Free Texas Funeral by Jack Batcher Page B

Of course I understood, and with a more then
generous donation to Mayor Valdez’s private campaign
fund, I was able to conduct my experiment.
    This seems like a good place for my introduction. I
am Raymond Harris, Professor of Entomology at The
University of Texas, in Austin. My friends call me Ray. So,
on May 3 rd I released a swarm of my Genetically Modified
South American Phorid flies in an open field at Kilgore
Park. Now exactly a month later, I am here to see how my
experiment is progressing. I am also hungry, so I pull into
the parking lot of an all night restaurant, The Road-Kill
Café.
    I entered The Road Kill Café , by passing under
the red and yellow flashing neon sign, of the front end of a
car knocking over a deer. Above the carnage are the words
Road Kill, and underneath the front tire is the word Café.
Before the car hits the deer, the sign is yellow. After the car
hits the deer, the sign turns red. I’m hesitant on going in,
but there is no place else that will be open at this time of
night. I’ll just get a burger. How bad could that be? I open
the door; the Café is empty, and its hella- hot inside. I see a
sign on the wall with a car running over a squirrel, and a
caption which read, “Be decisive. Right or wrong make a
decision. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels who
couldn’t make a decision.”
    “Hola,” Said the waitress, with a sweet Spanish
accent, and taking my attention away from the sign,
“Welcome to The Road Kill Café . Mi llamo es Carmela,
and I will be your waitress,” She said, looking up at me
with the biggest most beautiful smile, which was
accentuated with bright red lip-stick.
    Carmela, I guessed was Mexican, and in her midtwenties. The Road Kill Café’s signature red and yellow
striped uniform clung to her every curve, and showed off
her beautiful legs. She had a charm that was immediately
inviting, and moved gracefully as she removed a menu
from the stack of menus. She motioned with her hand to
follow her. So, I followed her to a booth, that faced a flat
screen television, that hung on the wall. The local Kilgore
News was on. I sat down; Carmela placed the menu in front
of me, and leaned down giving me a direct view of her
cleavage.
“I apologize for how hot it is in here, but our Air
    Conditioner broke down this afternoon,” Carmela said,
“You look over the menu, and I will be right back with
some ice water.” I watched as Carmela sauntered towards
the back of the cafe. She definitely had a great shake. Then
suddenly, she stopped, looked back over her right shoulder,
and caught me watching her. She smiled, and then went
through the silver swinging doors into the kitchen.
    The newscaster mimed the news, because the sound
was off. I read what he was saying underneath with
growing concern, because of what the story was about.
Headless Rats were found out in the old oil fields. The
newscaster continued that the heads did not seem to be
severed, but chewed off the body. I then read as the
newscaster reported on how an infestation of flies had
brought an abrupt end to The Rangerettes Revel at Kilgore
College, and how several of the attendee’s had been
brought to Kilgore Memorial Hospital to be treated for
insect bites.
    As the newscast went to commercial, I gazed out
the café window, contemplating the news I had just
received. I was scared to even give the idea any life by
beginning to give it a thought, but a part of me could not
stop thinking… what if my experiment had gotten out of
control?
    I was snapped out of my fear based news hypnosis
when Carmela returned with my ice water, placed it on the
table, and then took a seat across from me.
    “Do you know what you want?” Carmela asked,
putting her pad on the table.
“Yes,” I said, “I’ll have the Road Kill Bacon
Cheeseburger.”
“How would you like that cooked, Fresh Kill or
Day Old?”
“Fresh Kill. Please,” Then I drifted off to