Ugly Puggly 50

I heard the playboy’s phone ringing. I was tempted to answer before the answering machine kicked in. Put on one of those female robot voices (perhaps male robot would be better) and tell the caller that they were in a queue for blow jobs. That there were twelve definite and one maybe. But I’d seen no suspicious activity in my bank account lately and ask if maybe they could help with that by donating a few quid. Remind them  I had their number. For better or worse, they had been warned.

I almost walked into a young lad outside the house. Quite tall, with a mop of brownish hair. ‘Sorry mate,’ I said.

He had one of those long strides, and he kept walking, just ignored me. And that infuriated me. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to hurt him. Perhaps he thought his innocence would save him.  

I banged the door shut in the van. Ugly Puggly was staring out the window. He acted all normal, which wasn’t normal. I went through the gears smoothly as the van took the hill. There was a discussion on Radio Scotland about cave drawings and one of a seal-headed man drawn with Scots Pine Charcoal. Hundreds-of-thousands years old. One of Ugly Puggly’s distant relatives. Flicking on the indicator lights, I hadn’t really been paying attention. ‘Where’s that?’ I asked him to take my mind off things.

‘Iceland,’ he replied. ‘But at the current rate of global warming, it’ll need tae lose the prefix, and just be called  land land.’

Driving usually relaxed me, but I was fidgety and grinded the gears. I didn’t really get his joke until a few second later. The stench from the body was making itself felt. I opened the window and turned the hot air from the heater to cold and turned it up a notch. ‘You don’t seem that bothered about that cunt in the back.’

We were on the dual carriageway, but going in the wrong direction until we circled back towards the crematorium.

‘Look,’ he nodded towards the gravestones as we swept past them at sixty-miles-per-hour. ‘These are aw a reminder of people that are deid. We don’t need a reminder. And we’re no putting up nae gravestone. We ur daeing the work of an undertaker, but much cheaper. You cannae hurt a dead body. The deeds already been done. Anybody that’s worked in an abattoir ill tell you that.’   

I pulled the van around in a half circle and onto the slip road. ‘That makes me feel so much fuckin better.’

But I was more focused on seeing if anybody suspicious was about, and if there were any vans with flashing sirens. I took the van back to the spot where we’d parked the last time, dimmed the lights and turned the engine off. My breathing was ragged, as if I’d run an uphill race. Ugly Puggly had a tight smile on his face and stepped lightly out of the passenger door, and stretched as if he planned to outrun me.

‘You stay here,’ he said. ‘And I’ll jist—’  

‘—Get the lie of the land?’ I cut off what he was saying. ‘Whit’s the point? You have a look and come back and tell me it’s aw clear—or no—it doesnae really matter. We need tae take the van around, anyway. And it there’s anybody there, we fuck off in the van. It’s no as if they cannae see it.’

I got back in the van and so did he. I turned the engine on and kept the van in second gear.

‘Turn the lights on,’ Ugly Puggly said. ‘Act normal.’

In the crematorium looking-glass world, there was no normal. But I did as he said and flicked them on. I even picked up speed, having to brake before turning in at the back wall. I parked close to the bollard. The van couldn’t be seen from the dual carriageway and only the rear end from the tarmac path.

Ugly Puggly was out of the van before me and wedged open the backdoor. He carried a thick crowbar in his hand. I expected him to force the door lock. I flinched, when he walloped a plate glass panel and stepped back like a toreador with a bull as it came crashing down. He ran the bend of the bar around the doorframe to pick away any glass.

‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘That was helluva noisy.’

He tapped his forehead. ‘It’s aw in yer heid, because it was unexpected it sounds louder. Naebody will hear anythin wae the noise fae the motorway. And you cannae waken the deid.’ He stepped up into the van. ‘Gie me a haun here.’ He picked up the tarpaulin.

I grabbed the feet and wiggled as I walked backwards. He stepped down and out of the van. We put the corpse down on the ground.

‘Whit dae we do noo?’ I asked.

He went to the footrest in the passenger seat and pulled out a bag. Handing me a head-torch, he watched me putting it on. Shone his light at the ground to make sure it worked before donning his headset.

Glass crunched underfoot. He took an exaggerated moonwalk step backwards and inside the crematorium. His eyes were dark shadows. Light played on the corpse as he danced backwards towards the double doors. My neck and back ached. I just tried to keep up and hold my side of the tarpaulin and not slow his progress.

‘Leave it here, Jim. And I’ll huv a look for the control panel and the ovens. I just hope they huvnae went digital on us, or we’re totally fucked.’

‘Digital?’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Software packages, logging identification, fae refrigeration tae X-Rays for possible metals, tae working the ovens and grinders.’

My torch light picked out the high wooden struts of the ceiling, which were meant to give the appearance of a church. And then swung around towards the body and then lighted his face. ‘How did yeh no tell me this before?’

‘Would it huv made any difference?’

‘Nah,’ I admitted. But turned quickly thinking I’d heard a noise behind me. Light spiralling up and over the wooden pews.  

‘Whit is it?’

‘Nothin.’ I wet my lips before I spoke. ‘You know whit yer daeing?’

‘Nah, I never know whit I’m daeing. But that’s when I’m most alive.’ The light in his torch bobbled about. ‘Gie me a haun and we’ll get the body on a trolley—then you can go hame.’

My sweaty hands slipped on the taut plastic, and I had to renew my grip. ‘I cannae leave yeh here yersel.’

‘Lift,’ he said. His head-torch light played over the wooden pulpit. He jerked to the side and put his side down on the platform. I pushed my side up and on. We stood with the light directed down on the body between us.

‘That takes us intae the back,’ he said. ‘Where aw the machinery is. I’m gonnae be here a few hours at least.’ His torch picked out my face. ‘You want to stay, or go?’

I closed my eyes and finally croaked, ‘Go.’ I stumbled out through the broken glass and into the van. Pulling the head torch off, I flung it onto the passenger seat. I needed a drink, more than I needed to breathe. I started the engine and sped away, listening for sirens. I didn’t care where I got the booze. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.