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Wayne looked up and saw a man in the driver’s seat smiling at him. It wasn’t a dead man. Just fat and ugly. He was probably five feet tall and bald except for a fringe of hair around his shiny bald head the color of a shit ring in a toilet bowl. He had a nose so long and dark and malignant-looking it appeared as if it might fall off his face at any moment, like an overripe banana. He was wearing what Wayne first thought was a bathrobe, but proved to be a robe like that of a monk. It was old and tattered and moth-eaten and Wayne could see pale flesh through the holes. An odor wafted from the fat man that was somewhere between the smell of stale sweat, cheesy balls and an unwiped asshole.
“Good to see you,” the fat man said.
“Charmed,” Wayne said.
From the back of the bus came a strange, unidentifiable sound. Wayne poked his head around the seats for a look.
In the middle of the aisle, about halfway back, was a nun. Or sort of a nun. Her back was to him and she wore a black-and-white nun’s habit. The part that covered her head was traditional, but from there down was quite a departure from the standard attire. The outfit was cut to the middle of her thigh and she wore black fishnet stockings and thick high heels. She was slim with good legs and a high little ass that, even under the circumstances, Wayne couldn’t help but appreciate. She was moving one hand above her head as if sewing the air.
Sitting on the seats on either side of the aisle were dead folks. They all wore the round-eared hats, and they were responsible for the sound.
They were trying to sing.
He had never known dead folks to make any noise outside of grunts and groans, but here they were singing. A toneless sort of singing to be sure, some of the words garbled and some of the dead folks just opening and closing their mouths soundlessly, but, by golly, he recognized the tune. It was “Jesus Loves Me.”
Wayne looked back at the fat man, let his hand ease down to the bowie in his right boot. The fat man produced a little .32 automatic from inside his robe and pointed it at Wayne.
“It’s small caliber,” the fat man said, “but I’m a real fine shot, and it makes a nice, little hole.”
Wayne quit reaching in his boot.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said the fat man. “Take the knife out and put it on the floor in front of you and slide it to me. And while you’re at it, I think I see the hilt of one in your other boot.”
Wayne looked back. The way he had been thrown inside the bus had caused his pants legs to hike up over his boots, and the hilts of both his bowies were revealed. They might as well have had
blinking lights on them.
It was shaping up to be a shitty day.
He slid the bowies to the fat man, who scooped them up nimbly and dumped them on the other side of his seat.
The bus door opened and Calhoun was tossed in on top of Wayne. Calhoun’s hat followed after.
Wayne shrugged Calhoun off, recovered his hat, and put it on. Calhoun found his hat and did the same. They were still on their knees.
“Would you gentlemen mind moving to the center of the bus?”
Wayne led the way. Calhoun took note of the nun now, said, “Man, look at that ass.”
The fat man called back to them. “Right there will do fine.”
Wayne slid into the seat the fat man was indicating with a wave of the .32, and Calhoun slid in beside him. The dead folks entered now, filled the seats up front, leaving only a few stray seats in the middle empty.
Calhoun said, “What are those fuckers back there making that noise for?”
“They’re singing,” Wayne said. “Ain’t you got no churchin’?”
“Say they are?” Calhoun turned to the nun and the dead folks and yelled, “Y’all know any Hank Williams?”
The nun did not turn and the dead folks did not quit their toneless singing.
“Guess not,” Calhoun said. “Seems like all the good music’s been forgotten.”
The noise in the back of the bus ceased and the nun came over to look at Wayne and Calhoun. She was nice in front too. The outfit was cut from throat to crotch, laced with a ribbon, and it showed a lot of tit and some tight, thin, black panties that couldn’t quite hold in her escaping pubic hair, which grew as thick and wild as kudzu. When Wayne managed to work his eyes up from that and look at her face, he saw she was dark-complected with eyes the color of coffee and lips made to chew on.
Calhoun never made it to the face. He didn’t care about faces. He sniffed, said into her crotch, “Nice snatch.”
The nun’s left hand came around and smacked Calhoun on the side of the head.
