"Well then let's go eat 'em, then get on our way to Clyde Nale's. ‘Sides, I gots one last chore ta do outside ‘fore we leave." But when Dicky turned toward the back door, he stopped. Clothes were strewn about—clothes that clearly did not belong to Balls. A pair of drab brown slacks, a brown hat that said WENDY'S on it, and a shirt with a WENDY'S patch as well. There was also a pair of panties and a bra. "What the hail? You gotta chick here?" "Sort'a," Balls said and smiled. Dicky noticed something else now. Some stains of some kind darkened the floor, and there seemed to be a minor litter of some little... curly things. One thing more: a pair of pliers and a ballpeen hammer. Dicky stooped, picked up one of the curly things. "Balls? The fuck? This is a toenail!" he exclaimed and dropped it at once. "Yeah. I'se pulled 'em out with the pliers, ‘long with her fingernails, the little hosebag." "Who?" "One'a them illegal immer-grints," Balls sniped. "Big-tit jibber-jabber bitch she was.
