“the white race, billy - the pissed on, shit on, downtrodden white race.”
mitch pulled the datsun over about a block from the arby’s, beside a lot where a house was under construction.
the lot across the street was vacant, and the two houses that were visible from where they sat had their lights off.
“aren’t we going go to arby’s ?” donna asked from the back seat.
“what are you, starving?” mitch answered.
“i could use a bite.”
“you can get one later. i think this is a good place to talk. don’t you agree. billy?”
“we can talk wherever you want,” larry told him.
“we could talk at arby’s,” donna said. “nobody’s going to be listening to anything we have to say. or give a shit about it if they did.”
”i said we can to go arby’s later. “
“what, you think arby’s is bugged?” donna persisted. “he’s more likely to be bugged himself.”
“i don’t think so,” said mitch.
“then why don’t we find out? we should have done it back at his house. just find out, then we can all be happy.”
mitch sighed. “sure, why not? you don’t mind, do you, billy? we are all friends here.”
“mind what?” larry asked, although he had an idea of what they were talking about.
“me checking you out,” donna said. suddenly she leaned over the seat, grabbed larry around the neck, and shoved her hand inside his shirt.
larry shuddered at her touch. it was like having a big fat cat crawling over him.
donna reached a little further down and grabbed him around his crotch. “unzip your fly,” she told larry.
“what?” larry gasped. mitch laughed.
“i’m not interested in your needly dick, i just want to see if you have a wire on your leg.”
“can’t you tell just from the outside?”
“unzip your fly and let’s get this over with. you think this is comfortable for me?”
larry complied, and donna with her head almost down in his lap, ran her hand into his pants and down his thighs.
at least she was quick about it, thought larry. does she do this sort of thing all the time? who are these people?
“now your ankles and we are all set,” said donna, leaning back but still with one arm around larry’s neck.
“my ankles?”
“put your feet up on the dashboard,” mitch told him. “pull your pants up snd your socks down.”
larry did as he was told. donna and mitch gazed thoughtfully at his bare ankles.
“all right, we are all set now,” donna announced and sat back in her seat behind larry. “nothing personal, my man, but you know how it is in this evil world.”
larry, who watched a lot of spy movies and tv shows, thought, yes, unless i have some kind of transmitter in my teeth, or in my skull, but of course he did not say so.
mitch pointed at larry. “hey, pal, your fly is open.” mitch and donna both laughed at this.
“i don’t think billy was too thrilled at your touch,” mitch said as larry pulled his zipper back up. “but i always knew he was that way.”
“all right,” said donna, “where were we?”
“where were we?,” mitch repeated. “where we are is now we are all friends, we are going to have a nice little talk about the old days.”
“but,“ larry repeated yet again, “i don’t know - o k, maybe don’t remember - anything you are talking about.”
“jesus christ!” mitch banged his hand on the steering wheel.
“can i make a suggestion?” donna asked.
“what is your suggestion?’” mitch answered her, glaring at larry.
“just fucking humor him. isn’t that what you were going to do? just humor him. instead of him saying i don’t remember and you saying yes you do every fucking sentence all night long, just tell him who he was and what you two did together and we can go from there.”
“yes, that sounds good,” mitch agreed. he took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat and looked out the window away from larry. “all right, billy, you know what ‘soft son’ is, don’t you?”
“uh - no.”
mitch laughed. then i guess you must not get the newsletter of the national equality watchdog center.”
“the what?” the name sounded vaguely familiar to larry, something he had heard on the news or read online or in the paper.
“’soft son’ , mitch went on, “is what you call an acronym. the first letters make a word. s-o-f-t-s-o-n. and you know what that stands for, right?”
“why don’t you tell me?”
“it stands for ’sick of faggots, totally sick of negroes’. it’s an organization. me and you started it, even though i always knew you were really a faggot yourself. just the two of us.”
“at some fucking college,” put in donna. “a couple of bright boys.”
“that’s right,” said mitch. “at wade hampton teachers college. just the two of us. and do you know what?””
“no. what?” larry asked.
“from that humble beginning, we are now the third worst hate group in america, according to the national equality watchdog center. the third worst.”
“that’s third worst,” said donna, “not third biggest. there’s a difference.”
“she’s right,”said larry, “but still - third worst. that is something. so it’s not like we are nothing.”
larry did not know what to say. the crazier this gets, he thought, the more certain it is these two idiots will finally realize their mistake. but then what?
“this is a lot to take in,” larry said out loud.
“whatever you say, billy,” mitch smiled at him.
“i - um - whatever i might have been when i was younger, right now i don’t really have anything against faggots - or against negroes.”
mitch just laughed.
“i don’t think we really give a shit,” said donna.
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