to help you here. Life ain’t a bunch of goddamn roses. You gotta work for things, get in there, spread a little manure around. Life don’t just step up and spread her legs for you. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I … I think so.” I didn’t have a goddamn clue what the hell he was talking about.
“You’re too damn soft, boy. Too much of a pansy. Life is gonna kick your ass and stomp you into the dirt unless you get yourself a little backbone.”
I nodded and let my gaze fall to the floor.
“You look at me when I’m talking.” I jerked my head back up and stared at his face. But I couldn’t look into his eyes. I focused on his squat nose instead.
He continued. “Like I said, I figure since you ain’t got a father around, I guess it’s my place to step in and help you out a little. Give to the world and the world gives back, you know? Now …” He paused, pulling the unlit cigar out of his mouth and sucking the flecks of tobacco out of his teeth. “You ain’t afraid of a little hard work, are you?”
I shook my head, still watching his nose.
He nodded, “Good, good. You’re gonna go help these boys out tonight. You do a good job and don’t bitch and whine too much and give ’em too much trouble, I’ll have maybe, something like twenty bucks waiting for you tomorrow.”
I got brave for a moment and spoke up. “What do I have to do?”
Fat Ernst’s eyes folded into slits and I could tell he didn’t like the question. “It’s a job, that’s all. If I want any shit out of you, I’ll kick it. Now get this stove cleaned up and finish those glasses in the sink.” He turned and walked back through the swinging door.
As it swung back, I took two quick steps and pressed my right cheek to the door, watching through the crack.
Junior asked, “What do we need him for?”
Fat Ernst lowered his voice. “Remember back, ’bout two years ago? I ran out of meat?”
Bert shook his head.
Junior said, “Yeah. You want us to do the same thing?”
Fat Ernst nodded.
Junior asked, “Same place?”
“Yep. Two fresh ones today.”
“So why do we need the kid?”
“Dickhead here’s got a broken arm. You gonna handle them things by yourself?”
Junior thought for a moment, then nodded.
Fat Ernst turned back toward the kitchen and shouted, “Boy! Time to go.”
I stepped away from the door, then slowly untied my apron, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go!” Fat Ernst barked again. I pushed through the doors.
A deep, cracking belch erupted out of Junior, lasting nearly ten seconds. He grinned at me. “Get your waders on, Archie.”
Fat Ernst thumped a bottle of Old Grandad on the bar to get Junior’s attention. “You just see that the job gets done right.”
Junior grabbed for the bottle, but Fat Ernst wouldn’t let go, staring into Junior’s eyes. “And keep it quiet, you understand?”
“You bet.”
I spoke quickly. “I’ll get paid tomorrow, right?”
Fat Ernst turned his attention back to the television. “Tomorrow,” he said simply and released the bottle.
“Giddyup,” Bert said and started giggling.
CHAPTER 9
The Sawyer Hide and Tallow truck flew east down Highway 200 under a starless sky, heading for the foothills. Sickly twin cones of urine-colored light lit up the dark asphalt, but just barely. Not that anybody could see much out of the windshield. It was a regular bug graveyard out there.
I checked my watch. 11:23. I hoped Grandma wasn’t too pissed off. Fat Ernst hadn’t let me call her before the Sawyer brothers had dragged me out to their truck.
The silence made me uncomfortable. It meant that the Sawyers were thinking. I was afraid that Junior might bring up the crash this morning. So I asked suddenly, “How’d you guys end up picking up roadkill and dead farm animals for the county?” Anything to break the silence. “Sounds like a helluva job.”
“Hey, smartass, we provide a pretty goddamn valuable service here,” Junior said defensively,
“I … I think so.” I didn’t have a goddamn clue what the hell he was talking about.
“You’re too damn soft, boy. Too much of a pansy. Life is gonna kick your ass and stomp you into the dirt unless you get yourself a little backbone.”
I nodded and let my gaze fall to the floor.
“You look at me when I’m talking.” I jerked my head back up and stared at his face. But I couldn’t look into his eyes. I focused on his squat nose instead.
He continued. “Like I said, I figure since you ain’t got a father around, I guess it’s my place to step in and help you out a little. Give to the world and the world gives back, you know? Now …” He paused, pulling the unlit cigar out of his mouth and sucking the flecks of tobacco out of his teeth. “You ain’t afraid of a little hard work, are you?”
I shook my head, still watching his nose.
He nodded, “Good, good. You’re gonna go help these boys out tonight. You do a good job and don’t bitch and whine too much and give ’em too much trouble, I’ll have maybe, something like twenty bucks waiting for you tomorrow.”
I got brave for a moment and spoke up. “What do I have to do?”
Fat Ernst’s eyes folded into slits and I could tell he didn’t like the question. “It’s a job, that’s all. If I want any shit out of you, I’ll kick it. Now get this stove cleaned up and finish those glasses in the sink.” He turned and walked back through the swinging door.
As it swung back, I took two quick steps and pressed my right cheek to the door, watching through the crack.
Junior asked, “What do we need him for?”
Fat Ernst lowered his voice. “Remember back, ’bout two years ago? I ran out of meat?”
Bert shook his head.
Junior said, “Yeah. You want us to do the same thing?”
Fat Ernst nodded.
Junior asked, “Same place?”
“Yep. Two fresh ones today.”
“So why do we need the kid?”
“Dickhead here’s got a broken arm. You gonna handle them things by yourself?”
Junior thought for a moment, then nodded.
Fat Ernst turned back toward the kitchen and shouted, “Boy! Time to go.”
I stepped away from the door, then slowly untied my apron, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go!” Fat Ernst barked again. I pushed through the doors.
A deep, cracking belch erupted out of Junior, lasting nearly ten seconds. He grinned at me. “Get your waders on, Archie.”
Fat Ernst thumped a bottle of Old Grandad on the bar to get Junior’s attention. “You just see that the job gets done right.”
Junior grabbed for the bottle, but Fat Ernst wouldn’t let go, staring into Junior’s eyes. “And keep it quiet, you understand?”
“You bet.”
I spoke quickly. “I’ll get paid tomorrow, right?”
Fat Ernst turned his attention back to the television. “Tomorrow,” he said simply and released the bottle.
“Giddyup,” Bert said and started giggling.
CHAPTER 9
The Sawyer Hide and Tallow truck flew east down Highway 200 under a starless sky, heading for the foothills. Sickly twin cones of urine-colored light lit up the dark asphalt, but just barely. Not that anybody could see much out of the windshield. It was a regular bug graveyard out there.
I checked my watch. 11:23. I hoped Grandma wasn’t too pissed off. Fat Ernst hadn’t let me call her before the Sawyer brothers had dragged me out to their truck.
The silence made me uncomfortable. It meant that the Sawyers were thinking. I was afraid that Junior might bring up the crash this morning. So I asked suddenly, “How’d you guys end up picking up roadkill and dead farm animals for the county?” Anything to break the silence. “Sounds like a helluva job.”
“Hey, smartass, we provide a pretty goddamn valuable service here,” Junior said defensively,
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