Bullet Through Your Face (improved format) Read online

  “Ordnance?” Hays butt in. “That means ammernition, don’t it?” “Yes, PFC, it does,” Captain Majora tersely answered. “Fort Paduanna’s been closed fer three years!”

  Majora nodded. “That’s quite correct, PFC, and that’s the

  classi fied part. Fort Paduanna is indeed officially closed as an active military operations base. However, it still retains a redeposition function.”

  The Chief scratched his chin. “A—”

  “What that means, Chief, is that active Army personnel are still on duty there in order to maintain the security of stored binary chemical weapons awaiting destruction in accordance with the SALT II Treaty.”

  “Uh . . . Oh,” the Chief replied.

  “And the reason I’m here, to specify, is to investigate the possible involvement, and now”—she glanced coldly at Willis’ dead body— ”the obvious murder of Doctor Willis.”

  The Chief was duped. “Didn’t you just say somethin’ ‘bout the theft of ammernition? What’s a country doctor got ta do with that?”

  “He was no country doctor, Chief. Instead, he earned a doctorate in applied plasma physics from MIT, whereupon he joined the U.S. Army Science and Research Command. He spent twenty years in the Army, working on classified primer technologies. Ten years ago, however, after having risen to the rank of colonel, he retired. Then he moved here to presumably enjoy his retirement.”

  “Captain Majora,” the Chief couldn’t help but pipe up. “I gotta admit, I’se at a loss ta foller anythang you’re sayin’.”

  But Hays, once again, interrupted. “Look here, lady. We’se here makin’ the proper investergation of the killin’ of Doc Willis and the disappearance’a his wife, and I don’t see that that’s got anything to do with this jive conspiracy yer spoutin’ about.”

  “Hays, don’t be so rude ta the Captain!” Kinion loudly insisted.

  But Majora remained poker-faced. “I’m investigating the same thing, PFC. What you need to understand is that just before he retired, Willis was in the process of designing a new series of hightechnology proximity fuses for the Army’s W-79 warheads. Recently our D.I.A. intelligence surveys have been reporting the same fuse mechanisms being discovered in the armories of such countries as Iraq, North Korea, and Red China.”

  Kinion’s big face remained in its state of perplexion, but Hays seemed to get it: “So what’cher sayin’is that your bein’here is only a coincerdence ta our bein’here. We’se investergatin’a missin’persons whiles yer investergatin’ Willis as a suspect fer sellin’ military technolergy ta the commies.”

  Majora raised a stiff brow. “Well, I myself would phrase it a bit differently but, yes, PFC, in essence you’re correct. We’ve been maintaining surveillance on the Willis residence for quite some time.”

  “Well,” the Chief posed finally seein’through the fog, “if you’ve been maintainin’ surveillance on the property, did you happen to see anything unusual within the last hour? ‘Cos ‘bout an hour ago’s when Doc Willis called us.”

  “No, Chief, I didn’t. No activity at all on the premise.”

  They all set on that a spell, thinkin’ ‘bout it. Chief Kinion felt a right amiss, he did. Proxerimity fuses? Sellin’ technolergy ta the commies? Army surveillance on a house in the sticks?

  It was like a story that didn’t make no sense!

  Hays, as might be expected, were standin’ aside with his arms crossed, but ever so often he’d sneak a glance at the Captain, eyeballin’ the impresserive femerine shape’a her and no doubt pitcherin’ in his mind all the hobknobbin’ he’d like ta lay on her, and this, well, this kinda caused a spark of displeasure in the Chief ‘cos he just knowed, on account’a the way Majora’d look at him ever so often, that if she hadda choice between either him’re Hays to take to bed—

  It’d be me, the Chief thought. “Hays!” he blurted. “What’choo eyeballin’ boy?”

  “Uh, nothin’, boss. I were just contemplatin’ the incongruenties of the case.”

  “Yeah, well why don’t you lead the way whiles we incongruenty ourselfs back on downstairs and call the county rescue squad—”

  “Good idea, Chief,” Hays remarked, “so’s we can git the Doc’s body out here ‘fore it starts to stink worse than the fat pile at Burt’s Meat Market.”

  Kinion just shook his head as the three of ‘em filed out the room’n headed back downstairs. But as they did so, this absolutely loverly scent’a perfume floated offa Captain Majora and drifted right smackdab inta the Chief’s face. He nearly swooned, he did, at that luxurious scent, and, shee-it, he didn’t even know what swoon meant! And just as he were startin’ to picture the good Captain in more provocative apparel, rangin’ anywhere from tight purdy evenin’ dresses to her birthday suit, Hays obnoxerous voice burst forth:

  “So’s tell me this, Captain, what’cha make of all them empty Coke bottles in the sink?”

  The Captain’s pause seemed to float in the stairwell. “The . . . what?”

  “Shee-it,” Hays hacked. “Big fancy Army investergator and ya didn’t even notice that?”

  “Why, no, I didn’t.” “And I suppose ya didn’t notice how alls the winders been broken from the outside in, huh?”

  “I did notice that, PFC. But I’m afraid I haven’t yet been able to deduce a serviceable explanation.”

  “Yeah, well I got somethin’ for ya to deduce, and—”

  “Hays!” the Chief bellowed on the steps. “Put a lid on it!”

  Back downstairs, Hays led the way to the kitchen, figurin’ that would be the location of the nearest phone. He found it, all right, next to the fridge, and it was one’a them fancified ‘lectric-type phones that didn’t have no wire. Hays picked it with a gape, but before he could even attempt to dial the county ambulance, Captain Majora said, “PFC? Did you say something about empty Coke bottles in the sink?”

  Both Kinion’n Hays turnt ‘round and saw the fine-lookin’ captain standing in front of the sink . . .

  The empty sink.

  “Why, ain’t that befuddlin’,” Hays remarked.

  Chrast. Kinion saw fer hisself. The big fancy stainless-steel kitchen sink had not a thing in it when just awhile ago he was fer certain it had been filled with a bunch’a upended 2-liter Coke bottles. Also missin’ were the six li’l white bottle caps that were previously lined up along the rim’a the sink.

  “Don’t that beat all,” the Chief muttered.

  “Ain’t nothin’else it can mean, boss,” Hays offered. “We’se both seed ‘em. And if they ain’t here now, that means someone must’ve took ‘em outa here whiles we was all upstairs.”

  Before any further speculation could be made, then, they all three of ‘em jerked their gazes up at a sudden sound.

  “Holy—” the Chief exclaimed.

  “—shit!” Hays finished.

  But Majora was already dashing out the side door, her pistol drawn, because, see, the sound they alls heard was that of a car startin’ and pullin’ off at a accelerated speed. At once the thought exploded in the Chief’s mind: Somebody’s drivin’away in my patrol car! If blammed Hays left the keys in it again, why I’ll’se have him spendin’ the rest’a his career cleanin’ the public toilet at the town square! Hays dashed after Captain Majora, and the Chief, well, since it was not possible for him to really dash anywhere, he hoofed it out behind the others as fast as his 260 pounds could take him.

  And once they’se was out front, Kinion saw that it was not the Luntville police cruiser that had been made off with, it was Doc Willis’shiny red Mercedes, whose dust they’d all been left to stand in.

  “Damn,” Majora said beneath her breath.

  “Shee-it!” Hays riled. “Someone plumb up’n stolt the Doc’s car! Shouldn’t we chase ‘em?”

  “There’d be little productive point in that, PFC,” Captain Majora answered, reholstering her .45. “That was a Mercedes 560SL with a 5.6-liter overhead cam V-8. Our vehicles wouldn’t stand a chance of catching him.”

>   “Shee-it,” the Chief said. “I wonder who took it.”

  With a chuckle, Hays made his own venture. “Well, Chief, at least we know who didn’t take it. Doc Willis, ‘n’less ‘acorse a dead man can drive.”

  “Hays, don’t run yer yap unless ya got somethin’ helpful to say,” Kinion complained, and all this confusion’n stress’n activity suddenly set his belly to burnin’ up fierce with gas. But it was quite queer just then, because immediately after Hays had made the useless

  comment that Captain Majora took a few slow steps backwards, and she was looking up at the house.

  “What’cha ganderin’, Captain?” the Chief asked.

  “Second floor, Chief,” she replied, shielding her eyes with her hand. The sun blazed high, and as she continued lookin’ up with her arm raised so to keep her hand over her brow, the Chief, fer only a second, mind you, ‘cos he weren’t no pree-vert like Hays, the Chief

  could see right down that gap below her short sleeve khaki Army shirt and could see her soft, purdy, shaved underarm, and he had to admit it was the finest armpit he’d ever imagined much less seed. It were the armpit of an angel, yes sir! And just past it, he caught a sideshot of the snow-white cup of her bra, and when he tried to picture the tit that filled it . . .well, the Chief dang near had to give hisself a crotch rub.

  “—that window right there,” she was continuin’ in that stern, cool, businesslike voice’a hers, ‘that’s the window in the master bedroom. Not five minutes ago, the three of us were standing in the master bedroom, and I am certain beyond all doubt—”

  “That winder was closed!” Hays observed.

  Yes, it shore was, and now the Chief made his own observation. And now it’s standin’wide open... Majora and Hays dashed back into the house, while the Chief—well, we’ve already been through that. Least ta say, he lumbered on up behind ‘em, humpin’ up them stairs again and thumpin’ right back into the master bedroom but by the time he got there, Hays and Majora had long since arrived and had made their astonishing discovery which the Chief, only now, could see with his own two eyes.

  Doc Willis’body no longer lay in that there closet, no sir. ‘N fact, it didn’t lay nowheres in the room at all. It was gone.

  IV A right quick, a’corse, the Chief put out a state-wide APB on Doc Willis’ fancy red kraut Mercedes, and a missin’ persons on his wife. What he kept under his lid, however, was the disappearance’a the Doc’s body which, though theoretically explainable, might sound at least a smidgen ridiculous and no doubt aim a few critical chuckles in the Chief’s direction. What was he to say? What? ‘Tween the time I walked downstairs’n heard the sound of a motor startin’, Doc Willis’ body disappeared? And so did six empty 2-liter bottles’a Coke? And, no, I’m not implyin’ fer a second that I think Doc Willis’ CORPSE dropped out the winder’n stolt those bottles’n then drove off in that fancy nazi car...

  Shee-it. It were tough bein’ Chief!

  The lovely Captain Majora had departed in her drab government car, but promised to git back in touch soon. Since she anticerpated an investigation that might be on the lengthy side, she needed to get situated at some local accommodations, and the Chief helpfully suggested the White Horse Motel right off’a Main Street, across from the stationhouse. Doc Willis bein’ kilt and havin’ his body stole, and a’corse his wife disappearin’—these were certainly grave matters in a town like Luntville, but the Chief did recognize one good point: the beautiful Captain Majora workin’with ‘em on the case. Yes sir, he mused. She shore is one fine-lookin’and soffistercated gal, all class— And then he pictured her in his mind--a rather sensual image: Waking up to chirping sparrows, fresh morning air billowing in through the open windows of his double-wide, turning in the warm bed beckoned by her lovely scent and then seeing her there asleep at his side, one pretty arm draped lovingly across his large chest, and then her big green eyes flutter open and she looks at him and smiles and whispers “I love you, sweetheart . . .”

  Here here.

  KINION AWAKES FROM DAY DREAM at DINER “That bad news Army bitch oughta take the poker out of her ass fer starts, Chief,” Hays then duly interrupted the fantasy. “I’ll bet she’s got hair up her buttcrack, like a big plot of it, ya know?”

  The Chief just sputtered. Right this minute, he and Hays was sittin’at the back booth’a June’s Diner because, see, after the delectible Captain Majora had parted their company, Kinion realized that this case were in need of some serious rumination, and since June were runnin’ a pig’s feet special fer $1.09 a plate, the Chief reasoned they could do some’a that ruminatin’ right here.

  “What’choo got against the Captin, Hays?” Kinion inquired. “All day you been lookin’ at the gal like you got a mouthful’a sour milk.”

  Hays pinched his chin, thinned his eyes as if speculatin’. “It ain’t nothin’I gots against her, boss. Just that there’s somethin’fishy about her—and I don’t mean her pussy. I’se mean, the whole thang’s a crock, you ask me.”

  “What’cha mean, the whole thang, boy?” Hays sucked on a pig foot, then leaned back far in the booth as if he’d just heard a bad joke. “Come on, Chief! All that bulljive ‘bout Doc Willis sellin’classerfied technolergy to the commies! Doc Willis? Cut my John Henry some slack, huh? We both knows Doc Willis just fine. And here comes this stiff’n starch brass-ass Army splittail tellin’ us he’s some kinda traitor.”

  “Chrast, Hays, she’s a commisherioned of ficer with the U.S. Armed Forces! You sayin’ you don’t believe what she say?”

  Hays’ lips pursed right up; his whole face was a crease of incredulity. “Aw, come on, Chief. She’s got more bullshit than Old Man McClucky’s manure pile out past the Old Post Road.”

  Chief Kinion leaned forward over the table, his face set with a fat grin. “I ain’t dumb, Hays—I know what’chore problem is...”

  Hays appeared without a clue. “Ain’t got no problem, Chief, ‘least none that I’se aware of, unless ya call it a problem ta have a ten-inch crotch-serpent that’s hard all’a the time. What problem you talkin’ ‘bout?”

  The Chief knew his game. “Don’t bullshit me, boy. You’s just all bent outa shape over Majora on account she ain’t interested in you in the least. It’s a right clear, instead, son, that she’s got her purdy sights set on me.”

  “Aw, Chief, I hadn’t noticed,” Hays said, “but that’s mighty fine! I’d never wanna think’a myself in compertition with my upstandin’ boss, and if you thank she wants some’a your pants-pork, then more power to ya! Shee-it, Chief. Go fer it. Split her poon with yer hog till she squeals, ‘cos that’s all women want anyhows. They want that lumber up their snatch and ta feel yer hot squirt’a cocksnot, yes sir! And I hopes you git’cher tool so far up her ya bust her cervix! Hail, fuck her five’re six times, git her really spunked up good so’s she’ll have yer juice squishin’ up her hole fer awhiles. I ever tell ya ‘bout the time I balled Chissy Ann Clanner nine times? No lie, Chief, I fucked her stanky gash nine times—all in one night. A’corse I didn’t call her afterwards—to hail with that shit, boss—feel ‘em, fuck ‘em and fergit ‘em’s what I say—but anyways, ‘bout a week later I walk into Dipietro’s Tavern and, shore ‘nuff—”

  “Hays, Hays, please,” Kinion griped. “Ya don’t need ta tells me the whole story . . .”

  “’Corse I do, Chief, and likes I were sayin’, shore ‘nuff there she is waiting tables and naturally she remembert the hail-fer-leather fuckin’ I give her a week before, so’s she’s all over me, boss, yappin’ ‘bout how much she misses me’n wants to see me again, so’s I just say ‘Chrissy Ann, yer pussy stink so bad it’d kill a possum eatin’ a pile’a roadkill, and I wouldn’t fuck you agin with a toilet-plunger handle on account it wouldn’t be fair to the handle.’ So a’corse she huffs off in a swivet, goes down to the booths by the pool tables’n then she leans over to pick up the empty Bud bottles’n—damn!— if I didn’t see coupla lines’a my babyjuice runnin’ down her leg! Riverlets, I guess it�
��s called if yer a college feller. Yes sir, she had riverlets’a my cock-hock runnin’ right outa her hole’n goin’ down her leg! A blammed week after I put it there!”

  Well, the Chief had some doubts ‘bout that but didn’t care ta give it voice. Instead, he pushed the rest’a his pig’s feet away, no longer feelin’terribly hungry after listenin’to all this talk ‘bout weekold cum runnin’ out a gal’s dirty pussy down her leg. All’s he did instead was pinch the bridge’a his nose like he always do when he’s digustered, like earlier today when Hay’s tolt him ‘bout the time he were inadvertantly lickin’ gonococcal discharge outa some gal’s hole. “Hays,” he grumbled, his belly a mite sour now, “do ya always hafta be so descripterive?”

  “Oh, shee-it, Chief, I ain’t tryin’ ta be decripterive, I’se just tryin’ ta convey my happiness for ya in that this slim red-hairt Army jizzdeposit’s got a likin’ fer ya.” Hays sucked the last of the meat off the next pig foot. “Just make shore ya go down on her first ‘cos that’s

  what gits ‘em to love ya. Lick that stanky meat hard’n fast, boss, and it helps ta work yer finger in’n out ats the same time ‘cos that really gits ‘em hot, and once ya git ta cornholin’ her, boss, just make shore ya reach around’n keep a finger up that stanky slit ‘cos—” “Hays! That’s enough!” the Chief cracked loud enough ta turn some heads in the place. Hearin’ the dirty talk ‘bout town gals were bad enough, but it were reglar blassfermee ta hear the same talk ‘bout the luscious Captain Majora. Just . . . shut . . . up!”