Bad Chili by Joe R. Lansdale Read Free Book Online Page A

have the hairdresser come around to their place to do the work. Big money in that. Kind of like hiring a bartender for the night. Or maid service.”
    “I didn’t know Raul knew a comb from a scissor.”
    “It was a short course. Three months. He took it while you were out helping exploit the earth of its natural resources.”
    “Go on. You were sayin’ . . .”
    “Well, things were tense, and the next-door neighbors were still pissed I’d burned their crack house down, and from time to time some of that bunch would come by late at night, throw things at the house, even took a shot at it once. They fucked with our mail. I finally had to have the address temporarily changed. Had my mail sent out to my old place. It was just one thing after another. But after I found out where those shits are now living, I went over and explained to a couple of people that any more crap happened around my house, even if I didn’t know it was them that was responsible, even if I thought it might be them, I’d frown on it tremendously. Well, they knew I meant business — I mean, hell, I done burned their crack house down three times now. So things started cooling. But it was just one more aggravation to make things more tense with Raul. Maybe it was gettin’ to him too, making him act crazy. Anyway, he wasn’t home much. He was hangin’ out in LaBorde Park, which is where lots of gays meet, and I didn’t like that much ’cause that sounded suspicious, him roamin’ around out there. It’s not just a pickup spot, it’s where those guys got beat up. You know, four or five just last year.”
    “One this year,” I said. “That’s the place the preacher carries the sign, isn’t it?”
    “‘Gay Equals AIDS Equals Death.’”
    “That’s the one.”
    “Yeah. That’s the place. So I thought him being there all hours wasn’t such a good idea. ’Specially him having all the fighting skills of a dirty sock. And worse yet, all these friends of his, they’re classic queers. All that swishin’ shit. Obvious targets.”
    “Do I detect a little prejudice toward other homosexuals, my friend? Those without weight-lifter arms and the ability to sight down a rifle?”
    “I’m just sayin’ Raul’s with them, and since they’re like flashin’ neon, and they’re in a bad place, it’s just not smart. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. So don’t give me that liberal bullshit, Hap. I’m not up for it.
    “So I’m worried, and I tell Raul I am, but he ignores me, and by the time I find out he’s not only hanging out at the park, but he’s screwin’ Harley Greaseballs, it’s too late. He’s done run off with him. Can you reckon on that? I’m too macho for him, so he runs off with a guy looks like he wiped a couple old transmissions with his hair. I asked around at the park, found out where the biker guy hung out, found out his name was Horse McNee and that he was a closet fag.”
    “Horse?”
    “It was a nickname. As in hung like a horse.”
    “Who told you this?”
    “Another faggot. I kinda know him through Raul. Fusses like an old woman. But you know, you want some dirt, this guy seems to have it. He’s been around for years. An old queen. Fact is, they call him Queen Mary. He’s got a younger friend everyone calls Princess Mary. Princess likes to hang around bus stations hoping for a lube job. I can’t stand him. But that’s beside the point. This Queen Mary, he’s always hittin’ on me, and everyone else. I wouldn’t fuck him if we were both wearing bags over our heads and I was using your dick. Hell, I wouldn’t fuck him if we were double baggin’ and using your dick with a rubber on. But I admit I played up to him a little—”
    “You prick-teased?”
    “Just a little. Anyhow, I got the info, decided to drive out to the biker bar.”
    “With a shotgun, a revolver, and a broom handle?”
    “You heard about that?”
    “Yeah. And it doesn’t sound like you. Not that I haven’t seen you go off, but