Graverobbers Wanted: No Experience Necessary am-1

by Jeff Strand

  “Good. And now that we’ve put that behind us, let me make you all better.”

  Chapter 2

  ABOUT A week later, Wednesday night, I was sitting in The Blizzard Room with Roger. We sat in the back corner of the coffee shop, discussing such weighty topics as why we bothered to keep coming to the Blizzard Room.

  “The coffee isn’t all that great,” I said, using my fingers to mark the number of negative points being made. “The service is slow and surly. There’s a disturbing non-coffee smell in the air. There’s not a table in the entire place that doesn’t rock when you touch it.” I touched the table, causing it to rock. “Why do we come here instead of someplace masculine, like a bar?”

  “Because we’re both deeply lame human beings.“Roger took a sip of his double mocha latte. I’ve known him since seventh grade, when we regularly sat next to each other in detention. In the years since then we’d alternated between me getting him in trouble and him getting me in trouble. We even roomed together in college, where he majored in psychology and I at various times majored in theatre, art history, creative writing, popular culture, and (on a dare) women’s studies.

  While I’m tall and of average build, Roger is short and slightly pudgy.His hair startedsayingadios , sucker!around the time he turned twenty-two, and his nose takes up much more than its share of facial surface area. Despite that, he’s never had any problems attracting women, not with those sapphire blue, soulful, “awwwww,he’sso adorable” eyes. I’ve always been jealous of his eyes. My eyes are kind of a dingy brownish color. It’s really not fair.

  In fact, it looked like Roger’s eyes were getting him attention once again. A gorgeous blonde was doing a terrible job pretending that she wasn’t staring at us. Roger noticed this and waved to her. She smiled, picked up her coffee, and walked over to our table.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” said Roger.

  As the woman sat down, Roger stuck out his hand. “RogerTanglen . This is my friend Andrew Mayhem. He’s extremely married.”

  I shot him a “shut the hell up” look, even though I’m far too married to even consider trying anything. It still would have been nice to see if she’d hit on me, even if I couldn’t accept her advances. I hope that doesn’t sound too pathetic.

  “Pleased to meet you, Roger and Andrew.I’m Jennifer Ashcraft. Mind if I smoke?”

  “Of course not.Here, I’ll join you,” offered Roger, whipping out a pack of cigarettes and offering her one. She took it and let him light it for her with his very cool koala bear lighter. (It’s a lighter in the shape of a koala bear, not a lighter used for igniting koala bears.Just wanted to make that clear.)

  Jennifer looked to be in her early thirties, with long wavy hair and a face that neither had nor required any makeup. She wore jeans and a black blouse thatfitvery tightly and seemed designed to send the message “Hey, everyone, we’ve got nudity under here!”

  “You two look like nice, strong men,” she said, glancing around to see if anyone was listening. “Would you say you consider yourselves open to new experiences?”

  “Yes,” said Roger, too quickly.

  She stared me right in the eye. “And you?”

  I made a play of scratching my forehead so that my wedding ring was blatantly visible, in case she’d missed Roger’s “extremely married” comment.“Uh, yeah, sometimes.”

  “Good.” She opened her pocketbook and removed an envelope. “Inside this envelope is five hundred dollars. What I’m going to ask is very unusual, and you may not want to do it. If you decide not to accept, the five hundred dollars is for you to forget all about me.Deal?”

  “Sounds great,” I said. “I’ll just pretend you were my algebra lessons in high school.”

  Roger glared at me as if my sparkling wit might scare her off. “What do you want us to do?”

  She leaned forward confidentially. “I want you to dig up my husband’s grave.”

  Roger and I simultaneously leaned forward. “I beg your pardon?” I asked.

  “My husband was buried last night, and I want you to dig up the coffin.”

  It was clear from Roger’s expression that he considered this task quite a bit less appealing than wild kinky sex. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She shook her head. “I’m completely serious.”

  “Is this the kind of thing you usually ask people in coffee shops?” I inquired. “Are you sure you didn’t walk in here by mistake thinking it was Maude andVinny’s DiscountGraverobbing Emporium?”

  “I told you it was unusual.”

  “And you were damn right.”

  “Is this a no?”

  I hesitated. “It’s kind of a no, but it’s the sort of no where I acknowledge that you haven’t discussed payment yet. I seem to have left my exhumation price list at home.”

  “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  Roger and I glanced at each other. That was incredible money for what basically amounted to an evening of illegal manual labor. It would certainly buy Helen a new video camera and pay off the car damages…

  No, no, what was I thinking? This wasgraverobbing ! This was ghoulish behavior! This was sick, sick, sick! This could put me in jail, in an asylum, or on a sleazy daytime talk show. The best thing���no,theonly thing���to do was tell Jennifer we were flattered she’d thought of us to fulfill her disinterment needs, but that we had to pass.

  “Twenty thousand cash?“I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Answer this important question: Do you want your husband dug up for some sort of unholy ritual?Because I don’t do unholy rituals.”

  Jennifer smiled. “Don’t worry, there’s no witchcraft involved.”

  “And I don’t do college-style pranks, either. If you want him dug up to leave in the passenger seat of your mother-in-law’s car, find somebody else.”

  “I don’t know, that might be kind of funny,” said Roger.“If I had a mother-in-law.”

  “Shut up, Roger.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” said Jennifer. “The body will never leave the coffin.”

  “Why, then?If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look all that upset for somebody whose husband just passed away.”

  “You’re very perceptive.”

  “Well, I have to warn you that after what happened to me last week I’m a little burned out on the whole pissed-off spouse thing,” I said. “So tell me why you want this done.”

  Jennifer gave a casual shrug. “He had a key with him when he was buried. I want the key.Simple as that.”

  I guess that was quite a bit less weird than other possible reasons for wanting her husband dug up, though the idea still wasn’t especially thrilling. “Where is it, in his pocket?”

  “Maybe.It could be anywhere. It could be in his mouth, for all I know.”

  “Inhismouth ?You want us to reach inside a corpse’s mouth? And maybe even touch a dead tongue? Have you taken hygiene into consideration?”

  “Are you turning down the job?”

  “I still haven’t said that.” I looked at Roger to seeifhe had said that. He hadn’t. He was just sitting there looking confused. “How long do you think it takes a dead tongue to dry out?” I asked.

  “I have no idea. Now do you want the job or not?”

  “I have a couple thousand more questions first. Such as, I’m not an expert in the field, but aren’t caskets meant to be permanently sealed? Wouldn’t I need to bring along a jackhammer or something?”

  “Cheap pine box.Shallow grave.Well-hidden area. A park, actually.”

  I stared at her for a long moment. “Not to be rude, but I find that a little disconcerting.”

  “I didn’t murder my husband.”

  “I never would have dreamed otherwise. How did he die?”

  “Suicide.And I’d rather not discuss it.”

  “Fair enough.May I ask why he’s lying in a cheap pine box in a shallow grave in a well-hidden area of a park rather t
han a state-approved casket in a designated graveyard burial site?”

  “I’d rather not discuss that, either.”

  “Okay, how about an easier question. Why did you pick us?”

  Jennifer smiled. “I’ve done my research.” She glanced at her wristwatch and sighed. “Listen, I know men hate having to make a commitment, but I’m going to need one right now. Do you want the job?”

  Twenty thousand dollars.Well, ten thousand for me.Plus the chance to add something new to my resume. But in terms of eliciting Helen’s fury, it had the potential of making the videotaping debacle look like passing out toys to doe-eyed orphans at Christmas.

  And yeah, I really needed the money, but spending time in jail forgraverobbing would really look bad on a job application.

  Ah, screw it. What’s life without risk?

  “What do you think?” I asked Roger. “It would pay for that trip toLas Vegas you’ve been dreaming about.”

  “Ummm…all right.” Roger was never big on the concept of independent thought.

  “Okay, Jennifer, you’ve got yourself a pair ofgraverobbers .”

  HELEN WAS working nightshift, and the kids spent every Wednesday night during the summer with Helen’s parents. I love my in-laws and they tolerate me, but sending the kids over there on a weekly basis was most certainly not my idea. Have you ever tried to discipline children who’ve been allowed to stay up as late as they want and do whatever they want and whose blood sugar invariably tests six times over the legal definition of “wired?” It doesn’t work.

  However, not having my wife or kids around meant that I wouldn’t have to be home until 6 A.M. Roger and I got in Jennifer’s sleek silver sedan and went for a forty-five minute drive, during which she kept the radio volume loud and was unresponsive to our questions.

  We ended up inFleetPark , which is a decent little place located up north, in an area generally known as “way the hell out in the boondocks.” Jennifer stopped her car in front of the closed gate and shut off the engine.

  “So, are you boys ready?”

  She was trying to maintain the casual attitude she’d had in the Blizzard Room, but it was starting to falter. Probably had a little to do with the whole digging up her dead husband thing.

  I have to admit, I was feeling a bit queasy myself. “I guess so.”

  She reached down and pulled the trunk release lever, then handed me a folded piece of paper. “You’ll find shovels, lanterns, working gloves, and beer in the back. These instructions will show you how to find where he was buried. It’s about a mile away, and you’ll have to cross through some thick brush.Oh, and there’s also a snakebite kit in the cooler, just in case.”

  “That’s very thoughtful,” Roger said. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

  “If I didn’t have a problem being near my husband’s corpse, I wouldn’t have hired you two.” She handed Roger a cellular phone. “My beeper number is written on the instructions. Page me when you’re done, and I’ll be back to pick you up. Now go dig him up, get the key, rebury the grave just as you found it, and come back here. Then you’ll get your money.”

  WE CLIMBED over the gate with no problem and then we were on a dirt path most of the time, so the walk wasn’t so bad, except for the fact that Roger made me carry the cooler. After we had to step off the path and walk through moist brush, the fear of disturbing one of the numerous varieties ofFlorida snakes made things a little less pleasant, but we hurried through without encountering anything more fearsome than an armadillo. Though to be honest, the armadillo scared the hell out of us.

  The grave was in a small clearing. Though the site wasn’t marked with anything helpful like a sign reading “Dead Guy Below,” the freshly turned dirt made it obvious that we were in the right place.

  I set down the cooler and sighed. “Well, Roger, this is our last chance to wimp out. We’regraverobbing for a woman who probably murdered her husband. Think it’s worth the money?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s not even think about it. Let’s just dig.”

  THE DIRT WASN’T difficult to move,and the digging went fairly quickly. About half an hour later, at approximately the stroke of midnight, we’d unearthed an area about two feet deep. Roger leaned against a tree, finishing a beer as he took his fourth break for the evening. He put the empty can back in the cooler. We may violate burial sites, but damn it, we don’t litter.

  “And so resumes the twenty-third annual Fleet ParkGraverobbing Competition,” Roger announced, using the handle of his shovel like a microphone. “It looks like our champion, Andrew Mayhem, is currently leading in the dirt removal process, but can hesustain such an incredible pace?”

  “You’re pretty cheerful for somebody digging up a coffin,” I muttered. “Correction, you’re pretty cheerful for somebody sitting on his lazy buttwatchingme dig up a coffin.”

  “I’m not sitting, I’m standing.”

  “Shut up. You’ve been spending too much time around my daughter. Get in here and help me dig so we can get this over with. You may not be aware of this little tidbit of information, but if we get caught we’re screwed.”

  I pushed down on the shovel, and heard adullthud sound. “And he strikes casket!” Roger broadcast. “The crowd goes wild!” He mimicked a crowd going wild as I crouched down and began to push dirt away with my hands.

  “Who the hell would drag a heavy coffin all the way out here?” I wondered aloud. “Why not just bury him in a garbage bag or something?”

  “That would be disrespectful,” Roger pointed out.

  In a couple of minutes, I’d exposed half of the coffin lid. The only thing holding it closed was a padlock, which wasn’t going to withstand a good smack with my shovel. I lifted the shovel to do just that, when Roger suddenly tensed.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “I think somebody’s coming! Hide!”

  Roger hurriedly pressed himself against the tree, while I got down on my stomach and hid from sight in the grave. It occurred to me that if this was the police, and they found me lying facedown on a coffin at midnight, I’d probably be going away for a long, long time.

  We waited.

  Silence.

  A couple of minutes passed.

  “Maybe I was wrong,” said Roger, stepping away from the tree.

  I stood back up, brushing off my shirt, and gave him what I deemed to be a suitably dirty look. “Just for that, you’re the one searching the corpse for the key. Put on the gloves.”

  “Let me give that idea full consideration before I reject it,” said Roger. He pretended to think for a moment. “Okay, now I’ve rejected it.”

  “If we’re dividing the money equally, we should divide the duties equally. And since I’ve done about seven-eighths of the digging, I think it’s only fair that you should have to reach into a corpse mouth if it becomes necessary.”

  Roger shook his head. “Weren’t youan archaeology major for a couple weeks? You should have no problem handling dead things.”

  “I’ll flip you for it,” I said, taking a quarter out of my pocket. “Call it in the air.” I flipped the coin into the air.

  “Heads.”

  I caught it. “Tails,” I lied.

  “You’re lying.”

  “No I’m not,” I lied again.

  “Rock, Paper, Scissors,” Roger suggested. “It’s the only fair way.”

  “Oh, yeah, real fair.Like I haven’t seen you make your selectionjuuuuuuuust a bit late before.”

  “How about we both search together?”

  “Sure. Why don’t we call in some friends, make a group project out of it?”

  I picked up the shovel, lifted it above the padlock, and brought it down as hard as I could. There was a loud clang as the padlock broke.

  “Now,” I said, “I’m going to open this coffin, and one of us is going to have to get the key. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get the key if you mow my���”

  A bullet fired upward through th
e lid of the coffin, nearly grazing my ear. With a surprised yelp I leapt out of the grave as two more gunshots were fired from within the coffin, splintering the lid.

  Roger dove for cover. “Whatthehell ?!? “

  Then there was a loud screaming. It sounded like attempts at words, but they were completely incoherent. As I scrambled out of the way of any more potential shots,whomever was inside began to pound on the lid.

  Another gunshot.

  More screaming.

  And then I heard the lid fly open.

  Chapter 3

  MICHAEL ASHCRAFT���if this was him���sat up with the loudest shriek yet. He looked about thirty, with black hair that stuck out like a fright wig. His eyes were open wide, as he swung the revolver around wildly. He squeezed off another shot, but was obviously just firing at random, not trying to hit anything.

  “Calm down! You’re going to be all right!” I assured him, feeling oh-so incredibly stupid as I said it.

  Michael’s screams stopped and he began writhing back and forth, whimpering. Being buried alive is obviously not conducive to good mental health. Roger and I remained motionless for a long moment, unable to do anything but watch.

  Finally I spoke up. “Michael, can you hear me?”

  His head began to jerk violently from side to side as he began babbling gibberish. He slammed the barrel of the revolver against the side of his head, but I couldn’t tell if it was a suicidal impulse or an insane reflex.

  “Listen to me, Michael,” I said. “We’re here to help you.”

  He continued bashing the revolver against his skull. I flinched with each blow, but kept my voice calm. “Michael, can you understand what I’m saying? Stop beating the shit out of yourself if you can understand what I’m saying.”

  Michael dropped the revolver. Blood trickled from the lacerations he’d given himself. He began making a sound that was either laughter or sobbing���I couldn’t tell.

  He looked at me. That is, he turned his head toward me, though his eyes remained wild and unfocused.