A MOSTLY MESSY MURDER
by
T. Loessin
Beginning
What was that smell?
I bought
groceries two days ago. Did I forget to
bring in a bag that had meat in it?
Yikes! What was
that smell?
I’d just pulled out of my driveway but knew I couldn’t make my one-hour commute
into town with this god-awful smell in the car. My car would be parked in the hot parking lot
all afternoon! This is not good.
Crap! I yanked the steering wheel to the left,
pulling into the neighborhood circle where our collection of mailboxes stood. I left the car running while I jumped out. Sprinting around to the rear of the car, I popped
the trunk and --
– oh dear God –
there he was.
I knew
immediately it was him.
Dead.
I couldn’t believe it. Finally, he was dead.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I fumed: But why did they put him in my trunk?
Pounding my forehead with my fist three times: Why, why, why-y--y?!
Arms raised up to heaven while rolling eyeballs: Those idiot assholes!
He was in
the fetal position with his back pressed up against the spare tire and a
blanket had been laid neatly over him. I
pulled the blanket away from his head slowly and found him to be disgustingly
pale and cold to the touch. Lifting the sheet a bit higher I could see the
soiled jeans.
Shit!
And I’d just had the car detailed last week!
I recall several strange thoughts entering my head in that moment:
That stain is gonna be hell to get up.
And, there is some irony, is there
not, in being returned to the fetal position upon one’s demise and needing
one's tush cleaned up a final time ...
No, wait. Demise?
Wrong word.
After all,
this was no natural death. This man was
murdered.
And his murdered
body was now in my trunk. Damn!
I quickly slammed the trunk shut and, while inhaling deeply, I heard someone behind me clearing their throat.
I froze and held my breath.
“Good
MO-O-OR ning,” she sang.
Another eye-roll to heaven came as a reflex: Good morning? As if, Gladys Kravitz!
Oh my god, could she have seen it? Think. Think.
No, please no. Okay, okay, she has
no idea. Breathe, Terry.
I slowly
turned around while exhaling.
“Hello-o-o…” and I gave my neighbor, Mrs. Nosey Busy-Body,
a big smile.
A
hard-to-muster compliment on the perfect shade of beige she'd selected for the
shutters on her perfectly beige home appeared to do the trick as I hopped back in
the car and shifted into reverse. She
waved vigorously with one hand while the other pulled desperately on the leash
of that drooling monster she claimed to be a dog.
Now
then, where the hell was I going with this dead body in my trunk?
1.
Note of caution to anyone
out there
contemplating murder:
a dead body is not an easy thing to dispose of.
One must prioritize in times of stress.
First, it was clear this had to be done in the immediate term and required
taking a sick day at work. In fact, I
was feeling a bit nauseated thanks to the smell in the car. Consequently, at
least it wouldn’t be a lie. Thankfully, Karen
picked up.
“Oh no, you
poor thing. Do feel better soon, Luv. I got
you covered here, of course. Bye-by-y-ye.”
Whew, that
was easier than I expected. But the next item on the to-do list, not so
much.
Multiple options were pondered as I drove around for about an hour:
At one point I took the exit for the lake. Wait, no boat.
Back the car up to the shoreline and pop the
trunk? Too visible, must turn around.
Backyard? My dogs would take issue with that, I’m sure.
Even if double-wrapped? Olfactory superiority, remember?
The county landfill dump? That’s it!
Wait, I
can’t pull up onto that Weight scale at the payment booth with this
bundle laid out on my flatbed trailer or in the back of my pickup truck. Hm-m-m…
Perhaps if
I hid it beneath a mound of other trash on the trailer? But what trash?
I could fill a bunch of empty trash bags with waddled-up empty trash bags
and...okay, I’m liking this…
After all, I’ve been out there many times and I’d barely got the last bits of debris swept off my trailer when already arriving on the scene was one of those big bulldozers. The guy would be up in his cage on that thing yelling at me to finish up and move on.
As soon as I began pulling away I could see
him in my rearview mirror pushing my small-in-scale contribution into that
mountain of refuse that me and all the other dumpers had been directed to back
up to. I’d continue watching in my
rearview mirror as my own trashed items became unidentifiable, compressed and sadly merged into
that of the rest of the world's…
Oh, but wait… then again...
I recalled
that on my last visit, I had been shocked by the fee increase of $60 and how I
had cursed county officials, particularly when I was also levied a fine for
entering with an uncovered trailer load.
And here I was again today with no tarp for the trailer. Hmm… this idea was growing less appealing. I hate that I’m so darn frugal.
By this time
I had returned home and, as I pulled into my driveway, a big smile
suddenly drew across my face. There was
the flatbed trailer. It set parked along the side of the house where I had backed it and
unhitched it yesterday with my riding mower still on board after having returned
from the cemetery.
Did I
mention I volunteered as the groundskeeper of my family’s 140-year-old cemetery
located out in the country just east of town?
That’s
right. Cemetery. A cemetery out in the country.
And in the
trunk of my car, a deceased individual in need of burial.
That's what you call fo-o-o-r-tu-i-tous!
Probably should wait until after dark, don’t you think?
2.
They
always make this hole-shoveling thing
look so easy in the movies.
Well, let me tell you –
I arrived
about midnight. It's very peaceful out here
at this time of night, even more so than in the daytime.
I love coming out to mow my family's private cemetery and make it look nice and manicured. After mowing, I get my gas-powered edger out and carefully trim around all the headstones. While doing so I chat with each of them:
“Hey Joe, how ya been? And there’s your lovely wife Mary. How are you doing, Mary? Ya’ll need to remind me to bring my sprayer next time I come out with the special cleaning mixture. Your headstone needs a bit of scrubbing.” I believe they like it when I chat with each of them.
When I’m done for the day with the loud mower and trimmer, I sit under the gazebo and listen to all the birds in the trees. It’s them. I know it's all the dearly departed's souls in them birds. And their singing? It's them thanking me.
"Thanks for taking care of our lawn, Terry!" Hmm.. I wonder if this jerk's soul will be among the birds?
Oh my god, I can't believe he's really dead.
1:15. Still digging.
Probably should have brought some water instead of this six-pack.
There are some really interesting headstones out here. Many contain the symbols few would recognize – unless you grew up around here and had Czech kin. On many of the older monuments you'll find the emblem of my family’s small Czech protestant church, or the crest of various fraternal lodges - many now dissolved.
My favorite? The three headstones out here that have carved into the stone at the top's center a hand with the forefinger pointed upward. I’m like, really? Let me get this straight: When selecting your loved one's headstone you thought they might need a little help with directions when the time of resurrection came along?
Sigh. 1:35.
Still digging.
Should I go ahead and get that heavy load out of the trunk and have it nearby in case I need to do a quick drop and cover should a car approach?
Okay, this is the part I wasn't fully prepared for. Very heavy. Extremely heavy.
I foolishly had envisioned myself lifting him out of the trunk while wrapped in the blanket. Yeah, right. Could not get a good grip. Simply could not raise him up. This is, after all, what they call dead weight. Ha, ha.
No time for laughter, get a grip. Could not get a good grip.
At some
point, after much struggle, I altered course. I removed the blanket and laid it out on the ground before the
trunk of the car and spun the body of my former lover around --
oh, didn't
mean to let that slip out just yet, but there you have it --
spun him around and brought both of his legs over the lip of the trunk.
Reflecting on the fact that he was now in a position I was well-acquainted with, I shook the visual out of my head and quickly drove my head into his chest while lifting and throwing
his arms over my shoulders. I hugged him tightly, grunted loudly, and finally managed to lift him up. Continuing to pull him toward me while slowly stepping
backward, I dropped him onto the blanket.
It was then that I saw the blood.
My arms were still outstretched as I stared down at the crumpled form on the ground, the moonlight reflecting on the dark red color covering my arms, my shirt, my --
I spoke aloud "Oh God" as my hands went to my face and stuck to my face.
What? Sticky face? I pulled my hands away. Red, red sticky hands. My face then, too, must be covered in
it. Blood all over my face. I had pressed my face into his
chest.
Those
bastards had shot him in the chest.
What
a friggin' mess!
"Ar-r-r-r-gh!" I screamed while raising my blood-stained arms to the heavens. And suddenly I began to bawl like a baby.
Keeping my arms held up in disbelief at all the blood, devastated by all this day had presented, I fell to my knees while staring at the Milky Way.
Pausing between heavy sobs, images swirled and formed in the constellations of that clear, star-studded sky and I was taken back to one much like this one where I first realized I was in love with this man I had just put in the ground.
After meeting on the Eurorail while both on a backpacking summer excursion across Europe, we had just wrapped up three days of ecstasy-fueled ecstasy in our room at the Hotel Duomo in Florence, Italy.
Stepping out for the first time after that extended romp, we dined at a sidewalk cafe before taking a romantic stroll across Ponte Vecchio and, while listening to Opera students belting out Arias for Euros, we linked arms and stared up at the stars.
And, I'll never forget it, I whispered to myself, "There is something in the air tonight, the stars are bright..."
And without skipping a beat, he replied, "Fandango..."
I knew I was in love right then and there because he'd successfully checked off both of my criteria bullets that would tell me one day when the right one came along: "Hot in the sack" -- check. "Knows his ABBA" -- check.
Come to think of it, there's another line in Fandango, something about "we were young and full of life and none of us prepared to die..."
Oh well, I thought while scooping the remainder of the dirt pile onto my family cemetery's newest interment, we all gotta die sometime.
Suddenly with hard thrusts, I began shoving the shovel into the mound repeatedly, lifting it over my head higher and higher each time while shouting in the final three thrusts:
"Where --
did it all --
go wrong?"
And again I found myself on my knees, forehead pressed against the handle of the shovel.
3.
Two Months Earlier
"Oh. I see.
I had no idea."
"It's
the amount of risk. The more risk to ourselves, the higher the
cost for something such as this."
"Of
course, of course. I guess I just
-- So, I mean, is this the going rate
for this? I mean, I haven't really done
any price comparison online -- I mean, of course not, of course not. I've seen too many people get in trouble
looking this kinda shit up online. Stupid,
I know. But, I mean -- "
"Actually,
Terry, I can assure you of one thing. Right
now, right here. Listen to me. Anywhere else, anyone else -- you'd be paying
a lot more. A lot. I promise you. "
"Wow. Well, I --
I appreciate that --"
"Terry,
c'mon. Of course, man. We've been buds a long time. And I certainly know how bad it's been for
you. I wanna do this for you. Me and Joe, we'll take care of it. Will the money be an issue, my friend?"
"Well,
no. I mean, will cash be okay? I just don't think I should make such a big withdrawal
from --"
"Oh
absolutely. Cash is better. You don't want to draw attention at the
bank. But, Terry --"
"Yes?"
"There
is one thing we need to figure out. It's
a problem always in these situations."
"What
is that?"
"The
body."
"The
body?"
"Well
yeah, buddy. I mean, you don't want him
found. You understand?"
"Oh."
"He
has to disappear after we do it. That's
better. Don't you see?"
"Oh. Oh yes, of course...I think --"
"Look,
if we kill him and leave him there will be an investigation. And, after all, who's the most likely
suspect? Hm-m?"
"Ah-h-h. Yes, of course."
"No
body, no investigation. We don't know where he went or what happened
to him. Capeesh?"
"I
see. Yes. Yes, I understand."
"We
are all shocked. We stick to that. We're shocked. Just shocked by the disappearance of our
friend."
"Got it. Shocked. Thank you, Mauricio, thank you so much. I'm glad you know so much about these
things."
4.
Presently, back at the
Cemetery
Sigh. 2:30 a.m. D
Composure restored. Done digging. Hole covered. Tools ready to be loaded into yet-to-be-cleaned
trunk.
And then, a disconcerting interruption. I felt my phone vibrating and buzzing in my
trousers at 2:30 in the morning while standing in a cemetery finalizing the
interment of my dead friend.
Aloud, "What the f -- "
Mud and blood covered my hands and were buried under my nails. Transferring the pick axe from one hand to the other hand that was holding the shovel, I began struggling in frustration to pull my phone out of my pocket. My pocket was damp with blood and -- Crap, who is texting me?
I press the side button. Illumination reveals:
We need to talk. Come over now.
And repeated a second time:
We need to talk. Come over now.
You have got to be kidding me!
I throw the tools down on the ground again and locate the roll of paper towels I'd brought along. I plop down on top of my former lover's mound and hastily wipe my hands as clean as possible.
I realize I'm shaking.
I realize my reading glasses are in the car.
I realize the moon is not as bright as I thought earlier.
Dammit all!
I start typing so fast
I fat-finger like crazy:
You Dfukkn Idoits! u dam right i'n comming
Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening! Could I have picked two bigger idiots to do this for me?!
I picked up the tools again along with the paper towels and the bloody quilt the assholes had wrapped him in and I began the long walk back to the car -- quite naturally another ABBA line comes to mind:
and, quite naturally, I sing the rest:
Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to runThere's no hurry anymore when all is said and done
Taking a deep breath and holding it in, I popped my trunk.
I drove out the gate of the cemetery like a bat out of hell and gun the accelerator while heading down the dark country road located five miles east of the small town I grew up in.
Slow down, yes, slow down. The last thing you need now is to get pulled over at 2:30 in the morning and have to explain ...
Explain? Yeah, right!
Try explaining your way out of this one, Terry.
4.
House of Idiots
3:10 a.m.
Dammit! They have every single light on in the house! What is wrong with these idiots?!
I can't park in the driveway. The whole place is lit up like a friggin' movie set. The moment I step out of the car I can imagine a director shouting "Action!"
I proceed slowly two houses down -- no, three houses down. Much better here. No outdoor pole lamp like the two before. Sigh. Take a deep breath.
Okay, pause. One more deep breath. I should text. Fat-fingering now:
Wat's withh all the
lights? Turn odf urlights!
I
wait. And, I wait. Nothing.
"What the --"
I get out of the car and quietly shut the door. I make my way stealth-like around the side of the house, passing through the backyard gate as I've done many times before for our clandestine meetings.
Clandestine?!
As if! These two idiots wouldn't know clandestine, confidential, private, secret...
Remember, the fat one said to me, no contact for six months! That's what I thought we'd promised, you dumbshits --
Mmnf! Ouchy!
"Crap! Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!"
Unlike the front yard and porch, the backyard is quite a bit darker and I just collided with the friggin' clothesline pole.
"Mudda fu--" Oh no, I think I'm bleeding.
I pull my hand away from my forehead and examine my palm. Is that blood? Blood?! Again with the blood?!
"My God! Have I not had to deal with enough blood today?!"
And then, lowering my hand, I see them in the distance The moon serving as the spotlight illuminating the two figures on the stage.
The idiots.
Each sitting in their favorite rocker on the back screen porch.
Each of their heads lolling to the side in unusual limp fashion.
Each with big dark holes in the center of their foreheads and dried blood trailing across their --
Oh, dear god. They're dead.
"Whoa...but --"
I suddenly think about it:
Who-the-crap-texted-me?
The gash on my forehead has become a secondary concern -- as has the scene on the back porch -- because...
because...
yikes,
because I'm suddenly a bit more concerned with the sound I've just heard behind me.
I whisper, "Who's there?"
Snap! There it is again.
Ironic.
I'm now wishing there was more light out here in this yard...
It's so ironic it brought a smile to my face. So, who's the idiot now, Terry?
Snap! There it is again.
A bit louder now I whisper, "Hello?"
Here you are. Middle of the night. In the dark. And you think a 'hello' is appropriate?
Maybe you should try texting again, idiot! What about:
Wat's withh the lights? Turn on urlights!
Maybe if you say please this time the two dead idiots 'splayed out on the porch will respond with "LOL"
-- oh my god, why am I laughing?
Snap! There it is.
Try to be quiet.
Oops! There it is.
I'm suddenly smelling the sweet smell of wet soil and Bermuda. Why is that?
Probably because my face is buried in it. Oh my God, I can't breathe.
Is that a shoe? Is that someone's fuckin' heel pressing down on my head?
I whine convincingly, "Oh please don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Ow. That really hurts. "You're hurting me."
He probably knows that.
My whole world's gone dark now.
5.
Aliens In Green Uniforms
Yikes! Have I overslept? What time is it?
1:00 p.m. (according to a chrome-encircled digital clock on the white wall directly across from me)
Can that be right?
Day? What day is this?
I think my head hurts too bad to think about what day it is.
Where am I? Besides "in bed, stupid."
Whose bed is this?
What is that infernal beeping sound?
Whoa! Creepy men with masks.
They're green men. Jimminy Crickets, top to bottom they're green.
Whispering in the corner passing around tricorders. Oh, my friggin' god, I've been abducted and this is the starship Enterprise.
I can't tell with the masks on, but I think one of them is kinda hot. Oh please let there be prodding action in this dream.
"Say, you got any doctors in your family? I don't mean just medical. What about any of the P H D pro-fes-sor-i-al types? Huh? No? I do, man. I got an uncle. P - H - D in marine biology."
Great, just the way I like 'em. Hot and stupid.
Wait. Is he the one talking or is it the other one.? Can't tell with the masks on.
"I mean, what the fuck is that, am I right? You get three letters at the end of your name and get to scuba with the fishies all day. Hell, my neighbor Jim - hey, you met Jim at our barbecue, remember Jim?"
Oh yeah, definitely it's the hot one talking. The other guy just nodded in reply.
"Jim and his misses visited the Bahamas last summer and did that whole scuba diving thing, he didn't need a degree. Come to think of it, that's pretty damn funny. My neighbor Jim with a degree. Ha!"
Oh my friggin' lord, who is this babbling idiot? My head feels like it's about to explode.
Shut him up and bring in Dr. McCoy, please!
"...so my damn uncle is so proud of his three letters at the end of his name he insists we call him Dr. Ben or Professor Ben. 'course I refuse, see? We were at the family reunion I told you about and sure 'nuf, him and his trophy wife were there. I watched them go through the line relishing all the insipid adulation from my relatives and as soon as they had found a suitable table to plop their asses I made my way over -
hey, hey, I think we can adjust his pain meds now, whaddya think?"
Pain meds? Adjust? I hope that means upward. 'cause, damn, my head hurts.
"- you know, just as he was digging into that overcrowded plate and had that overstuffed fork halfway to his mouth, I yell: 'Hey, Uncle Ben, how're the fish doin'?'
He's laughing at his own story. I hate people who do that. But at least he's hot.
"And he does this thing, seen it many times before when I fail to address him properly, he raises one eyebrow first, like this -- man, look, look at me, like this, see? - yeah, seriously. That's when I know. He raises the eyebrow first then gradually begins lifting his head. That's when I know I'm needling him good... what the--
Whoa! Dude, come here. Seriously, come here. Have you seen the piercings on this guy?"
I wish this jerk would shut up and pull my gown back down.
God, my head really hurts now...it's getting dark again...so dark...
Hmmmm...so tired.
I am loving these hotel sheets. Nice and crisp.
Grrrr...
What is that infernal beeping?
"I mean, who does that? Am I right? And she couldn't understand why I was so perturbed at her! Can you believe this woman?"
Aw, crap, not this idiot again. How long was I out? I can't see the friggin' clock anymore.
"No one, I mean no one that I know would cut off Samuel Barber's 'Adagio for Strings' in the middle of the friggin' piece. Who? Who does that?"
"Unbelievable!" the other green man finally spoke. Deep voice. I dunno, maybe he is hot.
"I mean, I get it, you know. So you're tired of listening to music and wanna return to your audiobook for awhile, I get that.
But you wa-a-a-a-a-it, man, am I right?
You wa-a-a-a-it if friggin' 'Adagio for Strings' is playing. You do not cut that shit off mid-stanza, mid-measure, what the hell? Who does that? Have you ever heard such idiocy?
And she couldn't understand. Had not a clue what I was tellin' her. I don't know, man. I think this is the last straw. Sheila may not be the one..."
Oh dear god. Save me from any more of this. Is McCoy not here?
God, my head really hurts now and it's getting dark again. Why's it getting dark again?
Hmmmm...so tired.
I really am loving these hotel sheets. Nice and crisp.
Grrrr...
What is that infernal beeping?
"Mr. Terry? Mr. Terry, you awake?"
I've never liked this form of address.
Okay, you are too damn inept or afraid to pronounce my last name. Then just call me Terry. Because it is not appropriate to put a salutation in front of a person's first name.
Well, maybe if it's a priest or something. Aw, I wonder how Father Walter is doing? He was so -- ow, my head hurts and she's grabbing and shaking my foot. What the hell? In-a-pro-pri-ate, lady!
"Mr. Terry? I'm with the Williamson County Sheriff's Department. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you're up to it."
Hmmmm...
It seems this would not be the Starship Enterprise after all.
END OF EXCERPT
Enjoy looking through my Library
Terry’s “Good Living” Guide:
Avoid the 3 PsBsSs
Processed Foods, Phthalates, Plastics;
Beef, Butter, Breads;
you’ll be feeling better in no time!
Avoid the 3 F’s
misinformation, fear, anger and hate!
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