“What’d he look like after he came?” asked someone who’d missed out.  “Same expression, or what?  ‘Cause that’s your winner.  Before and after.”

            “That cripple never did cum.  Not that she didn’t do her damnedest.”

            “I finally got tired of watching.”

            “Can’t believe you guys stood around watching my old lady take it from some freak.  Should’ve let me kick his crippled ass.”

            “First off, she’s not your old lady anymore,” I said. 

            “Yeah man, fuck you.”

            “We couldn’t let you ruin that for us.  Car wrecks aren’t as beautiful and tragic as that sight.  Your ex, an unknown cripple.  Shoe on the other foot, you’d have cheered them on.  He looked happy.”

            “I’m telling you it was some sort of palsy.” 

            “Palsy, retard, autistic, whatever,” I said.  “That cripple knew how to satisfy a woman.  I hope somebody took notes.” 

            That’s when Davis took his mouth out of the paper bag, that big stupid grin he had when we were deep in it, gold paint flecked face, and asked, “did he look like this?” 

            It was more than what’s-his-name could take.  Crushed a can of spray paint upside Davis’s face.  Or maybe it was the fall on the rocks that knocked him out.  Whatever the case, we played our parts.  Restrained the offended man.  Cast dispersions on his character for not having a sense of humor.  Attended to Davis, but he wouldn’t wake up.  Someone had to calm the tension.  I solicited ideas, ways to right the wrong.  Truck guy said he had a canoe, knew a place we could take Davis, have a little fun with him.  The mood shifted along with the locale.  We stripped Davis naked, sprayed on a little more gold paint, and put him in the canoe.  First we took some pictures.  Then we shoved him off down stream, no paddle.  Yeah, he had a life jacket. 

*** 

            I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t help myself.  

            “How long do you think that old man stared at your pale naked ass before you woke up?” I asked. 

            “You never should’ve let that happen to me.”

            “Out of my hands.  They were drug-crazed animals, and you disrespected their women.  After they promised not to kill you, I left.  You know my motto.  Better you than me.”  Davis brooded.  I continued.  “You’d think the old man would’ve offered you some clothes or something.”

            “At first I thought he was playing the silent bad-ass,” Davis said.  “Nope.  Just a goddamn deaf old man with a shotgun.”

            “And the cops didn’t offer any clothes either, just took you in naked.  Goddamn travesty if you ask me.”

            “How the hell does a deaf man call the cops?” Davis asked.  He’d asked the very same question yesterday, and it morphed into an intriguing prospect for revenge and a little b and e. 

            “Stop,” Davis said.  “Back up.  Turn left down that drive.  I think this is it.” 

            The car bounced in deep ruts.  Ditches.  Reservoirs.  Moats.  But we made the hill.  The land flattened out.  Short grass.  Maintained.  Somebody lived here.