Cemetery Street

"You better call a plumber," I said to the funeral director's son.

Count opened the padlock. We almost fell over each other to see if Mrs. Johnson was left undisturbed. The tarp covered the workbench. Count tore at the tarp, pulling it open and exposing an empty workbench.

"Fuck," Count mumbled.

"Where is she?" I asked.

Steve Lucas was panic stricken, "Oh my God! Her viewing is tomorrow! It's an open casket; what the hell are we going to do? Jesus Fucking Christ! How do you explain a missing stiff?" Steve Lucas's rambling was punctuated by more gas letting. My mother is suing the wrong funeral pallor, I thought. If there was ever a justified lawsuit, this was it! At least Krass brothers didn't lose my grandfather!

"Who would take her? Who would know she was even here?" Shannie struggled to keep her composure.

"I don't know," I shrugged.

"Beats me," Count said rubbing the top of his head.

"Rex Byrne and his Grease Monkeys?" Steve Lucas questioned.

"How the fuck would they know," Count asked in an aggravated tone.

"I don't know," Steve Lucas answered with another shrug; avoiding eye contact with the rest of us.

"Beats the hell out of me?" I retorted.

"You dipshit!" Shannie bellowed - pointing an accusatorial finger at Steve Lucas. "You told them, didn't you?"

"No. Why would I?" Steve answered.

"Don't lie to me you little pud puller! I'll crack you?" Shannie raised her hand. Steve Lucas turtled behind his forearms. "Okay, okay, I didn't mean to," he admitted. "But they made me. They cornered me on the way to school. They told me they'd break my arms if I didn't tell them what we were up to."

"Don't those idiots ever learn," Count said. "I'm getting tired of kicking their asses!"

"What did you tell them?" Shannie asked.

"That we're borrowing a casket from the parlor." Steve Lucas said.

"If those rat-bastards even thought of setting a foot on my cemetery I'd nuke the wrench wristed oil pan scum. "Strands of Count's spittle flew across the shed.

"It's not Byrne and his boys," I said not looking up from the stones I was piling and unpiling with my feet. After my run ins with them the previous year, I developed an antenna for them. "They were hanging out in front of Wally's."