Night shift

    “Shit, what a tub of lard this motherfucker is!” the man whispered rather loudly.

    He hoisted a pressed wool-panted leg over his right shoulder. Then the other. Slow, quiet and steady. Regaining composure from the shock of his 250-pound load, he tried not to disturb the still curtain of crisp air around him. They crept along the trash-littered banks of the Hudson River.

    A raspy stifled chuckled escaped. Trying to press his mustached upper lip against the side of his arm, his partner’s chest heaved in silent laughter. The quick streams of breath from his nose caused the thin blond hairs of the body’s left arm to stand on end.

    “You’re killing me — let’s just finish the job. For Christ’s sake I gotta get home and fuck my wife before she falls out.”

    “Yeah, yeah. We all got needs. You know, this is our third disposal of the month together Robbie. We’re practically married now, huh.”

    “Well, that’d make you my fourth marriage, Carl. Looks like you should win a prize or something — how’s a vacation in the Bahamas sound?”

    “You talkin’ bout’ a honeymoon? Shit, I’m not into that gay stuff. I’m getting all antsy being out here in the dark with you now. All alone and shit. Fuck, why you gotta say shit like that?”

    “Carl, they’d have to pay me the lottery winnings to get on your ugly white ass,” he quipped, simultaneously rolling his eyes and adjusting his grip on the padded shoulders of the suit. The two-piece’s professionalism was long past ruined. Blood-stained and crumpled, it clung tightly to the corpse, yearning to clasp the last vestiges of financial prowess.

    “Thanks — feel a lot better now. You wanna grab some burgers after this?”

    “Did you hear me, shithead? Some of us got a family, got a woman to go home to! I’m not grabbing any burgers with you! ”

    “Man, I’m hungry. Where’s a good spot?”

    “I’m gonna shoot you and dump two bodies tonight if you keep–”

    “Calm the fuck down. I mean how much longer we gotta walk to drop this asshole?”

    His partner let out a deep sigh. He spat into the river as if to rid his mouth of a sour taste.

    “Yeah alright, three yards up is the spot.”

    They tiptoed in silence between crushed cans of Miller Lite, soggy Marlboro butts and the translucent pale paper of fast food wrappers. Some geese noisily honked above them, speckling the barren sky. They served as a migratory gaggle of stars amongst the vaguely neon glow of light pollution.

    “My Ma cooked us goose once for Christmas, you know. Not a bad bird, I’d say.”

    “I bet she did, Carl, I bet she did. Now get up to your knees in the river and don’t drop him on me, here.”

    “Fuck it’s cold!”

    “No shit Sherlock — now shut it!”

    He slipped the legs into the brown tinted waters. A patent leather shoe popped off and floated downstream as seamlessly as the clouds sleepily drifted past one another above.

    His partner secured a leaden weight around the corpse’s middle and the body sunk like an iron balloon to the riverbed.

    The two men stood on the Hudson’s banks facing the twinkling metropolis. The steal, glass and brick obelisks loomed, casting them in shadow. The ever-present shrieking of sirens and car horns echoes forth from the city.

    “It’s nice to take a moment and just sit, you know? Without interruption. I really like to–“

    His partner sighed wistfully and raised his arms behind his head to cradle his headache with each palm. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes.

    “Smells like winter’s coming, Carl. I can just smell it.”


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