“He stinks.” Jerry stated this with a matter of fact tone that might imply that his understatement was somehow intentional.
“Well, yeah, he’s been dead for three days. What’d you expect?” Will peered into the trunk, took a swig of whiskey, turned, and spat out part of his chew onto the ant bed nearby. The ants were not pleased – amusing Will to no end.
Ed's bloated face seemed to stare out of the trunk like he was looking for something. There was an intensity in the furrow of his brow, reminding them both that he had once been their leader. Ed was always taking them on adventures, usually against their will, but they were helpless against his persistent pleas. He always found just the right words to convince them that if they did not accompany him, they would somehow miss out on THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT EVENT IN THEIR LIFETIMES.
Ed’s plans, when he had them, usually degenerated into a mish mash of haphazard mistakes and near misses. Ed was lucky, though. Well, up until recently. Now he was dead, pumped full of embalming fluid.
Will continued, “Ed, you dumb sombitch. Even dead, you’re getting us into trouble. If they catch us, we’ll go to jail fer sure.” He stuck his arms into the trunk and grabbed Ed’s feet, dragging him out without much effort at elegance. Ed’s body hit the ground with a hollow thud, further angering the ants.
“Shit,” Jerry suddenly yelled, and started shaking his right leg like a madman. “Gawdamn ant bit me!”
Will grinned and spat again. “Let’s get this over with.”
Years before, they had made a pact that when one of them died, the others would snatch the body, drive it to the country, and burn it on a pile of mesquite. West Texas was never lacking in piles of mesquite. It was Ed’s idea, but when he came up with the brainstorm, he obviously wasn’t planning on being the first to go. Not Ed. Not the lucky Ed.
Jerry, still enraged by the ant, started mashing every ant he could find with the heels of his snakeskin boots. It was a comical dance. Will watched and muttered, “Like you used to say, Ed, he ain’t overly bright.”
After a short rest, and several swigs of whiskey, the two men managed to drag Ed’s body on top of the mesquite pile. Standing there, with the sun starting to set, an orange glow settled in, along with an eerie stillness. Not typical for this part of Texas, this time of year.
It had been surprisingly easy to get Ed out of the funeral home. They waited until lunch time, and when everybody was out, they just walked in the back door and carried him out. For grins, they left two eighty-pound bags of cement in the casket. Jerry inquired, “Will, why does cement come in eighty-pound bags? I mean, why not fifty, or a hunnerd? Why eighty?”
Will mused, “He ain’t overly bright.”
Jerry poured gasoline from an old milk jug onto the base of the mesquite pile, getting it ready to set ablaze. The sun was just about to go down, and the two men took one last look at Ed’s face. Will reached over and flicked an ant off of Ed’s nose. It landed on Jerry, sending him into another dancing fit.
It was only then that they realized that neither of them had bothered to bring matches. Jerry spent a good ten minutes scouring the car for matches, a lighter, something to start a fire. “Will, why don’t you do some of that fucking boy scout voodoo and rub some sticks together or something?” Will had been a rising star in the scouting program, until he was discovered banging little Nancy Anderson in a scout tent at some camporee thing.
Ed got a kick out of it, and even got his girlfriend to sew a fake merit badge for “banging.” They even held a little ceremony when they gave it to him. Ed’s girlfriend held the badge up to his face and asked him, “What do you think?”
Ed replied, “Suzy, you have excellent fine motor skills.”
Jerry let out a loud “yeah,” and slammed the car door. He had a book of matches in his hand. Will looked at them.
They read, “Bill’s Bait and Tackle. If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.”
The fire started slowly, and then built into an outright bonfire. The two men stood and watched, passing the bottle between them. The stillness was interrupted when a sudden gust of wind sent a burst of smoke from the fire, engulfing the men as they drank.
“He stinks,” Jerry repeated. About that time, another ant bit him, sending him into yet another manic dance attack.
“Gawdamnit!”
Will spat, shook his head, and muttered, “He ain’t overly bright.”
As they drove away, Will watched the orange glow slowly recede in the rear view mirror. The dust followed them into the approaching night.
