A MOSTLY MESSY MURDER
by
T. Loessin
Beginning
What was that smell?
I’d bought
groceries two days ago. Did I forget to
bring in one of the bags that had meat in it?
What was
that smell?
I’d only
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. The car would be parked in the hot parking lot
all afternoon!
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.
But why did
they have to put him in my trunk? Why,
why, why – 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 a number
of strange thoughts entering my head at that moment: That stain is going to 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 I was inhaling
deeply, I heard someone behind me clearing their throat. I froze and held my breath.
“Good
morning,” she said.
Good
morning? As if, Gladys Kravitz!
Could she
have seen? No, 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 seemed 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 any
out there contemplating murder:
a dead body is not an easy thing to dispose of.
It is
essential one 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. So, 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 Entry 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 a number of times and I’d barely got the last bits of
debris swept off my trailer when already arriving on 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 items became unidentifiable, compressed and merged into
that of the rest of the world's…
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-m… 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 very big smile
suddenly drew across my face. There was
my flatbed trailer parked along the side of the house where I had backed it and
unhitched it yesterday, my riding mower still on board after having returned
from the cemetery.
Did I
mention I volunteered as the groundskeeper of my family’s 150 y.o. cemetery
that lies out in the country 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.
Probably should wait until well
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. Very peaceful out here
at this time of night, even moreso than in the daytime.
I do love
coming out to mow my family's private cemetery and make it all look nice and
manicured. After mowing, I get my
weedeater 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 with the special cleaning mixture.
Your headstone needs a bit of scrubbing.”
They like
it, I believe, 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 their spirits in the birds. And their singing? It's them thanking me. "Thanks for taking care of our lawn,
Terry!"
1:15. Still digging.
There are
some really interesting headstones out here.
Many contain the symbols of my own ethnic background – the emblem of my
family’s small Czech protestant church, the crest of various fraternal lodges,
etc. My favorite? The three headstones out here that have etched
in stone at center top a hand with forefinger pointed upward. I’m like, really? 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.
Maybe I
should 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.
At some
point, after much struggle, I had laid the blanket out on the ground before the
trunk of the car and I had 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. I drove my head into his chest while throwing
his arms over my shoulders and grunted as I hugged him and lifted him up. Pulling him toward me while slowly stepping
backward, I then 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 and the moonlight was
reflecting on the dark red color -- covering my arms, my shirt. 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. I had pressed my face into his
chest.
Those
bastards had shot him in the chest.
What
a friggin' mess!
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.
Done digging. Hole covered. Tools being loaded into yet-to-be-cleaned
trunk.
A bit disconcerting to feel 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.
"What the f -- "
Mud and grime covering my hands and buried under my nails, I transfer
the pick axe from one hand to my other hand that was holding the shovel and I begin struggling in
frustration while trying to pull my phone out of my pocket. My pocket 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 final tools in the trunk and slam the lid. I yank the remaining length of
paper towels off the roll and hastily wipe my hands as clean as possible while sitting in the
dark front seat of my car. I realize I'm shaking. I'm typing now 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 drive 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 outside 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! 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...
No contacting for six months is what I thought we'd promised, you dumbshits --
Mmnf!
"Crap! Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!"
Unlike the front yard and porch, the backyard is quite a bit darker and I just collided with their clothesline pole.
"Mudda f-" I think I'm bleeding. I pull my hand away from my forehead and examine my palm. Is that blood? Blood! Again?!
"My God! Have I not had to deal with enough blood in one day?!"
And then I see them. The moon serving as the spotlight illuminates 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. 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 heard behind me.
Who's there?
Snap! There it is again.
Ironic.
I'm now wishing there was more light out here in this yard...
So ironic it brought a smile to my face. Who's the idiot now, Terry?
Snap! There it is.
Here you are. Middle of the night. In the dark. Maybe you should try texting again, you idiot!
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. Probably because my face is buried in it.
Oh my God, I can't breathe.
"God help me."
My whole world's gone dark now.
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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