. “And, dang, since we’se all apollergizin’, I’se sorry fer killin’ that slim fella was drivin’ yer motor-home earlier.”
“Think nothin’ of it, kid,” Paulie allayed. “Cristo was an adventurer; he knew the risks. He lived a button’s life and died a button’s death. Fuck, no one lives forever.”
Helton seemed to recall somethin’. “Aw, shit, Paulie. Lemme give ya back all them diamonds’n gold necklaces I stolt from yer wife’s house—”
Paulie flapped a hand. “Fuck that, Helton—keep it. I don’t want nothin’ that reminds me of that lyin ’ prissy bitch. This whole thing was her fault for not tellin’ the whole story.”
“Well, I’se not one ta suggest how a fella run his domester-ik affairs,” Helton hinted, “but seein’ how Marshie throwed a serous monkey wrench inta yer life, ya might wanna make a hard introduction’a yer foot ta her ass.”
Paulie smiled sharp as a knife. “I’m not gonna kick her ass, I’m gonna kill her ass. Had to whack the first two wives for makin’ a chump out of me, so Marshie’s gettin’ the same deal, hot body or not.”
“Cain’t say’s I blame ya, Paulie. Marshie go back a long way, and most’a that way ain’t good.”
Dumar looked at his watch, then interrupted. “Hey, ya all! We been so busy tearin’ the holy hail out’a each other, we up’n fergot ’bout what time it is! Dang if it ain’t after one in the mornin’!”
All the men looked at each other, no one quite getting it.
“It’s Christmas!” Dumar rejoiced.
“Well how’s about that!” Helton exclaimed. “Merry Christmas, ever-one!”
“Shit, yeah! Merry Christmas!” Paulie added, and it was then that the true holiday spirit seemed to infuse into all of them, and they all shook hands again and patted each other on the back.
“And ya know, Helton,” Paulie continued. “We’re Italians—we pride ourselves on vendetta, but that shit you guys invented?—headers? That blows us out of the water, man. There’s a whole lotta people out there fuckin’ me over—cops, judges, bank guys, IRS, even some guys in my own family. Well, shit, I hope you don’t mind, but we’d like to start doin’ that header stuff too.”
“Why, go right ahead, Paulie,” Helton approved. “When someone sticks ya in the back hard, ain’t no way ta git ’em back harder than a header.”
“Yeah, boss. Headers are a primo whack; like nothin’ we ever done before,” Argi contributed. “Perfect way to replace Melda.”
“Fuck yeah, didn’t even think of that!” Paulie walked over and put his hand on Helton’s shoulder. “Lemme ask you somethin’, Helton. We been makin’ hardcore flicks for years, but ya know, that camera you guys use? It’s dynamite. Resolution’s so much better than ours I almost shit my pants! What kind of camera is it? We’re gonna have to buy one for ourselves.”
“No need to,” Helton said. Then he went into the truck but reappeared a moment later—with the Sony HVR-S27. “Here ya go, Paulie. Take it. We shore as shit don’t need it no more.”
“Well, thanks, Helton!” Paulie said in genuine gratitude. “Lemme give ya some money for it.”
“Wouldn’t think’a takin’ money from a friend. This here fancy camera? Consider it our Christmas present to ya.”
“What a great guy,” Argi said.
“Well, fellas,” Helton said next. “It’s Christmas now, so’s I guess we best all be off ta our respecterive families ta have a proper holiday. But next time yawl are back down our way, stop by fer some barbeque. Just gimme a call”—he winked—“‘cos it ain’t like ya don’t have my number!”
They all laughed uproariously, re-bid each other a final “Merry Christmas!” and departed to their vehicles. When the big white Winnebago pulled away, Argi tooted, then headed off, but then stopped again several blocks down the dark street. The motor-home’s back door opened and—
SLAP!
—Melda’s revolting corpse hit the pavement. Then the wheelchair was pushed out and the waste bucket flung. After that, they were off.