Free Waste by Andrew F. Sullivan Page B

said. “Tore the whole place apart, looking for who knows what. Took half my harvest when they left. A lot of rage in those two. And the bickering, man. All they did was talk shit, all day. I shoulda seen them coming.”
    â€œThey were here all day?” Jamie asked.
    â€œMaybe like two hours, but never shut up once.”
    It had started to snow outside. Jamie could barely see the outline of his car through the dusty window. He pulled out his keys and grabbed the loot bag.
    â€œHey, hey, hey, you didn’t even stick around for my story, man. My story,” the Lorax whined. “About the old dude? Remember?”
    â€œYour uncle? The pervert who dressed up like Peter Pan?”
    â€œDamn, you’re twisting my words. No, the guy who ran this place. I guess he got all mad and tried stuffing a big bag of something into the dumpster, kind of a big fuck you to the guy who was supposed to pick it up later that day. Sets off a nest of yellow jackets. Whole swarm of them came out of there. Of course, dude is allergic.
    â€œHe’s lying there and the place is covered with yellow jackets. My uncle says he just watched through the delivery door. A couple of guys down the lot were unloading a truck and they just sat there too. Watched this guy shaking under a cloud. He said it was like the dude was having a seizure. All ’cause he couldn’t be bothered to pay for real garbage pick-up.”
    â€œSo they watched?” Jamie said.
    â€œWhat were they supposed to do? Go get stung? Come on. Owner starts foaming at the mouth, his face gets all swollen, and they can’t do nothing. Took ten minutes for him to die. Ten whole minutes and fucker was so fat they could barely fit him in the ambulance.”
    Jamie just shook his head and started for the door. His sinuses were filled with pigs and wasps climbing over each other to block out the image of the lion with its backside split open across the pavement. Snow was probably covering it now too.
    â€œBefore you go, buddy, anyone you know needs something, you tell them come to me, all right? I can always use more referrals,” the Lorax said. “Business is really just networking.”
    â€œAnd what am I supposed to say? Look for the little fuck in the baseball jersey?”
    The little man laughed and popped his dentures out of his mouth. It only made his moustache look bigger—a caterpillar threatening to swallow his face whole.
    â€œJust tell them to ask for the Lorax.”
    Jamie slammed the door on Henry’s Holistic Hobbies. His stride betrayed a slight limp to the left, his face set against the pain shooting up his ankle and exploding behind his right eye. The lion was not forgiving. Snow melted on impact with the grass. A Ford in the corner of the parking lot honked in his direction. Jamie gave it the finger and began brushing the flakes off of his windshield. The clown face on his loot bag watched him while he worked.

10
    Logan was mad at first.
    He kicked the body and strangled its skinny hairless throat. He smashed its skull against his bed post, stabbed its back again and again with the butter knife until the handle broke off against his father’s hip bone. The patch of skin on Logan’s head, where half an uneven swastika remained, flapped around while he tried to yank the knife back out. Moses just sat on the corner of the bed wondering when Logan’s mother was going to come home. She had to come home.
    Mr. Chatterton’s blood was sticky by the time Logan stopped crying. For a while he lay on top of the body. The lime-green walls were spattered with red spots that slowly turned brown like decaying Christmas decorations.
    â€œWe should call the cops, right?” Logan said.
    â€œWe call the police, and they see what you did, and they will say, what, suicide? No way.”
    Logan had a record with the school board. Mainly for petty vandalism of the bathrooms and school parking lot. The boys had