almost okay

SHERMAN WHISTLES WHILE HE WORKS
Chapter Six: Dig This

It took about an hour but I managed to dig a decent-sized hole in the middle of a stand of trees and surrounded by brush, a couple hundred feet away from where I'd parked the car. I hit a root or two, chopped through them with the shovel, but other than that it was easy digging because of all the rain the day before. Finally I had a small grave dug about four feet deep, carefully saving the grass and weeds from the ground's surface in one foot square chunks to replace once the hole was filled. I went back to the car, wheezing from the exertion of digging, popped the trunk and pulled the body out. It seemed heavier than when I put it in. I carried it over to the grave and put it down beside the hole. I untied the bags, reached in and found her feet, pulled them free and removed her left shoe - a sandal which she'd changed into after work. I was surprised to see a Gucci label stamped into the sole. The sandals were white, a single, silver-buckled strap around the heel with a strip of red and blue fabric woven through silver chain decorating the top piece that ran between her toes. They were nice. I wondered if she had a matching belt. The pale moonlight shimmered off her silver toe ring, and I noticed that the nails of her pretty toes were painted deep crimson. The color of blood. I reached in my pocket for the end cutters.

I'm squeamish. I hate to admit it, but it's true. This part of the job had been bothering me since I'd read the instructions Boss had given me two days ago. But no toe, no pay, so I took a deep breath, worked her ring-clad middle toe into the jaws of the end cutters as far behind the ring as I could, closed my eyes and squeezed hard with both hands. I heard a sickening 'pop' when the bone gave way, then a squishy feeling as the cutters nipped through the flesh. My stomach was beginning to feel light and my forehead felt hot. I stood up, tried to take a deep breath, then dropped to my knees and puked right in the grave.

Once I'd gotten my legs back under me I looked around for the toe and panicked momentarily before realizing that I was standing on it. I tore off a piece of one of the trash bags and wrapped the toe up before slipping it into my shirt pocket, pushed her feet back inside the bags and rolled the bundle into the grave. I heard myself say “Sorry”out loud and had the sense that I was looking down, watching the work instead of actually toiling away myself. I tossed the sandal, the end cutters, the poncho, the work gloves, the extension cord and her credit cards on top. I leaned the shovel against one of the trees then stomped at it until the handle broke in two. I threw that into the grave as well, then scraped the dirt back in with the side of my foot and finished it off by replacing the sections of grass and weeds. In a week nobody would know I'd even been here. Except for me, of course. I would never forget.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I drove around until the needle was on 'E', found an industrial area and began circling the blocks in figure eights. The trick was to run the tank empty, make it look like a mugging and a joyride, but not leave myself too far away to walk back. The Neon had less than a quarter of a tank when I started, but it took me nearly two hours to run it dry. By the time it shivered to a stop I was on the other side of town, a good four mile walk from my rental van.

I left the car at the side of the road with the keys in the ignition and the radio on but the volume turned down, flipped the seats up, opened the glove box and the trunk and began walking. After a mile or so I pulled off the plastic gloves. My fingers were swollen and wrinkled, like they get from too much time in the bath. I saw a dumpster next to a muffler shop and casually tossed in one of the gloves as I passed. There was almost no traffic in this part of town at this time of night, which was good. Another few blocks and I hit Fruitville Pike, turned east heading in the direction of the van. I stopped into a 7-11, bought a Slim Jim, a Snickers and a Gatorade, paid for the stuff with my card so as to avoid handing the cashier the money. I didn't want to draw attention to my shriveled fingers. It was well after midnight, though, and the young guy at the counter was barely awake, yawned even as he rung me up. “Three-seventy-seven,” he said. On the way out, I stripped the plastic from the Slim Jim and tossed it, along with the remaining plastic glove into the trash can to the right of the door.