WEIRDEST
The weirdest job I ever had, the guy said
'clean up all the evidence.' Basically that
was the job-description, if you needed one.
They all seem to these days, everyone
wants to know everything and what they'll
be getting into. This one was pretty simple.
What more could you ask? 'Clean up all
the evidence' meant get the crime scene in
perfect order so that when 'they' finally
get there to investigate, there's nothing
to go by. You'd think, 'easy.' Yeah. Not
any more. DNA and all that forensic and
chemical crap, nowadays that'll get you,
almost no matter what you do. Scour, rub,
chlorine bleach, ammonia, all sorts of
tactics. That material really sticks around.
Skin and blood and splatter; scab and ooze.
-
Someone gets whacked with a baseball bat,
they find a tooth halfway down the street.
The bullet tears through flesh, but lodges
in the wall you didn't see - you get so
busy with the dead guy, you forget about
the shrapnel and residue still peeled into
the doorway. Blood gets everywhere and
its evidences linger; the carpet that sucked
it up, the drain that you thought had taken
it away. There are pieces of hair, for goodness
sake, still stuck to the lampshade.
-
You want to tell the guy, 'You're kidding
me, right? That's what you want me to do?'
And then you realize the rest. Seventy-five
bucks an hour; sounds good but it's better
than that. All you end up knowing about
what went on, you can hold out and demand
five times that to not blab. Of course, just
try it. Right before they pay you, you'll
be cleaning up your own blood and guts
while they're laughing. So, nothing adds
up - you might better just walk away.
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