F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

Holding the penlight in his mouth, he moved along the rows, going from coffin to coffin, finding the latches on each, unhooking them, and lifting the lids. Nothing to it.

They were all pretty much the same. Good. He’d been worried that he’d have trouble with the Eddie Hadley coffin upstairs. He always made a point of keeping flashlight use to an absolute minimum if windows were involved. None down here, but he’d seen plenty of glass upstairs.

As he turned to leave, the light caught a silvery reflection in a rear corner of the room. Looked like stainless steel sinks and counters. Must be where Lynch and MacDougal did their embalming. He spotted a white sheeted figure on a table. The next customer?

Paulie knew he should be heading upstairs for his date with Eddie Hadley’s toe, but he found himself irresistibly drawn to that table. Just for a look. Only take a second…

As he neared, he figured which end was the head. He lifted the sheet and flashed the beam on the face of a young girl with long brown hair. Pale as the sheet, but with her eyes closed she looked like she was sleeping, like one shake of her shoulder and she’d open up and look at him. This must have been the young “beloved” MacDougal had mentioned.

Paulie lifted the sheet farther—nude as a lap dancer underneath and very nicely built. He stared at her, wondering what she’d died of. Too bad. She was a looker.

He dropped the sheet and headed upstairs. He found the Hadley room and stepped inside. A quick flash of the light showed him the path through the chairs. He reached the coffin and found someone had closed it.

Fine with me, he thought. He didn’t feature having the kid watching while he crunched on his toe.

He felt along under the cover lip until he found the latch for the lower half, unhooked it, and lifted. Another quick flash to orient himself and— “I’ll be damned!” The kid wasn’t wearing pants or shoes or socks.

This made it easier for Paulie, sure, but it was something of a shock. You figure if they dress the top half, they dress the rest of you too.

“All right, Eddie boy,” he said, “time for your contribution to the cause.” No way around using his light now, but at least he’d have the coffin cover between him and the window. He pulled the pruning shears from his pocket, stuck the light in his mouth and bent over the kid’s feet. He found the little toe on the right foot, fitted the shears around it, and squeezed. Nowhere near the resistance he’d expected. A little pressure, a soft crunch, and there it was: one persuader, made to order.

He pocketed the shears and picked up the toe. Tiny little thing—half the size of a cigarette filter, and about as white but heavier. As he took a closer look he saw that the cut end was wet and reddish, but it wasn’t bloody. That might be a problem, but he’d worry about it later. Now that he had what he’d come for, he wanted out of here.

He glanced at his watch. Not bad: door to door—make that window to window—in ten minutes.

He pulled out the Ziploc sandwich bag he’d brought along. As he went to drop the toe inside, he felt it slip from his fingers.

“Fuck!” He checked the bag. No, it hadn’t fallen in there. That meant it was on the floor. Christ, he had to find it.

Paulie dropped to his knees and began flashing the light along the floor. Great… the carpet was beige… and thick—just his luck.

Easiest thing to do would be to just cut off the other toe and forget about this one. But sure as hell someone would find it tomorrow and want to know where it came from. And when they found out he’d bet his ass the papers and the TV news would start shouting about someone chopping off little kids’ toes, and then for sure Mac would come gunning for him.

Nope. Had to find this one.

At least he was below window level where the penlight wouldn’t be seen from the street. But where was the goddamn thing?

He didn’t know how long he was down there on the floor, kneeling, crouching, crawling, lying flat on his belly, shining the light at all different angles—seemed like forever—until he spotted this slightly paler lump nestled in the carpet fibers four feet from the coffin. Was that—?

Yes. He almost sobbed with relief. How the hell did it get over there? Damn thing must have bounced and rolled. Who cared? He had it and he wasn’t losing it. Still lying on the floor, he carefully sealed the toe in the baggie and stuffed that deep into the front pocket of his jeans.

Then he rose and closed and latched the lower half of Eddie’s coffin.

“Thanks, buddy. You’ve been a real—” The words choked in his throat.

Outside the window sitting in the parking lot…

A car.

Christ! Where’d that come from? Must have pulled in while he was on the floor. But who—?

Out in the hall, he heard the faint clack of a dead bolt snapping open. He made like a statue and listened. The rear door swung open with a creak. He heard the alarm panel begin to beep, then shut off as someone punched in the security code. He heard someone humming—a guy.

MacDougal? Yeah. The car outside was a Riv, just like he’d seen MacDougal driving. As a light came on down the hall, Paulie crouched behind the coffin, but instead of coming this way, MacDougal headed downstairs.

At first Paulie cursed—that was his way out. He was stuck here until MacDougal left, and who knew how long that would be?

All right, he thought. I know the who. What’s the why?

Only one reason he could figure for MacDougal to come back at this hour and head downstairs: He had to be embalming the babe on the table.

Shit, that could take hours, and Paulie didn’t exactly have all night.

Mac wanted a call when the persuader was delivered. He didn’t get that call soon, he’d start getting antsy… might decide to pay the package a personal visit.

Then Paulie realized something: The alarm was off. He could sneak out the rear door—walk instead of crawl. He allowed himself a smile. When someone hands you a lemon, make lemonade.

He stepped out into the hall and headed toward the rear, moving carefully, hugging the wall where the flooring was less likely to creak.

But as he passed the security panel he stopped and suppressed a groan. The indicator light was red—MacDougal had rearmed the system.

Okay. Only one thing to do. If MacDougal was in that back room doing whatever it was undertakers did to “beloveds,” he’d probably never hear Paulie sneak downstairs and slip out the bathroom window. A risky move but doable—if you had the balls.

He had to get out of here.

He headed downstairs, taking every step as carefully as he could. The carpeting helped. When he reached bottom he peeked into the lounge and found it empty.

Excellent.

The door to the private room was half open and he heard MacDougal’s voice coming from inside, talking now instead of humming.

Even better. Paulie’s worst-case scenario on his way down the stairs had been sneaking into the bathroom and finding MacDougal taking a dump.

He skittered over to the bathroom door and was easing it open when he heard MacDougal’s voice change. He was groaning now, making weird noises. Paulie knew he should stay on course but he had to see what was going on.

He crept to the private door, put his nose against its outer surface, then eased his head to the side until he could peek around the edge.

At the far end of the room, MacDougal’s fat naked body was bobbing atop the dead girl on the embalming table. Fascinated and repulsed, Paulie watched for a few seconds, then tore himself away. The growling animal noises coming from MacDougal now were the perfect cover for his escape.

Shaking his head, Paulie headed back to the bathroom. Weirdos—the world was full of them, man.