Clayton Engman pulled up to the motel room. He usually stayed away from the scene of the crime, but Jeannie sounded completely freaked out on the phone. That wasn’t like her. She typically kept a cool head.

"Jeannie?" he said as he knocked on the door. She was wide eyed and pale when she opened the door. The room was trashed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to play out. "What the fuck?"

"He wouldn’t die," Jeannie said. "He wouldn’t fucking die."

Clayton and Jeannie had a scheme for making money that they, as idiots, thought was foolproof. Jeannie would hang out in bars, wait for some drunk to start throwing around money, lure him to a hotel room, poison the dumb bastard with something they hoped would look like natural causes, and then steal him blind. They figured the cops would never catch on as long as they covered a wide territory, but the FBI was already investigating and it was only a matter of time until they got caught. To date, they had just been lucky.

"I can’t do this no more," Jeannie said through tears. "You have to get a fucking job. That’s all there is to it. I can‘t do this no more."

Clayton inspected the body lying on the floor behind the bed. Their mark was a big guy dressed only in jeans. His broad chest was a network of scars. The guy must have been through a war sometime, probably Nam judging from the guy’s age. Clayton removed the man’s wallet. Took the couple of hundred dollars he found there and checked the man’s driver’s license.

"Otis Reynolds."

"Said his name was Jag." Jeannie said.

"How much did you give him?"

"Enough to drop a fucking rhino, but he kept thrashing around. I can’t do this no more. You have to get a fucking job."

Clayton grabbed Jeannie by the shoulders. "Now, don’t go talking crazy. This will be fine. We’ll just get rid of the body and lay low for a while."

"We don’t even make good money this way. You have to get a fucking job."

Clayton slapped her. "Shut up with that shit and help me carry out the body."

With much effort they managed to get the body into the trunk of Clayton’s car. They drove deep into the woods and found a secluded spot. They both worked on the grave and soon had shoveled a suitable hole. Getting Jag out of the trunk proved difficult. They had to roll him out. He dropped to the ground with a deadweight thud. Clayton and Jeannie each grabbed a leg and dragged him into his grave. Jag’s head bounced sharply off the ground. Jag moaned.

Clayton and Jeannie stared at each other with wide eyed terror. Then they beat on Jag’ head with the flat of their shovels. Echoes of the assault rang through the woods. Jag’s face became a bloody mess.

"Enough to drop a rhino, my ass," Clayton said as he worked up a sweat.

"I did, I did, I did," Jeannie said as she pounded on Jag’s skull.

They covered Jag with dirt, threw their shovels in the trunk and got in the car. They took a moment to collect themselves. The didn’t look back. If they had they would have seen a soiled hand reaching up from the fresh grave.

"Don’t worry," Clayton said. "We’ll get as far away from Hudson City as we can. Maybe California."

Jeannie nodded as she concocted a plan to give Clayton enough poison to drop a rhino. Movement in the rear view mirror caught her attention and she turned around to check it out. She screamed in terror. Jag was lumbering toward the car. His face was caked with blood and dirt. His eyes were wild with hatred.

Clayton turned to see the horrible sight. He screamed like a girl as he started the car and hit the gas. The car went nowhere. In the mirror he saw Jag grasping the trunk lid with both hands, digging his fingers into the metal. Clayton kept the gas pedal to the floor. The trunk lid came off in Jag’s hands and the car shot forward. Clayton fought to keep control of the car. He and Jeannie were soon racing down the dirt road. The trunk lid sailed past them, missing the car by a few feet.

"God damn, woman. What kind of undead zombie son-of-a-bitch did you fuck?" Jeannie replied with incoherent sounds. She faced the road receding behind them, wanting to make sure the hideous thing wasn’t following. For that same reason Clayton was checking the mirror more than he was watching the road, so they were both surprised when they faced forward and saw Jag standing defiantly in the road ahead of them. From which pit in Hell did this guy come from?

Clayton had time enough to brake to a stop, but he chose to speed up and ram Jag. That should do the trick. They collided. Jag proved to be more substantial than expected and the car spun off the road and rolled down an embankment.

Jeannie didn’t think she had been unconscious for long. Clayton lay slumped in his seat. Part of her hoped he was dead. She shimmied out the passenger side window and limped away from the crash. She crawled up the embankment to the road and with a lot of effort she got to her feet.

Jag’s body lay in the middle of the road. Jeannie’s heart beat like a hammer. She knew she should run, but she had to know that the monster was dead. She limped over to the body which lay on it’s back Christ-like with arms extended. It was motionless, but it had been motionless before. Should she take it’s pulse?

Jag’s eyes opened and quickly located Jeannie. She screamed and ran as best she could. Jag pursued her. His breathing and his footfalls were heavy. He was gaining on her. She knew she wasn’t going to get away and she cried. She wasn’t supposed to have this kind of life. Jag grabbed her by her shoulder, spun her around and lifted her by her waist. They were eyeball to eyeball. Jeannie had never seen such rage.

"What the fucking fuck?" Jag screamed in her face. Jeannie passed out. When she regained consciousness she would be in jail.

*****

Back at the Cathedral, Ophilia walked the hallways to her office. Her morning was just beginning. She stopped and her mouth gaped as Jag approached. He was shirtless, bloody about the face, and caked from head to toe with dirt.

"Don’t even ask," Jag said as he walked by.