Ivory's Eyes

There’s nothing Ricky Steenkamp liked more than to fuck, shoot and drink. His Jeep was his home. It had to be, he was kicked out of the other. You’d find some Northern Cape Shiraz knocking about his boot amongst the bullet casings and copies of Hustler. In the front seat would sit his Border Collie, Sally, she’d pant away and never complain about the heat. She was a good dog, never gave their position away when they were stalking, and never missed any prey.

The car clattered on, taking a beating from the dirt track. Sally’s head poked out the window licking the dry air. The car shot through the bare bushes that had no foliage, that were just twigs clung together. Ricky had a pack of beef jerky between his knees and was tearing pieces out and chewing with one hand on the wheel. He hummed some Iron Maiden and the Jeep picked up pace. The car was running to the hills on the horizon, which marked the perimeter of the game reserve. Ricky’s first kill lay in Ivory around his neck, bouncing against his strong sternum covered in black curly hair. It bounced in unison to the photo of a young brunette playing with her doll. The picture was faded, sun blotched but you could still make out the smile below the brunette fringe.

He leant back and fumbled around the shotgun, which was jumping on the empty back seat as the car sped over the uneven track. He found his pack of cigarettes, whipped one out and lit it with his Zippo, steering with his knees. He gave the gear stick a punch and the clutch a stamp and patted Sally on the head. She turned towards him and let off a small grumble. Ricky slowed the car down,
‘Ahh Sally, what do we ‘av ‘ere? Is it a good one me darlin’?’
Sally licked his finger

Ricky pulled the car to a slow speed and it crept around the next corner, peering to the left through the faggot of twigs that constituted plants in these arid parts. The sun pushed through every opening and Ricky saw it’s outline against the high sun.
A grey silhouette shaded through the overgrowth.
‘Ahh Sally, we got a good one me darlin’.’
He gave her some beef jerky.

Ricky turned off the engine and the car came to a holt. Reaching over his back he picked up his gun took two cartridges from his belt and loaded. He checked his mullet in the rear view mirror and swept the curls from his sweat-beaded brow. His large oily nose dissected his wide blue eyes. He kissed the picture below and said,
‘This one’ll put ya through those dance classes love.’
Opening the door he looked Sally in her eyes,
‘You wait ‘ere gal’
He walked around the front of the car to the passenger’s side and started weaving through the flora. Sally jumped through her open window and ran and joined Ricky at his heel. She was sniffing the ground, her chest only centimetres from the dust beneath. As Ricky tiptoed to the target he kicked up sand, which blew in, to his mouth. He did nothing but lick his lips and eye out the prey. Only a few yards from the verge of the vegetation Ricky lined up his kill. The white tusks tickled with sunlight and bounced off straight into his eyes. He lifted the gun to his shoulder, sighted and cocked his finger.
Bang. Bang.
The elephant stampeded off. Sally barked. Ricky fell bleeding to the floor. As his knees hit the dust and then chest the miniature tusk around his neck dug into his chest hair and sternum. He clutched his back and brought his open palmed hand caked in his blood to his face.
‘Ahh yeh we got the feeking fucka,’ came a voice.
‘Wha’ a fecking cunt,’ came another.
‘Fucking poacher scum.’
Sally barked and the birds that had resettled after the gunshots fled again. She licked Ricky’s face and lay down beside him.
‘I ‘ate fuckers that kill animals.’