Irvine Welsh - If You Liked School, You'll Love Work

— Well, I—

— That would be us quits. What d’ya say?

I swallowed hard, my rancor tastin like bad whiskey in my gut. — Yessir, I appreciate it.

This prick was full of shit. Ain’t no damn state in this Union gonna list the coyote as a protected species; since we killed all the wolves they were as common in these parts as squirrels in Central Park. We both knew this, of course; the mean bastard was bustin my ass just because he could.

All talk was gonna get me was a night in jail, so I moved over to the coyote and grabbed its front and back legs in each hand. I’m a pretty strong guy, around five ten and one hundred and eighty pounds, but I was strugglin in the heat with the shiftin weight of the thing. The asshole cop looked around all furtively, checkin nothin was comin up on us, then helped me bundle the ol boy into the back.

As he moved back to the patrol car, where I caught Fat Boy shaking his head in petulant disgust as he crammed more gut-filler into his mouth, John Wayne gave me a mockin salute. — Drive careful and have a nice day.

— Thank you kindly, officer, I smiled through gritted teeth.

I had a dead animal in the back of my wheels, which would start to stink it out in this heat before I got close to the county line. I was livid and I couldn’t but wonder what Halliday would have done. Would he, like one of them stoical, rebel heroes in his pictures, have just taken the night in the county jail for the pleasure of comin out with some smart-ass line? Or would he have done the same thing as me? It was right about then that I got me some inspiration. I was going to see what Yolanda would make of this one.

I drove real slow, nervy after the encounter with the cop. I crossed the county line but didn’t stop till I got to Yolanda’s. The big gates were open and I pulled up as close to the front door as I could. Hell, it was a hot one. Yolanda opened the door, and as I went to step in, puttin my hand on the frame, a lizard jumped out from nowhere, danced over my old mitt, then ran up the side of the house. It froze for a second, pulsin slowly in the heat before slurpin into a crack in the wall like some vacuum had sucked it in.

It sure was a more sober Yolanda who greeted me this time around. — I’m so sorry about my behavior the other day, Ray…

— It’s your home, Yolanda, you can act how you darn well please out here, it ain’t nothin to do with me. I’ve mentioned my past with the drinkin, so I ain’t hankerin to sit in judgment on nobody else, I told her. And it was true; sometimes I couldn’t believe that I’d gotten out of LA in one piece, save for maybe a little liver damage. Now I was goin back, but this time sober and to some proper work.

— But it was so bad-mannered, she said, rubbing my arm. Under the cold air it made me shiver suddenly. — And you must think me so weird, all my stuffed animals!

— No, ma’am, as a matter of fact I got me somethin that just might interest you, and I bade her to follow me. We stepped back outside into a heat that sucked the cool right out of me in two seconds. Through its haze I stumbled toward the Land Cruiser, as heavy as a drunk, and showed her what I had in the back. It was already starting to smell, but Yolanda didn’t seem to notice none.

— Oh, he’s beautiful; a beautiful boy, she said appreciatively. — You can help me cape this one. We have to get him inside, quick.

— What do you mean? I stood there scratchin my ass, as Yolanda pushed a button and a motor rolled the big garage doors open. She grabbed a trolley, which looked more like a gurney with its alloy frame and strong wheels with rubber tires. It was adjustable; through a handle at the back she lowered it to the height of the rear of the Cruiser, allowing me to pull the coyote onto it. Its body was slack in the heat, still too soon for rigor mortis.

— Caping is when you skin out your trophy, she explained as we wheeled the stiff animal into the house. As I cooled off, Yolanda vanished down into the basement, returnin with a set of white linen which she draped over the kitchen table. On her instructions I managed to wrestle the dead beast from the trolley onto the table. — The most deft skinning needs to be around the delicate parts, the eyes, nose, lips, and ears, and it’s always best to leave these to a pro.

— I’m more than happy for you to run the show, ma’am, I told her as I raised my hands to my face, catching a scent of the dead animal on them.

Yolanda headed on down to the basement again, comin back with what looked like a large aluminum toolbox. — Problem is that a lot of hunts happen in warm weather and it just ain’t always possible to cool the hide adequately. Most trophies are ruined in the first few hours. As soon the animal dies the bacteria begins to attack the corpse, she explained, clicking the box open. There was a power saw and a series of sharp, surgical-looking knives, as well as plastic bottles containin various fluids, some of which had the odor of strong spirit. — Heat and moisture is the ideal environment for bacteria to flourish. Caping spoils in the same way as meat does. That’s why I have the big fridge downstairs. How long has he been dead?

— About an hour and a quarter. Hit him back in Cain County.

— Well, we ain’t got time to waste, she mumbled, as she pulled out a knife, looking for a second like she was gonna stick it up the poor ol boy’s dead ass.

— This is the dorsal method of skinning, she explained, making the long cut from the base of the tail to the neck. Knock me stone dead if that carcass wasn’t pulled out in that one incision, leavin the head and feet inside the skin. There was very little blood. I heard a terrible bone-crackin sound and shuddered as she snapped the neck from the body, usin what looked like large nutcrackers. I winced as I watched her cheerfully unravel the beast, like she was peelin an orange, as she continued to enlighten me. — This is a good method on long-haired animals. Now I have to take him downstairs to freeze immediately.

She had the animal by its head, and it reminded me of a toy teddy bear I’d had as a kid: the stuffin had come out of its body and there was just a long tadpole-like tail of cloth hanging from his neck.

— Can I help you downstairs? I asked, lookin a mite distractedly at the pile of meat and bones left behind on the trolley.

— No, I’ll do the rest later. You take that carcass to the incinerator out back. Can’t miss it, it’s the big rust-colored thing. We gotta burn it or the buzzards will come. Stick it in there and I’ll fire it up later.

I don’t mind admittin that I was a little squeamish as I got the skinned dog’s body onto the trolley usin the sheet and wheeled it out to the incinerator. Out back, the house thankfully shaded me from the sun’s merciless blast, though I could feel my sweat ducts opening up. I spied an old wire broom and once I’d opened the metal door and adjusted the trolley height to its level, I used it to push the now stinkin bastard inside, as dirty big flies that had come from nowhere started buzzin round like small bats, makin my guts churn. I was happy to get back indoors to that kitchen as Yolanda shouted up from the basement, — Ray, honey, mix me a gin and tonic, will ya? Plenty of ice!

I wasn’t raisin much in the way of objections to kickin back a little. I did as she requested, refilling my own lemonade from the pitcher, though I gotta say that it was tastin a little sour in my belly now. I headed back into the kitchen and poured myself a big glass of water from the dispenser on the fridge. — Shall I bring it down to you? I shouted.

— Nope, you just hang fire and I’ll be up in a second.

I was so pooped after my efforts in the heat that I just lay down with my back on the cold floor, spread out like the savior on that ol cross, and God, did it feel good. I looked back at ol Sparky, then my eyes drifted across the room and there was an addition I hadn’t seen before: a huge German shepherd, lying with its paws spread out in front of it.