The Midnight Tour

Sandy couldn’t blame him; Slade looked awful. She supposed he’d been no prize to begin with: soft and pudgy, his figure shaped like a bulb. In the glaring light, however, his dead skin was bluish- gray, his blood purple, his wounds raw, pulpy lips that looked wet and slippery.

“You must’ve really hated him,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Sandy said. She sipped her soda, then added, “He wasn’t easy to kill, either.”

“Well, let’s get him under ground.”

Harry picked up the shovel. Carrying the lantern low by his side, he wandered the clearing with his head down. Every so often, he paused and jabbed the shovel against the ground. Then he stopped near a far edge of the clearing, set down the lantern, and stomped the shovel in with his foot. “Somebody want to bring me the pick?”

Sandy hefted the pick off the ground. With Lib by her side, she carried it over to Harry.

“Don’t need it quite yet,” he said.

Sandy let the pick fall to the ground.

Sipping their drinks, she and Lib watched Harry cut a shallow rectangle with the edge of his shovel. Then, slab by slab, he removed small sections of the surface soil along with the weeds and grass growing out of it. He set the slabs aside. When he was done, he had a three-by-six bed of bare earth. He started digging, piling the loose dirt at the opposite end from where he’d laid out the sod.

“Is there something we can do to help?” Sandy asked.

“Not at the moment,” he said. “Thanks, though.”

A while later, he climbed out of the shallow hole. He took off his shirt, dropped it to the ground, and grabbed the pick ax.

In the hole again, he swung the pick furiously, ripping into the earth. Sandy watched his muscles bulge and slide under his tanned skin. Soon, in spite of the night’s chill, his back was shiny with sweat.

Switching to the shovel, he scooped out heaps of loose dirt and rocks.

When he paused to rest, the grave was knee deep. He was gasping for air. His hair was wet, matted down and clinging to his head. His dripping skin gleamed in the glare of the lantern.

“Hand me my shirt?” he asked.

Before Sandy could make a move for it, Lib snatched it off the ground. Instead of taking the shirt to him, she stepped backward. “Whatcha want it por?”

“Just hand it over, okay?”

“Not ip you’re gonna put it on.”

He smiled and shook his head. “I just want to wipe off my sweat.”

“Reckon I’ll let you hab it, den.” With that, she stepped forward and gave it to him.

“Thanks.”

Lib and Sandy both watched closely as he mopped the perspiration off his face, his broad shoulders, his chest, his belly.

“Dat’s hot work, ain’t it?” Lib said.

“I’ll say.”

“Betcha’d feel better ip you took opp dem pants.”

He let out a short, breathless laugh. “Well, thanks for the suggestion. Think I’ll keep them on, though.”

“Chicken.”

“Cut it out, Lib,” Sandy said.

“Don’t he look hot?”

“I’m sure he is hot.”

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted.

“You’re mighty pine,” Lib told him.

“Well, thanks. You can hold this for me,” he added, and tossed his shirt to her. Then he hefted the pick and began swinging it again.

The next time he stopped to rest, Lib tossed the shirt to him without being asked. As he wiped his dripping body, Sandy said, “Isn’t that about deep enough?”

“Not even up to my waist, yet.”

“Pretty near,” Lib said.

“How deep are you planning to make it?” Sandy asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Deeper than this.”

“Maybe we should dig for a while,” she suggested.

“It’ll go quicker if I do it.”

“Bullshit?” Lib blurted. “I’m stronger dan ten men!”

With that, she stepped to the edge of the grave. Stopping there, she waved a hand furiously at Harry. “Outa my way! Make room por da best dang gnbe-digger ebber walked da planet!”

Gazing up at her, Harry shook his head. “Why don’t you just wait up there, and I’ll...”

She jerked open her Blazing Babes shirt and pulled it off.

Twisting sideways, she flung the shirt to Sandy. Bare to the waist, she threw her arms high and leaped into the grave.

Harry scurried backward to get out of her way.

She landed on her feet, stumbled, bumped against the steep dirt wall of the grave, pushed herself away from it and stood up straight. Turning around, she gave Sandy a thumbs-up. Then she faced Harry.

“Howdy!” she blurted.

He shook his head. He glanced up at Sandy and shook his head some more. Then he said, “Howdy, Bambi. Maybe you should climb out, now. We can’t really get any digging done with both of us in here.”

“You get out and I’ll dig,” she said.

“It’d be better if you got out.”

“Come on, Mom,” Sandy said.

“Tink I can’t dig? I’m strong!” Stepping up close to Harry, she raised her right arm and brought her fist toward her face like a bodybuilder posing. “See dat bicept?”

“Very nice,” Harry said.

“Peel it.”

“What?”

“Peel my muscle.”

“She wants you to feel it,” Sandy translated.

He made no move to feel it. “I’m sure it’s a fine muscle,” he said.

“You damn betcha. Gib it a peel.”

“Thanks, but...”

“Den how ‘bout peelin’ my tits?”

He glanced up at Sandy as if looking for another translation.

“She wants you to feel her tits.”

He grimaced. “I know, I know. I figured that out.” To Lib, he said, “You really shouldn’t be doing this in front of Charly. I mean, come on. This is embarrassing. Why don’t you just climb on out of here and let me finish digging...”

She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his back and squeezing herself against him.

“Mom!” Sandy cried out. “Stop that!”

“Leab us alone, dear.”

“Let go, Bambi,” Harry pleaded. “Come on. Please. This isn’t the time or the place.”

“Good as any,” she said, and slid down his body until Sandy could only see her head and hands. Her hands started unfastening Harry’s belt.

“Quit it, Mom.”

“Go away. Less ya wanta come in and join us.”

“Hey,” Harry said. “That’s not...”

“Not enup room por tree ob us, anyhow.”