Jan asked me “Is that the best place to store him?”
“I don’t know; this is my first murder too. We only have a minute to get it done.” I hauled both boxes up into the attic and stumbled back down the ladder, exhausted, sweating and out of breath. Just then the two butchers walked in the door, looking at me all sweating, breathing heavy and Jan with a strange look on her face. Those two have dirty minds.
I walked out and across the road to the bakery. There was an old man getting out of his car with his nose up in the air sniffing, “what is that smell?” he asked.
Oh my goodness! The smell wasn’t noticeable over in the slaughterhouse, but the strong exhaust fans blew it out of the roof into the air and the wind was sending it right across the street. Worst of all, the health inspector was due here in an hour or so. He would want to know where such a foul smell was emanating from. I told the old man that there was a pig over there that didn’t get into the cooler fast enough.
The old man picked out some sweet rolls and left with his handkerchief covering his nose. I walked to the back of the bakery and Jean handed me a small bakery box and told me, “put this with the rest of the pig across the street.”
“What is it?”
She said “It’s the pig’s ears,” .
Reeling backward I gasped: “how am I going to put this with the rest of the carcass?”
Jean looked at me and said “Don’t ask me, where did you put the rest of the pig?”
“Up in the attic ventilator, but the butchers might wonder why I’m going up there now, besides, the smell is wafting across the road and the health inspector will be here shortly.”
“Why did you put it up there Bill?”
“I’m not experienced at this sort of thing either,” I answered.
“Well what are you going to do Bill?”
“I don’t know; this is still my first time. What do you suggest?”
Jean mused for a moment. “Should we be ready to add the health inspector to the cargo up in the attic?”
I looked at her, then asked “And just how many are you ready to do in?”
“How ever many it takes,” she answered.
I wondered what had I gotten myself into? I should have walked out of the slaughterhouse and called 911 the first thing that morning.
The health inspector arrived half an hour later and he started out of his car with his nose to the air. He didn’t’ know what it was, but he knew immediately something was rotten in Denmark. He didn’t even walk into the bakery but went straight across the road to the slaughterhouse and began his search. He ordered the butchers outside so he could do his inspection. I told them Jean said they could just go on to an early lunch. They were happy. Mister health inspector went all through the shop looking and sniffing but came up blank. “Something’s rotten here; I know it, and I’ll find it!”
He proceeded to circle the shop again looking and sniffing a second time and then stopped, looking at the ladder up to the attic ventilator. He began his climb. I panicked and looked around the shop, grabbed a pipe wrench from the tool cabinet and followed him up the ladder. He was just past the first ventilator duct, looking back at me “what the hell are these boxes of ground meat doing up here instead of down in the cooler or the freezer?”
“What boxes of ground meat?” I asked.
“These,” he replied as he turned to point them out to me.
Crack went his skull when I pasted him with the 16-inch monkey wrench. Thump, went his unconscious body as it hit the attic floor. Whack, whack, an extra two blows to the noggin ensured he didn’t wake up with just a really bad headache. Now I was not only an accessory to murder, I was a perpetrator too. What the hell did I get myself into now?
I went back across the road and I could see Jan and Jean both staring out the bakery windows. They both had an ashen complexion with jaws slacken and pupils dilated. “Where’s the health inspector?” Jan asked.
“He’s with the loan officer.”
“Why is he there?” Jean questioned.
“He found the pig in the boxes and wanted to know what was going on with the meat up in the attic and not the cooler. I answered him with the monkey wrench. It was all I could think to do.”
“Well,” Jean said: “what are we going to do now?”
“Tell the butchers we got a citation from the inspector and send them home. We’ll grind the inspector up like you did the loan officer, box him up and wait until dark to haul the two of them out to the farm; and then we’ll dig a hole behind the barn, stuff them in it and cover them with lime, then move the manure pile on top of that.” I said.
“Will that work?” Jan wondered.
My answer was, “Have you got a better idea?”
“No, I guess not,” she answered.
Everything went as planned that afternoon and evening. It was amazingly simple and frightening in its own right. Was it that simple to kill two people and get away with it? The answer was soon to come.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
“I don’t know; this is my first murder too. We only have a minute to get it done.” I hauled both boxes up into the attic and stumbled back down the ladder, exhausted, sweating and out of breath. Just then the two butchers walked in the door, looking at me all sweating, breathing heavy and Jan with a strange look on her face. Those two have dirty minds.
I walked out and across the road to the bakery. There was an old man getting out of his car with his nose up in the air sniffing, “what is that smell?” he asked.
Oh my goodness! The smell wasn’t noticeable over in the slaughterhouse, but the strong exhaust fans blew it out of the roof into the air and the wind was sending it right across the street. Worst of all, the health inspector was due here in an hour or so. He would want to know where such a foul smell was emanating from. I told the old man that there was a pig over there that didn’t get into the cooler fast enough.
The old man picked out some sweet rolls and left with his handkerchief covering his nose. I walked to the back of the bakery and Jean handed me a small bakery box and told me, “put this with the rest of the pig across the street.”
“What is it?”
She said “It’s the pig’s ears,” .
Reeling backward I gasped: “how am I going to put this with the rest of the carcass?”
Jean looked at me and said “Don’t ask me, where did you put the rest of the pig?”
“Up in the attic ventilator, but the butchers might wonder why I’m going up there now, besides, the smell is wafting across the road and the health inspector will be here shortly.”
“Why did you put it up there Bill?”
“I’m not experienced at this sort of thing either,” I answered.
“Well what are you going to do Bill?”
“I don’t know; this is still my first time. What do you suggest?”
Jean mused for a moment. “Should we be ready to add the health inspector to the cargo up in the attic?”
I looked at her, then asked “And just how many are you ready to do in?”
“How ever many it takes,” she answered.
I wondered what had I gotten myself into? I should have walked out of the slaughterhouse and called 911 the first thing that morning.
The health inspector arrived half an hour later and he started out of his car with his nose to the air. He didn’t’ know what it was, but he knew immediately something was rotten in Denmark. He didn’t even walk into the bakery but went straight across the road to the slaughterhouse and began his search. He ordered the butchers outside so he could do his inspection. I told them Jean said they could just go on to an early lunch. They were happy. Mister health inspector went all through the shop looking and sniffing but came up blank. “Something’s rotten here; I know it, and I’ll find it!”
He proceeded to circle the shop again looking and sniffing a second time and then stopped, looking at the ladder up to the attic ventilator. He began his climb. I panicked and looked around the shop, grabbed a pipe wrench from the tool cabinet and followed him up the ladder. He was just past the first ventilator duct, looking back at me “what the hell are these boxes of ground meat doing up here instead of down in the cooler or the freezer?”
“What boxes of ground meat?” I asked.
“These,” he replied as he turned to point them out to me.
Crack went his skull when I pasted him with the 16-inch monkey wrench. Thump, went his unconscious body as it hit the attic floor. Whack, whack, an extra two blows to the noggin ensured he didn’t wake up with just a really bad headache. Now I was not only an accessory to murder, I was a perpetrator too. What the hell did I get myself into now?
I went back across the road and I could see Jan and Jean both staring out the bakery windows. They both had an ashen complexion with jaws slacken and pupils dilated. “Where’s the health inspector?” Jan asked.
“He’s with the loan officer.”
“Why is he there?” Jean questioned.
“He found the pig in the boxes and wanted to know what was going on with the meat up in the attic and not the cooler. I answered him with the monkey wrench. It was all I could think to do.”
“Well,” Jean said: “what are we going to do now?”
“Tell the butchers we got a citation from the inspector and send them home. We’ll grind the inspector up like you did the loan officer, box him up and wait until dark to haul the two of them out to the farm; and then we’ll dig a hole behind the barn, stuff them in it and cover them with lime, then move the manure pile on top of that.” I said.
“Will that work?” Jan wondered.
My answer was, “Have you got a better idea?”
“No, I guess not,” she answered.
Everything went as planned that afternoon and evening. It was amazingly simple and frightening in its own right. Was it that simple to kill two people and get away with it? The answer was soon to come.
Copyright Bill Weber 2006-2019 and beyond.
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