According to most estimates, there have been more than 108 billion “modern” Homo sapiens who have lived and died on this marble. That’s a lot of bodies to have been burned, eaten, disintegrated or, best yet, buried.
At least, that’s the logic Edward and Fenster followed. The two were famous- although not by name. A recent article in the local paper had highlighted the issue: Longview Cemetery was missing bodies. Riddled with misspellings, the so-called journalist had documented the issue, supposing that nearly half of the coffins had been ransacked. But the thieves didn’t take whole bodies. Usually, just the skulls, jewelry and other valuables left behind by relatives and friends for whom it provided some comfort. The dead certainly didn’t care.
Since the publication of the article, security had been heightened at Longview. It was time for Fen and Ed to find a new target. And so, they moved on, headed up towards the panhandle.
Weeks later, Ed was on lookout duty. The duo never went haphazardly to a bull- no, always meticulously surveying the land and detailing the caretakers’ schedules. From their bathroom breaks (often like clockwork) to the timing of patrols to the lazy ones’ naptime. Ed was convinced this site held promise. They had settled on St. Petersburg where the ground was soft from the ocean and briny air. Perfect when oak coffins could weigh well over 300 pounds.
Ed came back to the apartment they’d rented with six months paid down in cash. No questions asked. Business was good for these two. They had buyers who would pay $1000 for an undamaged skull. And, by god, the value of some of the jewels and precious trinkets left in the ground! Well, what use did those passed have for it? Better they reap the rewards than the things get lost for centuries.
“Well?” asked Fen, as Ed closed the door to the apartment, “have we got a winner?”
“I’m certain of it,” answered Ed, giving Fen a handsome smile. At six-feet tall, Fen had an awkward, lanky energy in the way he moved. He was obstinate about this imperfection, which clouded his self-image and could lead to bouts of depression. He was a sensitive soul. Ed had learned long ago that he was a sucker for flattery.
“You’re sure?” asked Fen.
“Indeed. By the way, did you do something different with your hair? You’re looking cute today.” Fen blushed and mussed his hair. “Anyway,” continued Ed, pacing the room, “We should move in tomorrow night around 2:00. The caretaker has been asleep the past two weeks at that time, if both our reports are accurate.”
Fen nodded along, looking up at Ed but not paying much attention. Ed was scratching his left wrist like he always did when a job was near. His angular cheeks and green eyes framed his face nicely. Fen wondered how he had gotten this lucky.
“My reports are always accurate,” said Fen.
Meanwhile, Arthur Kennedy, the caretaker at St. Pete Cemetery was finishing his final night shift. The next day, Trey Downing was set to take over the duties of conserving and safeguarding the sites of departed bodies. A morbid job, to be sure, but Trey wasn’t concerned. A veteran of recent wars, he’d seen far worse and was difficult to spook. In fact, Trey had several non-disclosures and could only speak broadly about his service- an indication of special forces and actions authorized by the government most couldn’t imagine. Arthur had told Trey about the occasional sightings of prostitutes and drug addicts (sometimes one in the same), but it all sounded relatively tame.
Still, with over 10 acres to patrol, the job would keep him active. Trey’s paycheck would depend on keeping public perception positive so mortuaries would continue to refer the sons and daughters of passed loved ones to the place. Not as though that was a big issue. Business was always good in the death profession. No recession can stop it- in fact, it probably speeds things up. A truth his benefactors were not ignorant of.
Trey had done the proper research on cemeteries and boneyards. There were stories of voodoo practices and strange sightings- dead animals left behind after a ceremonial slaughtering. Usually just a pig’s head or a goat’s leg. Maybe a few coins stacked strangely around a particular tombstone. While unsettling, it seemed to be a relatively rare occurrence. More common was the desecration of the sites by teenagers looking for a private place to have sex. The very idea revolted Trey, who, despite or perhaps because of his war duty, was straight laced as they come. His religion contributed to his conservatism, which lead him to believe this was a sacred duty to protect Christian bodies from defilement.
The next day, Trey began his shift at sundown. At the same time, Ed and Fen were preparing with their usual thoroughness. They were inspired by some of the most famous graverobbers to have lived. Of course, they had never been caught, but the famous bodies that had been removed and the stories around the thefts were extraordinary. Charlie Chaplin. Alexander Turney Stewart. Thomas Paine. Abraham Lincoln (almost).
With shovels, rope, gloves and masks loaded in the back of the F-150, they headed to the west end of the cemetery where for weeks they had slowly sawed through a portion of the fence. They lightly reattached the metal bars after lodging them free as to draw as little attention as possible. This made the first step in their checklist simply. Like rats flattening themselves under doorways, they were in SPC before anyone could be the wiser.
Ed checked his watch, showing 2:05 a.m. “Right on target,” he whispered, looking at Fen, who, through his balaclava, bared his off-white teeth.
“Fuck yeah,” responded Fen, who leaned in for the briefest kiss. Ed reciprocated. Whenever they pulled off a heist like this (and when hadn’t they?), pheromones reached a peak and the sex was like a high you only hear about in recovery programs for drug addicts. Now was the time when they waited for weightlessness.
An unceremonious 20 minutes later came the ping of metal meeting wood. Bingo. They had reached their first target, the wife of a wealthy businessman who had recently prematurely croaked. Fen removed the coffin lid, hoisting the thing up with his long limbs to Ed who tossed it to the side. This revealed a familiar stench, at least to these two. Rotting flesh and leaking formaldehyde embalming fluid.
“Lovely,” said Fen, waving his hand in front of his face.
“What have we got?” asked Ed.
“Just as I said,” responded Fen, definitively diving in for the large rings on her fingers and the silver chain around her neck. Beyond that, there were several other bracelets and trinkets layered around the body. Just two weeks earlier, Fen had attended the funeral service with an open casket for a Mrs. June Walter Oberst. Tears were shed and Fen had hugged a particularly upset uncle, but he was most interested in getting in close proximity to the body. Was the thing worth it? He’d reported to Ed that they could make an easy three grand from the stuff left in there.
“I don’t think there’s enough decay to take this one, though,” said Fen, feeling around her neck with long gloved fingers.
“Then pass on it,” said Ed.
“Yeah, we’ve got enough here to make the whole night worth it,” replied Fen, hoisting himself out of the pit and slinking the valuables into his black bag.
They both knew that was the truth, but Ed wasn’t known to be abstemious. And Fen was weak-willed enough to be easily swayed. So, they moved on to the second, more ambitious target. Jonathan Forest Brown, a wealthy real estate magnate who died at the ripe age of 90. Ed had scouted that service and overheard someone saying how he was to be buried with his gold-lined cane, valued at over $10,000. A bit gauche to Ed, but people liked what they liked.
As Fen set to work moving dirt, Ed kept a lookout.
Just then, Trey turned a corner in the dark to hear hushed voices in the dark. Unlicensed with a Ruger Revolver, he removed the thing from his holster and aimed it east as he paced towards the upmarket chunk of the cemetery. He could feel the ocean breeze even here, but his brain stayed trained on his targets. As he got closer, he made out two figures with masks, one keeping lookout, the other excavating. They appeared to be unarmed, yet Trey kept his own weapon aloft. As the one above leaned down to kiss the other, he realized they were both men.
Ed was looking west when he heard the shot. His body crumpled quickly as his knees gave out and the blood spread quickly from his back to the soft grass. Fen jumped out and tried to comfort his longtime partner. He felt metal on the side of his head and spit on his mask. “You’re a disgrace to humanity.” Nearby, wilting peonies leaning on a headstone were splattered red. Trey hoped for more worknights like this as he placed the revolver in Fen’s hand.
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