To “Hardcore” Hardaway’s way of thinking, the three snot-nosed young farts standing just inside the door to his cluttered work shed didn’t look good for much, most of all a Klan job.

At first, they’d tried to act cocky, like this wasn’t no big deal. But none of ‘em said a word after seeing the cross he’d put together that afternoon. Now he was back out here trying to teach these whelps a thing or two while the half-finished can of beer he’d left inside went flat.

Why in hell did Jack Tidwell, who usually worried like an old woman about security leaks, pick these three losers to do this job? Hell, one real Klansman could finish it in a minute or two. But Jack was the Klan boss around here, for the time being anyway, and had gotten this bug up his ass that no official Klan member should be involved in case the shit hit the fan.

The three farts consisted of Billy Ray Sims, his cousin Howard Lee James, and Howard Lee’s shadow, Lester “No Chin” Haskins. In fact, Tidwell hadn’t spoken to anyone beside Billy Ray about the job. But between smokes and jokes and hints about possible early Klan membership, he hadn’t thought to warn about security leaks or that this should be a one-man operation.

So, Billy Ray brought Howard Lee and Lester with him because he didn’t want to do the job alone. In fact, he didn’t want to do it at all.

It wasn’t that he was afraid, of course. And he sure as hell didn’t like spades; at least not the uppity ones or those mixed-breed agitators Mr. Jack was always going on about. It was just that Billy Ray didn’t have anything personal against Shelby Williams, who once helped his family out when no other lawyer in town would.

But Mr. Jack said Williams needed a little warning about his doing way too good a job defending some sorry-assed jigaboo. So, Billy Ray had decided the job probably needed doing. Besides, pulling this off would impress Mr. Jack, and, with any luck, his sexy daughter, Donna Lynn.

The moment thoughts of her claimed his brain, all other input, especially Hardaway’s voice, seemed to vanish.

While the unsmiling, bull-necked ‘Hardcore’ rambled on, Billy Ray began to recall, in explicit detail how she had hooked him into doing her daddy a big favor.

It hadn’t been a date., not really. As usual, they just sort of met up at a bar, danced, drank, flirted then headed for his truck.

Moments after reaching a nearby parking’ spot, Their lips collided in a frantic kiss. During the height of that first oral assault, his fingers began roaming over the contours of her soft, warm body, massaging pink-tipped breasts, then caressing her trim hip before stroking silken inner thighs. Finally, his fingers took possession of her intimate flesh and Donna Lynn’s body arched up to meet his most welcome penetrations. The feel of Donna Lynn’s skin, the taste of her lips, the sight of her blatant need, the intoxicating aroma of her aroused body, it almost overwhelmed him.

Breaking their kiss, he began working his lips down her trembling body, feasting on her creamy flesh. His lips latched onto one of her firm boobs like a starving man gorging at a table filled with gourmet delicacies. After feasting on her milky breasts and swollen nipples, he kissed his way down past the smooth erotic expanse of her flat belly and the curve of her slim hips until his fingers reached and began slowly, one finger at a time, to take possession of the moist delights of her hot, tight pussy.

It had to be one of their longest make-out session since the first time they’d gotten it on back in high school. Since then they’d pared foreplay down to a few torrid deep-tongue ‘French' kisses’ before stripping each other to something between semi-undressed and buck naked. After quickly assuming the missionary position, they would plunge into an extended session of “wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am”, no-holds-barred fucking that, more often than not, would evolve from just hot sex to an unacknowledged competition to see which of them performed best. While it had always been great, and still was, he’d begun to want more, to possess this woman and make long, slow love to his long-time, no-strings attached fuck buddy.

Donna Lynn shuddered under one of her odd, preliminary orgasms, sort of like the tremors prior to an earthquake. "Now," she gasped in an urgent, demanding, whisper. “Oh, shit! Do me, Billy Ray. Do me, now!”

Billy Ray looked up and studied her face. Wordlessly, he nodded in agreement, removed his fingers, and moved up into position. After one last kiss, they surged towards one another until, with  an electrifying jolt of sexual energy, their two bodies once again melded into a single, wanton being.

Within seconds, they were completely tuned into one another. Desire, need, and unrestrained lust surged through every fiber of their heaving, writhing forms.

A rising tide of passion swept them along until Donna Lynn erupted in a long, awesome, shuddering, orgasm. Warm juices flooded over Billy Ray’s balls as her hips instinctively continued moving in rhythm to his movements.

While she still reeled from the force of her orgasm, Billy Ray began building toward his own release, slamming into her with savage thrusts, savoring the feel of her hot slick flesh clutching at his hard cock as she urged him on.

Afterword, as they lay together in the cab of his pick-up, talking and smoking cigarettes while recovering, Billy Ray gently stroked her damp flesh and knew he wanted nothing more than for them to keep making love for the rest of the night, and for the rest of their lives. That's when he learned what she wanted and expected in return for more ‘good loving’ tonight and, who knew, maybe in the future. It was no biggie, she had whispered while licking his ear, just a little favor for her daddy.

And that’s why he now stood in some drafty tool shed being taught how to get a Klan cross up and burning.

Still, if he was going to be hauling around some cross, he didn’t want it to be in his truck. The new, bright yellow paint job made it easy to recognize. And it was just natural not to want any cross or post-hole digger or whatever messing up that expensive finish.

In addition to saving his paint job, Billy Ray figured it’d be quicker and safer if he had a little assistance. Howard Lee was about half-ass loco anyway, so it didn’t take much to get both his help and the use of his old GMC truck. Of course, having him for a partner meant having Lester Haskins along for the ride. But that couldn’t be helped.

Hardaway had acted kinda putout when they showed up late to get the cross and the other stuff. Now his mood seemed even worse as he re-explained how things worked. “You’ve got everything you need. I built this here cross small enough to hide in the bed of a pick-up. There won’t be any trouble keeping it out of sight.”

He paused and glared at them, as if expecting some argument, but his audience remained silent. Billy Ray studied the old cowboy boots he’d worn instead of his good pair, and hoped Hardaway would hurry up and finish. “Now, once you get to where you’re going, lay the cross flat on the ground and pour on all the diesel I’ve given you. That way the wrapping can get good and soaked while you’re digging the hole. Unless the soil’s real loose or sandy, the hole don’t have to be much more than a foot or so deep. This thing’s not supposed to be around very long.” Something resembling a grin creased Hardaway’s face.

“After you stick the cross in the hole, be sure to pack enough dirt in around the base so it don’t lean. You want it to stay upright. Looks better that way and makes it last longer, too. Then douse on this gasoline. I put ya some in here.” He lifted a longneck beer bottle that was almost hidden by his massive hand.

“After that, all you gotta do is light ‘er up. Then git. Be sure to take along everything you brought. Don’t leave no evidence. Most of all, don’t hang around to watch your handiwork either. Understand?”

They all nodded. Billy Ray thanked him for going to all the trouble, then helped haul everything out to the truck. Ahead of them lay their first experience with cross burning and if that went off okay, maybe an invite to join the Klan.

The plan had called for them to pick up the cross and stuff before dark so they could get to Williams’ place and finish the job well before midnight. At the meeting in his office, Mr. Jack had said Shelby Williams and his wife would be at some country club party that wasn’t supposed to break up ’till about then. That meant there should be plenty of time, with some to spare.

The plan quickly ran into trouble. The problem was no one figured on the condition of Howard Lee’s old pick-up, or that, it being his truck, he’d insist on driving, or on his lousy sense of direction.

None of them had ever been out to Hardaway’s place before. The old, frame house was tucked away at the end of a long gravel road damn near in the middle of nowhere. It’d been way after dark when they arrived. By the time they left, the moon had set and it had been even darker.

Within minutes, they took the first of many wrong turns followed by an extended period spent driving in various directions while Howard and Lester argued about which way to turn next and who was at fault. Billy Ray ignored them, and sat slumped against the passenger door, imagining Donna Lynn pulling off her favorite western-style shirt and with a “come hither” smile, offering up her marvelous boobs as his first reward for a job well done.

His daydreams of Donna Lynn stripping for him came to an abrupt stop when, moments after making it onto the main highway a back tire blew out. That’s why it had been way after ten before they reached their target. Thanks to Howard Lee’s constant reminders about their being in his truck, the others agreed he could act as lookout and getaway driver. That meant Billy Ray was stuck with Lester as a helper.

They parked under some pecan trees across the road from the Williams’ ranch-style house. Howard Lee stayed behind the wheel with the motor idling, limiting his contribution to repeatedly urging Billy Ray and Lester to, “Get a move on.” The moment they collected the gear, he drove off to wait up the hill at the intersection where he could spot any approaching cars.

The Williams’ place was located on Catawba Street in one of the small town’s nicer neighborhoods. Like all the other residential enclaves, it was quiet. Billy Ray was relieved no lights were on inside the house. He figured it was about time something went right.

A shallow ditch, a line of low hedge, and a fair-sized front yard separated the house from the asphalt road. They stumbled across the ditch then tripped over the hedge but soon recovered and found what looked like a good spot. As instructed, they laid the cross flat on the ground and then poured on five gallons of diesel from Hardaway’s can.

Lester had barely gotten started when the post-hole digger hit a large pipe buried just below the topsoil. They’d have to dig somewhere else. That meant more lost time since they had to argue in loud whispers about where to try next before moving operations to the chosen spot. It proved to be sandy loam, prime digging soil, and the hole was soon finished.

That’s when they realized their gloves were back in the truck. They’d be wrestling a messy, diesel soaked cross with bare hands. The thought did not appeal to the fastidious Billy Ray one little bit.

When they had started working on the first hole, a dog inside the house began to bark. Another in the backyard soon joined. Mr. Jack had said there would be an inside dog, and that another one might be in the fenced backyard. So it wasn’t the dogs, but the thought their barking might attract attention which motivated the novice cross burners to make a modest increase in the pace of their work.

This lack of urgency would prove a grievous error. The barking dog in back was Belle, short for Beelzebub. She was the bad-tempered by-product of a brief but turbulent liaison between a vicious Rhodesian Ridgeback and a brutal Catahoula Cur; the latter being a local breed raised to herd and fight wild hogs. Her distinguishing features were powerful shoulders crowned by a ridge of stiff hair along her backbone, dark mottled fur, a milky-white, “glass” eye, a paranoid disposition, and an all-consuming desire to protect her human family from strangers.

Considering her lineage, Belle was on the small side. That hadn’t kept her from becoming boss dog of the big pack of hounds out at the family’s farm. Thanks to this status, and the fact her reputation alone was enough to keep the neighborhood free of door-to-door salesmen and Jehovah Witnesses, she was a frequent guest at the house.

While the men in the front yard debated, then moved to another spot and began digging a second hole, Belle was in the back yard, moving dirt at a frantic pace as she dug her own hole.

Just as the triumphant front yard crew slipped the diesel soaked cross into their new hole, Belle escaped. Fortunately for them, stealth had never been one of her strong suits. The targets of her intended assault were soon alerted by the sound of loud, angry barks approaching around the side of the house at a very high rate of speed.

The two men spotted the dark, barking projectile heading their way at the same time. Lester, who had the misfortune to be closest to the house, yelled something, snatched up the post-hole digger and began doing his best to hold off the snarling menace. Billy Ray splashed on the gas, dug out his lighter, and set the cross afire. If either one realized they hadn’t braced it upright, they didn’t seem interested in correcting the oversight.

Seeing the cross starting to burn, Howard Lee cranked his truck and came down to pick them up. Remembering Hardaway’s warning about not leaving evidence, Billy Ray managed to grab the empty containers without attracting the dog’s attention. Lester’s occasional yelps made it clear he was having uneven results in his efforts to avoid Belle’s assault. As he fought a desperate, rear-guard holding action, they once again tripped over the hedge and then stumbled back through the ditch to the edge of the road.

Before Howard Lee could come to a full stop, Billy Ray threw the empty can and bottle into the truck bed and jumped into the cab. They waited, with some impatience, as Lester lurched backward into the cab while trying to deny Belle any more samples of his flesh. Once inside, he yanked in the protective digger. This move sent the handles smashing into the windshield. Ignoring Howard Lee’s angry protests, Lester slammed the door shut before Belle could follow him into the crowded cab.

A glint of light made Billy Ray turn around and look through the cracked, rear window. Somebody was coming. He didn’t know if it was Williams car or not and didn’t want to find out. When he shouted that headlights were approaching, Howard Lee stopped complaining about his busted windshield and gunned the engine.
It flooded and died.

They had the good luck to be facing downhill. Howard Lee shifted into neutral and yelled at Billy Ray and Lester to get out and push. At that moment, Belle was doing her best to scramble in through the still open passenger window. This prompted Billy Ray and Lester to yell right back, suggesting he get the hell out and shove himself.

Even Howard Lee, whose mind seldom shifted out of second gear, could follow their logic. He jumped out and began pushing. As the oncoming headlights got nearer, the truck began inching its way downhill.

That’s when Belle became aware of the new and very vulnerable target of opportunity standing outside the open driver’s door. She raced around behind the tailgate and pounced on Howard Lee’s unprotected left leg.

A short but intense string of obscenities ensued, followed by his jumping back in and yanking the door shut, just missing Belle’s open jaws and bared teeth. Shifting into low gear, he released the clutch. The truck backfired, then the motor caught.

As the truck gradually picked up speed. Billy Ray once again thought of how Donna Lynn might reward him. But then he took one last look back just in time to see the cross giving them a slow parting bow that ended with it toppling over and crashing onto the grass. With a sigh, Billy Ray turned back around. As Howard’s old truck headed into an unknown but no doubt bleak future, something told Billy Ray that after tonight, any rewards from Miss Donna Lynn Tidwell were going to be a long time coming.

Left behind amid the exhaust fumes, crushed dreams of Klan glory, and shreds of denim on Catawba Street, a medium sized, mixed-breed dog watched two red dots fade into the night and bayed in savage triumph.