“That ain't no bullshit about the hard-ons,” Dana ruminated, his tone sobering slightly as he thought about it. “Shit, I love that woman and we don't even hardly kiss anymore. ‘Course we don't kiss any LESS either."
“Peggy says if she ever got hurt in a traffic accident I wouldn't be able to identify the body,” Lee said.
“Umm.” Dana smiled. They were still walking, out of Eichord's yard and down the darkened street, three old coppers who loved one another. “I can't enjoy it anymore. I don't mean Bev. Shit, I love Bev. I can't hardly get it up. Christ, I don't even play with it.” His voice was serious.
“Bullshit,” Eichord said.
“I ain't had a blue veiner in weeks. It's pitiful, man. I don't even wake up with a piss-hard anymore."
“Who does? That's kids get piss-hards."
“I gotta piss hard now."
“Ya fuckin’ pissant."
They laughed.
“It's terrible never to even get a soft-on."
“Remember that time we busted that old guy in the whorehouse over on Canal and Mary?"
“Yeah.” Dana chuckled.
“That's when I knew you couldn't get it up."
“Huh?"
“Yeah. You remember that big blond one?” Eichord asked him.
“Yeah."
“One day I hadda go back there when I was doing the follow-up on the dude that got dusted.” They'd been together while Lee was out for some reason, working on a murder in a low-rent brothel. “One day I hadda go back there when I was doing the follow-up on the dude that got iced, and she said ‘Where's that no-dick partner of yours?’ She was trying to give me some shit about what a fizzle you'd been in the sack."
“What's all this shit?” Lee had never heard this one.
“God's truth,” Eichord said to James Lee, “Dana and me were taking the stories and what-not and he says, You cover me—I gotta go back and boff Blondie. And he goes back in the back with this one,” Eichord was whispering.
“It's true,” Dana told his partner, smirking in the darkness.
“She says, Where's that no-dick? The fat one? That worthless no-dick partner of yours couldn't even get it up."
“That's true."
They laughed.
“Pathetic,” Lee said to his partner.
“Well, shit. She had hair."
“What the fuck?"
“Shit, she had more hair on her fuckin’ legs than you do.” They all laughed. “That's no shit."
“Lying fucks."
“Hey. Really, man. I still remember that bitch. Big ole’ watermelons like this onner.” Dana gestured in the shadows. “Looked pretty good. Long blond hair. Shit, I didn't know how long. I took her back there and Christ almighty, she's whippin’ those clothes off and here's all this fuckin’ hair under her arms, looked like little black forests growin’ under there. And she had this garter-belt deal, and I can still remember those legs. Nice legs, man, but there's all these old black hairs mashed down under them hose. I go—” He makes a little descending whistle noise that they both recognized and know he is also holding his little finger in front of his fly and letting it droop with the sound effect—Dana's drooping dick schtick.
“Well,” Lee said, “hair or not, I'da fucked her."
“BullSHIT!” Dana laughed. “Be like tryin’ to fuck Lyle Alzado.” They laughed. “Really, man. Fuckin’ big shoulders and legs onner. Big old hairy thing. Be like tryin’ to put the pork to Dutch Hornung."
“Who the fuck is Dutch Hornung?” Lee asked seriously.
“JESUS, you simple midget, don't you fuckin’ know anything, Paul Hornung, f'r Chrissakes. Don't you—"
“Lower your voices.” Eichord was laughing. “Come on—shit, these people around here don't know I associate with riffraff like you guys. Come on, let's go back."
“Who the fuck is Paul Horney?"
'That guy used to be on the radio.” Dana gave his voice a distinctive inflection, “and that's the way it is, the whole fucking story—"
“That was Walter Cronkite, goddammit, not that other guy—whatjasay—Dutch Hardon or whoever."
“Don't you know any fuckin’ thing about sports?"
“Just submarine racing."
“Muff diving."
“The fifty-meter broadchase and leaping humperjump."
“The three-minute free-hand jerkoff."
“I took some money.” Lee said, in a cold whisper.
“Huh."
They stopped.
“Yeah."
“Whatya talkin’ about?” Dana laughed.
“I took some money. A lot of it."
“Bullshit.” Not meaning bullshit at all, Dana recognizing the chilly tone.
Lee was suddenly very sober and serious. “I don't want to talk about it."
“Uh huh.” Eichord said nothing. They stood there, the three old friends, with their empty glasses in their hands and their withered old-cop dicks in their pants, standing in the darkness of Buckhead Springs.
“Fuck it."
“Whatya fuckin’ mean ya took some money, a lot of it?"
“You know what I mean. You know exactly what I fuckin’ mean. I took money."
“Don't tell me this shit,” Eichord said, and turned and started back toward the house.
“It wasn't on the arm—"
“I don't care. I don't want to hear that crap."
“I had to, man. It was a LOT of money."
“How come ya didn't gimme any?” Tuny said to him, half-joking but seriousness in his voice.
“Want some? I'll give ya some. Then when those butt-sniffers bust me and they make me tell what I did with it, I can bring YOU down too, izzat whatcha want, ya dumb zeppelin?” Butt-sniffers was his name for Internal Affairs cops.
“You serious.” It wasn't a question.
“Yeah. Believe it."
“Who the fuck be dopey enough to give YOU a lotta money?"
“Nobody GIVE it to me, jackoff. I took it."
“Where? When?” He sounded like Peggy. Where? When? Who? Hah?
“At Buckhead Mercantile."
’”I'm not hearing this shit,” Eichord said, and he walked back toward the house.
BAYLORVILLE
Even without his frightening and lethal abilities, a physical precognate—that rarest of the presentient humans—who planned and prepared with the degree of dedicated concentration that marked Chaingang's best efforts, was all but unstoppable as an adversary. As a manipulator he had few peers. The afternoon before, still in the stolen wheels, he'd begun to lay the groundwork for the next move.
“I definitely think so,” he told the girl.
“God. You really think I could be an ACTRESS?"
“Absolutely,” he told her, shaking his head no, but sending the vibes of a totally convincing yes. The bandaged face was held carefully to minimize his frightening countenance: the dimpled, radiant, ear-to-ear grinning and beaming smile was in place and doing its thing, hampered only slightly by the wounded cheek. “I see it as you talk. The way you hold your head. The way you move.” The way you sip your tea. He couldn't believe how easy she was.
“I mean, I've never thought about acting. Well, I thought about it but I mean, every girl thinks about it. Aunt Pearl said I oughta be an actress or a model. And I thought about goin’ down to the TV station and trying out and that. And then, you know, Toby, this one boy, he said I oughta try to get on TV, you know, like national, and Aunt Pearl said I should write a letter and, you know, send my picture to Johnny Carson, and then this other guy he said, No, Johnny Carson probably gets a lot of mail and the picture might get lost. And then I decided that..."