Br’er Robert
Frankie didn’t answer. He knew better than to mess with Decker. He contented himself with drooling and pinching their little noses shut to watch their faces turn colors and their eyes roll up. The big one, Bobby, had shit his pants. Frankie could smell it as he licked their tears off his fingers.
He was getting hard already.
It seemed like forever till the van pulled out of Carroll back into the warm welcoming darkness of the Iowa cornfields. Frankie’s breath was coming heavy. It was time for the next part. The best part, for him. He liked to talk with them.
“Who’s gonna help you now?” Frankie used that hoarse whisper, that scary voice, as he whipped the duct tape off their mouths. He knew it was scary, that and his twisty jerking movement and the twitch of his head, the roll of his eyes. Sometimes he got a little scared himself, just imagining what the littlefuckers must be thinking. Sometimes he had dreams where it was him taped to the van, even though it was him doing the scaring, too.
Sure, it was an act, it was all an act, but it was a scary act.
“What’re you gonna do with us?” The big one, Bobby, sounded real calm for a kid whose Levis were full of his own shit. Brian just stared, greasy duct tape stickum around his lips like a gray clown mouth.
“Do with you?” Frankie rasped like he hadn’t really thought about it. “Guess maybe I’ll just eat you up!” Decker let out a dry chuckle up front. Sometimes Decker was pretty cool.
Bobby nodded solemnly, like that was the answer he was expecting. Frankie did a little caper around the back of the van, on all fours like a demented monkey. “Never gonna see your momma again,” he sang. “Never gonna see your dad. Never see your mom again cause you… been… BAAAAD!”
“My momma’s dead.”
Frankie gave him a sharp look—sometimes kids tell you stupid lies on purpose, to make you look stupid if you fall for them. The kid looked serious enough right now, though, lips trembling and tears welling.
This was too good!
