The Bighead Read Online Free Page B

an’ then they’se hook this
plastic bag ta the hole so’s whenever ya et, yer shit comes out’n
the bag.”
    “ Aw, shee-it, Balls,” Dicky
moaned, closing his eyes. “Ya mean that’s what that there bag is
fulla?”
    “ Shore is, Dicky, but we’se
ain’t got no use fer the bag.” An’ with that, Balls ripped that
disgustin’ brown-filt bag right offa that poor ol’ lady’s side, an’
then ya know what he did?
    Balls dropped his pants
again.
    “ What’cha—” Dicky gulped.
“What’cha droppin’ trow fer, Balls?”
    “ Shee-it, Dicky. A nut’s a
nut, ain’t it? Hail. I’se hard agin, so’s I’se gonna fuck me this
ol’ lady’s colosteramy hole!”
    Dicky, see, though he liked ta watch a
good rompin’, he didn’t have no desire ta watch this. An’ when
Balls were finished humpin’ that hole, he cracked the poor ol’
lady’s head open with his homemade jack till her brains were layin’
alls over the dirt, an’ then he grabbed that brown plastic bag an’
squirted its stinky contents right onta the brains. Just fer
kicks.
    So’s anyway, that’s the kinda fella
Tritt “Balls” Conner were, an’ this is the type’a shennan-er-gans
they did fer fun ’tween their hooch runs fer Clyde Nale.
And—
    “ Well bless my soul!” Balls
about shouted out just then in the passenger seat.
    Aw, no, Dicky thought, ’cos he saw it too.
    Standin’ there in the fine bright
light’a day, there she was, a sweet-lookin’ li’l brunette with long
slim legs an’ cutoff shorts an’ what looked ta be a fine set’a
milkers strainin’ against her halter top. An’ she were standin’
there on the shoulder’a Tick Neck Road, smilin’ just pretty as you
please, an’ stickin’ her thumb out.
    “ Hail,” Balls remarked.
“Pull this jalopy over, Dicky. We’se gona give this gal a
ride.”
     
     
    (IV)
     
    Jerrica didn’t quite know what to make
of her passenger. Charity was very nice, a very pretty woman, and
she seemed very introspective and intelligent. But—
    Hmm, Jerrica thought at the Miata’s wheel.
    There was something almost
mysterious about her, resting anxiously behind the shy and
introverted veneer. She’s thirty but she’s
not married, doesn’t even have a boyfriend. This, of course, Jerrica Perry could scarcely conceive. Was
she gay? Was she catholic or something?
    “ So, what exactly is it
that you do?” Jerrica asked next. Interstate 199 had nearly run its
course for them, the 23 exit should be coming along in just another
twenty miles or so. “You work at University of
Maryland?”
    “ I’m just an administration
clerk,” Charity revealed, her sable curls roving in the breeze.
“But I’m taking classes too.”
    “ Where did you go to high
school? I went to Seaton.”
    “ I didn’t go to high
school, I had to get a job once I got out of the
orphanage.”
    Orphanage. Shit, Jerrica,
you sure know how to ask the wrong question! But at least she’d broken the proverbial ice. “I guess that
was pretty hard, huh?”
    “ I made out better than
most,” Charity admitted. “But the way the system works—well, it’s
almost impossible to graduate from high school under those
circumstances. It’s a different world. And once you turn eighteen,
they kick you out, give you a hundred dollars, and say good luck. I
worked three crummy jobs to make ends meet, took my G.E.D. through
the state. But what happens to a lot of these kids, they put them
out on the street, nowhere to go, next thing they know they’re
being stabled by a pimp and they’re hooked on drugs. I was really
fortunate.”
    Jerrica tried to think of something
appropriate to say, but all her mind came up with were sociology
stats she’d read in her own newspaper. “Yeah, I was reading, right
now this country’s got 800,000 orphans but only one-third of them
even get a G.E.D. and get jobs. The rest either disappear or work
the streets.”
    “ Right, and that’s the sad
part. My aunt raised me, but the