I Like to Watch

I like to watch. The workers are scurrying around, like little ants. The crew manager is shouting voicelessly to the others, his arms waving like he is attempting to land a plane. I would have tried to get closer to the action. To hear. From here, I can only watch through the windows of my car. But I want to hear what the manager is shouting. He is pointing at the ditch, his hand jutting forward in sharp motions as his elbow seems to twitch. It causes the green, plaid shirt he’s wears to yank tight on his elbow so much that I think it might rip. Since I can only watch, I like to imagine what he is saying. Something like “Shit! Call the cops this one … She ain’t movin’.” Yes, see, and now that one in the blue shirt and black pants is searching his pockets. I bet it is for a phone. Yup, he’s found it. And now he’s dropped it. I chuckle. This must be his first dead body on the job. The crew manager for this stretch of road is on at least his fourth, only two of those (now three) have been mine. Blue shirt will get used to it; this one will not be his last. I have been busy, and so have the others.

I pull a Dorito out of the bag on the passenger’s seat and set my binoculars down on my lap. It will be boring until the police show up. Blue-shirt will probably puke. He was close to stepping in the Green-Plaid man’s vomit when I set the binoculars down. Once the boys in blue show up, then we will see more fireworks.

The girl laying in the ditch beside the construction zone today was dropped off last night. I wanted to give them a fresh one this time, something a little different. The last one I allowed them to find had been partially decomposed. She had been my 10th, but the press had never picked up her missing person’s report. With how outstanding of a specimen she had been, I felt she was owed the media coverage. Her face had been perfectly symmetrical. When I first took her, she had fought with everything she had, but upon exhaustion, her brown eyes looked up at me with complete acceptance. It was beautiful. Her face remained relaxed and serine throughout the procedure. Completely perfect.

I brush my hands off and wipe them on my jeans. Dorito cheese never comes off. I pick up my soda. Cream Soda, all others are pop, and don’t forget it. I take a long drag from the straw savoring the feeling of vanilla. It is a feeling, after all. Drinking cream soda is like drinking melted vanilla ice cream. It fills and fizzles around in your mouth before smoothly sliding down your throat. Perfection. Truly perfection. I search the cooler in the passenger seat for the ham and cheese I packed. I am parked over 40 miles outside town and at least 6 miles up the road from the dumpsite. I planned in advance for this to be a day-long excursion. The sandwich is slightly soggy. I guess I didn’t close the baggy all the way when I threw it in. Careless. I am never careless where it counts. I watch the news constantly, and this will be the third body of mine they find. The rest have will be found in their proper times. But this one is special. A message. So far, the bodies have not been linked together. Forensics figured the face had been chewed off by wild animals on the first body they found, which had been highly decomposed. The second body, the one who was beautiful and perfect and needed to be seen, they never once mentioned in the media that her face had been stripped from her body. This fresh kill will bring it together for them. If there are smart enough, that is. It is also the trigger. This find makes it personal, and the game truly gets to start.

I finish my sandwich and put the trash back into the cooler. I still have a good 20-minute wait for the police to make their way here. Since the body is, well, a body and not someone living, speed limits are being followed. No rush. The dead don’t move much. I pick up my book. I don’t like to read thrillers; it feels like competition and I have enough of that at work. No, this work is non-fiction. It isn’t advertised as being comedic, but I find it hilarious. This author seems to really believe in a space deity that holds humanity up on puppet strings of fate. This “god” controls and invents the world for each individual, and I just can’t keep a straight face. Like some being of almighty power takes a personal interest in this guy. In any guy? Give me a break. If any deity exists, then it surely has better things to do than manipulate Jane Goody-two-shoe’s decisions on her calculus exam. And surely, I would not have impulses to skin the faces off of young, black women if this deity who is guiding my choices was the almighty good.

A chapter later, including several breaks of sniggering laughter and ranting to the cooler … The sirens. I can hear them now. I pick up my binoculars in one hand while holding my place in the deity book in the other. It takes me a couple of seconds to find the road crew again. They have moved some distance from the body. It shouldn’t smell that bad. What’s the problem? Probably Blue shirt’s vomit, though I don’t see him standing there. Maybe he was sent home. One of the vehicles is missing. I search the horizon line to watch for lights. I can hear the high whine that raises and lowers in tone rapidly, but I can’t see the cars. How frustrating that my problem has switched. I grin. Ironic. The first signs of flashing lights pop into view a minute later. I set down my book so I can grab another Dorito. This is going to be awesome.

The leading detective’s daughter went missing last week, and today they have found her.