Oh, shit, I thought. The goddamn Sawyer brothers found me again.
“Don’t stop on our account,” Junior hollered. “Just pretend we ain’t here. I gotta say, though, I’m downright impressed here, Archie. We been trying for years to get some of that sweet pussy, and you just slid right on in there. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Yeah, Archie,” Bert echoed. “Way to go, man.”
Something flared in my chest.
“Go back to fucking chickens, dipshit,” Misty called out, still concentrating on the remaining beer can.
Junior ignored her. “Hey, Archie, you mind if we get sloppy seconds?”
I got a bad, scared feeling about all of this, overriding my anger. We were out in the middle of nowhere, hidden even from the highway. If Junior and Bert took it into their heads to really give Misty a hard time, nothing was going to stop them.
“You don’t mind, do ya, Archie? You sure as hell ain’t gonna satisfy a woman like Miss Misty Johnson. I think me and Bert might just have to help ourselves, show this cunt what a real man can do.”
“I think we’d better get out of here,” I whispered to Misty, but she was already pushing herself to her feet, handing me the rifle.
She stepped forward, hands on her hips. “If you pencil-dick motherfuckers think you’re man enough to try it, then you just come on down.” Misty’s voice sounded confident, tough. I was close enough to see the apprehension in her eyes. It wasn’t fear exactly, but Misty wasn’t as clueless as I had thought. She knew exactly what kind of mayhem and cruelty the Sawyer brothers were capable of inflicting. Still, she yelled out, “You couldn’t satisfy a fucking flea, cocksucker. Go on home and let your mama suck you off if you’re in the mood.”
I wished she hadn’t mentioned Pearl. The air sparked and crackled with charged electricity and the almost playful nature in Junior’s voice sharpened into something far more serious. “So. The cunt’s got a smart mouth. Let’s see how fucking smart your mouth is with my dick in it.” I couldn’t see the exact expression on his face—they were too far away—but I could tell that Junior meant it. He turned, heading back to the driver’s side of the truck.
I still don’t know why I did it. Maybe I wanted to impress Misty. Maybe I wanted to simply scare them off. Maybe I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t really know. All I know is that calmly, almost like a casual reflex, I pulled the Anschütz to my shoulder and blew the tip of the left horn of the bull skull off into nothingness.
Junior and Bert froze.
I jerked the bolt back, slammed a new round into the chamber. “Get the hell out of here,” I shouted, hoping my voice sounded braver than I felt.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me. You didn’t … You didn’t just shoot at me, did you? Did you?” Junior hollered.
I yelled back, “I wasn’t shooting at you. I hit what I was aiming at. When I’m shooting at you, motherfucker … uh … you won’t know nothing; you’ll be fucking dead.”
Junior’s open mouth snapped shut. “Well, well … You just fucked up seriously, Archie,” he said. “We’re gonna be seeing you later.” I could almost feel the hatred rush across the quarry and wash over me like the putrid water from the pit.
Misty laughed. “Get the fuck out’ve here, you pussies.” She laughed again, a cruel, heartless sound.
Oh, please don’t laugh at them, I thought. Things are bad enough.
Junior just nodded. “Be seeing you. Be seeing both of you.” He jerked his head at the truck, and Bert climbed in. Junior nodded at us again, then walked around the front real slow, taking his time. He fingered the broken tip of the bull horn briefly, then climbed into the driver’s seat, gunned the engine, and whipped the truck around in a spray of mud and gravel.
“Oh, my God. That was fucking great!” Misty giggled, and hugged me tight before I had a chance to react. “You were perfect,” she whispered, and gave me a quick kiss. Right on the lips. It was the first time I had ever kissed a girl, and I gotta say, it felt so good I wished the Sawyer brothers would come back so I could shoot at their truck some more.
Then she kissed me again, longer this time.
It finally started to rain and somehow we ended up on the blanket next to the rifle, giggling, whispering, and panting. I don’t remember much, just distinct flashes and sudden sensory impressions. It was the contrasts, I think. The way she tasted sweet and salty at the same time. The hard, unyielding surface of the rocky ground and soft flesh. The way the rain made her skin seem slippery, yet almost sticky.
Her breasts were the smoothest things I had ever touched, smoother than glass, than silk, than oil.
Misty pulled out a condom from somewhere. I remember clothes being pulled off, the rough dampness of the blanket, and the strength of Misty’s arms and legs pulling me close, closer than I’d ever been to another human being.
I lasted about three seconds.
As it turned out, Misty kept a box of condoms in the glove box.
The second time, I lasted maybe a minute.
But the third time, boy, that was something. And Misty seemed to agree.
Afterward, I stared up into the clouds and felt like the greatest champion in the universe. But yet, at the same time, I felt like the scum that floats at the edge of dead, brackish water. It didn’t make much sense. Despite the nagging, ashamed feeling that I had just jumped naked into a giant mud puddle in front of my grandmother, I felt great. No, better than great. I felt like I could walk into Fat Ernst’s bar, piss all over the floor, and laugh in his face.
Misty planted her bare feet flat on the wet blanket, arched her back, and wriggled into her blue panties. As her left knee brushed my cheek I saw that a long, ragged scar curled out from the inside of her knee and down her calf. I caught her knee and held it still as she reached for her blouse. The scar looked like a white, curving zipper of melted flesh on tan skin. I slid my middle finger down the length of it, letting my other fingers whisper along her bare leg while I concentrated on the subtle bumps and ridges, feeling the strange logic of the contours.
Misty shrugged and buttoned her blouse. “Got bucked off a horse,” she said without any trace of embarrassment or self-consciousness. “Landed on a barbed wire fence and my leg got caught in it.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach, like falling out of the very top of a tall tree. The thought of her getting hurt hit me like a solid kick in the gut, just below my stomach. I swallowed, found my voice. “If anybody ever hurts you ever again, I’ll kill them,” I said.
She laughed, looked me in the eye, and trailed her fingers down my temple, my cheek. “You’re sweet. I never heard that one before.”
“I mean it,” I said. Then I closed my eyes and kissed her scar.
CHAPTER 16
Misty didn’t drop me off at the restaurant until ten thirty, but I didn’t care that I was late. I felt too goddamn good. We’d kept our distance the whole ride back, kind of sizing each other up for real this time. Neither of us had tried touching the other one. We listened to country music instead. I was getting a little worried when she pulled into the parking lot, worried that I’d somehow done something wrong. After she stopped her truck out by the sign, she leaned over and gave me another long kiss.
I felt better.