Ike pulled the hose over to the wood chipper. They’d aimed it at the manure pile as they dropped pieces of the kid into the inlet chute. Then Ike had gotten on the bulldozer and turned the manure over again and again. By the time the sun was coming up the kid was just fertilizer.
He dropped the hose and went back inside the shop and grabbed the bleach. He went back to the chipper and poured bleach in the inlet chute, then grabbed the hose and flushed water through the chipper and out the discharge chute. A chipper was a practical way to chop up a body, but it was a terrible way to get rid of evidence. Despite rinsing it out with Clorox, it was still covered in DNA that wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Bits of bone and hair were probably imbedded in the gears and teeth inside the machine. The only thing he could do now was take it to the dump and toss it onto the ever-growing pile of rusted-out refrigerators, washing machines, and lawn mowers at the rear of the landfill. A thousand-dollar piece of equipment reduced to scrap. He couldn’t even take it to the salvage yard and get some of his money back.
Ike finished with his cleanup job and rolled the chipper around to the side of the building. He’d get one of his guys to help him load it onto his truck later. He’d give them some story about it conking out on him and then casually never mention it again. He was a little disconcerted how easily he was able to slip back into Riot’s habit of lying without compunction. But only a little.
He went back inside the shop and was making his way to the front door to unlock it when Jazzy came in thirty minutes early. Ike stopped and put his hands on his hips. He’d given her a key over a year ago but she’d never arrived early enough to use it.
“This must be the end-times, because you’re actually here early,” he said. Jazzy rolled her eyes.
“Marcus’s car broke down so I had to take him to work at the window plant. It’s right up the road from here. I ain’t see no point in going home after I dropped him off, so here I am. I thought you’d be happy I was here all early and shit,” Jazzy said.
“I am, I’m just recovering from the shock,” Ike said. Jazzy rolled her eyes again and headed for her desk. Ike was about to follow her when he heard a thunderous roar come from the road. He stopped, turned, and looked out the door. A line of motorcycles, about five or six deep, were flying past the shop. They sounded like a pride of lions on the hunt.
EIGHTEEN
Buddy Lee parked his truck and slid out onto his unsteady legs. He closed the door and stumbled toward his trailer. He’d left the cemetery and headed to the nearest bar. A quiet little neighborhood spot called McCallan’s. He started with beer, then moved to whiskey and finished with bourbon.
Sleep. He needed to sleep this off before he called Ike to talk about their next move. He stepped on the first cinder block but immediately lost his footing. He tumbled to the right, hit his trailer, then fell to the ground, landing on his ass. Buddy Lee rolled over onto his knees. As he tried to push himself up, all the air in his lungs evaporated. In its place a wad of phlegm the size of a lemon filled his chest. Buddy Lee’s eyes bulged from their sockets as he tried to get enough breath in his lungs to cough.
Strong hands pounded against his back. The sharp strikes forced the ball of phlegm out of his throat. It spilled across the ground like a squashed toad. Buddy Lee felt himself being pulled to his feet.
“You alright?”
Buddy Lee nodded to his savior. A slim narrow-hipped woman with sharp rough-hewn features held his left arm in an ironlike grip. Her skin shined with a deep burnished tan born of hours under the high hot sun. Two long black pigtails interspersed with snow-white strands trailed down over her chest and fell almost to her waist.
“You a terrible liar, Buddy Lee,” she said.
“Just lost my footing for a minute, Margo. No need to get ya panties in a bunch,” Buddy Lee said. Margo let him go and wiped her hands on her jeans. Her white tank top had dark splotches covering it like it was a piece of modern art.
“I stopped wearing panties when Herb died. That was my second husband. He was a good man but, Lord, he was so uptight he squeaked when he walked,” Margo said.
“Husband number three didn’t mind you going commando?” Buddy Lee asked with a wink.
“Colton? Lord no. That man would’ve banged the crack of dawn if it would’ve stood still long enough. I wasn’t shocked he died on top of a woman, I just always thought it would be me.” Margo said. Buddy Lee chuckled. The chuckle became a laugh. The laugh became a cough. Margo patted him on the back. It was a strangely intimate gesture, and Buddy Lee found it comforted him more than he cared to admit. Finally, his cough subsided.