She couldn’t like him. What the fuck did he ever do besides run around and brag about his big dick. Stupid slut of a man-whore that he was. Chris fucking Palmer. Ass-hat.
“Don’t be like that.” Mia twisted in the fog. Victor could sense more than see her bite her lip.
“Like fucking what?” Victor brushed the dirt off of his face.
“Come on, Vic.” Her pleading voice was more of a whine. Victor hated when she pulled that penny-ante shit on him. “You know, he’s just so,” Mia trailed off still twisting around the shovel she was holding.
“Yeah, I fucking know,” Victor began to shake off the grave dirt from his clothes. It was too fertile, too rancorous, too clingy. It was like Mia at times.
“If you’re gonna be like that, I’m not going to help you.” Mia let the shovel drop onto the ground and folded her arms across her chest.
“For Christ’s sake, Mia.” Victor walked over to her and put his grimy hands on her shoulders. He could see the patented pout starting to form on her face. He could smell her scent through the earthy and moist odor that permeated the graveyard. He could feel the tension in her shoulders.
Goddamnit! You can’t like him. You’re supposed to like me!
“That guy is no good Mia,” Victor spoke in a whisper to her. “He’s got a reputation.” He lifted her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “He’s seeing Dawn Cook from Washington High, Jen Cunningham from Lynwood, Sheila House from …”
“Enough, Vic.” She pulled away from him, “Just, enough.” Mia wiped at her eyes with the sleeves of her hoody. Victor could hear a sniffle. He moved towards her again, “No! Let’s just get the body to your dad’s lab.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to come off like that.” Victor grabbed her shovel and tossed it near the other one. “He’s just such an asshole.”
“I know Vic.” Her voice was steady. Mia looked up from underneath the hood and smiled at him as she handed him a crowbar from the duffle bag full of tools near the grave. The dampness of the fog made her hair start to turn curly. Her pale face was like porcelain.
Fuck! How can she like him?
“What does your dad do with them Vic?” She asked as Victor jumped back into the newly dug grave ready to open casket. “It’s always been fun and all seeing what their damage was,” she said obviously indicating the corpses that they got for his father, “but what’s his damage?” this time indicating Victor’s father.
“You know,” Victor shoved the hook end under the seam between the lid and the coffin, “I’m not even sure what his addiction is to these fucking things.” He leaned into the crowbar, using his weight to leverage the lid open.
Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe.
The lid opened with a fog-muffled crack just as a clod of smelly dirt and grass hit him in the face. Victor inhaled to let loose the profanities when the taste of long dead flesh entered his mouth followed by the smell of rot. Somewhere in there was the distinct aroma of the coffin flies. Victor wanted to retch. He could hear Mia giggling above him.
Bitch.
“Sorry Vic,” Mia smiled down on him like a Valkyrie waiting to take him to Valhalla. It was all bright teeth, pale skin and black makeup framed by raven locks. “Besides, you deserved it.”
“No I fucking didn’t!” Victor spat out the bits of dirt that seemed to get into his mouth. Flies buzzed out from the coffin complaining about the rude intrusion of their feeding and breeding ground. Victor swatted at them aimlessly. “Christopher fucking Palmer is an ass-hat and you know it!” He glared up at her. “I don’t even know why you’re friends with him with how he acts.”
“Ugh!” Victor watched he patented eye-roll as she moved out of view. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“Uh, no!” Victor worked the lid open. He could hear her setting up the portable winch so the two could lift the body out from the coffin. “Why don’t you break it down for me?”
“God!” The clanking of the metal stand being thrown down filled up the space above Victor. He felt the angry footsteps coming up to the grave. “You are fucking brain dead Victor Ingram!” Victor looked up at her. “You may as well just take, what’s his name?” Mia paused to read the headstone, “Russell Edwin Long’s place after we get him up!”
“What the hell are you going on about now?” Victor kept batting at the flies.
“The fact that there’s this saying floating around and you don’t even have a clue!”
“What saying?”
“Victor Ingram,” she was using a calmer and more confident voice. Victor had never heard it. “A friend is who you call to help you move. A good friend is who you call to help you move a dead body. A very good friend is who you call to dig up a dead body.”
“Huh?” Victor looked up at her again. “So you’re my very good friend. I already knew that.”
“You are dense.” Mia crawled down into the grave and stood next to Victor. “Very. Good. Friend.” Mia punctuated each word with a forceful kiss onto his grimy mouth. “Get it?”
Fuckin-A!
Victor pulled her close and kissed her deeply standing above the body of Russell Edwin Long. The taste was of strawberries.
“Besides Vic,” she said when the two briefly stopped, “Chris Palmer is only good for sex, he’s a total ass-hat.”
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