because the Dark Man paid him a handsome salary, he was in the van. He passed his time by staring at the unchanging rural scenery and napping.
“Tell me again,” Ron said, turning around from the passenger seat, squinting at him as he yawned tiredly. “Why did he send you with us?”
He shrugged and said, “Like I said before. He wants to expand to Miami. He wanted me to tag along, so I can learn how you do things.”
The van made a left onto Highway 8 at Pembine, heading west and even the air-conditioning couldn’t make the humid Wisconsin summer comfortable.
“But you did this before, right?” Ron persisted.
“Well, yeah, but other than that time in the desert, I never got rid of a kid. I help get ‘em though. You know that, right?”
Ron faced the front, pursed his lips and shook his head ever so slightly.
“Nothin’ to it, really,” Frank said. “You take a kid, handcuff him, drive him to some spot no one will think of looking and pop him.”
He looked at the boy in the back of the van. The boy seemed to stare at his shoes, but other than that, he couldn’t tell what the kid was thinking.
“Why do you strip ‘em?”
“First of all, you get rid of more evidence that way. The police have all that science fiction shit, so if the kid’s wearin’ nothin’, birds and ants and shit’s likely to get rid of him for you. See?”
Frank looked in the rearview mirror at him.
“Yeah, I guess.” The young man glanced at the boy again. “The kid looks fine though. Why does the man want to get rid of him?”
“Who the fuck knows,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Christ!”
Frank stared at his partner, then glanced at the man in the rearview mirror and shrugged. The young man in the back made a face and shrugged back.
After a bit of silence, Frank asked, “Who’s the kid we’re picking up?”
“A kid from Waukesha. We’ve been watching him. He plays baseball twice a week, soccer twice a week, hangs out at a quarry swimming with a bunch of other kids.”
“Who’s watching him?” Ron asked sullenly.
“Ace and me.”
“Yeah . . . ‘cept you’re with us, right?” Ron said over his shoulder.
“Fuck! It wasn’t my idea!” He leaned forward. “The man calls me and says, ‘Get together with Frank and Ron. They’ll teach you what they do.’ So, here I am. It wasn’t my idea!”
“Lighten up,” Frank said, playfully slapping at Ron’s arm.
“Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself! I don’t like it.”
“Think of it as a compliment. The man likes what we do, so we teach someone else how to do it.”
“That’s how I was lookin’ at it,” the young man offered.
They hadn’t encountered more than a half dozen cars as they drove past Dunbar. They came to Jack Pine Road and turned right, drove about a quarter mile as the pavement changed from asphalt to dirt and from two lanes to one. Frank pulled off the road and cut the engine. The boy in the back looked up defiantly, but his lower lip trembled.
“Take the kid’s clothes off, but watch his feet. They like to kick,” Frank instructed.
The young man got up from the seat and moved cautiously towards the boy.
“Please, don’t,” the boy said quietly, a tear rolling down his cheek.
“Sorry, kid. Shit happens to everybody,” the young man said as he yanked the shoes off the boy. “Today, it happens to you.”
“ Please !” the boy sobbed.
“What can I say?” the young man said, taking off the boy’s jeans and boxers.
“Quit fuckin’ around,” Ron barked.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the young man answered, tearing the t-shirt off the boy.
“Now, take one hand and cuff him before you unchain the other hand,” Frank said. “That’s it. Now, easy does it. You don’t want any mess in the van.”
The young man helped the boy to his feet and moved him to the sliding door.
“Please, not here.”
“This place is as good as any,
“Tell me again,” Ron said, turning around from the passenger seat, squinting at him as he yawned tiredly. “Why did he send you with us?”
He shrugged and said, “Like I said before. He wants to expand to Miami. He wanted me to tag along, so I can learn how you do things.”
The van made a left onto Highway 8 at Pembine, heading west and even the air-conditioning couldn’t make the humid Wisconsin summer comfortable.
“But you did this before, right?” Ron persisted.
“Well, yeah, but other than that time in the desert, I never got rid of a kid. I help get ‘em though. You know that, right?”
Ron faced the front, pursed his lips and shook his head ever so slightly.
“Nothin’ to it, really,” Frank said. “You take a kid, handcuff him, drive him to some spot no one will think of looking and pop him.”
He looked at the boy in the back of the van. The boy seemed to stare at his shoes, but other than that, he couldn’t tell what the kid was thinking.
“Why do you strip ‘em?”
“First of all, you get rid of more evidence that way. The police have all that science fiction shit, so if the kid’s wearin’ nothin’, birds and ants and shit’s likely to get rid of him for you. See?”
Frank looked in the rearview mirror at him.
“Yeah, I guess.” The young man glanced at the boy again. “The kid looks fine though. Why does the man want to get rid of him?”
“Who the fuck knows,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Christ!”
Frank stared at his partner, then glanced at the man in the rearview mirror and shrugged. The young man in the back made a face and shrugged back.
After a bit of silence, Frank asked, “Who’s the kid we’re picking up?”
“A kid from Waukesha. We’ve been watching him. He plays baseball twice a week, soccer twice a week, hangs out at a quarry swimming with a bunch of other kids.”
“Who’s watching him?” Ron asked sullenly.
“Ace and me.”
“Yeah . . . ‘cept you’re with us, right?” Ron said over his shoulder.
“Fuck! It wasn’t my idea!” He leaned forward. “The man calls me and says, ‘Get together with Frank and Ron. They’ll teach you what they do.’ So, here I am. It wasn’t my idea!”
“Lighten up,” Frank said, playfully slapping at Ron’s arm.
“Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself! I don’t like it.”
“Think of it as a compliment. The man likes what we do, so we teach someone else how to do it.”
“That’s how I was lookin’ at it,” the young man offered.
They hadn’t encountered more than a half dozen cars as they drove past Dunbar. They came to Jack Pine Road and turned right, drove about a quarter mile as the pavement changed from asphalt to dirt and from two lanes to one. Frank pulled off the road and cut the engine. The boy in the back looked up defiantly, but his lower lip trembled.
“Take the kid’s clothes off, but watch his feet. They like to kick,” Frank instructed.
The young man got up from the seat and moved cautiously towards the boy.
“Please, don’t,” the boy said quietly, a tear rolling down his cheek.
“Sorry, kid. Shit happens to everybody,” the young man said as he yanked the shoes off the boy. “Today, it happens to you.”
“ Please !” the boy sobbed.
“What can I say?” the young man said, taking off the boy’s jeans and boxers.
“Quit fuckin’ around,” Ron barked.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the young man answered, tearing the t-shirt off the boy.
“Now, take one hand and cuff him before you unchain the other hand,” Frank said. “That’s it. Now, easy does it. You don’t want any mess in the van.”
The young man helped the boy to his feet and moved him to the sliding door.
“Please, not here.”
“This place is as good as any,
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