Kieran raised his hand to shield against the errant close-range shot in the millisecond before the blast ripped his chest. He collapsed in a rag doll heap on the dirty beige carpet, leaking blood like a colander. A diagonal plank of light escaped through a gap in the dusty Venetian blinds and illuminated the twisted body. Eduardo and Rafie dropped to their knees and made the Sign of the Cross. The dog hid under the kitchen table. The stench of blood and intestinal matter enveloped the room. Alita gagged, tried to close her throat to the surge in her stomach, but lost the battle, adding the sickly perfume of vomit to the air.
“Call an ambulance! Call the police!” Alita screamed, wiping her mouth on her shirtsleeve.
“It’s too late,” Eduardo said, watching a bloody bubble gurgle up through Kieran’s nose and hang motionless.
“If we call the police, they arrest us for murder, maybe they find out we robbed the store,” Rafie said with his hands on his head. “For sure they arrest us for border jumping.”
“I don’t care if they do arrest you crazies. Just get him out of my apartment. Now!”
Eduardo emptied the Irishman’s pockets, gathered up his car keys and wallet. Rafie pocketed the Irishman’s cell phone. They wrapped the body in a bed-sheet. Eduardo instructed Rafie to get their car and pull it around back so they could load the stinking corpse into the trunk for a remote dump. They would leave the keys to the Irishman’s car in the ignition, guaranteeing someone would steal it.
“Once we ditch this guy, we’ll come back and clean up the FedEx boxes,” Eduardo said.
“I don’t want you back here. Ever!” Alita waved them away. “Just go, you’re nothing but trouble.”
Slaughterhouse
On the heels of their banishment, Eduardo and Rafie set a fast
course from St. Paul to Sioux Falls.
“Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?” Eduardo shook his head, wishing the game and this part of his life would just go away.
“Irish stew.”
As he replied, Eduardo anticipated that the punch line would be a direct reference to the condition of the dead Irishman they had just weighted down and dumped in the river.
“Irishstew in the name of the law.” Rafie let out a macabre laugh and tossed his empty beer can into the back seat.
In need of money, they were relying on the modern-day Hispanic Underground Railroad, a network of employers who readily took in undocumented alien workers with few, if any, questions asked.
As they approached the AgriCentral meat packing plant, they were greeted by its fetid air of gamey decay. The sun filtered through the dust that rose from the holding pens and washed the red brick three-story building in a sepia haze. The hydro-turbines on the Big Sioux River that had been indentured to power the plant spewed unfiltered carrion downstream. Eduardo and Rafie had worked this plant before and dropped seamlessly into the second shift.
A cattle trailer backed up too fast and banged the loading dock, jostling the load. The animals caught wind of the slaughter smell and pitched inward on each other. Eduardo stuck a 9000volt electric prod through the trailer’s galvanized metal slats. The panicked cattle scrambled out of the trailer through a chute. Their hooves slipped on the wet concrete floor as they stumbled into a restraining device.
A Nicaraguan with Popeye forearms brought a compressed-air gun into contact with a cow’s head. Phoop was the last sound the animal heard before a piston-action bolt dropped it dead. An electric hoist elevated the shackled carcass of the cow and moved it along the line. Rafie gripped a sixteen-inch knife in his metal mesh-gloved hand. He slashed at the cow’s throat and ripped out its trachea. Blood gushed and squirted like a Jackson Pollock painting onto his plastic apron, then spilled off his shoes into the floor drain. In the adjacent station, the hides were washed with calcium hypochlorite solution. Rafie’s eyes burned from
“Call an ambulance! Call the police!” Alita screamed, wiping her mouth on her shirtsleeve.
“It’s too late,” Eduardo said, watching a bloody bubble gurgle up through Kieran’s nose and hang motionless.
“If we call the police, they arrest us for murder, maybe they find out we robbed the store,” Rafie said with his hands on his head. “For sure they arrest us for border jumping.”
“I don’t care if they do arrest you crazies. Just get him out of my apartment. Now!”
Eduardo emptied the Irishman’s pockets, gathered up his car keys and wallet. Rafie pocketed the Irishman’s cell phone. They wrapped the body in a bed-sheet. Eduardo instructed Rafie to get their car and pull it around back so they could load the stinking corpse into the trunk for a remote dump. They would leave the keys to the Irishman’s car in the ignition, guaranteeing someone would steal it.
“Once we ditch this guy, we’ll come back and clean up the FedEx boxes,” Eduardo said.
“I don’t want you back here. Ever!” Alita waved them away. “Just go, you’re nothing but trouble.”
Slaughterhouse
On the heels of their banishment, Eduardo and Rafie set a fast
course from St. Paul to Sioux Falls.
“Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?” Eduardo shook his head, wishing the game and this part of his life would just go away.
“Irish stew.”
As he replied, Eduardo anticipated that the punch line would be a direct reference to the condition of the dead Irishman they had just weighted down and dumped in the river.
“Irishstew in the name of the law.” Rafie let out a macabre laugh and tossed his empty beer can into the back seat.
In need of money, they were relying on the modern-day Hispanic Underground Railroad, a network of employers who readily took in undocumented alien workers with few, if any, questions asked.
As they approached the AgriCentral meat packing plant, they were greeted by its fetid air of gamey decay. The sun filtered through the dust that rose from the holding pens and washed the red brick three-story building in a sepia haze. The hydro-turbines on the Big Sioux River that had been indentured to power the plant spewed unfiltered carrion downstream. Eduardo and Rafie had worked this plant before and dropped seamlessly into the second shift.
A cattle trailer backed up too fast and banged the loading dock, jostling the load. The animals caught wind of the slaughter smell and pitched inward on each other. Eduardo stuck a 9000volt electric prod through the trailer’s galvanized metal slats. The panicked cattle scrambled out of the trailer through a chute. Their hooves slipped on the wet concrete floor as they stumbled into a restraining device.
A Nicaraguan with Popeye forearms brought a compressed-air gun into contact with a cow’s head. Phoop was the last sound the animal heard before a piston-action bolt dropped it dead. An electric hoist elevated the shackled carcass of the cow and moved it along the line. Rafie gripped a sixteen-inch knife in his metal mesh-gloved hand. He slashed at the cow’s throat and ripped out its trachea. Blood gushed and squirted like a Jackson Pollock painting onto his plastic apron, then spilled off his shoes into the floor drain. In the adjacent station, the hides were washed with calcium hypochlorite solution. Rafie’s eyes burned from
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