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Image for the poem The STANG Part 6

The STANG Part 6

Chapter 6
 
“Sex between a man and a woman can be wonderful, provided you can get between the right man and the right woman.”
— Woody Allen
 
“Shit, Mist. He’s dead.”
 
Noooo! He can’t be!” I sprang out of the car, throwing on my clothes with tears streaming down my face as I thought about this guy… Ben. Pacing beside the car like a caged lion, I looked at Heather and said, “What now, call the police?”
 
“Hell no! Calm down, sug. Let’s just think for a minute, okay?”
 
“I can’t think with him just lyin’ there lookin’ like a daisy on a doorstep! Oh God, H! We’re gonna rot in jail!”
 
“Let’s put him in the trunk so we can think straight, how ‘bout that?”
 
 “…Ya’ think we can move him?”
 
“Fuck if I know, Mist, but we can sure try. Come on, girl. Unknot your damn panties and gimmi a hand, will ya’?”
 
With a lot of maneuvering, H and I put the top down, slid the passenger seat all the way forward, and somehow managed to get Ben out of the backseat and into the trunk of the Stang. His body was already becoming cold. I felt like a heathen who mistook a revival meeting for a circus tent, and suddenly, everything I thought I knew about the world, everything I thought I was, became a blank page.
 
With Ben out of sight in the trunk, Heather grabbed the half full bottle of Comfort from the front seat, took a huge gulp, and handed it to me. I brought the bottle up to my trembling lips and drank as if I were a daffodil in a drought.
 
“Should we get rid of the body?” My voice was fragile and splintered, like cracked glass.
 
“No,” Heather said. “People saw us with him. I don’t think we’ve got any choice, Mist. We’re gonna have to call the cops.”
 
“Oh Jesus! Jesus Jumpin’ Jack Christ in a fryin’ pan, H! What are we gonna say?  He’s dead! How we gonna explain that?”

With a calmness like you feel in the eye of a Hurricane, Heather says to me: “We tell ‘um the truth. We were havin’ sex in the back seat, and he died. That is what happened, ain’t it?”
 
“But we put him in the damn trunk!”
 
“We couldn’t look at him while we sorted this out is what we say. That ain’t no lie, is it?”
 
“Shit! Shit! Shitshitshitshitshit!”
 
 I was goin’ crazier than a mayfly in heat, and Heather was in complete control of herself, which was both maddening and comforting at the same time.
 
“Ya know, Mist, this is exactly what happened with Gear. What are the flippin’ odds of that?”
 
“I’m officially freakin’ the fuck out now,” I cried. “Thank you very much, Heather.”
 
So Heather sighs and says to me, “Take a deep breath and call the po-9, Mist. Let’s get it over with.”
 
I reached into the glove box and grabbed my phone, looked at Heather again, and dialed 911. Two rings and I hear, “George County Sheriff’s Office, what is the nature of your emergency?” My throat closed up tighter than a virgin at the Devil’s own orgy, and I squeaked: “Ma’am, I’m calling to report a dead man in our car.”
 
Within ten minutes, the parking lot was blazing with red and blues.
 
After explaining what happened with no small degree of embarrassment to at least five mammoth officers, they escorted us away from the Stang to a patrol car at the back of the lot and stationed an officer with us. One officer, whom the others called Lt. Ridgeway, took our keys and returned to the Stang.
 
I put my head on Heather’s shoulder, too stunned to even cry, and we clung to each other while leaning against the squad car. Now that we had a chance to step away from the situation, I was—or so I thought—calming down.
 
Heather was watching them like a lazy gator watching a cane-cutter. After a very short time, she nudged me off her shoulder and said: “Here they come, Mist.”
 
Lt. Ridgeway came right up to us, looking really pissed.
 
“Y’all think this is some kind of joke?” he said.
 
“Excu… I mean, pardon me?” I stuttered.
 
He stretched his arms out, gesturing to the fiasco of red and blue flashing officers that filled the lot and said, “You called all this man power out here for a suspicious death. Now, if y’all don’t mind, I mean, if we’re not putting you two out, would you kindly tell me where the body really is?”
 
“What the hell are you talking about?” Heather barked. “He’s in the damn trunk, just like we said!”
 
“Come with me,” he ordered.
 
We followed Lt. Ridgeway back across the parking lot to the Stang. As we approached the open trunk, Heather grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. Lt. Ridgway motioned impatiently for us to step closer. As I leaned in to look, my jaw dropped faster than a two dollar harlot’s underwear. The trunk was empty. Ben was gone.
 
After receiving a less-than-polite warning about callin’ in bogus reports, and once we finished giving them our information, the police let us go. That was the last I remembered til I woke up in the Stang with Heather cradling my head in her lap.
 
“You passed out, Hon. You ok, sugar plum?”
 
“H, there was nothing… No Ben, no body.”
 
“I know, baby girl. I don’t reckon it neither.”
 
“Where the damn hell did he go, H?”
 
Heather had no answer.
 
After that, we sat in the Stang looking at each other for what seemed like an hour. Questions, questions, and more damn questions. My mind was drowning in them, but neither of us could find a voice to let them out. Not then, nor on the ride back to Heather’s. The whole drive back we didn’t say a word. What the hell could we say?
 
We pulled the Stang into Heather’s garage, shut the door, and entered the house like a coupl’a walking dead. I got as far as the couch and just collapsed on it. It was time for some serious talk about what in Belladonna’s boudoir was happening… with the Stang, and with the two of us.
 
“H, I have some questions, hon.”
 
“Hell, Mist, so do I.”
 
“You first then,” I said.
 
“…Did you feel it, Mist? The Stang? Did you feel it while we were… while we…?”
 
“Yeah. I did. But it felt so much more intense this time. The heat hit my g-spot and was so different from the arousal Ben was creating. My god it was delicious to finally have a man inside me again, but at the same frickin’ time, when the Stang started… Hells bells, girlfriend, it was hotter than a ten dollar shotgun in the back seat of that damn car.”
 
“Oh, I know, Mist. Damn! When Ben slipped into you, that was the single most erotic thing I have ever experienced. When your eyes rolled back in your head, pooh bear, I was damn near drooling waitin’ my turn.” Heather scooched forward to the edge of the couch. “He was a hot lil thang, that’s fo damn sho!”
 
“Sugga, you told me about the night Gear died, but this…this puts a whole different spin on things, don’t ya think?”
 
“Yeah, it does. But we can’t let—”
 
Heather was interrupted by the sound of Etta James crooning ‘I Just Want To Make Love To You,’ coming from the garage. Heather and I looked at the door that led to the garage, then at each other, then back to the door. The Stang was calling us.
  
 
Written by Justafan18 (Justafan)
Published
Author's Note
Ride gets a little bumpy from here on in!!
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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