Johnny Gruesome Read Free Page B

palms against the dashboard, which Johnny had covered with white fur. Behind them, a car horn blared. They roared over the Main Street bridge, laughing.

    The Death Mobile cruised the town square, passing a white gazebo in the park on the left and single-story shops on the right. Four brick buildings surrounded the park: two churches, the municipal building, and the post office. Snowdrifts had buried the wooden benches surrounding the ornate fountain, and a bundled postal employee shoveled icy steps.
    As they passed Saint Luke’s, Johnny rolled down his window and spat out it. “Fuck you, Father Webb!”
    He did this every morning, perhaps the only ritual he followed. He refused to explain this behavior to Eric, who accepted it as mere eccentricity. Johnny had stopped attending church after his mother’s death seven years earlier.
    Johnny gunned the engine and the commercial district receded behind them, Victorian houses rising from each side of the street.
    “I got my first blow job in there,” he said as they passed the Green Forest Cemetery.
    “So you keep telling me.”
    “Maybe you should take Rhonda there. You two nerds could research each other.”
    Eric looked away.
    “‘Hi, Rhonda.’ ‘Bye, Rhonda.’ ‘What grade did you get on your composition, Rhonda?’ Why don’t you
talk
to her already? We graduate in three and a half months.”
    Eric ignored him.
    “Damn it,” Johnny said with sudden gravitas as he glanced at the rearview mirror.
    Eric looked over his shoulder. The Red Hill Police Department’s only SUV, a Pathfinder, had pulled behind them, its strobes flashing red and blue. “What did you do?”
    “I didn’t do shit. Turn around and stop looking like we just knocked over a convenience store.” Johnny pulled over to the curb. On the sidewalk, underclassmen walking to school gawked at them.
    Eric studied the side-view mirror. A tall police officer with a black mustache emerged from the Pathfinder and approached them, mirrored sunglasses masking his eyes, a revolver holstered on his hip. “Oh, great. It’s Matt Crane.” Eric hoped the man would not recognize him.
    Johnny killed the music and rolled down his window. The sounds of cars splashing slush grew louder.
    Leaning before the open window, Matt peered inside. Snowflakes landed on his mustache. “’Morning, boys.”
    “How’s it going, Chief Crane?” Johnny forced a cheerful smile.
    “It’s just ‘acting chief,’ Johnny. Chief Butler will be back on the job soon.”
    “That’s good news.”
    Matt leaned closer, his shades probing the dark interior. “How’s your father, Eric?”
    Eric resisted the urge to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth. “Fine, sir.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    Johnny gestured at the speedometer. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t speeding.”
    The ends of Matt’s mustache curved upward. “Who said you were?”
    “You must have had some reason for stopping me.”
    Matt appraised Johnny. “You’re right, I did. You’re driving without your seat belt on, and the roads are slippery. Better buckle up.”
    Johnny looked down, surprise registering on his face. “You saw that from across the street? Good looking out.” He pulled the shoulder strap across his chest and snapped its buckle.
    “My wife has both of you for first-period English, doesn’t she?”
    Johnny flashed sharp teeth at Matt. “How’d you know that?”
    “Believe it or not, she’s mentioned it a time or two.”
    Johnny winked at Eric. “You hear that?” Before Eric could respond, Johnny turned back to Matt. “Mrs. Crane is one of our favorite teachers.”
    Matt set his gloved hands on the door, his expression impassive. “Then you’d best be on your way. I know she’d hate for you to be late on my account.” He patted the car. “Take it slow, okay?”
    “Yes, sir.” Rolling up his window, Johnny cranked up the music.
    “You’ve got a major set of balls,” Eric said.
    The Death Mobile surged forward. “Fuck him.