Pick Up

Pick Up
Henry sat in the theater. His clothes were clean. He did not stink. He was alone. There was a large drink and popcorn with Mike’s and Ike’s candy. The drink was nearly gone. The popcorn was half eaten and rubbery. The Ike’s were gone. It was noon.
The screen displayed Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom in Dolby Surround Sound. Sitting in a seat too large for him and a row with no one else on it he looked to his left and right for another life. Rows ahead of him some other film patrons sat, and rows behind him couples appearing to be in their 40’s held hands with their lips in the mold of a crescent. He stared back at the screen. Indiana Jones punched an evil goon. Henry’s face turned into a similar manner of those in attendance.
The film ended. He left his drink and Mike’s. He walked up the aisles towards the exit munching and munching with great effort to finish the buttered and peppered popcorn. He’s black and 48. With a Yankee’s cap on and not in New York.

***
“I don’t give a fuck what you say about him but he would fucking kill his fucking ass in a second” said Jude.
“How da heck can you say dat? You ain’t seen what he done huh? Cuz if you seen what I seen this would be a whole fucking different convo man” said Rake.
“Look, are gonna tip are we just gonna talk about how great MacGuyver be?” said Henry.
“What you even saying? Man you ain’t listen to a goddam word we said. Colombo would beat the shits out of both of those two Miami Vice fags any day. You seen that shit he did to his wife. He killed the bitch with a shotgun, wrote it on his things to do list and said: ‘I couldn’t have killed her. I planned on doing it but this shit right here wasn’t me.’ And that’s real life, jus think of what Colombo was doing behind the scene” said Rake.
“You got it wrong” said Jude.
“Nah, listen here nigga, Colombo was the damn man. I could walk in on him fucking my wife and I would close the door. I would just look at my wife and say: ‘Excuse me. Good Judgment call. And you two enjoy the night.’ Anybody else smashing my wife, I’d go Colombo on their ass, but Colombo, I’d let him slide. Him, and maybe Boris Kodjo, I can’t lie, I’d be hurt it’s not Colombo, but I’d understand. Everybody got needs,” said Rake.
“Negro was you born stupid or you just happen to be that way? Robert Blake was the one that killed his wife. And you probably got the story wrong. I wouldn’t let Colombo get in my bed for anything” said Jude.
“But what if Colombo came to your house and was like…”
“Why would he come to my house?”
“It’s hypothetical.”
“Who taught you that word? You can’t read. Colombo couldn’t read either. He just scribbled into his note pad and made people think he could. He was an illiterate white man.”
“White people can read. All of them. Each of them is born with at least a community college degree in English and dictionary in their brain. Using words we never heard before. They born talkers. How else you think they got us on them ships with four of um, two shotguns, and a whip?”
“Good planning and know-how?”
“Shut yo ass up.”
“So we tipping?” said Henry.
“Hah” said Rake.
“We don’t tip,” said Jude.
“We can” said Henry.
“Bullshit, why do you want to tip anyway?”
“Screw it. I’m paying the bill. Give me something for a tip.” Rake took $3 out of his wallet and gave it to Henry. Jude pulled a five dollar bill. Henry paid and they left.
As they walk out he said: “Vice was better.”

***

Jude was the driver. Rake was to the right of the garbage truck. Henry on the left. It was Monday and they picked trash on the left side of Moiré. Next to one of the tall burgundy and brick houses there was a half open and smeared diaper on the trash can. It was a golden color. No flies swarming. Maggots visible. Henry pulled the can slow. As he placed the trash inside the dump truck he slid on rocks putting the trashcan back. The trash was out of the can but the contents of the diaper had smeared across his chest. He smelled like baby shit. He had golden baby shit on his chest like an embarrassing battle badge.
“Hah” said Rake.
“It’s not funny. I ain’t laughing,” said Henry.
“Sorry. Hah. And. Hah.”
“You’re a dick.”
“Hah.”
“What ya’ll laughing at?” Screamed Jude from the driver’s seat.
“Hah. He got baby mess on him” said Rake.
“Well, you riding in the back nigga” said Jude and Henry did.

***

“Do you want to hear about Red Riding Hood and the Huntsman this time?” Henry said.
“I’m ok Daddy. I don’t feel like hearing a story tonight. Just stay ‘till I sleep” said Ellie, his daughter. Hayden, or Hay-Hay, was already sleeping in the bed to the left of Ellie’s. They shared the same room.
Henry smiled. His wife looked at him and held his hand tight. The air condition in the window blew loud but soothing at an automated setting of 68 degrees. His red hooded jacket on the ground below it. The heater in the corner was unplugged and atop a box of dress shoes. His wife kissed him on the cheek and they went to their bedroom to make love and sleep.

***

They picked from the right side of Moiré. Jude, in his short sleeve work shirt. Clean. He drove and ate bags of Lay’s potato chips. He stopped the truck. Rake and Henry took the trashcans from in front the 4835 Moiré house and something dropped out of Henry’s can. It was ribs. Large. Perfectly clean ribs.
“Who be licking bones round here?” said Henry to Rake.
“It’s summer time man, probably some rich white people that barbecued” said Rake in response with his head down and brown going down the left of his long sleeve shirt.
“Whatever dog shit man. Just saying it’s extra clean” said Henry.
Jude pulls the truck up to the next house. Henry picked up the trashcans and something falls from the trash. It’s a rabbit with its head chopped off and bite marks on its feet.
“Eh, Rake, come see this shit man,” said Henry.
“I don’t want to. I just want to get home and whatever it is it’s probably something someone ate or just something random” said Rake.
“Aight. Fine.”
The truck is again pulled up by Jude. They grabbed the trashcans. Something fell out. A human hand. Left. No blood dripped. It was cold. Gray. Dry.
The day was Good Friday. Jesus’ blood poured out of his stomach by a soldier. Blood poured from his head like tears. Henry threw the hand in the trashcan. His hands shook.

***

Tuesday. The right side of Moiré. Henry’s hands were still shaking. Jude ate eight bags of chips. Jude kept his head down. His shirt was washed but the stain still showed. Henry’s uniform had a hint of gold on it.
Jude crept the truck to where the ribs were found.
“You guys do your thing,” said Jude, not turning his head around.
Henry and Rake got out. They went to the first house on the street. Rake found a toe. He put it in the trashcan then into the back of the truck then placed the can back in front of the house he got it. It was a person’s toe.
Henry found a hand. Right. He picked it up. His hands shaking, it dropped. He stared at it.
He picked it up, hands shaking, face sweating, neck hard as a mountain made by the Lord and he threw it into the back of the trash truck.
The next house had legs and feet.

***

“How don’t they go to jail,” said Henry.
“I don’t want you to go back there,” said his wife.
“I held a hand in my hand.”
“I know baby.”
“Did you f-ing here me? I had a death in my hand! I held the remains of some dead person’s hand. I basically shook a dead person’s hand and you’re telling me to calm down.”
“Babe,” she said and rubbed his back.
“Don’t touch me. The last thing I need is someone touching me.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t you call the cops?”
“And tell them what?”
“Babe.”
“You know the craziest part about it…the last house on the street, and I mean the last, big house, two, three stories, probably a dog and dental insurance, you know rich people. They didn’t have anything in front the house. Everybody on that street had something in front of it. Not them.”

***

They rode on Moiré again. Quiet. Shaking. Eating. They did all. The truck stopped. Henry got out. He grabbed a trashcan. A forearm. No blood dripped. Rake kept his head down. He finally got out.
Next house. Rake found the head of a turkey. Its eyes were open. Mouth too. Henry, a torso. Large breasts. The nipples were chopped off. Henry vomited. His eyes watered. The next house had a buttocks and thighs. He picked them up and dropped them. He found them in the street. Not the trashcan. The next houses were similar. All remains were outside the houses. Not even in their trashcans. The house at the end was clean. They didn’t even have trash.
“Man, Colombo, Miami Vice, we need those guys right now,” said Jude as they got into the truck with a laugh.
“You notice there aren’t any cops around here,” said Rake.
“Yeah,” said Henry.
"Or ever," said Rake.
"Yeah, so?" said Henry.
“Nobody can stop whoever is doing this shit. And we sure damn can’t be the ones to,” said Rake.
Henry read the children the story of Moses from the family Bible with great thunder that night. He skipped over the death of the first born and body of water filled with blood.

***

Moiré. Morning. Sun not even out. Human bodies were on the fronts of houses. Hands. Dead babies. Animals. Just in the street or homes. Clear view. Dead bodies and remains in front of houses with no cops. Trashcans were still out. They picked them up and put the trash in the back of the truck. Bodies too.
Rake was putting one of the cans into the back of the truck. His leg was being pulled.
“What the fuck?” said Rake. Vicious teeth sank into his thigh and ripped it off. With his leg off sucking went into the remains of his thigh.
“I got you man, I’m coming,” said Henry.
Something was pulling on his back. A bite went on the top of his head and sunk into the skin and pulled off down to his shoulders. His eyes rolled and blood gargled out of his mouth as if he were drowning. Punctures was made into his neck and wrapped towards the front of his body pulling skin with blood drenching down to his nipples.
“Oh, Lord help,” Rake said with only the skin of his face remaining on his head. Something clawed deep into his face and took the remaining skin. Rake’s screams would drive a city deaf. Henry pulled onto his body and tried to drag him towards the truck. Jude looked through the rear view without moving, hands stiff on the wheel. A clenching happened again, taking his right arm. Rake’s screaming stopped. The blood oozed and dripped.He began to shake with blood splattering in numerous directions. Dead. Henry picked up his remains and ran into the truck. An unmoving head without skin. A pale black neck, eyes looking into those of God’s.
The light was beginning to rise. Jude accelerated. Another automobile hit theirs. The trash truck swerved. He drove faster. Wiped the sweat off his head. The truck was hit again and swerved into a mailbox, running it over. The truck went four feet in the air and landed at a right angle, mail going in numerous directions, the latch of the truck opening and bodies falling onto the street. On top of cars and sliding with the jerk of the truck into stores and other buildings. Jude sped again and did not cease. Whatever was behind them no longer followed. The sun was risen. Henry told his kids a story about Superman fighting against kryptonite then of Jesus returning to apostles with holes in his palms.

***

The truck only had two people. Jude. Henry. They pulled down to Moiré. There were at least 40 bodies in the street. And a trashcan in front of every house. The one at the end had nothing in front of it. They drove down the street, over bodies. The truck went up and down as they did so. The sound of weak bone was heard as they did so. No blood let out of any of the bodies. They pulled up to the empty house. They walked to it. Henry knocked. No response. The door opened. They walked back to the truck slowly.

***

Henry listened outside of his children’s bedroom as his wife scared them with a tale of Dracula. He opened the door. They were shaking under the sheets. He walked towards his room grabbed his red hoodie and placed it over his shoulder. He brought his bat with him. Wooden. He practiced swinging it. Then went to sleep with the bat in his hands.

***

He went to work. Same street. Over the bodies. Cracked the bones and ribcages. Henry got out, looked at the rear view mirror of the truck, missing himself, and went into the house with the bat.