Chapter 30 – Local Yokels
One of the locals had a bull’s testicles tattoo on the side of his neck. Both Constantine and Henric were looking at it when the guy said, “Y’all here at the range shootin?”
Henric really wanted to ask the guy what the hell that picture was on his neck, but he said, “No, we just parked here to go look for woodpeckers. We’re bird-watchers.”
Constantine also wanted to ask the guy about his testicles tattoo. “What is that thing on your neck,” he said. The guy pointed over to the burnt orange colored pickup. On the tailgate was a stick-on poster of the rear end of a bull, showing abnormally large testicles.
The guy said, “It’s bull’s balls, like on my truck. That’s me. Big balls,” and he smiled a stupid smile.
Now Constantine and Henric understood the tattoo.
One of the other guys, the one that asked if they had been shooting at the range, said, “So you out looking for birds, huh? Not here to shoot?”
The two Russian guys nodded, no.
The third local now asked, “How much did that white car cost you?”
Henric said, “I didn’t ask.”
“What do you mean?”
“The guy showed me the car, and I drove it around, and I liked it, so I bought it. I felt good driving it. And it’s got video screens in the back of the front seats, so the people in the back can watch movies. Like when you have kids back there, the movies stop ’em from screaming.”
“Can you watch porn back there?”
Constantine looked at Henric. They didn’t answer.
“Is that what you guys do, get back there and watch gay porn. You do that before or after you go looking for birds?”
Constantine again looked at Henric. They were getting the drift of the conversation pretty good by now, and Constantine was getting a small yet distinct smile on this face. This was the result of the chemicals in his bloodstream doing something, the chemicals that had been released ten minutes earlier when they had been talking about what to do with themselves, when Henric asked him if he wanted to fuck with Stirg for the fun of it. Henric felt something too. He had a few chems working that were causing a little edginess to his current world perspective.
“Did that car cost more than $50K?” The guy really wanted to know.
Henric said, “Yes.”
“Did it cost more than $60K?”
“Probably.”
“Did it cost more than $100K?”
Constantine decided he wanted to play with these guys, or the chemicals decided for him. He said, “Yeah, it was more than that.”
The guy with the tattoo said to his friends, “My truck cost $19K. Is that fair?”
The other guys looked at the Mercedes, and then at Henric and Constantine, and shook their heads. The three of them had been holding their tote bags that contained their guns and ammo and targets and ear protection, and in unison they set them on the ground. The first guy, who had asked them if they had been shooting at the range, now said, “Maybe we oughta switch with them. They can drive the bull’s balls truck, and we can drive the white car with the video screens in the back.”
“Or we can drive both the truck and the white car, and these boys can go watch birds for the rest of the day.”
“And the night, too. Watch owls.”
The guy with the tattoo bent down, zipped open his bag, and pulled out a Smith and Wesson .357 revolver. With the other hand he took out a box of ammo and opened it. He removed six bullets, and shook them in his hand, like a better does just before throwing dice at the craps table. The metal bullets rattled in his hand. He looked at the Russians while doing this. Intimidation. The other two guys opened their bags and removed their guns, which also were not loaded. They got out ammo boxes, too. The three locals stood grinning at the two Russians, and loaded their guns. Snick, snick, snick went the bullets into the chambers.
Henric and Constantine watched this display, impassive on the outside, chems starting to boil into the bloodstream on the inside. Sluice went the epinephrine. Drip went the norepinephrine.
The boys put the ammo boxes back into their bags, stood up, and changed their stupid grins to serious looks. It was action time. Constantine and Henric also thought it was action time. Presumably, they had been watching how Roger and Gwen sometimes communicated telegraphically, because they did that now. They looked at each other, then each raised a hand, telling the three locals, “Wait a minute.” They walked around the three guys towards the orange truck. Constantine went to the edge of the parking lot and picked up a rock the size of a grapefruit. Henric picked up a smaller rock. Henric went to the rear of the truck, looked back at the guy with the tattoo, and then used the point of the rock to scrap a deep gouge from one edge of the bull’s balls stick-on poster to the other. Screech! He dropped the rock and looked at the guy. Constantine waited five seconds, then threw his rock through the rear window of the truck. At the tinkle of the last piece of glass hitting the interior seats of the truck, he looked back at the guy with the tattoo. The guy didn’t move, and neither did his buddies. They stood with arms hanging down, guns in hands, mouths open. This was the delay Henric and Constantine needed, knowing intuitively it would be there.
Each reached to the rear of their right hip, under the shirts concealing their guns, pulled, racked the slide, assumed the shooter’s stance the way Gwen had taught them, and fired. Blam, blam. Blam, blam. Blam blam. Blam blam. They each fired two double-taps, eight shots, all aimed at the local’s legs. Five shots hit: each guy got one in the thigh, one guy got two in the thigh, and one guy got one in the calf. Three screams, three bodies hitting the dirt of the parking lot, three guns flying through the air.
And that was that. Henric stood up from his stance and walked forward to collect the three revolvers. Constantine picked up the three bags and the rifle case, leaving the targets where they were. Henric took the Mercedes electronic key out of his pocket and hit the trunk release button. Constantine walked to the car and threw the bags and the rifle into the trunk. Henric stood over the three moaning guys and watched them bleed. No arteries. He motioned to Constantine to cover them while he searched them for cell phones. He walked to the edge of the parking lot and threw these deep into the thick vegetation. He and Constantine stood over the three locals, looking at them and listening to them whine. Simultaneously they raised their guns into firing position, and pointed them at two of the guy’s heads. They waited. Then they smiled at the guys, lowered the guns, turned and walked to the Mercedes.
They were getting ready to fuck with Stirg.