SNUFF (h.s.)

Chapter 09

Here's Mud in Your Eye!

Digging a ditch was no hard day's night. Harry had buried more corpses than any gravedigger in Roseville. He was square about that. He wasn't always certain which hand had sent them away without charging the stamps, what he knew was Sergio had to clean up the mess but he was the one who ended up holding the broom with the dustpan. Harry couldn't resist the easy boodle. He had to dig a ditch and all of a sudden he'd made more money than others who work their ass off for a whole month. That wretch devil – he lost the gravy train faster than the blow he blew.

It was the second time Sergio sent him to dig with the sun smacking his neck. He hated that shit – especially now when he wasn't obliged to do it anymore. The heat was irritating like a granny's breath behind you during the tiring hours of Christmas holidays in the church. Perhaps a couple was in the mood to canoodle in the forest. He didn't want to check them out and believe me neither did they. He didn't want to do things no one desired to be done. Harry wasn't in a good shape and the poor bastards wouldn't prefer to miss this lovely day.

It rained that afternoon with the sun up high and a humid weather. Harry had earned himself a bonanza. He wouldn't pass by the betting shop tonight, Korina should understand that this rain was a bad omen. All that was left to do was grab the shovel and start digging. The soil turned to mud and mud made a pond. He was blue-collar and persistent like a hiccup, that's how he managed to create a hole filling with water. The motherfucker – at some point it will stop raining and then he'll drain the bitch.

Harry took a look around, who was he expecting to see? He was the only screwball digging a ditch in the rain on a no man's land. Whomever he looked for, they certainly weren't there for a hitchhike or hunting. Julie Andrews hadn't visited the hills today. Not even a woodpecker peeped to knock some wood. He grabbed the shovel and hit the road. Either way, whatever he dug was messed by the rain.

He took the way back with a heavy heart. He wanted to get rid of this job that seemed to take all day long. Nora was writing her "masterpiece" as she called it; "The Chic Chick Knows How to Lick!" but he insisted that nothing could outsmart "Rosa Pantera". He'd come up with a few ideas for the new cover but was eager for the ideal one since it was her "masterpiece". Perhaps if they fucked today he'd fantasize about it. He groaned like a bison, the rain was hitting his yellow raincoat like strung up fingers ready to ask for favors.

When he managed to reach the Cadillac, he threw the shovel in the trunk and saw a bunch of stuff he didn't remember putting there like a mother in the attic. He had to clean it up. And his clothes too. Some time, maybe. If he remembers. As long as he had clean clothes to wear that didn't smell like rotten onions, he didn't give much a fuck about taking care the rest of them.

The truth is he was careful with his mien. He wanted to be smart and refined but he had a fallible pocket. He took his clothes to Valeria's dry-cleaner like a yuppie lad, he explained to her how to do the folding and the ironing and she had a raised eyebrow: "Do I have to hear you tell me how to do my job, Harry?" and he let her hear it.

He had a doubt and a fear each time that something will go wrong with so many suits hanging from the ceiling – it wasn't a big deal finding a man between them with a broken neck and Valeria didn't admire Sergio. He couldn't risk lose her services so it was fair he worried until they were neat and ready. No guy hanged from her ceiling and he had already forgotten what he'd complained about.

"Listen here", he wiped his nose with a handkerchief that had a knitted outline, "The rain fucked up the ditch"

"Very well", he fixed his velvet tracksuit looking like Emperor Constantine, "You'll come with me then", the gal next to him smoked a thin cigarette while the bar had small plates serving coffee or pastas. The girl was young, no more than seventeen, waiting for a Cosmopolitan on the one hand and a hundred dollar bill on the other with Dietrich hair and an old Hollywood idle gaze.