Free Peckerwood by Jedidiah Ayres

His face looked like ground beef that had maybe been stepped on a little bit. His nose had broken, but he’d had worse, and his missing tooth added an extra wicked dimension to his smile. The swelling pulled his skin tight and the bruising turned shades of purple and high-yellow before settling into a baby-shit brown, but the truth was he looked far worse than he felt. He’d passed out chuckling while that big dyke beat on him, offering nothing but token defense. The earful he’d gotten from Beth after Wendell’d taken her car again was more unpleasant than the whuppin.
    He didn’t bother checking with the plant, as he was sure his job was forfeit by Wednesday, so Thursday he went looking for Cal again. He was pretty sure his pal had the keys to his truck and for that oversight would buy at least the first round.
    Before his walk, he showered, shaved and put on fresh jeans and tucked a neatly rolled t-shirt into his back pocket. When he got to town, he put the shirt on and stepped into the drug store. He nodded to Sylvi at the cash register and proceeded to the newsstand. He grabbed a girly rag then made his way to the phone. He dropped a quarter in the slot. He knew the number by heart.
    “Yeah?”
    “Cal Dotson there?”
    “Hold on.” From the far end, he heard the clunk of a receiver hitting the counter and a far away voice call, “Dotson. Phone call.” Another voice said “Who is it?” and was answered, “Don’t be giving out this number, asshole. Gonna cut you off.”
    He heard the fumbling sound of the receiver lifted and then, “Yeah?”
    “It’s me.”
    “Terry?”
    “You got the keys to my chariot?”
    “Oh, shit.”
    “Yeah no shit, oh shit. Come get me.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Blaylock Drug.”
    “Why aren’t you at work?” Terry didn’t answer. He let him think about it a minute. “Oh, shit. Yeah, yeah I’ll be right over.”
    He hung up and leaned back against the wall, opening Swank . Terry thumbed over to the letters section and rolled his eyes while he read one about a guy who caught the neighbor ballin his old lady, so he goes over and fucks the neighbor’s wife and then the four of them started getting together for group gropes. He wondered if it was a true story. Probably not.
    Every time he picked up a smut piece, first thing, he scoured it for signs of Ponch’s work. Ponch always signed different names, but used certain phrases and words in all of his work as a sort of signature. He found nothing resembling the Mexican scribe in Swank .
    He felt the disapproving eyes of Sylvi on him from across the store and looked up. She was pretending to do busy work, stocking gum and dusting fixtures, but she shot him glances every few seconds to let him know he was being watched.
    From the front of the store came the bell sound announcing someone entering. Sylvi spoke up, for Terry’s benefit, no doubt. “Mornin, Sheriff.”
    Terry smiled, putting his tongue into the previously toothy void and licking his lips. He looked up and saw the sheriff pacing through the store, coming straight toward him, far as he could tell. Here he comes, thought Terry, King Fucker can’t quite smell the princess on me, but he knows something is different.
    Mondale gave Terry a slow nod, “You look like you saw your wife recently.”
    Terry’s smile was harmless, but his eyes were radioactive.
    The sheriff passed him by, on his way to the refrigerated drinks, “You give Beth my best, if you see her.”
    “Sure, thing, Sheriff. Likewise,” he added with a salacious wink at the sheriff’s back.
    Mondale seemed tense, but he turned around and nodded with cautious geniality at Terry. “How is your family, Hickeson?”
    “Oh real good, Sheriff, thanks for asking. My boy, he’s about that age now, sticks his pecker in any keyhole he can find. I try and teach him safe sex, though. Be careful of splinters, I always say.” He dropped his smile as indication of the seriousness of the subject he was