Chapter 8
They drove deep into the desert, their engine snarling like a cornered animal. Herbert watched as the darkened desert streaked by them and wondered how many bones were buried in the sun-bleached wastes. He glanced back at the bloodied sheet laying in the back of the van. There was about to be a few more.
Once they were a safe distance from the city, Herbert pulled over. He breathed and looked over at Darius. They nodded and got out of the car.
It was cold under the black sky. Herbert shuddered once and rubbed his arms. He dropped his cigarette in the dust and crushed it beneath his toe. He circled around and opened the back doors of the van.
“Damn, it's cold as hell.” Darius breathed smoke.
Herbert passed him a shovel. “Get diggin', it'll keep you warm.”
Grumbling, Darius plunged the head of his shovel into the packed earth. Herbert stabbed down with his own shovel. Together, they started digging the grave.
Herbert wiped sweat from his brow and spat into the dirt. His mouth felt caked with the desert grit. He looked over at Darius working at the other end of the hole. That old ache was back, tearing into his chest, filling him with thirst. He stopped working and the words came spilling out of him like vomit. “You know, D, I used to have a boy.”
Darius froze with a shovelful of dirt hanging in the air. “What?”
“You got another smoke for me?”
“Sure, sure.” Darius stabbed his shovel into the ground and produced another cigarette from his pack.
Herbert lit up. “I had a boy. His name was Matthew. Named after my father. He'd probably be about your age now.”
“Fuckin' A. What? You had a kid?” Darius' eyes went wide. “You knock up a whore or somethin'?”
“I had a wife.” Herbert said with some pained laughter in his voice. “Her name was Sarah.”
“Damn, really? You got a picture of her or somethin'?”
Herbert leaned against his shovel and took out his wallet. He searched through the various cards and clutter, looking for the photograph that he'd wished he'd lost. But it was there, right where he knew it would be. Creased and faded with time and wear, Herbert pulled the picture out and passed it over to Darius.
“Damn...look at her, Herbie. She was fine as hell. How'd you end up with a dime piece like that?”
“I don't know. But, I sure as hell didn't deserve her, I can tell you that much.”
Darius handed the photo back over. A realization crossed his expression. He spoke slowly. “So...uh...how did...I mean, well, what happened?”
Herbert bared his teeth in a skeletal smile. He couldn't stem the tide any longer. That old scar had finally opened, and all of the shadow and blood came pouring out from his mouth. “I killed them. They're dead because of me.”
“What? You fuckin' killed your family, Herbie?”
“Not on purpose.” Herbert answered, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. “I was drunk. I was driving them to dinner. Wrapped the car around a fire hydrant.” He turned around and started working on the hole again, sucking poison from his cigarette.
“It was an accident.” Darius said, picking up his shovel. “You weren't tryin' to do it.”
Herbert said nothing and kept slicing away at the dry-packed earth.
They finished digging the hole and stabbed their shovels into the pile of dirt that had accumulated. Herbert went into the back of the van and pushed the blood-soaked sheet out to the edge. Darius picked up the feet and walked backwards until Herbert was standing, holding the body by its shoulders with his lit cigarette hanging from his lip. They hurried over to the hole and dropped their load without ceremony.
The pair looked down at the body. Darius clapped some of the dirt from his callused hands. Herbert smoked and pulled the cigarette from his lip.
“Who do you think sent him?” Darius looked at Herbert.
Herbert stared at the red blotches staining his sheet and took another drag on his cigarette. “I think I have an idea...”
“Who?”
“An old business partner.”
They filled the hole in silence. Herbert's arm was starting to hurt. He looked at the cloth wrapped around his wound, heavy with blood. They finished and threw their shovels in the back of the van. Herbert wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed. He got behind the wheel. Darius rode shotgun and they tore down the road with the city looming ahead, a specter of stone and light.
“Where are we going?”
“We gotta pay someone a visit.”
“The guy who set this up?”
“Don't know for sure. But he'll know something.”
“Where'd you find him, anyways?”
The streetlight streaked by, briefly illuminating Darius' features in half-second bursts. Herbert stared ahead at the road unfurling before them. “Known him a long time. Used to run a crew with him.”
“What was his thing?”
“What do you mean 'his thing'?” Herbert turned away from the road to look at Darius. “You think this is Ocean's Eleven or something? A ragtag team of experts runnin' big time heists robbing art museums and casinos?” Herbert shook his head. “Nah. We didn't have one job, one specialty. We were just a bunch of crooks trying to hustle some money. Some guys, they're ambitious. They wanna rule the world. Not us though. There were only four of us and we all were happy to survive.”
“What'd you do though?” Darius' voice was sharp with exasperation.
“All kinds of stuff. B and E. Underground gambling. Bootlegging. Dealin'. Protection.” He motioned to the back of the van. “Buried stiffs.”
“You ever kill anyone?”
Herbert nodded. “Yeah. We did some hits.”
“Shit...” Darius looked at Herbert with new eyes, as if he were seeing into the dark behind a curtain fluttering in the wind. “You ever...get in a shoot-out or something?”
Herbert laughed a short dry laugh. “Nah. We were good at our jobs. Only people who are bad at what they do get in shoot-outs. This ain't no movie. Hits were quick and dirty. In and out. No fuckin' around. The most dangerous jobs were the robberies...there were so many things that could go wrong...we've definitely took some risks, but they always paid off.”
“Damn...” Darius shook his head, a smile curling his lips. “That's crazy.”
“Yeah, it was crazy.” Herbert answered. “It wasn't glamorous. I see that look on your face. It wasn't a good life. When...the accident happened, I called it quits. Went mostly legit.”
“We're still burying stiffs, though.”
“I know,” Herbert said, not sounding very happy about it.
“Why? If you're trying to go legit?”
“Because up until two days ago, it was pretty easy money, wasn't it?”
Darius shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“And sometimes you gotta do shit you don't wanna do because of who's asking it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm just sayin' sometimes it's hard to say no to old friends.” Herbert tightened his grip on the wheel.
“Where are we?” Darius said, looking out the window at the darkened buildings around them.
Herbert pulled the keys from the ignition. “I told you, we're meeting with an old contact.”
“He was one of the guys you ran with in your crew?”
“Yeah.”
“This the same guy that gives us the bodies to bury?”
Herbert looked over at Darius with narrowed eyes.
Darius smiled back with his mouth curled in a smirk. “You ain't that slick, Herbie. I'm not as dumb as you think. Smart enough to put two and two together, at least.”
“And you aren't as smart as you think, either. It's shit like this that'll get you in trouble. A piece of advice, D: keep your mouth shut. People don't need to know how much you know. You'd be a shit card player. You'd be tellin' everyone what cards you got.”
“Hey, I didn't get us wrapped up in this.” Darius shot back. “I figured out what we were getting in before the police came knocking, though. If you remember that in your old age, that is. Sometimes askin' questions keeps from getting you thrown in the back of a patrol car.”
Herbert smiled, defeated. “Well, good thing detective dipshit is on the case. Maybe you'll be able to get us out of this, seeing as we're about to see the guy who's responsible for getting us in it.”
Darius sucked his teeth and smiled. “You're the boss, Herbie. I'm just an extra set of hands.”
“Don't ever forget it.” Herbert got out of the van and Darius followed.