Free Fistful of Feet by Jordan Krall Page A

to come by. You see, it’s made like regular whiskey but once it’s done, they get a whole bunch of dirty, sweaty whores and make them bathe in it. You know, clean up all their girly parts with the whiskey. They sit in it about a week and don’t come out of there for even a minute.”
       “Sounds pleasant,” Calamaro said.
       “Well, personally I don’t touch the stuff. I got a bad stomach. But all the men in town swear by it.” He looked to the backroom again. “The wife doesn’t like me selling it so I have to sneak it. Got a couple bottles left, if you’re interested. Earlier today I actually just sold a bottle to another man from out of town. Is he a friend of yours? Did you come into town together?”
       “No, I came alone,” Calamaro said. “I’m guessing the price is a bit higher than regular whiskey.”
       “A little bit, yes, but Ass Juice is worth it, I’m telling you. I swear you can taste cunny and girl-ass in every sip.” Tom Duma smiled. “Or so I’ve heard.”
       “Maybe another time.”
       “I even have a bottle that’s just full of feet. I mean, they had a bunch of whores just soak their feet in it.”
       “No thanks.”
       “Suit yourself, stranger.”
       Mrs. Duma walked out of the backroom with a plate in her hands. She scowled at the two men and said, “Food’s done.”
       “Thank you, ma’am,” Calamaro said. The plate was practically slammed down in front of him. He dug into the lukewarm meat and corn.
       Tom Duma nodded to his wife and swatted her on the arm. “Make us some coffee, will you?”
       “Oh, of course. Not like I have anything better to do.” She walked out of the room in a huff.
       “Nice lady,” Calamaro said. He smirked. Women like that always confused him. They acted tough but always seemed to want men to treat them like fragile flowers. They should make up their minds.
       “She gets like that sometimes. She can be as sweet as candy, though, hugging and kissing me all over but then all of a sudden she turns into a mean old thing. Good times do make up for the bad ones, though.”
       Calamaro thought about what Mrs. Duma would be like in bed. Did she dominate her husband there, too?
       Soon the plate was empty and Calamaro wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He thanked Tom again.
       “You’re very welcome.” Tom moved his head in close. “Don’t mind me asking but what happened to your ear?”
       Calamaro licked his fingers clean. “A kid shot me.”
       “A kid shot you?”
       “Yep.”
       “He have reason to?”
       Calamaro said, “None that I saw.”
       “So it was just some kid took a gun and shot you?”
       “Called himself the Clementine Kid if that holds any meaning to you. Wanted to rob me so he took a shot. I shot back. Kid’s dead but my bullet ain’t what did it.”
       “Then what did?”
       “Indians.”
       Tom frowned. “Oh.”
       “Don’t feel so bad though. I don’t think he was so innocent. Kid looked like he’d served in the war. Probably done more killing than you and I could imagine.”
       “War will do strange things to a man,” Tom said. “Hell, there’s a fellow in town who fought and came back all nervous and always shaking. He took to hiring whores to tie him to a bed and put scorpions all over his body while he’s lying there naked.”
       Calamaro squinted. “Naked?”
       “Yes sir. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t like that before the war. That’s what I heard. Maybe I’m wrong and maybe he was always a bit crazy.”
       “I’ve noticed that every man has some sort of dirty desire they like to keep hidden,” Calamaro said.
       Tom laughed. “Still, it’s damn queer. I’m glad I didn’t get wrapped up in the fighting. The hell if I was going to risk my ass for something like that.”
       “Sometimes a man don’t got a choice. Everyone around you doing something, you