I glanced over at Junior and Misty. They were staring at each other, giggling and whispering. Junior had his right hand under the table, on Misty’s knee. The bottle was almost empty.
Pearl started swaying her hips, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, index finger still lingering on Fat Ernst’s lip. Then her shoulders got into the act, dipping and rising and rolling with the rhythm of her hips, knees rocking back and forth. It took me a second, but I finally realized that Pearl was dancing. Not just dancing, but lap dancing, like some long dead, rotting stripper that couldn’t give up the job.
I almost wished she’d stop and shove her finger back in Fat Ernst’s eye.
Fat Ernst didn’t seem to like it much either. His boot heels had settled back on the floor, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the twitching scarecrow between his knees. His right eye had gotten all puffy and red, and a glistening track of tears rolled down his cheek, collecting at the base of his nose. I think he was testing the strength of the barbed wire around his wrists, because I could see welts of blood gathering under the thin metal cords.
Pearl kept dancing. I could hear her humming something softly under her breath but couldn’t place the song. Her knees kept getting farther and farther apart, until the outsides of her sticklike legs were pressed firmly against the insides of Fat Ernst’s knees. Then she started thrusting her pelvis around at odd angles like she was trying to imitate some moves she had seen long ago, but her hips just weren’t letting therest of her body perform properly, so it kind of looked like she was having an attack or something.
Between the humming, she started whispering to Fat Ernst. “See?” More humming. “It doesn’t have to be bad. I don’t want to hurt you.” She spread her legs and her pelvis swayed and dropped, like she was doing the limbo. “You’ve been good to the boys, treated ’em fair. So I don’t want this little”—she made some sort of big band, trumpet, wah-wah sounds softly with her mouth—“misunderstanding to end our relationship.” Her knees hit the floor and her right hand clutched at Fat Ernst’s chest, squeezing his nipple.
Bert stuck his head in the front door. He looked even worse, worried too, like he might throw up at any minute. “Hey, Ma? There’s these things, these … worms, they been eating at Ray’s head.”
Pearl snapped her head over Fat Ernst’s thigh. “I’m busy here, boy. You go on back out there, keep an eye on things. I’ll let you know when you need to come back in.”
Bert nodded, scratching at his cast, then stepped back outside.
Over at the booth, Junior threw his head back, tilting the bottom of the bottle toward the ceiling. When he dropped his head down, a puckered little tequila worm was caught between his teeth. He grinned proudly at Misty, then leaned across the table, shoving his face at her. I got a quick glimpse of Junior biting the worm in half as his mouth closed over Misty’s lips. Her body shuddered slightly, but she didn’t pull away. As he dropped back in his seat, Misty chewed once, twice, then swallowed. The worm was gone.
CHAPTER 29
Fat Ernst still wasn’t saying anything. Pearl kept swaying her hips around, still on her knees between his legs, face right in his crotch. Her right hand crawled over and squeezed his other nipple, then slid back down the rayon shirt in another round of ragged whispering until it finally stopped at the huge belt buckle. I wondered for a second if he’d been crazy enough to simply hide Slim’s gold and diamond buckle in plain sight as it were, just wearing it himself, but when Pearl carefully unbuckled his belt, I could see that it was just his usual buckle.
Then she unzipped his jeans, and in the silent restaurant, the zipper sounded like Junior starting his chainsaw.
Fat Ernst started breathing hard.
Pearl licked her uneven lips with a very long, very pink tongue.
I wanted to look away; I really did. I wanted to look at the floor, the ceiling, the rain outside the shattered windows—anything, anything at all—but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of Pearl kneeling before Fat Ernst, face right in his crotch. It was like watching two trains smash into each other; you couldn’t look away.
Pearl peeled the top of Fat Ernst’s jeans away from the zipper likeshe was opening a well-read book. Fat Ernst’s eyes were still shut tight; I don’t think he wanted to see Pearl’s ruined face so close to his dick.
Junior slid out of the booth, gently pulling on Misty’s leash. “I want you to watch this. Maybe you can learn something.” Drawn by the leather leash, she rose to her feet. Junior gripped Misty’s waist, pivoted her so she was facing Fat Ernst and Pearl, then pulled her back against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching with her. His hands crept forward around her hips and slid into her front pockets. “Ma’s the best. The best.”
Junior couldn’t see Misty’s face. But I could. She glanced at Pearl kneeling on the floor between Fat Ernst’s knees, then looked me dead in the eye. Her face was blank, cold. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“Such a big, strong man,” Pearl breathed, flicking her long tongue out to lick Fat Ernst’s white briefs. Fat Ernst didn’t look too happy. Like me, I think he wished Pearl would just jam that blackened fingernail back in his eye instead. But she kept licking at his white underwear like she was attacking a large vanilla ice cream cone. She fiercely clutched the top of his left thigh, rolling her head around like a snake rising out of a wicker basket. She darted her head forward, licking at the front of Fat Ernst’s underwear, then pulled back for some more head rolling.
Despite himself, I’m sure, a bulge started to grow in the front of Fat Ernst’s underwear.
The left side of Pearl’s face crinkled up in satisfaction, and she applied more pressure to her licking, dragging her tongue up and down the bulge in slow, gliding movements. Finally, she slid her right hand back up his thigh and worked her fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down, releasing Fat Ernst’s penis.
Fat Ernst had the biggest dick I had ever seen.
Don’t get me wrong here. It’s not like I’ve seen a lot of guys’ dicks or penises or anything—or even want to—but, Jesus, this thing was huge. It looked like a telephone pole was erupting out of his pants. “Please don’t,” Fat Ernst said in a strangled voice.
“Don’t what?” Pearl said slyly, staring up at him with her good eye.
Fat Ernst gritted his teeth.
Junior slowly pulled his hands out of Misty’s front pockets and slid his palms up her stomach, inch by inch, until he was cupping her breasts. Misty’s expression never changed. Junior stuck his tongue in her ear and wriggled it around like a fat worm. I vowed to cut his goddamn tongue out if I ever got the chance.
“You want me, don’t you? You want this, don’t you? Don’t you?” Pearl opened her mouth wide, flicking her pink tongue up and against his dick. “Tell me. Tell me where it is and I’ll suck you off until you explode.” Then she took Fat Ernst in her mouth and suddenly I found I could close my eyes.
The slurping sounds didn’t help.
“Tell me where it is!” I heard Pearl say, panting a little.
No answer.
More slurping.
After a couple more long seconds, I heard “Tell me!” again. “Tell me where the buckle is and I’ll finish you off, big boy.” Pearl paused for emphasis. “And I’ll swallow.”