luck." Jan Beck offered. "Hey, and keep me posted, will ya? Can't wait to read the details when you catch this... head-humper."
"You got it. Thanks." Cummings made a quick exit from State HQ. He felt exhilarated. Look at what he'd done. He'd shagged the crime scenes, processed tech requests, and now he had his own investigation going on a real crime, not rednecks running panther piss but a sexually motivated, multiple homicide case. For the first time in a long time. Cummings felt like a cop.
But when he got back into his unmarked, his pager went off. It was Spaz.
"Yeah?" Cummings asked when he dialed up from a QWIK-STOP pay- phone.
Spaz sounded tittery in tense excitement. "We gotta run to make tonight. Big order, man. Meet me at Dutch's. We gotta enough blow to sink a ship."
........
Jory Slade, according t ο Grundpap, had once whuppcd his Daddy's butt in a bar fight down the Crossroads, back when Travis were just a tike. Busted a few of Daddy's teeth. Jory Slade did, an' took his wallet too. An' worst'a all, Grandpap recited, when Slade were done with his ass-kickin', he laughed high an' might, and peed right in his Daddy's face. An' seein' that this injustice had gone unallayed fer so long. Travis felt it only proper now ta snatch one'a the Slade girls—a sassy li'l split tail named Sarah Dawn who turned tricks up the Bonfire Truckstop. Travis had parked way in back and eyed her fer a spell, and when she were hoppin' out a' a Peterbilt cab, he just up an' grabbed her, hauled her inta the truck. "Don't'cha make no noise," Travis promised, his big hand 'round her neck, "an' I won't hurt'cha." Well, you know what she did? Hocked a spitter right in Travis’ face, and it weren't just noise she made, it was a infernal racket, it was; her little yap opened right up like a hay-drop, an' she let outa scream so high Travis thought his blammed windshield might crack, so's he put the squeeze on her throat an' that's was the end of her ruckus. Put up a hail of a fight, though, fer about another minute, flailin' an' kickin' fierce as a muskrat inna trap, and one'a her feel caught Travis in the crotch, an' he almost shouted out hisself, it hurt so bad. But he kept the squeeze on, an' 'ventually her face turnt kinda dark pink, like possum belly after ya skin it, an' her little lights winked right out.
"Good thinkin', boy." Grandpap approved, settin' down his awl an' leather-puncher from the next set'a boots he was makin'. He cleared off the work table fer the business at hand. "That be one'a the Slade girls, ain't it? Kin tell by the big space 'tween her eyes, on account her maw drunk a coupla jars'a shine ever day while's she were preggered. Popped out eight kids like that."
"Shore are right, Grandpap. She's a Slade all right," Travis respondered, not in the best'a moods since she done took that spit in his face, an' put that kick ta his 'nads. He tied her down ta the table but good with some good sisal rope. Yoo-sherally he didn't bother 'cos he kilt 'em quick, but he tied this feisty whore down on account he was so mad. "Kicked me in the balls, Grandpap, and they'se'a achin', an' she spit in my face ta boot!"
"Low-down dirty cracker bitch, she is. Looks like a whore, 'n fact, in them dirty shorts'n halter."
“That she is, Grandpap. Caught her turnin' tricks up the Bonfire. Did six 'er seven guys in their cabs just in the hour I'se was watchin'."
"Yeah, boy, a low-down cracker whore, I shoulda knowed. Jory Slade got eight kids in all and not one of 'em did he raise right. I ever tell ya 'bout the time Jory sucker-punched yer paw at the 'Roads? Beat yer Daddy's ass bad, he did, an' then peed in his face."
"Well, yeah, Grandpap, you done told me 'bout that just this mornin', so's that's why I snatched her." Sometimes, see, Grandpappy's memory didn't serve him best these days.
Travis tied her down extra tight, determined ta do a really special job on this one. One thing ya don't never wanna do is kick a fella
"You got it. Thanks." Cummings made a quick exit from State HQ. He felt exhilarated. Look at what he'd done. He'd shagged the crime scenes, processed tech requests, and now he had his own investigation going on a real crime, not rednecks running panther piss but a sexually motivated, multiple homicide case. For the first time in a long time. Cummings felt like a cop.
But when he got back into his unmarked, his pager went off. It was Spaz.
"Yeah?" Cummings asked when he dialed up from a QWIK-STOP pay- phone.
Spaz sounded tittery in tense excitement. "We gotta run to make tonight. Big order, man. Meet me at Dutch's. We gotta enough blow to sink a ship."
........
Jory Slade, according t ο Grundpap, had once whuppcd his Daddy's butt in a bar fight down the Crossroads, back when Travis were just a tike. Busted a few of Daddy's teeth. Jory Slade did, an' took his wallet too. An' worst'a all, Grandpap recited, when Slade were done with his ass-kickin', he laughed high an' might, and peed right in his Daddy's face. An' seein' that this injustice had gone unallayed fer so long. Travis felt it only proper now ta snatch one'a the Slade girls—a sassy li'l split tail named Sarah Dawn who turned tricks up the Bonfire Truckstop. Travis had parked way in back and eyed her fer a spell, and when she were hoppin' out a' a Peterbilt cab, he just up an' grabbed her, hauled her inta the truck. "Don't'cha make no noise," Travis promised, his big hand 'round her neck, "an' I won't hurt'cha." Well, you know what she did? Hocked a spitter right in Travis’ face, and it weren't just noise she made, it was a infernal racket, it was; her little yap opened right up like a hay-drop, an' she let outa scream so high Travis thought his blammed windshield might crack, so's he put the squeeze on her throat an' that's was the end of her ruckus. Put up a hail of a fight, though, fer about another minute, flailin' an' kickin' fierce as a muskrat inna trap, and one'a her feel caught Travis in the crotch, an' he almost shouted out hisself, it hurt so bad. But he kept the squeeze on, an' 'ventually her face turnt kinda dark pink, like possum belly after ya skin it, an' her little lights winked right out.
"Good thinkin', boy." Grandpap approved, settin' down his awl an' leather-puncher from the next set'a boots he was makin'. He cleared off the work table fer the business at hand. "That be one'a the Slade girls, ain't it? Kin tell by the big space 'tween her eyes, on account her maw drunk a coupla jars'a shine ever day while's she were preggered. Popped out eight kids like that."
"Shore are right, Grandpap. She's a Slade all right," Travis respondered, not in the best'a moods since she done took that spit in his face, an' put that kick ta his 'nads. He tied her down ta the table but good with some good sisal rope. Yoo-sherally he didn't bother 'cos he kilt 'em quick, but he tied this feisty whore down on account he was so mad. "Kicked me in the balls, Grandpap, and they'se'a achin', an' she spit in my face ta boot!"
"Low-down dirty cracker bitch, she is. Looks like a whore, 'n fact, in them dirty shorts'n halter."
“That she is, Grandpap. Caught her turnin' tricks up the Bonfire. Did six 'er seven guys in their cabs just in the hour I'se was watchin'."
"Yeah, boy, a low-down cracker whore, I shoulda knowed. Jory Slade got eight kids in all and not one of 'em did he raise right. I ever tell ya 'bout the time Jory sucker-punched yer paw at the 'Roads? Beat yer Daddy's ass bad, he did, an' then peed in his face."
"Well, yeah, Grandpap, you done told me 'bout that just this mornin', so's that's why I snatched her." Sometimes, see, Grandpappy's memory didn't serve him best these days.
Travis tied her down extra tight, determined ta do a really special job on this one. One thing ya don't never wanna do is kick a fella
Similar Books
