An answer escapes me. I don’t fucking know.
Chaca’s booming laugh interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to the older man. He’s shorter than Rashon, me, and Onyx, but his body is a mass of muscles, and for the height he lacks, I recognize his strength. His absolute control is clear with every step he makes. He’s in his forties or fifties, and from the stories that Onyx tells, he is not one to fuck with. He’s the club’senforcer, and I know he’s killed more than I can count. He’s a transplant from El Salvador and also comes from a pretty scary family. He doesn’t talk about this past much, and I sure as hell would never ask. From what little Onyx has told me, Chaca’s past is better left unsaid.
The one time I did ask him about this name, he laughed and said it means ‘fucking’. He grinned and said that an old girlfriend had nicknamed him. I have no idea what his real name is, and I know he would never reveal it to me.
His thick, grizzly gray beard reaches mid-chest, and his bald head glints in the waning light. The dome is covered in tattoos. What looks like hundreds of tiny silver piercings dot his ears. A big gold septum piercing hangs from his nose.
“You don’t need gloves for this one, kid. Fingerprints won’t survive what we have planned.”
I nod, my body full of tingles, almost as if I’m clamoring to do this. Both Onyx and I kneel next to the body, and I pick up one of my stepfather’s hands. He’s started to stiffen, but his flesh and muscles are still malleable.
I pick up the saw that Chaca placed next to me, testing its weight. Holding his wrist, I turn when Chaca squats next to me. “The bone will be the hardest part. The tendons and cartilage will move like butter under the blade. But nice, even movements will work best with the bone. It will go quickly. Concentrate.”
I nod and follow his instructions, leaning into his commands as I see. I hide my moan at the gritty sound coming from the saw’s teeth carving through the flesh. The blood is not flowing as strongly, but my cock twitches and I pause, astonished at what’s happening. I’m getting hard at the crunch when the saw starts moving through the dense outer layer of his bones. The friction causes vibrations to skate up my arm. Once his hand is removed, I hold it, feeling its weight. I want to rip his fingers apart because these are the hands that touched my sister.
“Take off the rings,” Chaca announces.
I pick up the severed hand and take off the rings on his fingers and pocket them.
“Don’t wear them. Someone could recognize them.”
I nod, filing away all the information.
Wet, squishing noises come from the other side of his body as Onyx saws his other wrist. His dark face is focused, and I see the complete concentration, the vicious pleasure. Our eyes meet, and the bonds of friendship are immortalized. He knows what this means as well. We are in this together, and we don’t regret it.
Rashon stands near and walks over to me, looking down. He lights a cigarette, the orange glow a focal point. He points down at my stepfather’s head. “The head.”
Chaca points to just below his chin. “Start here. Try to get between the bones. Right below the first vertebrae.” He takes out a silver glint knife with a slightly curved blade. The face of a skull is sketched into the metal. “Use the knife first, and cut through the tendons and ligaments.”
I stare at Mikey’s head. His eyes are open, staring heavenward to a place he won’t see. Blood covers his distorted features. I relish the fact that it came from my blows. He’s also been a vain fucker bragging about his looks while he was drunk around my mother. I pick up the saw and start sliding my hand back and forth. His skin gives way to the jagged metal teeth and blinks at the layers of pink and white—his fat layer. I hit bone and keep going, realigning the blade and getting hard at the killing and desecration of the body. At one point, there’s a crack, a splinter. His bones break, crackling. Each sound pounds into my brain, feeling good, smells good. I finish, and his head rocks to the side, rolling slightly, no longer connected to his spine. Flies start to buzz around, landing on the face, searching for the dead flesh.
“Cut off that tattoo on his chest. Too noticeable.”
Chaca hands me another knife. This one is thinner and more flexible. I grip the lightweight in my hand. It’s not like the other one. It feels good, comforting. My hands are stained in blood, most of it congealed under my fingertips. I walk to the now headless and handless corpse. Danny’s head and hands are wrapped up in another tarp. The round mass is just off to the left, where Rashon stored it.
“Slice just under the skin.”
I follow his instructions and cut the skin, eventually lifting the jiggly flap. The picture of the naked woman with huge tits, wearing a sailor’s hat, looks distorted, shriveling at the corners and edges now that it is no longer stretched, no longer a part of a living body.
A small bag is tossed my way, landing on the ground next to me.
“Wrap it up and put it in there.”
“Why?”
“A souvenir.” Chaca grins, revealing gold incisors.I haven’t seen them before tonight, and I wonder when he got them.
Rashon sets down four milk jugs. “Bleach, alcohol, and vinegar. Douse the body. Then wipe it down.”
Onyx immediately moves, not questioning, but I want to know. “Why?” I ask, picking up the wash clothes on the ground.
“Cleans off any of your DNA, any fingerprints, in case they find the body.”
We do what he says, and then when he drops two shovels near us, I don’t need to ask questions. We spent hours digging his grave.
“Not so shallow, we want the animals to investigate.” Chaca tosses at us and then crosses his arms, watching. Onyx and I lift Mikey’s headless and handless body and throw it into the opening.
“Cover it up,” Rashon states calmly.
