Jaccob Marrero is a sci-fi, fantasy, drama author. Currently, he is a Full Sail student aiming for a Bachelor's degree in Creative Writing.
“And that’s that,” said Georgie. He tucked the smoking gun back into his jacket. “All right, so who’s getting the body?”
Paul looked up from his plate of rigatoni and said, “Not me, man. Hell no. I just dumped one last week.”
Randy slurped up a noodle before speaking. “What? What happened?”
“You’ve got body duty,” said Paul. He gave Randy a pat on his back, then went back to eating.
“Wait, don’t I get a say?”
“Afraid not,” Georgie replied. He diced his grilled chicken into small pieces. “You’re the new guy. We’ve done this before. I wanna know you can too.”
Randy threw his hands up and said, “But, I’ve never done it before!”
“How do you not know how to?” Paul said, laughing. “You find a secluded place, dig a hole, and chuck the damn body in it. Not that hard.”
Randy’s face reddened. “What if I get caught?”
“Well, you know what happens if you do.”
Paul pointed at the bullet riddled body on the table.
“Goddammit,” said Randy. He threw the napkin on the table and stood up.
Rookie, Georgie thought.
“This should be good,” Paul said. He turned and shook his head at the meal next to him, which had now been tainted by the pool of blood. “Shame. That ziti cost $25.”
“Really?” asked Georgie.
“I didn’t know that. I don’t look at the prices.”
Randy pulled the dead man’s chair. The body dragged the blood-stained table cloth and the deep-dish ziti as Randy continued to pull.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Georgie pointed at the plate with his fat finger. “Careful! Don’t wanna make a mess!”
Randy hauled the fat corpse off the table. Once he saw the three holes in the face, he gagged and dropped the body right back into the food.
“What the hell?” said Paul. He wiped at the mixture of tomato sauce and blood that sprayed on his $500 suit.
Randy continued to gag. Veins bulged against his red neck.
Paul shook his head and smirked. “Pussy.”
“Relax, kid,” Georgie finished a mouthful of chicken. “You ain’t ever seen a dead body before?”
Randy shook his head.
“Don’t think of it as a guy,” said Georgie. “It’s a deer that you mowed down on the highway.” He pointed at the table. “It’s caught in your front bumper. All you gotta do is remove it. Then, to pay respects, you bury it far away, so it can reconnect with Mother Nature.”
Paul snickered at the childish analogy. Bits of rigatoni escaped his full mouth.
“I’ve never heard of deer burials,” Randy said. Tears streamed his face. Sweat seeped through his lime colored shirt.
“Hippies do them,” Paul said. “They love the earth and the animals and all that shit.”
“Okay.” Randy took deep breaths. His hands shook uncontrollably. “I got this.” He nodded his head. “I got this.”
“Atta boy” Georgie lifted his glass of sangria. He watched Randy like a lion watching its cub practice the hunt.
Randy lifted the body off the table. His eyes veered away at the wall. Fuck me, he thought. Muscles contracted as he pushed the overweight corpse back into the chair.
“Good,” Georgie said. “You’re a strong kid. Carry him out to the trunk, find a spot, and bury him.”
“Okay,” Randy adjusted the body again. His arms wrapped around the fat man like anacondas. Once more, muscles tensed and veins bulged.
Paul whooped at the show of strength. “Goddamn, kid. Momma been feeding you right!”
Randy said nothing. He hauled the body out of the dining area and towards the back door.
“Can you imagine that he comes back to life?” Paul asked.
“I’d like to see that,” replied Georgie.
“Just pops out like a fuckin’ Jack-In-The-Box.” Paul widened his eyes and spread his arms and went, “Surprise!”
Once the laughs subsided, Paul’s face became stern.
“I dunno about him, though.” Paul buried his fork into his rigatoni.
Georgie sipped his wine.
“He’s young, got a heart. Too soft. In our line of work, people with hearts are vulnerable. They’re always the first ones to go. Only way to live is to live without a heart.”
Georgie nodded and said, “Give it time. We were all like that. Soft, ambitious. Stupid.”
Paul shrugged his shoulders as he chewed. “If you say so.”
Somewhere secluded, Randy thought. I dunno anywhere secluded. Every bit of a land is a Goddamn Wal-Mart or an apartment complex.
Three cars sat under the yellow halo of a street light in the back. An old wood fence kept any curious eyes blinded.
Randy struggled to reach in his pockets for his car keys. His right arm took all 200 plus pounds of the body. “Fuckin’ hell.” His car, a red Sedan, beeped. “Why do I need to bury this body? I didn’t pull the Goddamn trigger.”
The trunk greeted him by opening.
“Seriously, how am I gonna bury this fat ass.” Randy dragged him toward the trunk where an empty blackness awaited the corpse. “I don’t even have a shovel! Dammit!”
Randy made it to the trunk. His car bounced when the corpse dropped inside. The slam of the trunk door echoed. He slid inside his car. That pleasant floral scent he loved didn’t seem to calm him down.
His palms slammed on the steering wheel. What if the body gets dug up once I bury it? I’ve seen Goodfellas. I’m not going through what Henry did. How can Georgie trust me with anything if I can’t get rid of one fat guy?
One thought chained to another. He thought about what the Goodfellas would do. Then, specific scenes, procrastinating until he realized how hungry the movie made him.
“Food.” he said. “Food.” He looked at the trunk. “Food!” Everything’s gotta eat, Randy. “Even the gators in the swamp!” He smiled and put his car in reverse, shifting the gear with newfound confidence.