Free Peckerwood by Jedidiah Ayres Page A

about to broach. “Now, Sheriff, I ain’t pointing fingers, but if you have any complaints about molested animals, pets and such around town, you let me know. I’ll look real close at the boy. You know how they go there for a few years.”
    His smile returned and he added, “How’s your family? Thought I saw your little one round here a while back.”
    There was a tap of the horn from Cal’s truck outside. Terry waved him in from the front window. Cal left the car running and came in the front door, making the bells jingle. He skipped a beat when he saw the sheriff, but nodded gentleman-like at Sylvi and said, “Ma’am.”
    “Give me five dollars,” said Terry. Cal didn’t ask why, just handed over the dampest, limpest Lincoln Terry’d ever handled.
    He paid for the magazine and on his way out the door he called to Mondale, “If you see her, tell her that I thought she looked good, Sheriff. Real good.” He winked. “I bet they make you proud.”
    Some days were just beautiful.
     
    Terry’s freedom from the oppressive bonds of employment had given the world a rosy hue. After he filed for unemployment, Cal drove them back to The Gulch to get their shit straight.
    “I’m telling you bro, Branson’s full of rich faggots.” Cal did most of his best thinking after a couple of pitchers. “I’m telling you we need to find us one and squeeze him.”
    Terry took the high road for once and didn’t touch that one. “How do you suggest we do that?”
    “We just find one that’s well to do and got sense enough not to want his habits known and then threaten if he don’t give us a bunch of money that we’ll tell everybody he’s limber of butthole.”
    “Uh-huh.” Terry turned it over for a few minutes then said, “And why would anybody believe us?”
    “We’ll have pictures.”
    Terry did not like this development. “Count me out. I may be pretty, but I ain’t going to seduce any pervert no matter how much money he’s got.” He killed his mug and poured some more. “And I sure as hell don’t feature taking any pictures of your hairy nuts on some dude’s chin.” Terry shuddered at the image he’d just given himself.
    Cal choked on his Bud, a thin trickle escaped his nostril and lost itself in the stubble of his upper lip. “Don’t even say it, man. It ain’t even like that.” Cal wiped his mouth and nose on the shoulder of his shirt, as the sleeves had been trimmed away long ago when Cal’s upper arms had a bit more in the way of defining features. “Nah, there’s this place, this bar where they all get together and pretend it’s normal. I seen it once.”
    “I believe it.”
    “Listen to me, all we gotta do is get some good pictures of somebody inside.”
    “What’ll that prove?”
    “What country do you live in? It’ll look plenty queer and that’s all we’ll need.”
    Terry leaned back in his seat. He felt himself slipping into deep thought so he took another shot to nip that in the bud. “Huh.”
     
    CHOWDER
     
    Hettie’d gone to fat years ago, but she still had it. When she turned over, the sheet slipped off her hip. Chowder looked at the serpent inked into her side, faded now and stretched some, it coiled round betwixt her bosoms and under the right one then down her ribs, hooking on the hip, tracing the hitch of her ass cheek, passing between her legs and up so that her inner thigh featured the head, fangs bared and ready to take your dick off. He reached out and smacked her ass hard. The cellulite jiggle might’ve lasted forever, but she sprang up out of slumber and coldcocked him instinctively.
    “Ow, fucker.”
    Chowder frowned and rubbed his jaw. “Who you calling fucker, cow?”
    “Pencil dick.”
    “Bitch.” He pulled the sheet down exposing his own inked torso and grabbed his penis. He squeezed it and wagged it at her. Hettie punched him in the stomach, then got on her knees on the bed and bent over, taking him in her mouth. Chowder let go of himself and ran