Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part Three
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“What exactly are we doing out here?” Kevin asked. “I thought you were going to take me to the granny houses. Show me the ropes. You know, how to grow and collect. That kind of thing.”
I clucked my tongue. “Oh no, dear brother. Before you become the chef you gotta wash a lot of fucking dishes.” Just then a truck hauling a trailer rounded the corner and came barreling through the center of the field, bouncing from side to side as it drove over rock and uneven earth. “You sure you still want in?”
“Yeah,” Kevin answered. “What is that?”
“The fucking dishes.”
At first glance it looked like any other truck hauling a trailer, complete with the same annoying beeping noise as it backed up into place, finally stopping when the engine was killed.
Jake Dunn, the fucking blond devil himself, hopped down from the driver’s side and rounded the back of the trailer. Ignoring our presence as he unlatched the door. I pulled Kevin aside to avoid being hit by the falling door as it slammed down so hard onto the grass a puff of dirt ascended into the air.
“Whoa, what is all this?” Kevin asked, staring into the trailer.
Inside was an all-metal, very sterile-looking interior. Rows of sharp tools hung from hooks lining the wall. Knives, what looked like machetes, along with icepick looking things and a few hoses. A matching table sat directly in the middle, a drain on one end. A small sink was attached to the wall directly behind the driver’s seat.
I extended my arm like a Price is Right model. “This is what they call a mobile slaughterhouse, kemosabe,” I informed Kevin, lighting a cigarette. “And that fine blond gentleman is Jake. Since we are here to learn, lesson number one is don’t tell Jake he looks like he used to be in a boy band, or fell out of a Teen Beat magazine, or anything else that would make him seem less like the bad-ass motherfucker he is.”
Jake scowled, but his blue eyes gleamed.
The guy was a walking contradiction.
I put my arm around Kevin. “Let’s change that. Lesson number one is don’t talk to Jake. Like EVER,” I said. I tipped my chin to Jake. “Morning, Sunshine!” I shouted, ignoring my own rule.
Jake grunted. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Didn’t you know? It’s bring your little brother-you-didn’t-know-about-until-recently to work day.”
Jake looked Kevin over like he hated his very existence. He probably did. Because he was Jake. No explanation needed.
“Lesson number two,” I said, passing my lighter to Kevin who lit his own smoke. I looked down to his shorts. “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Kevin asked, looking at his stained and wrinkled CORAL PINES tie-dyed T-shirt and flip-flops like there was nothing wrong with what he was wearing.
“It means no more swim trunks unless you’re going to pick up chicks at the beach. You dress like a college kid on laundry day. Have some pride, kid.”
Kevin huffed. “How am I supposed to dress for the job I want when I don’t know what the job is I have, or even what we’re doing?” Kevin asked, sounding frustrated.
“I told you,” I said as Bear and King pulled up in King’s old truck. “You’re washing dishes.”
King and Bear rounded the back of the truck and lowered the tailgate. Together they each took one end of something about six feet in length, wrapped in garbage bags and rope. They carried him...I mean IT, over to the trailer, setting it on the table with a hard thud. “You want us to stay and help?” King asked, tipping his chin to Jake who was leaning against the table with his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed over his chest.
“Thanks, but we got this, Boss-Man,” I answered.
King and Bear both looked at the two of us skeptically, the same look they’d given me when I told them what my plans were for young Kevin that day. “Good, gotta go help this asshole we know move anyway,” Bear said.
“Yeah, and the guy is skipping out on his own moving day. Can you believe that shit?” King asked. Bear shook his head and I sent them a middle finger salute as they drove away.
“Ummm...what the hell is that?” Kevin asked, looking at the table in the trailer.
“Manure,” I answered.
“Really?”
“No. Not really,” I sighed. “It’s a body-shaped plastic bag, Kevin. What the fuck do you think it is?” I snapped my fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Now listen up, Daniel-son.”
“Who is it?” Kevin asked, entirely too focused on what was going on in the trailer. His gaze followed Jake’s every move as he sharpened one of the knives from the wall with a steel sharpener.
“The dead have no names,” I said.
“That’s a line from Game of Thrones,” Kevin pointed out.
“That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
Jake motioned to the door and Kevin and I lifted it together, holding it up until we heard the click from the inside locking it in place.
“Now what happens?” Kevin asked.
I lit a cigarette and passed it to him then lit another for myself. “Now we wait.” We leaned back against the trailer.
“What’s this thing used for anyway?” Kevin asked, looking over his shoulder at the closed door of the trailer.
“Well, when Jake here isn’t using it for more nefarious purposes, it’s usually used as a way for farmers to ‘dispatch’ their livestock without having to pay hauling fees to have the animals shipped to a facility and then shipped back in sellable pieces.”
“Dispatched?” Kevin scratched his clean-shaven chin.
“Yeah, I heard it on the traveling network,” I said. “When the host of this show doesn’t want to say things like ‘brutally slit their throats until all the blood drains out’ he says things like ‘dispatched’. It makes murdering our food sound a lot more pleasant don’t you think?”
“What’s he doing in there?” Kevin asked. I didn’t know all that much about him, we’d only spoken a few brief times. But I knew the kid wasn’t stupid. He might have asked what Jake was about to do but something told me he already knew the answer.
The sound of a buzz saw vibrated within the trailer, followed by a splattering of something against the door. I leaned against it sideways, turning to face Kevin. “Genius isn’t it?” I winked.