Mordechai Stone

Contempt never breeds with familiarity

The Box, Part 3

Fuck Me Eddy.

It’s important to know how he got tagged with the name. Eddy has a propensity for violence. That’s a PC way of saying Eddy gets his rocks off on inflicting massive amounts of mayhem on people’s bodies. I saw one of his demonstrations in the alley behind a bar one night before I became a part of Junior’s crew.

The evening’s victim made the mistake of mouthing off about winning money from Eddy in a pool game. Eddy could barely tolerate losing at anything, cards, pool, fucking ring toss. He treated every contest as if it were a life and death struggle. This ignorant soul didn’t know Eddy’s rep, didn’t know he should just take the money and leave. So he made some smartass remarks acting the big man if front of his hot date.

Eddy took it. He listened to the guy brag and watched him with his lizard eyes. When the dude had finished talking smack he hit the back door with his date heading for the parking lot. Eddy grabbed a pool cue, snapped it in half over his knee and followed the guy. We followed Eddy.

Dude never knew what hit him. Eddy cracked him across the skull with the base of the cue then went to work. He took this poor guy apart. I mean he just broke him. The guy’s chick was too freaked out to even scream. No one in the bar was stupid enough to call the cops for fear of Eddy. The rest of us stood around too stunned to interfere. This unfortunate guy was on his own.

When he’d finished Eddy leaned over the gurgling mess and made sure the barely breathing former man was listening.

“I hope it was worth it, douchebag. Now I’m gonna take your girl home and fuck her like she’s never been fucked before.”

Eddy spit in the guy’s bloody, swollen face, grabbed the terrified woman and dragged her into the shadows of the parking lot to his car.

That left us standing there staring at this poor guy lying in a pool of his own blood. No one said a thing. It’s the kind of silence where only the demons whisper. Finally Lucky opened his mouth and muttered…

“Fuuuuuck meeeee…”

…while gazing at Eddy’s bloody sculpture.

Fuck me is right.

And that’s how Fuck Me Eddy got his nickname.

I saw the girl a couple of months later…on Fuck Me Eddy’s arm. I guess she liked what he gave her that awful night. What he gave the rest of us was a bad case of horror shock.

We never saw the guy again. We were long gone by the time the cops and the ambulance arrived. No one knew whether he lived or died. None of us were stupid enough to try to find out.

You may wonder why I joined up with Junior’s crew after witnessing Fuck Me Eddy in his glory. Back then money trumped common sense. Which is how I found myself heading into the deep, dark Texas night with the guy Lucky told me never to go anywhere with alone.

That’s as good as the night would get.

“Where we going, Eddy?”

“To the garage.”

Of course. The fucking garage.

Categories: Short Stories