With my face mashed on its side, I could just see Red’s pants, moving with his hand inside.

Rufus let go his dick, reached down under the policeman’s shoulder and stuck three fingers in my mouth. I started to suck them, but he was scraping around—his hands were horny as wood—to get some soft shit. He pulled them out and rubbed them over, then under, then over his dick again, finally going back to shucking.

“Hey …” the policeman grunted. He was really humping me hard. “You smelly motherfuckers get out of here.… Come on, you two stink like a shithole out of lime.…” I heard the policeman’s hands close on dry leaves, open again. “Nigger, get your dick out of my face.… I don’t want to sniff at your black pecker. I wanna fuck this ass!”

Coming up like wind in leaves far away, or the sea, Rufus chuckled again.

I held onto the policeman’s shoulders. His jacket was pretty thick. I tried to wrap my legs up around him like Maria used to do when the guys fucked on her. But I could only get one up. His gun got in the way of the other.

I lay there, getting fucked, and watching Red’s hand working inside his pants. I kept on hoping he would pull it out and shuck on it like Rufus was doing; I wanted to see if he had freckles on his cock too.

“Come on, Red,” the policeman said again, still grunting, still humping, but a little whiny. “You and Rufus get away from me, now. I just wanna get my rocks off in this kid’s—”

A woman screamed.

It was out on the docks, but I couldn’t tell how far down.

The scream ended up funny, twisted off like a piece of metal.

“Jesus!” The policeman stopped humping.

A man shouted; only the shout was cut off by a shot. Then two more shots, right after.

The woman screamed again—well, it wasn’t a scream, now: just a sound that was loud enough to hear this far in.

“Holy shit!” The policeman’s dick came out of my ass as he pushed back to his knees.

My ass stung.

“What the fuck—!” He stood up, almost falling, pushing at his cock, half hard and still shitty, but thick and white under it as a parsnip. The flashlight in the leaves leaned so that you could see it, clear back into his fly. “What’s goin’ on out there—”

Rufus, still squatting, looked up. “Ain’t you gonna finish him off, Whitey?”

Red, looking down, said, “That’s an awful sweet hole to let hang around empty.”

Whitey’s zipper stuck the first time he tried to pull it up—“Fuck—!” Then it came free. He swiped up the flashlight, took about three steps, then looked back: the light swept across us. “Look, you two better leave that—” Then I guess he changed his mind. He just shook his head, and crashed on off through the brush. In the leaves the light flittered away.