Apex Book Company

3.

Jimmy waited three days, just like they’d planned, allowing the police time to do a fingerprint check on the Mexican. When no word came from Stuart to abort the mission, he drove to work on the forth morning with the finger in a Styrofoam cooler full of ice on the passenger seat.

With the lid on, the white rectangular box hardly looked worth the three-dollar price tag. But Jimmy couldn’t help seeing the container as something secret, something important, and for part of the drive from the Shell station, he imagined himself on one of those TV medical dramas transporting an urgently needed donor organ.

He arrived at the job site just after nine, coming to a stop amid the larger pick-ups and SUVs of the regular work crew. Construction had been suspended for the last few days due to the rain, but today the steel skeleton of the new Park Street mini-mall bustled with activity.

Before getting out, he peeked in on the finger. It lay in the Zip-Loc bag like a half-curled worm.

Smiling, he closed the cooler’s lid and got out of the car.

The ground remained soft and moist from the recent rainfall, and Jimmy’s feet made loud smacking sounds in the mud as he walked to the construction company’s mobile office. He noticed Tom Ryder, the foreman, talking with two of the subcontractors working the same site, clapping them on the back as he always did during conversations, acting like a father congratulating his sons on a well-played little league game. Jimmy ducked into the trailer to clock in before the man spotted him.

He found Jeff Densi, the lead mason, out by what would become the entrance to the mall’s parking lot. Jeff crouched beside his brother, Roy, near the first of two walls that divided the lot from the sidewalk. When seen side by side, the two looked like the working-Joe equivalent of Laurel and Hardy.

Jimmy waved hello as the men looked up.

Jeff had been kneeling alongside the guide wires that outlined the wall’s base, and he stood up as Jimmy approached, maneuvering his bulk with ease. He returned the greeting eagerly enough, but his features appeared grim. “You’re a half hour late, Cooley. What gives?”

Jimmy put on his apology face. “I’m sorry–”

“I gave you a break with this job,” Jeff went on without pause. “You wouldn’t have it if my regular bricklayer hadn’t wrecked his back.”

“I know, Sir–”

“With your work history, you’d be lucky to get hired at a firecracker stand, let alone anywhere else. I took you on ’cause I didn’t have another choice.”

Jimmy nodded, trying to look humble. “It won’t happen again, man. I just couldn’t find my lunch box this morning . . . I think Meg must’ve taken it with her when she split.”

Jeff had been glaring at him with what Jimmy had come to know as his “business look,” but at the mention of Megan, his face softened. “Your woman left you?”

Jimmy nodded.

“Shit, pal, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Roy had stopped his work to listen, leaning on his shovel like a farmer watching his crops grow. “Women,” he said.

Jimmy shrugged. “Like you said, I’d be damned if I could hold a decent job for long, and that doesn’t look too good on a home loan application . . . She must’ve just got fed-up with living with a loser.”
Jeff waved his comment away. “Hell, kid, I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“I guess.”

The big man hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and simply nodded, looking uncertain of what else to say.

“Here comes Slappy,” Roy commented, breaking the silence. He tipped his head in the direction of the company trailer, and Jimmy spotted the foreman making his rounds.

Jeff clapped his hands together and gestured at the wall base. “Let’s get back to it,” he said, sounding relieved to have gotten off the subject of Jimmy’s muddled love-life. “I hope everything works out for you, Jim–I really do–but we got a schedule to keep.”

Jimmy nodded. “Don’t worry about me. Besides, I got a plan to get her back.”

“Yeah?” Jeff asked.

Jimmy looked at the Smokey’s restaurant across the street and thought about the finger in his car.
“Why don’t you boys join me for lunch, and I’ll tell you about it.”

4.

Just before lunch, Jimmy went to his car under the pretext of retrieving his wallet. Using his body as a shield, he reached into the cooler, snatched up the Zip-Loc bag, and slipped it into the pocket of his jean jacket.

Jeff and Roy had already started across the road to Smokey’s, and Jimmy caught up with them as they fell into one of the lines behind the bank of registers along the counter. The lunch rush had the small building packed to capacity. He wiped his brow in an unconscious reaction to the crowd, and his hand came away covered in sweat.

He stood in line, pretending to count his pocket change as he waited to order.

Jeff bought three cheeseburgers, fries, an apple pie, and a Coke.

Roy went for a fish sandwich and a fountain drink.

Jimmy got a soda and a bowl of chili.

They grabbed a booth at the back corner of the main dining room as a trio of teens vacated their seats to leave. Jimmy pulled the plastic top off the paper bowl of chili as Jeff and Roy sat down on the opposite side of the table.

“I hear they got a new titty bar over by the air base,” Roy said, sipping his drink. “Seeing as you don’t got no current attachments, Jim, maybe you’d like to check it out sometime?”

Jimmy had steeled himself to keep cool, to just act normal so the others wouldn’t get suspicious, but he suddenly found himself speechless as he focused on how to execute the plan.

“Damnit, Roy,” Jeff said. “Can’t you see the kid’s just had his heart ripped in two?”

Roy shrugged as he bit into his sandwich. “Just thought seeing some skin might cheer him up, is all.”
Jeff’s bushy mustache twitched under his nose. “You ever think about anything else?”

Roy paused his chewing for a moment then shook his head.

Jimmy reached into his pocket as the two men exchanged looks, splitting the bag’s seal with his hand. He had to force a neutral expression as his living fingers found the dead one. Then, with the finger cupped in his hand, he picked up the packet of Saltines that had come with his order and tore open the plastic. “Check out the peach by the register,” he said, crumbling the crackers. “I’d like to see her in one of them places.”

The men looked over their shoulders, and he dropped the finger into the chili with the crackers, stirring it under with his spoon. Initially he’d planned to take a few bites before getting to business–to make the lunch seem more authentic–but the thought of swallowing a single drop of the food after the finger had been mixed in made his stomach flop.

Get a grip, Jim. Think dollar signs.

He churned the chili, feeling the finger’s weight against the plastic utensil. Then, with a furtive glance to make sure Jeff and Roy had their attention on their own meals, he scooped the finger into his mouth.

It slid off the spoon, onto his tongue, taking up far more space than he liked.

Don’t think about it, dumbass, just do it!

And he did.

He bit down, feeling the rubbery texture of skin, the hardness of bone. The heat from the chili had yet to penetrate the cold from the ice, and as his teeth came together, a frigid liquid spurted against the inside of his cheek.

His empty stomach seemed to fill with a putrid green liquid and his body fought to expel the object. But just as he prepared to spew it onto the tabletop, Jeff and Roy turned away, facing the front of the store to look at the menu.

They won’t see it! his brain raged. They have to see me spit it out!

So he held it in his mouth, feeling its horrid presence.

And it moved.

He’d raised his hand, about to slam it down on the table to regain the men’s attention, when he distinctly felt the finger uncurl, its nail scraping the side of one molar.

Every nerve in his body seemed to short circuit from the shock, and he stiffened in his seat, unable to move. Then the finger did it again, squirming like a half-dead worm trapped in a storm puddle, just as someone said, “Hey there, Jimbo!”

Slapping him on the back–

Gulp!

–causing him to swallow!

He felt the finger slide down his throat like a thick bite of licorice, pressing hard against his insides.

Oh, shit!

He clutched the table with both hands, tensing his neck muscles in a last ditch effort to stop the dead man’s digit from reaching his stomach. But then he felt one last squeeze deep inside his chest and knew it was already too late.

“Jimbo,” he heard Tom, the foreman, say from behind. “You all right, man? Damn, I didn’t mean to surprise you like that.”

The others set their food aside when Jimmy failed to respond, Jeff leaning in close, asking him what was wrong. Tom offered him a hand, but he pushed it away.

“Outta my way, you back-slapping asshole!” He leapt from his seat and raced for the bathroom.