Ugly Puggly 52.

It was the wee small hours when Ugly Puggly got home. I was sprawled on the couch, having fallen asleep. Sober enough to know I was drunk. I pulled the ring pull on a can when I heard the back door opening. He took so long getting inside I wondered if he was drunk too. I went through to the kitchen to check.

‘Whit the fuck?’ I put the can down on the table. Picked it up and had another drink.

He’d brought the stench of death and the crematorium back with him. Dull eyes keeked out at me. His face, arms and hands bloodied and clothes engrained. He let the bag he carried fall with a clunking sound. Leaning against the work surface, he turned the cold water tap. He put his mouth underneath and glugged it down, letting the clean water run over his chin, which he wiped with the back of his hand.

‘You’ll need tae get a bath,’ I told him.

Before I’d finished speaking, he’d taken off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. He peeled off his shirt and jumper and unbuckled his belt. Standing, stork-like on one leg, he reached down and untied the laces on his boots. He stepped out of them to show gore did not seep into his socks, but the tops of his white Y-fronts were discoloured.

I swilled the cider around before taking another drink. ‘I didnae mean you should take a bath in the sink. Yer no five-years auld. People urnae that keen on seeing yer fiddly bits noo.’ As a reflex I turned around to see if Dave was behind us. He was the exception to the rule about gawking at men. But he was still in bed.

‘I hud take cut through the golf course. And take the back lanes, hide if anybody was about. I know whit I look like.’ He rubbed his face with cold water that ran brownish and pink in the sink and into the unwashed dishes. ‘A woman spotted me and started screaming. I hud tae bob and weave and run through the back gardens—I’m no fit for it.’

‘At least yeh got back.’

‘Aye, but I’m no sure somebody spotted me comin in here.’ He splashed water onto his head and rubbed his matted hair with his broad hand. ‘We’ll need tae burn my clothes. Burn the tools. Burn everythin.’

Dave came clattering down the stairs. He tied his housecoat before stepping into the kitchen and gasped, ‘You been hurt?’

Ugly Puggly held an arm and hand out to stop him from getting closer and touching him. ‘I’m awright.’

‘But yer covered in—’

‘Blood,’ said Ugly Puggly, ‘fae the bodies’.

‘Bodies?’ I picked up the can to feel its weight and check if there was any more cider in it. ‘Whit yeh talkin about? Was there mair than one?—I thought yeh were gonnae cremate them, no peck at them like a pigeon wae yer neb.’

‘Shut it,’ he hissed.

I took a step away from him, my knee knocked against the bench. I thought he was going to swing for me.

‘I couldnae get the ovens tae work,’ he admitted.

‘Doesnae matter,’ said Dave. ‘The van we’ve been using got a tracker on it. We’re completely fucked anyways. The police will know it wiz us.’

Ugly Puggly wiped his grimy forehead. ‘How dae yeh know that?’

Dave had a smirk on his face and he folded his arms. ‘Mr Marvellous told us.’

Ugly Puggly looked at me for an explanation.

I swilled the can and drunk the dregs. ‘It’s true. The work van’s got a tracker.’

‘You sure?’

I shrugged. ‘No completely.’ I didn’t know what to say. I felt his eyes on me, the traitor, the Judas, the imbecile.

‘Whit did yeh dae wae the body if you couldnae burn it?’ Dave asked.

‘I was daft,’ Ugly Puggly admitted. ‘I thought it would be aw plain sailing. But it was anythin but. Everythin that could go wrang went wrang. I couldnae get the ovens open—yeh, need a special tool. I couldnae log onto the control panel. I couldnae get anythin tae work.’

‘You just leave the body up there wrapped in the tarpaulin then?’ I was trying to think ahead. ‘They’ll know right away who it is fae the missing person’s thingy—I could have come back up and got yeh.’

‘Nah,’ he sighed. ‘I cut the body up wae a hacksaw. Put the bits in different coffins and screwed doon the lids. Hopefully, they’ll be in a hurry and no look inside. I cleared everythin up as best I could. I don’t hink I left anythin.’

I wandered through to the living room and came back with two cans of cider. I pulled the ring cord, waited for it to bubble up and handed him it. ‘Yeh, might be alright. The law of inertia is written intae yer council contract. If yeh don’t need tae dae anythin, yer better aff no daeing it.’ I sparked a can. A long gulp. The bubbles tickled the back of my throat and I burped.

‘Whit about me?’ Dave asked. ‘Dae I no get a cider?’

‘I hink that was the last one.’ I held out the can in my hand.

He took a drink, made a face and cradled it with both hands. ‘So whit yer saying is…’ he blinked as he thought about it. ‘There’s a chance we might no get caught?’

‘A small chance,’ said Ugly Puggly.

I countered. ‘I’d say it was fifty-fifty.’

‘Odds on.’ He swallowed a drink and frowned. ‘But it they don’t open the coffins, the odds increase in our favour. And if that happens—or doesnae happen—the best hing you can dae it get the van back tae the compound. Make sure you get another van. Shuffle the pack. That way they’d have nae reason tae check, where the van had been. And if they don’t save the data, it’ll be wiped. A virtuous circle. He offered me a grin. ‘But that means you goin back tae work, the morra.’

‘You no gonnae finish that?’ I took the can of cider out of his hand and swallowed it down in a one go. ‘Maybe the playboy could go back tae work in my place?’

Dave smirked and licked his lips. ‘You’d be so lucky, after everythin I’ve done for you.’  

Ugly Puggly shook his head. ‘I need tae have a bath…and we need tae burn those clothes, pronto.’

I volunteered. ‘I’ll dae that. Don’t worry. You go and huv a hot bath and maybe Dave-boy can scrub yer back. He’s good at that kinda ministerin.’

He glared back at me.