The Wrong Order

Two large wooden boxes marked with red text saying "Do Not Disturb" were delivered. I got Edgar, and the two of us struggled with them from the freight dock to the technical services room. Marge said we could put them anywhere that fit.

     "What's in that?" Edgar said.

     Marge leaned under her desk and pulled out a crowbar. She got to work on the first box. "Probably one of the new Stevie Miller books."

     "How many boy wizards are there going to be?" I said.

     Edgar went over to help Marge get some leverage. The nails in the boxes groaned and moved slow. "Until they find some new bullshit kids will spend money on."

     "Kids and children's librarians. Why the boxes?" I said.

     Marge said, "It's a whole marketing thing, I suppose. This one is Stevie Miller and the Pine Box Derby."

    As the two of them struggled, Edgar said to Marge, "Remember that time Mama had me join the scouts? Carved that little car?"

     "I remember Daddy carving that car and pouring lead in it."

     Edgar shook his head, "It was some steel he melted down. Made it too heavy, though, and they wouldn't let me race. He was off to the side with a pocket knife scraping it down until it was light enough. Still lost."

     "No, not just some steel. It was lead that was left over from making those bullets." Marge blew some hair out from her face. She went back to the desk while Edgar kept trying. She rummaged through a pile of tools, still talking. "He had that special gun, remember? Big lead bullets that he had those little pouches of powder for. Said they were untraceable."

     "Anything is untraceable if you don't register the gun," Edgar said.

     "That's why he got away with it, I guess," Marge said. She stood, smiling. She had another crowbar, this one small and bright yellow. She handed it to me. "Come on, ST, be useful."

     I had to ask. "What did he get away with?"

     Edgar stopped working on the box lid and shared a look with Marge. Then he shrugged. 

     Marge had a rubber mallet and chisel. She went around while she talked, digging into the wood and making spaces for us to slip in the crowbars. The box was sealed tight.

     Marge said, "It was the late 80s. I remember cause that year I went as Madonna for Halloween. Cone bra and everything. Momma had run off with the acrobat late summer, so it was just the three of us. Then Uncle Jessup came to stay with us. He was okay for a while."

     "He was a drunk and an asshole. He had tons of enemies and gambling debt," Edgar said.

     "He was family. For a while. Him and daddy worked offshore, so we were alone here and there when they were both gone. Different schedules, companies, but two weeks on two weeks off so we didn't see them much together. Until they met Sandy."

     "Sandy Pittman." Edgar said the name with a sigh.

     "She was hot, dead sexy. Even I felt it. She moved up here from New Orleans with some guy, and he went away. Maybe died off shore, I don't remember. She waited tables over at the Smoke House. Where the Taco Bell and KFC thing is now, by the highway. Anyway, she was as poisonous as one of those little Amazon frogs. Look, but don't touch.

     But Daddy and Uncle Jessep did more than touch, except because of the schedule they didn't find out for a while. And Sandy had a few others around, anyway. No secret if you paid attention. But when they did find out, boy. Those two men fought. They always argued, but this time it was a knock-down drag-out ass-kicking in the front yard. I just remember looking out as they punched each other, her in the car on the street smoking a cigarette and playing with her hair."

     Edgar said, "I remember she had her legs out the window."

     "Anyway, she picked Jessup. Probably because of us. They dated for a while, but nothing came of it. But Daddy and Jessup were mad after that, he moved out. If Daddy even saw his car in town he'd come home cursing his name. Later I found he marked up Jessup's face in all the pictures Mama saved. Even the wedding photos."

     We had made progress on the box. The nails were long, four inches at least and thick as plastic straws. They screamed as we pulled the wood apart and exposed straw stuffing and styrofoam padding.

     "Then in late November, just before Thanksgiving, they found Uncle Jessup dead. Three heavy lead slugs in him," Marge said.

      I said, "Your daddy killed his brother?"

     "Brother-in-law. He was mama's brother," Edgar said.

     "But did he?" I said.

     Marge straightened, hands on her back. She gazed at the ceiling. "Yeah, I bet."

     "He had lots of enemies and debts to bad people. Did drugs," Edgar said.

     "And that makes it okay?" Marge said.

     "Makes him dead enough," Edgar said. "Police didn't search too hard."

     "As if they search too hard now if anybody but a dead blonde lady shows up. I think we almost got it," Marge said and hit the underside of the box lid with the mallet.

     Inside, we found a coffin. 

     "I think we got the wrong order," Edgar said.