Chapter 37

 

Herbert drove slowly, loving the mayhem that unfolded before him. Strolling through the initial chaos had kicked ass, and sniping from the rooftop had literally been a dream come true, but this…this was glorious. The town was deeply, irrevocably fucked, and knowing it was he who’d caused it all, well that made Herbert feel like he had an NMR in his pants.

"Is this the bee’s knees or what?" he asked the girl.

"Fuck."

"You got that right. Fuck, indeed. Look," he pointed across the street to where a corpse was wedged like a dead antelope in the notch of a tree. "Looks like the work of the ol’ College Heights Cougar, huh?" Then he launched into his trademark laughter. "And up here. Check out crazy legs."

Just ahead, a girl hopped along the sidewalk. Below the left knee, her leg twisted and flopped like that of a broken puppet, several inches of bone jutting forth from the flesh.

Herbert slowed the car, bent low for a better look at the girl, and stopped. He rolled down his window far enough to call to her, "Hey."

She stared in terror but didn’t run. How could she?

"You hurt?" he called.

The girl nodded, bawling, and hopped toward him. "I’m not supposed to be here," she said. "Will you take me home?"

"I’m afraid you’re out of luck, sister," Herbert said. "My fuck doll’s got the back seat, and my pipe bombs are riding shotgun."

The girl reached the car and stood now with her fingers wrapped over his window. She tilted her head, looking troubled, then started sobbing again. "I want to go home."

"If I were you," Herbert said, "I’d sue those legs for lack of support!" He brayed out laughter.

The girl only cried harder.

"Hey, easy there, crazy legs. Easy. I’m just fucking with you, that’s all. Lean in here."

She was shaking her head, sobbing.

"I’ll tell you a secret," he said.

She didn’t seem to hear him.

"Come on now," Herbert said, keeping his voice soft. "Just lean in here, and I’ll tell you a little secret, and then we’ll see, maybe I’ll take you home." He snapped his fingers. "You know what? Fuck it. I will." He slapped the dash. "I’ll take your broke ass home."

Her breath hitched. She looked at him.

"All you gotta do is lean close and hear my secret, and then it’s home you go."

She leaned a little closer.

"Come on, sugar tits, you can get closer than that. What do think I am, crazy?" More laughter.

She leaned away.

"Fuck it, then," Herbert said. "If you’re too fucking good to hear my secret, you can hop all the way home. Suit your goddamn self."

"Wait!" the girl said, suddenly frantic. "Wait. I’ll listen." And she leaned close. "What’s your secret?"

Herbert smiled and said, "You want to know my secret?"

The girl nodded. Snot glistened beneath her nostrils. She wasn’t much to look at, Herbert thought. Hardly worth his time, even for this. "I want to know the secret."

"The secret is," Herbert said, raising the pistol, "I am fucking this dog."

Seeing the pistol, the girl shut her eyes and shook her head, sobbing harder. She didn’t pull away or drop to the ground or beg, just cried and shook her head and kept her eyes closed. He pulled the trigger, her head jerked, and Herbert had just enough time to see the small hole open at bridge of the nose before she collapsed. The red mist dissipated. The girl had dropped out of view, close to the car, but he could see her brains spread as loose and lumpy as dog puke across the pavement. Ears ringing, Herbert drove on.

"Fuck," the girl in the back seat said.

"That about sums it up," Herbert said, and that set him off laughing again. This was a grand time. In fact, of all the grand times he’d had, this was the grandest, the ultimate grand time of all grand times, the king, the sultan of grand. This fucking ruled, and he was fucking this dog. No two ways about it. His lifelong love, chemistry, was the science of change, and he was its greatest practitioner. Herbert Weston was large and in charge, and he was changing things forever.

Like that peckerwood, Herbert thought, passing a dead guy draped across the hood of a Ford. He’s certainly changed. In one night, he’d changed from some random asshole into a heap of worm food, just like that. Presto, change-o!

Now if that wasn’t magical, what was?

Herbert drove on.