Jeff Jacobson - Wormfood

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Fat Ernst asked, hands on his hips.

Heck feebly lifted his head out of the toilet bowl and worked his jaw up and down several times, like he was trying to say something but couldn’t get it out. Fat Ernst bent over slightly at the waist, like he was addressing a child. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” he said, carefully enunciating each word.

Slim appeared in the doorway and was just about to step inside when he saw the blood, froze, and said simply, “Sonofabitch.”

Heck started flopping around then like a fish that’s just been hauled out of the river and onto the rocks. His hands clawed at the air and he kept making those liquid moaning noises deep in his chest.

“We gotta call the ambulance,” I said in a high, taut voice. It was getting hard to breathe.

“Well, Ernst, looks like you got your hands full here,” Slim said. “I’ll settle up with you later.” He disappeared into the restaurant.

“Oh, that’s fucking great. Fucking perfect,” Fat Ernst said, watching the doorway. “Now it’s gonna be all over the goddamn county. Bastard’ll probably stiff me on the goddamn burger, too.” He swiveled his round head back around to stare down at Heck. “Thanks. Thanks a lot, Heck.”

Heck just sat there, eyes closed, with a sheet of dark, almost black blood seeping out of his mouth and down his chin.

“Well, goddamnit. We can’t just leave him in here. It’ll upset folks.” Fat Ernst flipped his hand at Heck. “Grab his arms, drag him out here. We’ll put him in the back.”

“But … but you gotta call the ambulance,” I stammered.

“I ain’t calling nobody, so shut your hole.” Fat Ernst suddenly grabbed a fistful of my hair and nearly lifted me off my feet. I got a quick flash that my head was on fire as he dragged me away from the sinkand flung me toward Heck. I stumbled into the wall and accidentally stepped on Heck’s left hand with Grandpa’s boot. Heck didn’t move.

“Drag him over here,” Fat Ernst snarled.

I grasped Heck’s wrist, trying to ignore the warm, sticky blood that coated his arm. I lifted it and tugged gently, pulling his body away from the toilet. Heck’s limp form slumped against my leg as I bent over and grabbed his other hand. He still didn’t move, and this time I was afraid he really was dead.

I dragged him out of the stall and Fat Ernst took a deep breath and bent over, reaching for Heck’s legs. He seized an ankle in each hand as if he were grabbing the handles of a wheelbarrow filled with firewood. He jiggled all three chins toward the door. “Move, dumbshit. Let’s go.”

I caught the edge of the door with my toe and swung it open. Heck’s head rolled over and hung limply between his outstretched arms. I shuffled backward, and we half carried, half dragged him out of the restroom and into the restaurant. We left a shining trail of blood behind us nearly two feet wide on the rough wood floor. I know I should have been worrying about Heck, but all I could think about at that second was that it was going to be a bitch mopping all that blood up if I didn’t get to it before it dried.

“Hurry it up, goddamnit,” Fat Ernst hissed from between clenched teeth. “This ain’t exactly healthy for business.”

We were halfway down the bar when Heck starting shrieking again. His body twitched and convulsed; as he jerked, I lost my grip on his right hand and his head and shoulder slammed to the floor. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whimpered, reaching down to pick him up again.

Ray walked in the front door.

CHAPTER 18

We all froze, except for Heck, who was shaking his head violently from side to side, spattering more blood all over the floor like a weak sprinkler on a dead lawn.

Ray swallowed, eyes wide. It was obvious he didn’t know what to say. A toneless “Howdy, Ernst,” tumbled out of his mouth. As if he were almost ashamed of not being sociable or something, he quickly added, “How’s business?”

Fat Ernst dropped Heck’s legs. They hit the floor and stayed there. Didn’t bounce, nothing. He stared at Ray. “Business? Business couldn’t be fucking better.”

Ray nodded as if that made perfect sense. He looked down at Heck. “Heck been drinking paint thinner again?”

“Shit. What do you think? Looks like it, don’t it?” Fat Ernst said quickly, words stumbling over each other.

“I don’t think—,” I started to say before I could stop myself.

“Shut. Your. Hole,” Fat Ernst said. “I ain’t paying you to think.”

Ray adjusted his hat and ambled over to Heck’s body. “Looks serious. Maybe I better take a look.” He knelt down and nudged Heck. “What’s wrong?”

Heck gasped once, and bubbles of blood erupted around his mouth and nose. Each muscle began to slacken, releasing its tension as one by one, the bubbles popped. Then he lay still.

“Is he dead?” I whispered.

Ray watched Heck’s face for a moment, then nodded soberly. “Yep. I declare this man officially dead.”

“Can’t you do something?” I asked.

Ray looked up at me and shrugged. “You want to give him CPR? Go right ahead.”

I looked at Heck’s open mouth, filled with blood, and didn’t say anything.

“Wonder what killed him,” Ray said.

“Hell, he’s been dying for years.” Fat Ernst proclaimed. “If his liver didn’t explode ‘cause of the booze, then it was the cancer that got him. Or the paint thinner.”

“Heck had cancer?” Ray asked.

“What the hell else do you think happened?”

“Maybe it was something he ate,” I suggested and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“Maybe you oughta shut your fucking hole and get to cleaning that goddamn bathroom.” Fat Ernst glanced down at Ray. “Grab his arms there. We’ll drag him out the back door. Lay him out the loading dock for now. There’s a tarp under the sink in the kitchen, roll him up in that.”

“Just … just hold on a minute here,” Ray said, standing and holding up his hand as if he was directing traffic. “As an official of the law, I can’t just leave Heck here. I’m gonna have to write up some kinda report on this, you know.”

Fat Ernst spoke in a low, firm voice. “There ain’t nothing we can do. He’s dead and that’s tough, but I ain’t gonna call anybody just yet. We’re going to take care of this quiet. The last fucking thing I need isfor this to get out. Business is shitty enough as it is. I don’t need some stupid goddamn thing like a dead body to keep customers away.” He hitched up his jeans and narrowed his eyes. “You got that, Ray?”

Ray pulled in his chin until it was nearly touching his swollen Adam’s apple. “I dunno, Ernst. I mean, this ain’t the kind of thing I can just ignore …”

Fat Ernst glared at Ray for a moment, then stepped over Heck and shoved me into the restroom. “Be right back, Ray,” he said over his shoulder. He slammed the restroom door behind him.

I tried not to step in any more of the blood, but it was too late. Fat Ernst stood with his back to the door, hands on his hips. He looked at the floor and didn’t say anything. Finally, he pursed his lips and said, “I need that fifty bucks.” My first instinct was to reach into my pocket and grab the money. But I didn’t. I held back and crossed my arms in front of my chest in a gesture of defiance instead. Fat Ernst still didn’t look at me. “I know it ain’t right. You earned it.”

You’re goddamn right I earned it , I thought.

Fat Ernst said, “I got nothing right now. Nothing, you understand?” He raised his eyes, found mine. “And unless I pay off that asshole,” he said, jerking his head in Ray’s direction, “he’s gonna screw this place. If he calls this little incident in, then that’s it. They’ll shut me down. So I need help. I need that fifty bucks to help him look the other way. He’s got me over a barrel here and he knows it. Now.” Fat Ernst folded his arms. “You can either hand over the cash and keep your job, or I can just take it and you can get the hell out of here. Either way, I’m walking out of this bathroom with the money.”