Studville

This may seem very familiar to those who read the "Bird Shooting" series. This was planned as the original end but, in the interval, it was sold an the purchaser liked the other ending but this is my favourite. Yes, there's no sex here but if you like off shoots of sex, you may be happy. \

The title refers to the name of the town no one could ever get the authorites to acknowledge although it was pointed  out that towns with names such as "Intercourse" were alive and well and in Pennsylvania.

I'm curious as to how you might cast this, who would play whom. No women and no ethnics....the purchaser had problems with that but it was pointed out in places like this, women may have been in residence but were out of sight. 

Okay, you may wonder how a story that contains as much homosexual behavior can be accepted for a picture? Simple, I can and did, remove virtually all the sex from a projected screen play and...the story of Jon/Bill still hangs together nicely. 

I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

An unfeeling Neuro Surgeon just extended my sentence by three months so I would imagine there's more to come. Particularly the fi

The final part of " Catwalk on the Prairie should be done this week...:

Thanks to all of you who've read and, one hopes, been entertained.

The road had to the corner where I turned had changed; It got worse. How the fuck is that possible? There should be lines of white crosses all up and down marking where weather and the county maintenance crews had performed their reverse magic of making the bad worse and then worse, Godawful.; Those crosses marking death and maiming done by their lack of effort. I pulled into the opening that had once led to a rickety farm house, couple of out buildings and the place where, knowing what was coming, was a good place to get out and shake the weasel or have piss flicked out of you by the road nobody much takes. The road that leads me home to my Dad, to my town to a part of my life that I will never forget and sometimes find it hard to remember. 

About the only thing that even suggested permanence were the bits and pieces of the sign that once advertised that Five miles ahead there was a Mac Donalds. Funny, I don't know one person who ever went on down to see if there was a burger joint, Mac Donalds or not. Now, the sign didn't say much of anything between jokers and kids driving by shooting it up, trying to tip it over, hit it with their pickups. Gotta say this for whoever put that sign there, it was meant to be there for the loooong haul. Yes sir. I threw it a salute  just because I figured it deserved some respect after the hell it had seen. 

From the sign I could look down my road to wherever I was going, the town, there, the one we named some while back and either the state or the county or some asshole still didn't have it on a map or a road sign, not even a turn sign with no indication of where you went if you turned. Gotta laugh. Holy Sheeit. You just gotta laugh, what else to do? 

For the sake of tradition, I pulled out my cock, sprayed the weeds again and then...left it out. Got my barracks cap out of my pocket, pulled down, got the shades, turned over the engine, did a slow roll to cross the road-looking out for what? Traffic? I must be fucking nuts and then down our road, the one nobody took much. 

Just like all the men, I put one boot up on the speedometer, kept the toe of the other on the gas, steered with one thumb, or, if could get it hard enough-and sometimes I could- try and steer it with my cock. Not today. Nope, Not tooday, wasn't cock driving time but this was the place for cocks, fuck, we named the team The Cocks. Some jerk once bet us we wouldn't play a whole inning with our cocks hanging out-we did and now there's not a cherry left on their team. Local boy, local team only from about 50 miles away so they knew the legends and the stories. Those about the Cocks and their winning ways, their wild ways and the murderer who started it all.

I laughed to myself....the murderer who started it all, well, that's me, Bill Constant, Son to Billy Constant, Sheriff of whatever he wants to be Sheriff    Bill, me, the man who shot two men, one his father, so good there were holes in both of them, made good eating for the Vultures and the Coyotes.

(Some shit head from a town we stomped said our team name should be The Vultures. The way we picked over the dead, the limping, the damaged, the bruised....Buzz, he's the Cocks coach, said he liked it best when after the game, everybody on the field, and some in the stands had at least a shiner. Sometimes two. You may have heard about school boy ball games but have you heard about small town school boy/men ball games? most of the guys have hair on their chest and their nuts and age...well, that's a sometimes thing if anyone cares to get techical. Take me, I started the second half of my Sophomore year when I was probably, best we can figure, late 18, early 19. Graduated when I was oh, about 21 and top of my class, A+ In every fucking subject. Course, only two men got less than A-'s. So top of the class was just an honor to me for being the head Stud just like my Dad had been before me. Don't get to thinking we were bizarre or anything, no horse hung and balls like a bull-everyone kept theirs shaved-but because by weight and measure we were the largest. Fuck, Dad and I, individually, could pump out on an average day, three shot glasses full and if that doesn't sound like much, you try it.  I was bigger balled but Dad had me in the cock department. Not by much but just enough to make me proud, give me something to look up to. look down to hold on to go down on and only my big hands could go completely around it...you should feel it up your ass as I did often. It was the E ticket ride. And then some. 

I slowed down a touch not that it made much difference in the road...only time I'd been down it when it didn't feel like riding on dead rock was when Serge, the Judge, came to town and let me drive his Lincoln. (Shot him, too, meant to, I'm just that kinda guy I guess. Actually, shot him and two hired guns on the same day so, lets see, that makes my first father, only he wasn't, the Judge actually was, (my real father that is) one of the town secrets, back up, Dad's one and two plus the hied guns...that makes four. That we talked about.) See? Now that's how all these stories and rumors get started. Like the day I shot the judge. We'd all been out helping Shep Collyer with his branding and steering of his calves and some fool thought it would be studly to brand the Judge so they grabbed him up, took him to the pit where the branding irons were and....then stuck a thick yellow page book down his britches before they struck the iron. Now that's what really happened but the fucking rumor got started that Billy, my third, and still living Dad, happy to say, got pissed off and really did brand him but when he called Dad a faggot cocksucker, well I did what any son would do and plugged him.

Shep heard that one a couple of times too many, slapped his heavy leather working gloves on his ass and just turned away. All he ever said was, no fucking way was that anywhere close and, besides, Billy shot the Judge first then I put the hole in him with the over under double barrel fully choked shotgun that happened to be laying beside me where I'd been flattened out with my Winchester picking off the shit heads who'd come to town to kill me and the judge. See how these things get all twisted? Now, if you lived here, you might know something of the truth but...aw fuck, who cares that was years ago. 

Buzz had heard that one a few times too and, frankly, he was both pissed off and a bit put out. After all, he'd been playing the Sheriff, that'd be my Dad, down by the car some of my guys wrecked and then pulled across the road so he could pull over the out of town heat. People think he didn't do much? Fuckin' A he did a bunch. He's smiling, playing small town Sherriff in front of two guys who are packing major heat and keep his cool. Also, because we had him miked, he was the one to say "Gun" which was my signal to play sniper and pick the two off, shot 'em right at the base of their skull,  then jump out of the way when the car they were in jumped the road almost taking him with it. After that, while Dad and I are up on the hill shooting the Judge, he and my team are pushing all the cars down the side of the road, setting fire and it was Buzz who climbed in the cab of the car the heat was driving and not only set them on fire with gas,....or maybe it was Kerosene...but stuck BIG, we're talking horse cock size here, fire crackers up their asses so there wouldn't be much of anything once the fire cooled...in a few days. Just to be on the safe side, whoever had to go that way took a five gallon can of whatever was around that burned, poured it over the carcasses of the cars, and the men, lit it and went on to whatever they set out to do.

Now that's what happened. After a while it was almost impossible to see where anything, burned or not, had been. Felt sorry about the Vultures though, when I shot to kill, there was usually fresh meat for them so, the next week, I found the tree where they were and brought down a lame steer-he didn't have a chance anyway- so they got fed. 

There'd been loose talk about our road, the road nobody much drove, maybe improve it? But, sheeit, why? Kept away folks we didn't want and the guys from the stores met their suppliers up at Sign corner, that's what we called it and I'm sure you can see why, so .....what good to spend God knows how much money to improve something that was almost dead anyway? With one exception. The last hundred feet, just before you got to the only stop sign, not light, the big red stop sign in town, was paved with bricks to match the main street, all, maybe, five hundred feet of it with the same six street lights, three on either side of the intersection.

Outside Cal's barber shop, bless his heart, he's gone now, got took doing Randy Shefffields crew cut or maybe it was a high n tight, Cal just did whatever he remembered to on the spur of the moment. Every man in town looked oddly alike, least where hair was concerned. Or, you could buy your own set of clippers and what all then cut your own hair. Frankly, having seen the results, I let Cal do mine as did my Dad as did almost everyone else. Young Cal, well, he never learned to cut which was a mercy as he had won the title of town drunk years before. His Dad did a nice thing-put a good sized comfortable bench outside his shop so young Cal had a place to sleep if he forgot how to go upstairs to where they lived. 

Actually, that bench set off a regular Town Beautification Project. More benches, some brick flower holders, nice trees, good sized ones that got decorated at Christmas and, like I said, that fully bricked street. Some who actually came to town, like the families of guys who played our Cock Teams for their away games, always looked at our main street funny, said it was awfully fancy for a no-account place like ours....and just shook their heads, wandered off and figured all people really back in the stix were nuts. 

Now, quick like, I'll tell you about that street and why we were real glad to have visitors to come play. This is another of those secrets that some knew, some thought they knew and others, well, they were just fucked up confused. It's like this. Before I came to town and was adopted by Billy, I'd lived in the city with my second dad who was a very polite, very successful hit man for the mob. Called him a torpedo and, since he was proud of his abilities, taught his son, me, how to do all of them. Lie, cheat, steal, shoot, made me into a sniper himself. Give me a gun and there wasn't much I couldn't do with it. That man was proud...Uhm Hum. He taught me to read, math, write, read some more, from the time I was six or seven I went to the gym with him and as time went on and I grew up, well, he'd got me into real good shape. Not body builder, no nothing like that but when I took my clothes off to swim, you could tell under that quiet man, there was a body and a half. 

Guess you need to know this too; Dad liked his sex with men so...figuring in a pinch it was a way for me to earn a couple of bucks, he got a buddy of his who was a professional male ho to come take my cherry then teach me how to do it. All of it. When Phillippe-his real name, not the "Joe" he went by, wasn't around and that Dad wasn't getting ready for a job, he'd fuck me or suck me or whatever. You need to understand, I loved him and, after the first little bit, which Phillippe warned me would hurt, I got to like it myself. Actually, I guess I liked it better than he did cuz I'd slip into him, we slept together, during the night and ride that pony. I could tell he liked it by the noises  and the seeping from his "pointer" as he called his dick. 

Actually under very strict circumstances, Phillippe would take me out and present me as a virgin who was his kid but they were broke. Christ, how he sold that act, another thing I learned, how to believe what you're saying even if it's a crock. Anyway, he'd find some dude who had more money than sense and we'd go by his place and, after Phillippe wrapped his arms around me, tears flowing, I went with the stupe and let him 'take my cherry', That was a quick grand and, if he wanted to suck my little boy dick that was another grand. Dad at home got some of the take as did I which is how he taught me thrift; Always be aware of the money you make for yourself and hang onto it. Lesson learned. One of many, many lessons he taught me, all of them solid and not one of them less than useful at some point in my life. 

The Joker to his Batman-I guess that makes me Robin-was the Judge. Time went on and they got to hate each other because I was the Judge's natural son by a very expensive hooker who said she couldn't get knocked up. Well, a rising judge did not need a working girl to stand beside him but he also didn't need a kid that he couldn't explain. Back then, Dad one hadn't got in tight with the mob, just did some jobs, strong arm stuff, little lead not up to sniper but that was coming. Three days after I was born Dad One was hauled into court and....the Judge had a brain wave, this was a nice looking guy, not much of a rap sheet, as a judge he could control, he thought, what he did and so they had a meeting in chambers. How I wish there had been a court recording of that. At that time it probably seemed a good idea for everyone; Dad one got out of whatever trouble he was in and the judge made him my father thinking he had control of it all. He didn't but wouldn't find that out for some while. 

Jump way ahead. Dad One has fucked up big time, I mean not only missed his shot but left evidence that went the wrong way. The guys who bought his services on this one were hot but...for a little bit, said nothing. In what must have been a desperate move, he told me all about it and what he begged me to do. Whatever the circumstance, all those years, and however it may sound, he'd been damn fine to me. I had to go along with it. He had a distant relative, really distant, so distant that when he finally got through  to him it took more than a minute to double jog his memory but he finally did remember. Based on almost no time and family, Dad one said he had a new gun and could he bring his son and they'd all go shoot birds. Fine with him, he could always use the meat and so we went out, my first time past the corner and down the little traveled road and, after only gettting lost six or eight times, found Jake's place. Nice guy and by the time we showed up, had talked himself into remembering us quite well. And, when we got out of the car, we looked good. Well dressed well spoken and, of course his son. 

Time wasn't going backwards, it was running backwards; We knew the guys were down on this and the hit on Dad one was up. That night at Jake's, we fucked each other and I slept with his dick in my mouth. Gotta say, the men in my line, real or given to me by adoption, all tasted better than any other. 

Well, first thing, right after dawn, the first time you can legally shoot, we were out in the fields theoretically looking for birds-in our camel hair overcoats and double breasted custom made suits we didn't exactly look like seasoned hunter; If this bothered Jake, he didn't show it. I picked the place, made it easier on him, then shot him while Jake thought he saw a covey rising. Word travels fast and his death got to the guys who were looking for him ready to start by cutting off his nuts and then working him over. At least he was at peace in a field, even if the vultures and the coyotes did finally eat the corpse. 

Maybe that was just as well, in certain ways, saved everybody a great lot of trouble. That's also how I got Billy for my last, Jesus I hope he's the last, Dad. The judge got screwed because Dad one had all the money in trust for me and, when I had Billy adopt me, he got access to it and the judge, well, I asked him to be my Godfather so I could keep an eye on him. Something said all that money was too great a target for a man who's name shouldn't have been Serge, but Greed. Long story short, I was right, another lesson from Dad One, if there's money and some son of a bitch thinks it should be his, one day he's going to try and get it. The Judge, the Lincoln, the visit.....guess he thought it was come and get it time and, you know, that proved to be true. Yes, he was my real sperm donating father but he was also a fucker and when he made his move, I shot him. End of story and the money stayed with Billy, my last Dad, and me. 

Better than Main street, was our school, everything from Kindergarten to graduate you as a Senior. Over time, it got better, bigger and, for the few schools who ever bothered to come play our teams, the finest, grade AAA sports facilities around. A grand stand that held not only our town, but the people from the visiting team's town plus the pavillion where everyone got to know one another and also, say it was Spring, the Football guys rode herd on possible fights between representatives of the two team. Playing football? You got it, the B'ball boys are returning the favor and word got around double quick you did NOT fuck around with any of our teams. Just to underscore how welcome we wanted the teams to feel, our scoreboard, completely electrified and able to shoot off quite a nice fireworks display when we scored, didn't say "Visitors", no, friendly, it said "Guests".

Under the fields, well, when we were tearing them up to redo them, it just seemed a good place, we put the gyms, weight room, -no diving-locker rooms for our guys and the visitors-who were stunned. Fuck, those locker rooms looked more like something a Pittsburgh Steeler or Boston Red Sox would feel comfortable in than a bunch of yahoo school boys out in the middle of no where in particular. Almost like a club, we may try and beat the shit out of you on the field but once you entered the locker room, it was all good natured, towel popping, great showers, good trainers, hell, bring your Dads. Kinda hoped you would. What would an almost club like this be if it didn't have a gents card room, locker room for the men and a bar. See, that card room, and some of our other fund raising endeavors paid for just about everything you saw. I'd learned how to hustle suckers out of almost anything and, to me, cards or dice were just what a kid does. At least the kids I grew up with and...we used real money-kept a stack of hundreds in the safe at home so when friends dropped by for a game, no one needed go to the bank.

I ran the locker rooms, the card rooms, the gents club like one off Vegas. No one encouraged you to wager, fact is, sometimes you had to push to even get a hand of Rummy, much less poker, up and running. 

Oh, and one more thing we quietly added; We knew teams came a long way to play us-further as our reputation rapidly grew-so we put in a sort of up scale bunk house for the guys and nice rooms, three to a place, for their Dads and coaches. Knowing you didn't have to nurse a black eye and some major bruising plus drive home that night made us a popular site and teams from schools six, eight times as large as ours came to play. Both on and off the field. Fact is, we arranged sort of family weekends, more like father/sons but we had the space, had the reputation of being real good on the hospitality end and...then some one said they got a might tired of almight poke and what about a Craps table? Just like the two Dad and I had been keeping two in the barn where I used to have my hidey hole. Five of my team, and their fathers, had been trained to be stick men and run the game but it all looked friendly and it was. No smart ass bow ties, just whatever you were wearing, change made at the table, no credit cards but only because we were so isolated that getting the lines up for a bank or whoever, just didn't work. 

Sam was sitting around his front porch, hoping that new cowhand from Slims place might mosey by when he had an idea; We could charter our own bank....take some of the money I had in trust in the city which got us our FDIC credentials then, quietly, put it in a corner sorta near but not by the crap tables, the poker tables and all with the idea if you needed a spare fifty for gas or whatever, well, we were open pretty much most of the time and, of course, always would open for a friend...particularly if they were buying in at one of the tables. And that's how we paid for all that fancy paid street, decorations and what not down town. We kept our locker room/guest house/casino open about 18 hours a day, cept when there was a game being played and, before that, you could stick your head in to the odds room and get the line on almost every game in the country, not county. Pro, amateur, sometimes even the bigger horse races. Dad wanted to stay away from prize fights, said they attracted the wrong kind of folks and, since I'd seen the "folks" in the city knew he was right. 

To keep it looking legit, if you had a kid playing anytime during the year, well, you were more than welcome to drop in "on your way home" as it were. That's another reason we never, ever improved the road, it wasn't inviting so no one who was looking for a big money game bothered us. We handed out cards to all the players and their families in our league then expanded it to teams we might play maybe once every other year but...they all got cards and knew they were welcome. I do believe the guys got as much out of it as did their dads. 

Those bunk rooms were somewhat better than the description may suggest; We put up everyone's mascot, treated 'em fine and one time, even had a real dance in the pavillion. Found a band, course two or three bars, no cost, dinner if you wanted it, just a really nice evening. Husbands and wives who hadn't danced since their wedding got out and stumbled around but had a great time. We were approached about maybe having the Cock's proms there but Buzz, Sam, me, Billy, Jeb all could see the problems there. Still and all they deserved, specially the Seniors some sort of party. Fuck, there were only 72 students in all three upper grades so we made it a pool party in our back yard. Parents welcome but encouraged to stay back, just chaperoned from a distance. And that wasn't all.

Before the prom started, every man on our teams was taken down to the locker room and handed a good sized paper cup, about the size for a double coffee. They looked puzzled. We looked determined and explained, right here, in front of everybody they were going to drain themselves at least twice-we knew this would tire them and deflate their sperm count-and there was no prize who gave the most. However, we did hand out special Condoms that had printed on them, "I'm a Cocksman" . To this day, some guys, and their fathers who "asked if they could have a souvenir:" still have them beyond, of course, the ones we made them wear and, surprize! during the evening, the guys were quietly taken to one side and some adult looked down their pants just to see if all was still in order. One thing, we never said they had to wear underwear IF they wore the condoms...which they were going to do anyway.

On the road, just at the corner, I could see whatever business was, it was doing well and I would have put money that it all bloomed from those high school games. Thought back to high school, thought, after the mess of getting everyone dead that bothered me, I had a great time, first time I'd ever really been 'Young', jacked around, ran wild with no restraints for I wasn't doing anything that all the other guys weren't doing. Town was so small and there were so few of us, there could not be an in and an out group, you were just part of the team. As your little brother got bigger, in he came, learned what we did, got the same pleasure we got and never lacked for a friend just to be with or throw a ball or...whatever. 

Dad and I were sitting on our patio one hot day in late summer, just bull shitting, nothing much no issue until he reached over and rubbed my chest. "Do ya comb it or brush it?" we both laughed. A little silence. "Son, I know you and the guys are having one helluva time, we made so much money...but much as I hate for it to end, Son, you're done with high school." Then he was quiet and looked at me. By scooting up my head I could look down my chest toward my cock and...he had a point. Didn't seem like just yesterday when I'd whined about not having hair on my chest like Dad, well, no worries there. From just at my clavicle to well past my nuts, almost around back, I was furry. Not to much that my body was hidden but also it was more than obvious I was a grown man. Fact was, the last baseball season some of the coaches for the other teams had 'suggested' I looked a might old for school boy sports. They were right but you couldn't take me out of the game just because I had hairy arm pits. Or a crotch that almost concealed a good looking pair or nuts and a lengthy schlong. Still, a few comments this year could turn into stronger demands next year then it would get ugly and our team would get a spotlight it really neither wanted nor needed.

Jeb sauntered around the corner, possibly looking for Buzz, maybe looking for us or maybe just to jump in-it was one hot day. Dad and I were under the awning which kept most of the sun away but did nothing to cool anyone down. That hair on me? Well about then sweat had pretty much plastered it to me, Dad as well. Jeb was the leader as we all hopped in just enjoying the sudden cool. 

"Hey, Jeb, how old you think you are?"

He didn't look puzzled, just thinking of a way to figure it out. "Well, Bill and I were soph'mores an I was about, maybe fourteen or so? I think then I've done played three football seasons, two baseball-had to take on off that time I pulled an Achilles Tendon so, lets see, fourteen plus three footballs 'n we had that birthday party, member Bill?, in March so I guess I'm pret near 18. Sir, speakin' a that, can I get all a us a cold one?" Dad waved him out of the pool and over to the refrigerators. Out here, on account of the glass, it was cans, not long necks.

While Jeb tried to figure out how to carry six cans-he planned ahead, Dad got me by the edge, put a hand on my shoulder, "Son, I think that makes you at least...21? Cuz I knew when you started school out here you was no 14, probably 18 and, fuck it don't matter worth sour apple shit but I think you better hurry up quick and grad U Ate. You and Jeb and a coupla others. 

Jeb lined up six of them, grabbed a towel, wet it, then put it over the cans. Wouldn't replace a fridge but it would keep 'em a little cool. "Hey, son, Bill an me was just talkin' and figurin some numbers an...I think theys some of you who done graduated, gotta let the new men play...." 

He was selling it hard and I knew why, For years, Jeb and Buzz had quietly been keeping  company is the best way to say it, didn't quite live together but six nights out of seven, if I needed Jeb or Buzz, I didn't have to think too hard on where to look. Jeb's dad, Sam, was the deputy and enjoyed a wandering eye for flesh male and female. Sheb Collyer said when the rut was on, he had to keep Sam way away from everything. But that worked out in that Sam had no problems with his son and Buzz being lovers, cuz that's what they were, and Jeb was happy for his father, even to bringing new meat home if he happened to spot a cowboy or someone dumb enough to come down our road that looked like Sam should offer him a beer...

Jeb put his head down on the edge of the pool, his face away from us which muffled what he said but we heard him. "What about Buzz....?:"

"Well She-it, kid, Buzz ain't gonna grad u ate, he's already..."  I put my hand over his mouth. 

"Jeb, how long have I been your best, your closest, THE one in your life?"

"I spect...ever since you come to town."

"Right, ever since I came to town and do you think for one fucking moment I'm not going to be your friend just because ol shit ass over there is gonna make us graduate?" Dad suppressed a smile, he caught my drift. "Am I gonna haveta fuck some sense into you? Right here? Or'd you prefer my Dad do it, he's got the biggest dick...?"

Dad sorta floated over, drew Jeb to his chest. " Nobody wants you happier than me and Bill here and the very last thing we want you to do, ever, is give him up just like yer never gonna give up a best friend called Bill now aint that about right?" Jeb was almost there but Buzz as his coach and his bed mate went together like sheets and mattresses. Dad was getting a little annoyed. He needed both of us to lead the band of guys who were going to graduate and he couldn't have that band lead through Buzz's bedroom. I got to him before Dad did.

"Jeb, nothing changes but you need to know...things don't stay exactly the same: Member when we put up the tower so we could have a little televsion and our own phone system? Well, that didn't change anything, just made it better. (I neglected to mention so we could also get the morning line on games, races, whatever and wherever a wager might amuse you to make. With us.) Not having to go to school just means you'l have more time to.....ah...." God Bless Dad, he walked the idea right through the door and the plate glass mirror that I was stuck at.

"Hey, son, I guess I gotta tell ya and  spoil the surprise..." for me too..."yer Dad an I figgered without you we'd only have half a coach so, now that you don't have ta go to school.....you can be the assistant coach.! Permanent! " I slipped below the water, my eyes closed in gratitude to the best dad a man ever had. Jeb wouldn't have minded it but why I had suddenly gone down on my father might have required some explanation, I was grateful enough I would have. On the side, chonked him a beer and in two gulps, got around one myself. Jeb was in heaven and required no alcohol so Dad and I finished up the last two. 

"Assistant Coach.....! I, I can be beside him on the side lines an help and tell what things mean...(It was an open secret on our teams that great a guy as Buzz was, he had only limited skills at coaching. That no one noticed was because we were so unified ourselves that just watching a Pro game, was his teaching tool. Before the mast, Buzz would get tapes and we'd all watch them, rewind, watch them again and learned. To the extent that one day as I was walking off the field after a surprisingly series of plays that got us a touch down, I heard a visiting coach say to his assistant...."Ya know....Fred, think, we've seen that play before...haven't we?" Fred sort of looked dumb and I went on. I could have paused and explained if they'd got hold of some old tapes and watched Staubach and the Cowboys win another one, they'd know where it came from. See, this is where Buzz was sensationally smart; While most coaches were having their guys watch the NFL shit from last week, Buzz had isolated the good stuff from games long since forgotten that's what made him a brilliant coach, that he could see what would work not that he had guys running plays in and out. If he couldn't coach in the more accepted way, he could watch and analze to a crossed t and dotted i. Nobody, and I am dead serious, could watch something so mundane and turn it into a play...even if he wasn't too sure what to do; We did and gave him full great for this brilliant play. To listen to our huddles you might hear, 'okay, Gabriel, Oakland, third quarter.' Probably our favorite was Broadway Joe Namath but Buzz looked more for the highly technical players and not just quarterbacks, tight ends and the offensive team. Down to every player, he culled through films that only worked for one guy but, when executed, worked seamlessly in the over all. A common comment from the opponents coaching staff was, "where the fuck did that come from?" The answer, 'Steelers '76' wouldn't have answered their question.

Jeb was up and out of the pool doubtless on his way to see Buzz who hadn't heard about his new forever assistant but, God I hoped, wouldn't fumble this one. "Think he shoulda put his shorts on?"

"Nah, it ain't that far and 'sides, everyone back to sign corner has seen him running to Buzz one time or another. Jist another satisfied customer, a courtesy yer County Mounty."

"Dad, you made one man, awful happy, where you came up with that...."

"Hell, son, tweren't nothin'. Just said out loud what he does already 'cept now, he won't have to go out and play and still be the assistant. Want another? I'm about sunned out...lets go on in see what's on the televison."

There wasn't anthing but given the very limited service our mini tower and power source provided, we were pretty much used to that. I dropped by the shower, got the chlorine off, dried down then wandered back in to where Dad was in the two matching recliners. One of them even turned into a bed-our spare room having been given over to many things, a bed not being one of them. 

"What about you? Now that you're graduated, you gotta find somethin' to do, got any plans?" I flopped back let my legs spread, scratched my nuts...

"Shep said he could use a pair of good strong hands, do some work there, be down in the locker room seeing to that."

"Yeup, you shore could do that. Fuck, that place is taking in more money than the county treasurer in taxes." (Billy in what had seemed a gesture of graciousness had started refusing to accept his salary asking only that it be distributed between the Volunteer Fire Departments and First Responder; In places such as ours, the cost to run a 'regular' department would have been overwhelming. Billy people hadn't realized until this gesture, didn't make all that much so giving it up, and with a new son, had real depth and meaning. It was accepted practice that when one of the ladies spotted his pants or a shirt that was more a collection of holes, they'd have him slip out of them, on the spot, and return them when certain corrections had been made. Knowing that he and I had more than enough money may make his offer seem less generous but those it helped didn't know about his wealthy murdering son and so his salary, less than 20k a year, was considered a huge contribution

There was something, Dad knew it, I knew it but...I hated like thunder to bring it up, I fucking loved my Dad so much that the thought of separation was really hard. I'd already gunned down two dads and while that didn't even seem an option...(I thought of an old song lyric, 'I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy..')

I looked up,  rolled up in the chair, got my feet on the floor, my elbows on the table and my head in my hands....

"Dad, a long time ago I made you a promise and it's about time to keep it...a fore I get to old and they won't take me...." 

Six years, six interesting, fascinating, frightening, condensed, precise, intentionally painful years and now I was at the corner and there was still no fucking name for my town. Of course, the team name, The Cocks was everywhere, I expected that but the name of our town? I guess you had to live there to know it.

It was almost dusk about when I wanted to arrive. Carefully slid my truck along side the house, got out and slow walked down until my right shoulder was almost to the door, not quite, but almost. Nice night, only door closed was the screen. Inside I could hear Dad rustling papers, swearing, dropping them...start back. For just a few minutes more I wanted to be the outsider watching my family, my Dad, live without me, still be the son loved, missed thought about...just not there. The silence of oncoming night was not a covering but a curtain about to rise on one life and descend on another.

Quietly tapped my boot heel against the bottom of the aluminium frame. I could hear Dad stir, thinking he might have heard something but...no. I smiled to myself. I'd picked up some stones when I parked the truck and tossed one of them way out front, just barely made a sound. Again, I could tell he was pissed cuz he did and did not think he heard something and, fuck it, he was the sheriff and he was supposed to hear things. Guess I'd give him something to hear.

I had to breathe, think about my Dad, the man inside, the man who had seen me in six years, didn't know what happened...sent me off to his beloved Corps and... I disappeared. Spoke to him once or twice but over six years....

Gave the bottom of the door a good tap with my heel and said, "Hey Dad, wanta share a long neck?" This time there was an eruption of things falling, papers wadding themselves....

"Bill, Son,is that you?" He came out the door so strong I was amazed it didn't get ripped off. Stood there and looked at me. '

"Hey Dad, you got room for one muscled up jarhead...?" I almost didn't survive his onslaught. I was grabbed, held so strong that we were both on the way down until, laughing, I rolled him over in the dust, stood up ...."Member what I promised you? Bring you home your own A-1 muscled up Jarhead Marine..." 

He sat there on the ground and just bawled. Couldn't help it. Seemed easier so I squatted down, took him in my arms, held him, kissed him, eased him up. "I think we  need some long necks.:"

He just stared at me as we went inside. I was home, his, home his son, the thing he loved best. Reached in the fridge to get a beer and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. Noticed that there'd been a mistake, "Well fuck that ain't it....:" Finally got the beers and, as we had for years sat at the table, I leaned back, popped a bicep with one arm and drained the beer with the other. He just sat there, eyes brimming with every emotion that spelled happiness one way or the other. 

"Ya little pissant, why'd n't you call, let me know....?"

"Cuz I made a promise to my Dad and you know, when it comes to you I always keep my promises," I lifted both arms, put them behind my bull neck and gave him the double biceps, popped the muscles around my neck...'just like I promised my Dad, one Muscled up Jarhead Marine. Just like his old man." He was so rattled he took my empty got lost in what to do with it and handed it back to me. To make it easier, I walked around the table and hooked out two for me and two for him. Got seated again and, just like back in the barracks, swung one boot on the table and stuck a hand down my camis. "Hey, Dad, it's fuckin' good to be home." I saw a question...

"When do you...."

"Don't, finished. Gave 'em two plus four more, I am fucking done but, you know, I'm always gonna be a Marine...just like my Dad" and spontaneously we both did the HooRah. He smiled. There's something I've been missing for a long time."

"Yeah, I kinda figgured cuz I've been missing it too.:" He stood up, I put one hand on his shoulder and without looking at each other, walked toward the bedroom. But then he punched me out to the extent that I was eating floor wax. I knew better than to get up, he had something stuck in him and now he was going to let it rip. 

"Six fucking years....Six fucking years you been gone, never seen you only heerd from you now and again. Why son? Why? doncha love me anymore?" I knew this was serious and the explanation...was going to be tough on him. He stood there tears in his eyes, not understanding, just devastated that I was home but...he'd given up, probably a long time ago. How long had it been since he'd even heard my voice? Two years? Three? There was a good reason but...

"You want me to skedaddle on out? That work for you? I'm sorry Dad, so sorry but...."

He fell to the floor beside me. "No son, no, I don't ever wanta lose you again but when I thought you'd left me....I jist hadda..."

I took him in my arms and just held him. "Dad you were in the Corps...think...think....what would they do with someone like me? No point in having me march around Pendleton all day or maybe go to Benning and jump...Dad, remember, you know this, I came with talent....lots of special talents." Looking him in the eye, I tried to bring back memories, bodies on the ground, bodies in a car on fire....shooting my own natural father...but I couldn't tell him, he had to come to realize it. 

He plunked hard beside me on the wood floor, my tight, muscled ass and his still slightly tight Marine ass....He looked at me..."How many?" I looked down at the floor. 

"Doesn't matter, not now."

"Son how many, you gotta tell me.. "

I started to get up, avoid the question but he grabbed the web belt around my waist and pulled me back. His face was frightened, he had to look at me but also he wanted an answer. It was a move I hadn't expected or, easy, I could have slipped it. He had me on my belly, one arm cruelly pulled back, a knee up my crotch ready to go into my nuts if I didn't answer. He knew that maybe even pain wouldn't work...now but it was his only hope. My cheek was on the floor, my mouth almost distorted. He grabbed my head and slammed it into the floor. He didn't speak, he growled. "How many did they make you killl?" Slammed me again, gave my nuts one powerful knee....:"How many did they make you kill till they was sure you was a killer, always would be........" 

He knew, now. We were like models for a statue, absolutely calm, muscles bulging only difference being...models would be naked. Slowly he got up, paid me no attention just began to ramble...."They knew yer history, they knew you'd already killed, easy for you, fuck, you murdered your own flesh...no govenors on you. You were the killer they wanted and I .... sent....you off, I sent my son who promised me to be a Marine cuz his Dad was. I shoulda known they'd a done it, they'd a been damn fools if theyu didn't...." He turned. "Where'd they take you first, wasn'y any place most people heard of, no, not for what theywanted."

He turned and looked at me in abject horror...."How long they work you over until you could take it, whip you, precision tie you," there was a word, a word he knew buy couldn't say...I got slowly up from the floor, went to him, held him, put my lips by his ear.

"A long time, they're professional torturers cuz that's what they neede, needed me to be...Dad, you don't need to hear all this, you know it, at least you've heard about, have an idea...."

He was glassy eyed, unmoving, his ear by my lips, listening for what I would tell him...if I would. And I wouldn't, it would advance nothing to spell out what and how and why and where...and most particularly...who.

He stepped back and ripped the green T shirt from me. "Didn't leave a scar....they were really good, professionals. Turn around" I did. "Clean beautiful strong back, look at that spread. He reached around me, undid my belt, stood back. "Drop 'em get nekkid." Pants hit the floor, jock, all stopping at my boots. "Finish, pull off them boots, if you got anything in em, let me have it." I handed him a small, vicious knife and a kill garrotte..."That all?" I nodded my head, yes, that was all. "Stand up, hands interlaced behind your head. I heard the click of the cuffs. 

"Dad..."

"Shut up. spread those legs, spread em...far as they can go.:" I felt the rope around my neck. He was starting to make the thirteenn turns for the noose. 

"Please, Dad, please for the love of God, do not do this, please."'

"Ain't one mark on you, they kept you clean so nobody'd know. No tats, no pride in the Corps, Fuck, they took all that so you could kill and torture and...whatever other things they wanted you to do. Probably kept you some place safe, no one but the other killers and torturers, probably let you practice on each other. By then probably felt good, yer kinda sex, pain...." He had finished the sixth turn, "Wanna know how I'm gonna do it? Might as well cuz it's the way for you to go.:" He grabbed the manacles he and I used to play with all those years ago, back when it was fun, back when the best thing on earth to eat was his cock, back then when I was still his son.....

Yer gonna walk behind the truck, neck noosed, hands behind yer back, gagged, I don't want to hear no shit, no pleas, be kinda like you hearin' the men you tortured then kilt. Bet they pleaded with you, bet they pleaded plenty. Wonder if you will? Don't matter for sour apple shit.

"Then for them men you played with, toyed with, made 'em talk, I guess you know. Good little knife you got....where when you was talkin' to them, askin questions did you slip it under their nuts and ask the questions again....give it that little pull, jist enough so they'd a seen the drizzle of blood an knew the next time across, they'd see two balls, still on their strings, still leavin' em men...still. You sit back, nekkid chest, showin' em yer big muscles? Yer face that quit smilin'.....won't never smile again, will it...almost called you 'son'. Remember that first day, the day you shot whoever that dad was, we was at the jail and you thought I'd be arresting you? Member I just looked at you and laughed...didn't know then I shoulda put you in and turned you over to some other guy who had a cage in his truck, had you hauled away, maybe yer fancy judge, sorry, yer dad, coulda done something but I doubt he would. You was young so probably be sentenced as a juvie, out in four or five years and, motherfucker, you would have a talent. Not as good as the one they taught you wherever they kept animals like you but yessiree bob, you indeedy do had a talent. Let um fuck ya, or suck ya or you could shoot someone. All paid money, probably good money, then you'd have the judge sending you out, solvin' "difficult legal problems'." 

He was crazy with grief and spewing everything he thought or knew or believed...he was breaking the ties to a man, his son, he really loved but couldn't face what he knew, I knew I was. He was right, if I wasn't the Universal Soldier, I was the Universal Killer.. right undeer his roof, his son. Murderer.

The noose was finished, my ankles were in manacles, my hands, still behind my head, cuffed. Naked. He pushed me forward, got me into the kitchen, that table that place we had so many memories. I wanted to shout, to scream at him to stop, now before he'd do something he'd never be able to take back...I knew his anger and could do nothing about it. Once in the Corps, I found out what they wanted and....it was partially his fault. His hours and years of stories about the Corps, his life in it...I almost went through basic just hearing Dad....I choked thinking that...I wanted my Dad, this one, the enraged one who was going to do the most terrible thing he could to not to me, but to himself. 

Tied me to a chair, he got out a bottle, a rarity for him, and chugged it. "Say something Marine, say somethin' to yer dear Old Dad who made you this...thing, this murdering, fucking torturin' thing, Fuck..:"  Tied to the chair, one leg per one chair leg, chest secured, arms behind me all that remained was what ever he decided to do in his suddenly deranged mind. The noose, he tightened it, around my neck and the rope it was made from snaked out maybe fifteen, twenty feet. 

He turned out the lights. It was the most ominous thing he could have done based on my training for once light was gone, no one could see in. No one knew I was there, no one expected me, not even....Dad. I'd been through training that covered an enormous variety of situations so what happened next was just about what I expected. The anger left him, the love for me came back but one thing, forgiveness did not. Somewhere in him, the law man, the man with the star, the man with the gun, the man people expected to protect them...was facing a mass murderer one of which he'd participated in. 

His voice was without colour or tone or expression. "Say something...Son". 

"It's night, whatever you're going to do, you have some hours to do it and then go on. I was never here you can still wonder to folks if I'm ever coming home? They've, probably stopped thinking about me except to hate me for putting you through all this. But, listen, this is your only chance, tonight, now, like the animal you think I am, you have to put me down or you'll never be able to do it. I'll be here tomorrow, your son will be home, the town will forgive me when they learn, this is the cover story I'll use, I was on special ops overseas, no way to contact anybody. It's just simple enough it will be believed. But at night when I take you, and I will, it will be brutal cuz that's how it is with me now, brutal and without feeling. When I blow you, your bladder will almost burst. Your whole life around me....you'll be my prisoner and you know that's true. Might as well put in bars here so you'll have a bunk and a shitter at night while I sleep in our bed, now my bed thinking of ways to torture you and make you smile and do all the good works for the town. Think what happens when Jeb comes over or Buzz and they want a little celebratory sex with the muscle hunk....can you see their asses dripping blood from the fucking they'll get? Then they join my chain gang. Dad, I'll take over, probably, no, I will invite some "old friends from the Corps" to come by, stay a while. Right here our own little army. The call comes and some of us disappear to go visit Mom or see Mardi Gras but you'll know that somewhere, maybe it's something as noble as hatcheting Mexican Mafiosi, we're doing it. Right here from our little town that only has a name if you live here. Okay, Dad? That's how it lays if you do not take this one chance to stop it. Fuck, how do you know there aren't more men already headed here to visit ol Bill from back when in the Barracks.... I get first fuck, cuz you're my dad but after that, tied to the plank....the one with a hole in it so we can work you over top and bottom....and, Dad, you were right, my sex is pain, taking it and giving it, doesn't matter, just has to be pain." 

I stopped and looked at him to see if there was any comprehension of the truth he'd just heard and...there was. He knew the Corps, how loyal, how bonded, how determined we all were, specially those, like us, that no one much remembereed or wanted to remember. Ask the Comandant about us and he'd go blank because....he didn't know we existed. Out of the wars overseas where we got tired of losing and being shot up, not enough supplies having our parents send hardening for our vehicles to try and keep the bullets off. No clothing, naked most of the time, no sex, save with each other and that's where it got rough. I thought back, more than ten years earlier, in the barn when all the guys dared everyone else to pull out their dick and balls....then it came to me. I followed in my Dad's sperm trail and was the stud of them all. Nobody was hung like me. And why tell them the reason I was like I was had to do with a man I'd previously shot applying weights to my cock and balls...for the market place, for his own pride in me, those fantasy cocks and balls that every kid dreams of. Sure, mine weren't that, but compared to kids who were, they didn't know it, maybe two or three or four years younger than me. Little wonder that the town at large tended to forget not that I was Billy' s son, but that I was more like his younger brother. Fine with us, solved some problems that we didn't really want known although....some of it was. 

When Buzz found out we slept together, just like Jeb did with him, he thought it was more father and son. He fucked Jeb but Dad and me, big bed, lots of late conversation, comfortable to be together...he wasn't disillusioned when we told him just amazed that two other men in the town were fucking each other. It didn't stop there. Jeb's father, Sam, Billy's deputy, had an empty cot in the bunk house when Jeb pretty much moved in with Buzz-he was the assistant coach so that pretty much seemed...natural but Sam had an eye for cowboy tail and made it clear around some of the ranches that if they came to town, needed a place to stay well...he had a pillow next to his. Shep Collyer, who had the biggest spread around, knew perfectly well and once threatened Sam to put up his name, address, how to get to his place as well as his specialties...Didn't happen but I wasn't sure Sam wouldn't have let it.

I watched him, even in the dark, people emit odors, movements, all of which I'd been trained to observe and calculate and just now...he was backing off what he planned, although I'd told him, warned him....this was his only chance to square whatever sort of moral problems he had with my past. I wondered....did he want some of what I was? Did he feel cheated now when he found there was more to the Corps then he'd been given? They had taken his son and turned him into something, I could see him come to the conclusion, he almost wanted. He wanted his son desperately but I'd told him the truth, I'd never lied to Dad, let me lose and live and his life was forfeit to me at least internally and he knew it. 

We sat there in the dark. He wouldn't and I couldn't say anything. In terms of time, there was lots of it, he would have to reach a decision about me but without me; This wasn't "back then" when at night we'd review the day figure out what needed to be done, just have silence so being together had meaning not just two men in the same place. Now and then I hungered for him, wanted his dick in my mouth, wanted to taste it, wet his balls...all the things from...back then. 

He shot up from the table, checked my bindings, made sure they were taught then stamped off to his room, slammed the door and locked it. Up til then, I didn't even know it had a lock. It was the fatal error and one that decided what must now happen. I sat there a while, rippling my muscles, feeling some slight loosening of bindings. All I needed now was to release one limb, didn't matter which because after that, it was just a matter of a little fidgeting, moving a bit here, a bit there and gradually, the only thing around me was the noose on my neck. Kinda liked that, it was the sort of a toy we played with back there, where I practiced what I knew...at the shooting range,, the wrestling mats with no time limits  and only tapping out but...if you did that....you became the new victims for our practice. Eventually, some officers went to the front door of a home with bad news. Not that their son had been tortured to death being played with but killed in some far off place. No body but services, his pension, a folded flag...and elsewhere, someone new was thinking they could make it, they wouldn't tap out and, who knew? maybe this time they'd be right meaning one of ours was hauled away awaiting whatever we thought up to do with it. (Away from us, you had no stature, weren't in the Corps, were an it.)

 I gathered up the part of the rope that was on the floor, wrapped it around my neck and quietly went out the door carefully blocking it open. No wind so it wouldn't blow shut. 

Best let Billy, no longer Dad, he gave that up, stay where he was for now. Easier to deal with when I needed him which could be anytime but just not yet. Thought about bringing in my duffel bag but training kicked in and nothing was moved that even suggested anyone had ever been, just the Sheriff...

I sat in the cab of my truck, liked the cooling air on my body, reached down, out of habit, gave my nuts a squeeze then slowly started an unimportant jack off, just something to kill time while I structured the time to come. I wasn't even cool but...just should someone come along I slipped on a green standard issue tank top, one with USMC on it. Also put the truck in neutral then got out, wished I had my boots, no matter what they do to you, the soles of your feet still can feel the bumps and the stones, pushed the truck back where it was out of sight unless you came along the tree line where you weren't supposed to be. I could handle that one, too, leaving whomever to wake up with a monstrous head ache and a newly snapped off limb to explain how they got knocked out. 

In the cab I set my watch, we wore them with the dial side underneath like most pilots and other service guys. But this watch was made for us; No alarm but it pulsed to wake us. Neat, huh. Like all sorts of what some called gadgets, we used obsessively to our advantage. It was still early so I gave myself three hours, reclined the seat until it pretty much made a bunk and instantly went to sleep. 

Darkness does intensify as it grows later, particularly in little places such as ours where there never was much light to interfere with looking at the stars. 

Laying back in my truck, I could see more stars than anyone in the city even dreamed existed, it was both magnificent and sobering for there was a job to get done and, as the universal murderer, I had to follow on, ignore the stars and get on with it. Just as there were stars now, they would fade as the earth rotated back toward the sun. 

Mutherfucker. Why did I only have one pair of boots and they were on the floor in the room where my, where the man I used to sleep with was now. Fortunately, I knew how to do 'breaking and entering' long before the Corps should me their way and, to be helpful, I dressed that up with some of the ways I'd been taught. For that bit of information I was thrown in the hole and kept without food, just water, for three days. There is the Corps way or no way. Lesson learned. Where are you Dad who taught me so much? Where are you to see how well I learned those lessons and now could employ them.

Staying naked, I got to his windows, never locked and as silently as an octopus going through a hole one wouldn't have possibly, gone under the partially closed shutter, past the bed, got my socks and boots, put them on then, oh so quietly, slipped the lock on the door, opened it, went out into the main room, carefully closing it looking locked. He never made a sound save to make the sounds of comfort all men make when they're in bed, sequestered from their problem and now not thinking about it. I wanted him to have these last few moments still believing when he wakened, I'd be there, by him, running my hand through the hair on his chest, threatening to shear it and make a warm sweater for winter.....It was a happy memory for him just them, one of the few remaining to him.

There was no point in waiting, no symbollism in pre or post midnight, just the Corps way....get it done and get out. Right. 

Back in the truck I put on some old camis, a t shirt, my socks and boots,carefully laced over the bottom hems of the camis, didn't need anything else. In my duffel was a paper tube, ready to  be opened, I held that in my teeth, looked around, no one, nothing the grace of silence before the awfulness of a future.

I'd never closed the door on my truck, had all the interior lights fixed to be out and stay out, got the restraint belts in the seat next to mine ready....slipped back in the house, his home, through the two doors until I was standing by him sleeping the sleep of the innocent. From the tube, a syringe, pushed into the place on the shoulder that would keep the drug from his heart but effectively semi-paralyze him. Picked him up, back to the cab, into the other bucket seat, on with the Black bird style pilot restraints, cuffed his hands, separately, same with his ankles...closed the door, made one last inspection of the house adding a touch or two that made things seem....normal. Toilet paper, unflushed. A can and a bottle, with his prints on the table, front door open, typical of this place; There was only one thief in the night and I was it. Put on some medical gloves, took wiping pads from a packet, wiped everything I knew I'd touched or thought I may have touched...all the lights were out so...nothing to do but get on with it. 

Billy was still happily asleep when I hopped in, glad to see it. The longer he stayed out, the longer until I would have to gag him and, I didn't kid myself, sure he was in pretty good shape and would doubtless count on my love for him to stop even a fair fight...if there was to be one; Not in my scenario. Nope. Not on his agenda. Not on my agenda, either.

Nice thing about small towns, and ours was almost too small to be called "small", when you grow up there or live there long enough, you know every side road, every sneak through path, all the ways to around in and out of everything. Came with growing up there. Back in the city, I learned a version of the same thing but I swung from catwalks, knew hours when garbage was collected, when to make myself seen and when to be some place  unseen. Same as here only with real trees and Ab So Lute Ly fucking no traffic, probably wouldn't be a car go up or down the main street for several more hours.

The engine was tuned to run and provide sufficient power on very little fuel and making almost no noise for very slow movement; Nights like this if you woke up and heard something, maybe a car, you could easily think it was way back up at Sign Corner, in the silence in the night sound carried that easily. I had to laugh as I thought about something; There'd been an-infrequent-town meeting when some old biddy got up and complained about noise pollution, she'd read about in the once weekly paper. Said it was throwing off her hens egg production. Someone in the small crowd said she might get better egg production iffn she stuck a rooster in the hen house, whichever one made no matter to him. The meeting was excused at that point.

Headed for Shep Collyer's spread, the distance to it was enough to disillusion any foot searches that some might get up, nothing but washboard road, here and there the mingiest of one rut that filled in for some sort of road, just enough to get trucks to get in and get out. Drivers hated those roads; Those that didn't already have hemorrhoids, swore they got 'em driving around those fields. May have, even riding in mine which was over sprung for silence and to provide an ultimately handleable drive if you had to move fast and play keep away from whomever wanted to get to you. A man kept his truck better than anything he fucked; Sex could only get your rocks off, a truck could get you off and outa there. Big difference. May not be able to fuck it every night but it was there to be slept in no matter what over activity might be going on.

The trick to driving around this short grass prairie was to know that the grassy covering disguised hard, but fractionable limestone that was almost as if it were laid down in sheet which, millions of years ago when all this was under water was what happened. No quick driving here which was why most guys preferred to drop their trucks or what have you and walk; If you were good on one a motorcycle could be the quickest way around but you sure as fuck better know exactly what it and you would and could do.
ATVs, in winter when ice or deep snow provided more substantial footing but you knew what was there waiting to hook you up and flip you. There always knew a rookie in the group cuz they'd bomb straight up, catching the sharp edged layers of stone right in their tires. Usually didn't take more than a few hundred yards to discover yourself sitting on your rims, and them pretty badly chewed up; Your tires in a tidy line behind you beyond the help of any tire repair place. 

The first time up through one of these concealed places to catch you, Jake had driven me and a father out on a bird shoot. Why he did it, but I'm grateful, he stopped the truck part way up a ledge, had me get out and look at how he'd get up with only marginal damage to his truck. Dad (2) and I both learned a lesson, proved to be a very valueable one. Dad and his lessons, for once he was the instructee, not the instructor. 

I could see the tree I was headed for, the one in which Dad/Billy had saved my life by shooting the Judge. Wondered if the deer seat he'd put up was still there? Meant ot take a look when we got to wherver I thougth I was headed.

Damn it could have been yesterday or six years ago, nothing had changed. Same views of nothing save if I looked over I could see where I'd scampered from the Collyer place to take my position when the car with the big time, fully loaded, muscle came along looking for me. One of my favorite shoots that had been, whole thing solve a ton of problems. Only took two bullets in the back of their neck to take them out then Billy, in the dear seat, got the Judge just as he was about to shoot me. Never happened, Billy got a clean shot, just like we planned that did some serious damage but didn't take him out; I got that privilege. Rolled him, over with my boot and put a hole right through to the ground with my double barrel, over under fully choked shot gun.

Billy was no where close to coming round-better living through chemistry-so it was a snap to get him out of the cuffs and his protective seat lash down. Didn't even bother to lift him, just dragged his naked body over to a spot I'd been at before or seemed that way if I triangulated it using the tree and the over hang of the hill by the road. 

Got him spread eagled, even one to pull down his cock and balls but only rope, rope I was using from the left over after he made to make the hangmans's noose back a while ago. Checked the tension, went back to the bed of the truck and brought my duffel back. Squatted down beside him, even by only the star light, he was a man to be reckoned with...his Corps tats almost had color. Shame I never got those, wanted 'em but that idea was slapped out of me when I was shown some poor SOB that had 'em and ran into a Mexican gang doing border patrol. Cut them off him, course they also shot him...but it remained a lesson to be learned.

Pulled out three atropines which I gave them over a couple of minutes; Billy was a big boy and something meant for a child would have much effect. But three did. His eyes popped open, pupils heavily dilated, thrashing his head...for a moment until he could size up the situation. I'll give it to him, he didn't bawl or beg me for anything. Squatting down beside him, I touched him didn't apologize but tried to make him understand....he'd blown the chance so here we were. 

"You gonna do it?"

"Yep. Just me an you up here on Vulture hill."

"Christ I hate those birds....." and he was silent. 

"Tell me just one thing...Didja ever love me...?"

"Always, still do so that makes hard for both of us..."

I raised me gun and fired at his chest. It wasn't an intentional miss, it was the set up for what I'd always wanted to see. I took my boot and rolled him on his back. I bet he expected the shot that would put the hole in him but instead I just took a couple of shots where he would bleed the most but not died. 

Something I'd always wanted to see and, dammit, missed it twice cuz other folks hustle me away now to the end, I'd be there. Guys back where I lived wanted to see it so I got out my night vision camera and turned it on just about the time I heard the first wings come flapping in. I moved away, brought my truck up, sat on the hood for the angle and started to shoot.