“Hey Mal’… you think the body’s ughh… heavy?”

“Man, shut the hell up, Kenny, before you jinx it.”

The funeral home van rumbles down a country road, shadows stretching beneath the streetlights. Cigarette smoke fills the cramped cabin, and in the back, the gurney squeaks and rattles as the van rocks over what’s left of a squirrel.

In the front, Jamal grips the wheel like it’s a stress ball, while his nostrils flare. And beside him, Ken brushes his long golden hair from his face and loosens his tie.

He turns toward the window and brings a Styrofoam cup of coffee to his mouth.

“I’m just saying… if she’s… you know… big, what are we gonna do?”

Ken looks out the side window before bringing the coffee to his mouth.

He misses.

The lid bends against his lips, and coffee spills down his shirt.

“Aww, damnit!”

Ken jumps in his seat, sending the hot coffee flying from the cup like a translucent wave.

It crashes across Jamal’s pants.

“Motha fuck!”

Jamal jerks the wheel to the left, jumping away from the coffee, his hair bending against the ceiling.

The van swerves across the median, gurney bouncing off the walls, before Jamal catches the wheel and yanks it hard to the right, sending the rear end into a jackknife before it suddenly straightens.

Jamal takes a few deep breaths.

He looks down at his sleeve.

He snaps it, sending little drops of coffee scattering.

“HOW MANY TIMES? HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO PUT A LID ON YOUR DAMN COFFEE?”

His chest heaves so hard his tie moves with it.

Ken hunches over, elbows tucked in, and slowly turns back to Jamal, wide-eyed, wearing the innocent, pitiful face of a man who knows he just fucked up.

He reaches beneath the seat, grabs a stained towel, and starts wiping Jamal’s arm.

“…Sor…sorry, man.”

He wipes once.

Twice.

Then spills more coffee onto him.

Jamal’s arms fling up, his fingers scraping against the fabric of the ceiling.

“HEY!”

He shakes the coffee off his arm and lets out a deep sigh.

“Four years… FOUR-DAMN-ASS years of you spillin’ that shit.”

Ken looks away. He presses the palm of his hand into his eye.

His face strains.

Relaxes.

Then brightens.

“Well… hey. At least you’re wearing a black suit. You know… hides the stains.”

Jamal shakes his head.

“At least I’m wearing a black suit, man!”

He thrashes against the wheel, barely keeping the van straight.

“Why in the hell are we wearing suits?”

He tugs at his collar.

“I mean… we should be wearing tracksuits. You think it’s easy bending down, pickin’ up some heavy-ass body without the buttons poppin’ out?”

He looks down at his suit.

“Damn!”

Ken looks out the window as branches shake, sending golden-orange leaves across the windshield.

“So… you do think the body is fat.”

“Man…” Jamal sighs.

The van takes a hard right.

“It’s the police chief’s wife. Last thing I need is to be thinking about this cracker’s wife being heavy when my back already hurts.”

Ken crosses his arms.

“Didn’t you say Chief O’Conner has a stick up his ass? Better yet… you said he has two sticks.”

Jamal smirks.

Then catches himself.

“Yeah… that’s because he does. I swear, he never used to bother us. Now he’s at the home damn near every day, talking to Kowalski. Never seen a man so damn interested in the bodies.”

“Well, it’s his town.”

“No… it’s God’s town. He didn’t make it.”

Jamal glances over at Ken.

“Speaking of which… what does he want now?”

Ken reaches forward, over the grimey, cup holder and pulls out his phone.

“Kowalski wants a check-in .”
“When we’re 2 miles from the shop?”

“That’s what it says.”

Jamal wipes his mouth with his right sleeve, then pulls back, glares at Ken, then wipes with his left, clean sleeve.

“I swear… this dude never once asked about a check-in… the hell is so special about another body.”

Ken purses his lips, and turns coyley to Jamal – “C’mon – Mal… it’s the police chiefs wife.”

Jamal  scoffs. “The world spins in a full circle huh?”

Ken moves his blond hair from his face, and turns to Jamal.

“Apparently.”

Ken rolls his eyes and turns toward the window.

In the distance, old trees bend and groan in the wind, their twisted branches reaching over the entrance to Old Orchard Park. Dead leaves whip across the cracked pavement and tumble beneath the faded wooden sign.

For a moment, Ken watches them dance in circles before taking another drag from his cigarette.

“Man I didn’t know O’Conner has a home right next to Orchard Grove? Can you believe it?””

“Hell yeah, I can. Cops are scary. Makes sense he’d live next to this haunted-ass park. I’ll tell you what, Ken… that’s how he got those sticks up his ass.”

Ken shakes his head.

He turns to Jamal, his expression softening.

“No, no, no… you don’t get it.”

Ken leans forward.

“There used to be Indians here. They… they  had like…ceremonies. They said they had a special connection with…”

“Man, they used to be Indians everywhere. This was their country.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But nothing, man. All I know is I’m wet and about fed the hell up with everybody. Especially Kowalski.”

Jamal takes a deep breath.

“C’mon… let’s lock it in.”

Please like, comment, share, and tell me what you think! This is an EARLY draft // start to my new book – personally i’m still feeling everyone out… and that’s ok.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT of my book Letters From Jasper.  It means the world. And if you’re looking for a new read and enjoy my writing, I’d be honored is you considered reading, Letters From Jasper.

 

PLOT:A dying father hits the road to reconnect with his estranged son, but things take a turn when they get involved in a robbery. 

Perfect for anyone who likes humor and heart reads or has ever had a dead parent.  Available on Kindle Unlimited, Harcover, or Paperback. Here it is: Amazon.com: Letters From Jasper eBook : Winn, Anthony: Kindle Store

P.S. If you enjoyed it and left a review, you would make my entire ass day!

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