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 Copyright by Robert Adamovich 1997 |
| As I again lifted my shovel overhead the pain in my shoulders screamed for me to stop. Digging graves is no easy task, ya know. I haven’t been doing it all that long, so I guess my muscles needed to adjust themselves to the strain. The poor soul in the box I was covering with dirt had been beaten to death. The cops said it was murder. It was the first in over a decade in DeBrach County and had certainly stirred this sleepy community up. The local gossips were having a field day. The theories had run the gambit from accusing the town drunk, to the new preacher at Downers Grove, to the new folks that had moved into Maxine Jenkins’ old place. Talk was a gang selling drugs had moved in there and the guy in the box walked in on a drug deal by accident and had been dumped here. But no one was really sure. As I continued to shovel dirt into the hole, I wondered if the guy knew who had killed him? Did he see it coming? The cops said they would know more after the results from the autopsy came in. I found the body not far from where I was standing at that moment as I was coming in to work, but no one was around to see anything. You see, most folks are already dead around here. They calculated from the rigidity of the body that the murder had been committed around midnight. Now what he was doing around a cemetery at midnight I couldn’t say for sure. Maybe he was drunk roaming the cemetery looking for a tomb to weather the night in. Damn bums were always destroying something. No respect for property or the dead, ya know. Maybe the dead didn’t have any respect for them either? I don’t have much pity for drunks. Whoever he was, I’m sure he deserved it. If he hadn’t done something that night he’d probably done something in his life to warrant death. They all get what they deserve sooner or later. Sometimes sooner rather than later. I was just finishing covering up the hole when the local cops came walking up to the grave site. The serious scowls they had telegraphed their intentions. I continued shoveling the dry dirt back into the hole. The big fat one, Jimmy Homes, Looked as if he might have a stroke right there. I guess he wasn’t used to all that walking. Most of the time you could find Jimmy at the mini-mart drinking coffee and stuffing his face with that disgusting microwave food. He was a real sow. “George... we want to... talk to you... boy,” Jimmy said huffing and puffing as he finished his climb up the small hill I was atop. “What about?” I asked. Jimmy sucked in air like a vacuum cleaner stuck on plastic until he could continue. “It’s about that stiff you’re burying.” I looked at him and then his thin partner, a slight youngster that had never recovered from a battle with acne, then at the nearly full grave. “Yeah, what about him?” I asked hoping they wouldn’t tell me they wanted me to un-bury him now that the job was nearly complete. “We think we know who killed him,” Jimmy said still panting like a dog. The silence was deafening. Jimmy and his acne scarred partner looked at me with suspicion. “Yeah, so what are you telling me for?” I said leaning on my shovel. Jimmy looked at his partner and then at me. “We think you did it, George,” he said fumbling with his revolver, unhooking the hammer guard. I was stunned. I was a grave digger, not a murderer. “What makes you say that?” I asked starting to shovel the remaining dirt into the grave. The job didn’t pay by the hour, ya know. It paid by the piece and I wasn’t about to work any longer than I had to. “Listen, George,” he said taking a note pad from his shirt pocket. He opened it and began reading. “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you so desire and can not afford one...” I just kept shoveling the dirt into the grave and wasn’t listening to Jimmy read me my rights. What for? This would never go very far. “... Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?” Jimmy said picking his head up from the note pad. I guess he was a bit upset that I hadn’t been paying attention to him. The gun came out of his holster easily and was at my head before I knew it. I didn’t move after I felt the cold barrel against my temple. He was serious I realized and was in no mood for sarcastic grave diggers. “Look, Jimmy,” I said carefully, “you don’t need to stick no gun to my head. I understand my rights and am willing to go with you boys,” I said hoping Jimmy would put the gun back in its holster. Jimmy blushed as his deputy agreed with me that this level of force was unnecessary. He holstered the revolver and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, George,” he said bowing his head and reached out his hand to apologize. I looked at his hand and then at him. He was looking at the ground in embarrassment. His young partner smiled at me apologetically. So I lifted the shovel overhead and smashed it into the back of Jimmy’s bowed head. The shovel clanged as it hit and he fell to his knees. His partner’s mouth dropped open in shock not knowing what to do. I then swung the shovel upwards and kissed the deputy right in the face with it. He fell backwards and landed hard on his back. I heard Jimmy groan and saw him trying to stand. As I again lifted my shovel overhead I wondered, did he see it coming? THE END |
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