Body Counting Page 6

  Johnny froze, looking at his friend sidelong. “Zeal. You know, Nero? Sometimes I really do think you are a closet homosexual, man. Straight men do not fuck with zest. You gotta be careful with the things you say. Pretty guy like me, effeminate fuck like you, people get ideas, you know? The word is zeal.”

  “And this is going where?”

  “That’s the way your woman makes you a bitch. She’s got you with a collar around the neck so tight I can hear you gagging just like one of these porn star women, all choking and shit.”

  Johnny mimed not being able to breathe by sticking his tongue out like he was being choked. Nero just sat back and listened, trying not to laugh.

  Johnny continued his diatribe. “It must make you feel small, man, letting her rule you like this. And then by the time she is done controlling your ass—you are just like one of these Max Hardcore women after a scene with—”

  “Zeal?”

  Johnny chuckled. “Stop. Don’t be stealing my thunder and let me finish. So here you are, your asshole is sore. Feels like somebody dropped a pineapple in it. Your throat hurts, your privates are burning. There you are lying on floor like this. Too tired to get up, your face frosted with semen. There’s so much cum on one of your eyes you can’t even open it all the way—it’s like fucking glue. It’s sad. It’s pathetic. She has you totally emasculated, man.”

  “Johnny.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I hate you.”

  They detonated into explosive laughter, causing other bar patrons to stare at them.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Nero said. “I think I’ve had enough humiliation for one night.”

  It was a clear and cool evening, the stars twinkling in the sky. They walked over to Nero’s Cadillac, burping loudly in the quiet parking lot. Johnny lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings into the sky. He studied the heavens, enjoying the feel of the sharp air on his cheeks.

  “We just gonna go back to my house?” Nero asked, unlocking the door. “I have a couple of joints we can smoke.”

  “Sure,” Johnny said. “You sure you’re okay to drive, man? You had a lot of beers in there.”

  Nero shot him a look and they studied each other for about ten seconds before again exploding into hysterics. Their laughter carried through the parking lot, providing a little happy atmosphere to such a dreary place.

  Nero pulled out of the lot, a large grin on his face. He sighed and shook his head.

  “What the fuck you smiling about, you mangy dog?” Johnny asked, blowing a line of smoke through the crack of his window.

  “It feels good to be free, you know?” Nero said, still grinning. “Having the wife at my mother-in-law’s house for a week has been fucking heaven. I can walk around without my shirt, eat whatever I want. Watch pornos—whatever. Fall asleep on the floor with an empty pizza box next to my head. I love it. I feel like I’m back in college again. “

  “Trust me, my friend. That shit gets stale real quick. I know I was busting your ass in there about being so beat, but the truth is, I wish I had a woman to bring me in line, too.”

  Nero laughed. “Well, take it from me. It gets stale on my end too, Johnny. Real fucking stale. There are days I will fuck anything but her, even the old lady next door looks good to me sometimes. Domestication is the true killer of the male soul.”

  Johnny nodded, staring at the yellow line in the middle of the road. “Well, I guess we just need to come to terms with the fact we will never be fucking happy.”

  “Yeah, and once we realize that, then we can at least be miserably satisfied with things,” Nero said, turning on the radio. “You mind if we listen to some tunes? This conversation is getting depressing, man.”

  Johnny shrugged as Nero turned the radio dial, looking for something upbeat. A folksy song filled the car, vibrating the windows with its acoustic bass.

  “Holy shit!” Johnny screamed, slamming his hairy fist on the dash. “Leave that on! I haven’t heard this song in years!”

  Nero frowned. It sounded depressing, nostalgic and vaguely familiar. “I kinda wanted something a little upbeat.”

  “Don’t you remember this song, man? It’s from that movie Midnight Cowboy. I think it’s called ‘Everybody’s Talkin’’.”

  “Oh yeah,” Nero said. “That one with Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman. Hoffman plays that crippled fuck. What the hell was his name in that?”

  “Ratso Rizzo.”

  “Yeah! He talked with this squeaky—”

  “NERO, WATCH OUT!” Johnny screamed.

  The car rocked, like they had hit an enormous water balloon. It was almost implosive, rather than an explosion. A dull thud, followed by a loud rumbling as something rolled over the roof and back onto the pavement behind.

  All Nero had seen was a big gray ball flash before the windshield before the glass broke into a million snake-like cracks. The car skidded, turning sideways for a brief moment with a screech of tires, before coming to a rest on the side of the empty road.

  “What the fuck did I hit?” Nero hissed, eyes wide.

  “I think it was a man. A big fat fuck.”

  “Are you sure? I think it was an animal.”

  “No, I saw a pudgy hand and a big roll of flesh. It was a fat fuck.”

  “Johnny, this is not the time to crack wise, man. I’m fucking drunk here. Was it a man, or not?”

  They got out, their bodies rigid in the early-morning air. About a hundred yards beyond the car they could see a massive, shadowy lump near the side of the road. It wasn’t moving.

  Nero fingered his flashlight. “I’m fucked, man.”

  They walked slowly, the flashlight cutting through the darkness as they went. Nero was praying to God, chanting Jesus’ name like a mantra as they moved.

  When the flashlight hit the crack of an immense, elephantine ass, Nero started to sob. “Oh, man. I’m going to fucking jail. Shit, shit, shit.”

  Johnny grabbed the flashlight from his hand and shined it at the large lump. It was clearly a human being, albeit a grossly overweight one. The man was impossibly big. Large rolls of flesh fell to the pavement like he was melting. Splotches of blood could be seen on folds of skin. A large mop of blood-covered gray hair rested on top of the man’s head, blowing in the breeze.

  “Is he dead?” Nero asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. You shouldn’t feel bad for missing this fatty, man. Hell, if you swerved to miss him you probably would have run out of gas anyways.”

  Nero looked over at his friend, his face clearly astonished. “How can you possibly make a joke, you asshole? There is a dead man on the road there, fat or not. Not to mention I’m drunk. At least legally I am.”

  The fat man farted, the sound of tearing leather filling the night air.

  “Yes!” Nero shouted victoriously. “He’s alive!”

  “Dead people can fart,” Johnny said, moving the flashlight across the body with awe. “I read it once. It’s the way the gas settles. Especially considering the knocking you gave this fatty.”

  “Thanks a lot, man. Destroy my moment of happiness.”

  Johnny fanned his hand back and forth, falling backward a little. “Holy fuck! That’s disgusting!” Holding his nose, he walked around to the other side of the body. “Man, I can’t believe they actually make pants this big.” He shined the flashlight into the man’s face and then literally froze, eyes protruding from his head in comic horror.

  “Nero … you … ain’t … gonna … fucking … believe … this … shit.”

  “What?”

  “You killed Marlon Brando.”

  “Don’t be fucking around, man. You’re starting to piss me off.”

  “I’m serious, Nero. Come over here and take a look. It’s really Marlon fucking Brando. The big guy himself.”

  When Nero looked upon the round face he gasped. “I’ll give you it looks a lot like him—but it ain’t him.”

  “Sure as fuck looks like him to me. I think it’s him.”

&n
bsp; “What the hell would Marlon Brando be doing in Pennsylvania on a dark road in the middle of the night?”

  “No clue. Looks like Brando to me. If it ain’t him—it’s a fat bastard that looks just like his ass.”

  “This is going to be on every front page in the fucking world. I am soooo dead. They are going to crucify me, Johnny! Is he alive?”

  Johnny leaned forward, burying his head into the fat man’s massive chest. “Yes! I hear a heartbeat! We need to call an ambulance!”

  “We can’t call an ambulance. I’m drunk, remember? They can trace it to my cell phone and know it’s me.”

  “So what do we do? Just drop him off at the hospital?”

  Five minutes later, they had the Cadillac backed up, struggling as they tried to put the titanic man into the trunk.

  “Jesus Christ!” Johnny shouted. “We can’t even get him up off the fucking pavement!”

  The man groaned.

  “It’s okay, big guy,” Johnny said. “We’re trying to get ya to the hospital.”

  “I can’t believe we can’t even pick him up!” Nero shouted.

  Headlights lit up the horizon. They came out of the darkness like fluorescent eyes, hurling forward about four hundred yards away.

  “Oh shit,” Johnny hissed. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”

  They both screamed simultaneously as the gigantic man miraculously came up from the ground. The mammoth man made the two of them look positively dwarfed. He wouldn’t fit in the trunk. Not a chance in hell he would fit.

  “FUCK!” Nero shrieked. “Stand him upward so it looks like he’s just hanging out!”

  Their faces red with exertion, they held the man up. They swayed back and forth like drunken sailors, the massive man slippery in their arms. The car passed, blowing the horn as it went.

  “Let’s get him into the back seat before another car comes.”

  After several minutes of grunting and cursing, they had the large man lodged into the back seat, his tremendous ass protruding out of the car along with his feet. Johnny put his back to the body and used his leg muscles get him through, teeth gritted. He stared over at Nero. “You gonna fucking help me here?”

  Nero placed his boot on the right ass cheek and pushed forward. With a soft pop, the man fell into the back seat. The car was leaning to the side slightly.

  They got into the car, both of them out of breath and sweating. Nero promptly put the car into drive and they lurched forward.

  “You know, if this shit gets out, every Italian in America is gonna want to kill your ass,” Johnny said. “Brando is like a god to them. You just killed the Jesus of Italians.”

  Nero laughed despite the situation. “Yeah, and the Mafia bastards are going to want to kill me, too. They worship him.”

  “Yep, you’re pretty much fucked.”

  “I’m just going along with the joke. This ain’t Marlon Brando.”

  “You gotta admit the man looks just fucking like him.”

  “I admit the resemblance is strong. All fat people look like Brando once they reach a certain stage, I think.”

  “If all fat people looked like Brando at a certain stage, don’t you think there would a bunch of Marlons running about? It doesn’t matter, I guess. We’re fucked whether it’s Brando or not.”

  “Unless we can somehow get away with this. All we gotta do is drop his ass off at the hospital and get the fuck out.”

  “Which is going to present a little problem.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, you thought it was easy getting him in the car? Wait till we try to get the fat fuck out.”

  “Shit, you’re right. And there is a good chance we’re gonna be seen in the parking lot of the hospital. It’s kinda hard not to stand out when you try to pull a fatty like this out of the back of a car.”

  Johnny laughed. “Well, we can stop and butter him up so he squeaks right out. Ever see Last Tango in Paris? The man likes butter.” He shot a look back to the massive wall of flesh blocking their view of the rear window. “And being that fat, it’s obvious the man likes butter for purposes other than sodomy.”

  “That might not be a bad idea, you know. That way he won’t get stuck going out.”

  “We gotta get him to the hospital, Nero. The man has been hit by a car, remember?” Johnny looked back to the Brando Wall again. “Besides, that’s a lot of butter. You know, maybe it’s like comparing fat Elvis to skinny Elvis, but I prefer the young Brando the best. It would have been much easier had we got the ‘I coulda been a contender’ Marlon instead of the large one that plays the piano with midgets on his fucking shoulders, you know?”

  “Ugh,” Nero said, struggling to see through the cracked windshield. “That movie fucking sucked.”

  “Yeah, it did. He almost deserves to get hit by a car for making that one. It’s karma kicking in. What a waste of two hours of my life.” Johnny chuckled, shaking his head. “This is too fucking rich.”

  “This is insane. We have Don Corleone in the back seat. Do you realize how bizarre this is? It’s like a fucking cartoon.”

  “We both know the man in the back seat isn’t Brando.”

  “Probably not, but if we get away with this—I’m telling the story as if it was Brando.”

  The hospital came up in the distance, its warm windows glowing invitingly.

  Nero pulled into the emergency entrance. “Okay, we need to get him out of the car quickly and get the hell out. Use every bit of energy you got. If anyone pulls up, we’re fucked.”

  With a scream of exertion, they managed to pop the obese man back out of the car. He fell to the pavement with a dull, meaty thud, his flesh undulating.

  “Now what?” Johnny asked. “You just gonna leave him here on the ramp?”

  Nero got into the car. “You got a better idea?”

  “No. I guess I don’t.”

  Ambulance sirens wailed and Nero’s mouth dropped open. “Shit! Get in before they see us.”

  “But Nero …”

  “I SAID GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

  Johnny got into the car. “Nero—”

  “We need to get the hell out of here.”

  Johnny turned around and winced as the ambulance came hurling around the corner and onto the ramp. “Shit.”

  Nero turned the wheel and slammed his foot on the pedal, speeding the car up as they went back onto the main road. “Shit, what?”

  “That sucks.”

  “Shit, what, Johnny!”

  “We left him on the front of the emergency ramp, dumbfuck. That’s what I was trying to tell you. The ambulance turned in and hit him. Ain’t no way he’s alive now. He exploded like a water balloon filled with blood.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, look on the bright side. As fat as the man was, he probably wasn’t going to live long anyway.”

  “I guess that’s true when you think about it that way.”

  Johnny started to laugh then, his glee shooting out of his mouth in alcohol-tinged bursts. “Man, you killed Marlon Brando. This is fucking hilarious.”

  “Goddammit, Johnny. It wasn’t fucking Brando. The man, fat or not, fucking rules. I couldn’t live with myself if I killed one of my idols.”

  Johnny smirked. “Wishful thinking, Nero. I think it was Brando. You’ll see the headlines tomorrow. Italians put out death sentence on Nero Troy for killing movie legend.”

  Nero sighed. “Johnny, I hate you.”

  “I know. But the funny thing is the ambulance driver is probably going through the same shit we went through. Kind of feels good to know someone else hit Marlon Brando besides you. We can really identify with his feelings.”

  “Let’s just go home and pray we don’t get caught. Smoke these joints.”

  “Besides, I have a feeling it’s not gonna be as funny in the morning.”

  The ambulance driver could not believe what he was seeing. It was surreal. He had just collided with an enormously obese man. He shot out of the ambula
nce in a panic.

  “STELLA!” he shouted to his co-worker. “You better get out here! We have a big emergency on our hands!”

  The Hitman Always Rings Twice

  “Listen, asshole!” I shouted into the receiver. “There is not, nor has there ever been, a fucking Lyle Mendoza here, okay! My name is Robert Harris! Now, if you call here one more time, I will hunt you down and shove your phone so far up your ass that your tongue will tickle when it rings!”

  Different people were calling all day and asking for a Lyle Mendoza.

  I was polite the first few times it happened. It wasn’t until about the twentieth time that I totally freaked.

  I had slammed the phone down on the receiver, practically screaming in frustration. I looked up into the mirror and was surprised to see that veins were popping up on my red, sweating forehead. The person in the mirror was practically unrecognizable.

  Now it was ringing again. It was one of those phones that have a light built inside. That light goes on every time the phone rings, much to my by now considerable annoyance. The only reason that I bought the thing was because it was the first phone I saw when I entered the department store. I guess it’s good for deaf people in that they could see the phone ring. So, contrary to the average person, I get to see my phone ring, which sounds like an oxymoron, only in my case it’s not.

  I sat there, tapping my fingers on the table and glaring at the telephone. I never realized how really annoying my cute little phone was.

  Ring-Light. Ring-Light. Ring-Light.

  I walked over to the phone and picked it up before the answering machine got it. It was time to put a stop to this shit.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Lyle, it’s Bubba,” said a deep, baritone voice. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good, Bubba,” I said, playing the part. “What’s up?”

  “Jim-Jim wants to know why you ain’t showed.”

  “I’ve been sick.”

  “Well, you better now?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, Bubba. I’m feeling pretty goddamn good.”

  “Lyle, what you want me to tell Jim-Jim?”

  “Bubba, you tell Jim-Jim that next time I see him, he’s a fucking dead man. And furthermore, I’m even gonna kill Jim-Jim’s friends. You consider yourself Jim-Jim’s friend, Bubba?”