The Leg Up

How to buy your way into heaven

“Hey, you wanna see a dead body?”

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t mean that you’re some kind of psycho. You don’t have to be some black makeup wearing wrist slitting pansy to appreciate a glimpse into your own mortality. Rest assured that every one of your morbid questions are perfectly normal.

“Who hasn’t wondered what color the ooze would be? Who hasn’t wondered if there are bugs under the skin? Or had half a mind to poke it with a stick? I think it’s crazy NOT to wonder about these sorts of things at some point.

In this spirit I would like to make a small confession though. My interest in the dead is not strictly professional.

Did you really think I did it for the shit pay and bad back? No. I do it because every stiff has a story.

Some nights the yard gets slow. Not many folks to bury. That’s when I like put down the shovel, prop open one of the caskets and just…. Marvel at all of the extraordinary coincidences that brought us together. Was it a bad habit, Poor decision? Were they saving babies from a smoldering orphanage? Sometimes I ask them questions. They never answer, but at least they don’t complain.

Sometimes they even come bearing gifts.

Especially those high society rich bitches with the pearl lined lids and brass handles. Pop ‘em open and you can usually find a snazzy necklace or an antique diamond ring. Near death experience has taught me that they’re worth far more in the pawn shop than the afterlife.

The most fun by far though? Those cheap vampire crates they stick the old Irishmen in. Loved ones usually send them off with a few for the road. Why waste it on the worms, right?”

Now before you get all judgy about ‘grave robbing’ remember, they don’t complain. So how could it possibly be robbery? Besides, if they could come back to life, do you really think they would piss on about a missing trinket? I bet they would want to give it me as one final act of goodwill to get a leg up on heaven.

But you won’t believe who I came across at work last night.

"In the yard we have this little shack where we get our assignments. I’m looking at the board and Holy Fucking SHIT they match me up with Ronald Hunter".

"I saw your boys on the news marching outside the jail before they turned on the gas. Saying he was punished for his beliefs rather than the crime. Maybe they got a point, but face it, you butcher three cops in front of a Quikstop you kind of have it coming. Can’t really say I was a fan".

"Then again it’s pretty rare to have a bonafide celebrity come through our gates. On top of that it was the slowest night I’ve had in weeks. Our meeting wasn’t just a coincidence it was destiny. "

"So of course I popped his lid. There he was. Looking just like his front page mugshot."

"I cranked open a pint of Old Grandad and Ronnie and I got blitzed until the sun started rising. I asked him the same question I ask all the stiffs. “What can I do to help you get into heaven?” Now of course I wasn’t expecting an answer, but all of a sudden there’s this faint gravelly rattle coming from his throat. I pressed my ear against his lips and heard him croak 'Remember'".

"I was flabbergasted. I jumped back, knocked into the casket. Ronnie’s body flopped to the side. I’m stood there slack jawed and stunned trying to make sense of it all. What the hell did he want me to remember? I looked down again and found the most interesting relics".

"Those relics are what brought me to Pappy’s Memorabilia today".

"The first is a German battle flag circa 1942. I know that there are millions of these things floating around, but how many of them were owned by the infamous Ronald Hunter? I also present this little black notebook. Doesn’t look like much, but I had a guy look it over. Says the book originates in Argentina, mid 60’s. The handwriting is in German and it appears to be the personal diary of Dr. Mengele".

"I understand that certifying this particular kind of wartime memorabilia can be rather…. problematic. So in order to prove that both my story and items are completely legitimate I decided to borrow Ron for a bit and take him along for the ride. He’s in the trunk if you wanna take a peak. He might even tell you himself".

Pappy sits motionless throughout my spiel. Examines the notebook and flag wirh a scowl. Breathes in the musty old war smell and exhales a thin plume of disgust.

“I can’t sell this shit.” He replies.

“Maybe not over the counter, but we both know that if you put this shit up in one of your backroom auctions it’ll buy your crew an assload of guns.

Pappy whips out his phone and pushes buttons. I wonder if he’s calling the pigs or his goons, but I don’t dare ask. He puts the phone back in his pocket and seconds later a wireless printer produces a copy of Ronald Hunter’s mugshot. He grabs it, swaggers to the door.

“Okay, show me the body”

Pappy and I are in the parking lot. I point out my Honda prelude. He shakes his head.

“I’m not doin this in front of my shop? We’re going to my place. Don’t follow too close.”

He jumps in a green minivan. I creak open my door. Engine starts on the first try.

Pappy leads me past the onramp to a gravel forest road. For the next two hours the woods thicken and civilization seems like a distant memory. We arrive at a Lincoln style log cabin in a small clearing. Two Hans and Franz looking skin jobs wearing high powered rifles sit next to a smoldering fire pit.

Pappy cranks down his window and whistles. Hans runs to my car. I roll down the window. The gun barrel digs into my cheekbone. He tells me to turn off the engine. I do as I’m told. The keys dangle from the ignition while the rest of me remains frozen.

My left eye strains towards the rear view mirror. I see Franz pop open the trunk no keys required. He holds the mug shot picture in one hand and gently peels back the worn linen corpse sheet with the other. He sends Hanz a nod. He lowers the rifle from my face.

Pappy swaggers from the minivan to the fire pit. He nods for me to join. I grab my keys and head over. He throws me a can of Pabst as we settle in worn lawn chairs. He takes a long pull from his own can and stares down my crotch like he’s trying to gauge the size of my balls.

He has no idea.

He shakes his head, squeezes in a chuckle, and asks

“How much?”

“$20,000” I reply

Pappy takes another swig and spits to the ground.

“Fuck your $20,000 I’m giving you two.”

I cough to feign disgust. Turn on the indignity a little. “$2 thousand for a priceless heirloom that’s going to make you a small fortune? I’m not that kind of schmuck. $15,000 and that’s putting a bow on it.”

Pappy grabs me by the cuffs. His stale ancient breath wavers in front of me.

“C’mon pal. We both know that you ain’t gitttin noone else to buy that shit from you. So my final offer is $10,000. For that I get the flag, the body, your piece of shit car, and that cute little black schoolgirl diary. My boys will give you a ride to the bar.”

Sold!

He whistles again. Hanz and Franz peel off their rifles. Hanz heads to the Minivan’s driver’s side. Franz opens the passenger door to fetch an envelope from the glove compartment. Pappy asks for my keys. I toss them. It’s a terrible throw.

Pappy bends down to grab the keys from the ground. I whip out a Ruger and shoot the bastard dead in the skull. He falls over the embers but dies too quick to enjoy the flames.

Hanz and Franz run for their guns. I pull out a second Ruger. Hanz catches a bullet in the throat while Franz gets to watch his chest explode in front of him.

I hid out in a tree for two hours waiting for cops or reinforcements to arrive. None came so I decided to do a little scavenging. Cabin didn’t have much except beer and Black porno magazines. On my last step out the door the floor gave a weird creak. I popped open the floorboards just in case.

Wouldn’t you know it. A Trap door to a secret room filled with canisters of deadly nerve gas and maps of the subway system.

The maps are pretty much worthless, but I know some government types who will buy the gas. A couple organized folks who could always use another rifle or two. Should fetch about $5,000 altogether.

Of course I grabbed the $10,000 worth of envelope money, but then also found another freshly folded $5,000 tucked away behind Hanz’s tiny balls.

Altogether that’s $20,000. Surprisingly good for a day’s work. Best of all, I still have the Ronnie, the flag and the little Black notebook.

I drive back towards civilization and ponder what to do with my winnings. A new car is for certain. It took nearly 15 minutes to get this old crate started on the way out.

But first, Ronnie is getting a little ripe and we still got three more shops to hit.