the lighter's fluid. The Neckredders watched that ritual in stupefied silence. Mick slowly raised the burning Zippo's weighty metal case toward Clint's face. Before his hand covered half the distance, the detective swiftly spun the lighter in a sideways throw, grabbed Clint, and yanked him to the ground, taking the brunt of the blow to his back to keep from injuring the old man. As they hit the dirt, Mick used the momentum of the fall to roll them away from the precipice and toward the outcropping of rock.
"Shee . . ." "Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh . . ." Bobby Joe and Joe Bob flinched and then offered those scoffing verbal responses respectively as they saw the Zippo's spinning flame fly harmlessly between them into the cave.
Whoooosh! The hydrogen hovering against the cave's tall ceiling ignited blasting a flash of flame and exploding milk jugs out the opening like a miniature version of the old Apollo rocket gantry. The Neckredders were blown off the cliff and streaked into the abyss like two shooting stars of death, screaming in a final discordant crescendo, ". . . eeeeee-it!" and ". . . Ehhhhhhhh!"
Mick and Clint looked at each other and simultaneously asked, "Are you all right?" They answered each other with brilliant smiles.
The weep weep sounds of fiery, molten plastic dripping inside and around the mouth of the cave attracted their attention. Clint and Mick turned their heads in unison to look at the source of the weeping sounds and broke into peals of echoing laughter when they saw two singed and smoldering caps lying side by side in front of the entrance silently soliciting a Nuther Beer.
