The Poch
The Jukebox was pumping out, “Sweet Home Alabama,” which seemed to suit the vibe of the rundown roadside bar.
Tico was sweating from the heat and that vibe was getting to him.
“Christ Dom, do we have to listen to that shit.”
“So, who then?” said Dom, “Barry fucking Manilow. Get over it. It’s their dime, their hick music.”
“This place makes me edgy. Inbred motherfuckers, how long do we have to wait for Dumbo to appear?”
“He should be along soon. We have our orders. We started this, and now we end it.”
The waitress came over and gave them a refill.
“You boys waiting for someone?”
“No,” said Dom.
“Yea,” interjected Tico, “The Poch, ya know him?”
“Yea, I knows him. Local kid. Should be in soon.”
Then she slowly wandered back across the sawdust floor, to the long bar.
“Shit Tico, couldn’t you keep your big fat mouth shut, just for fucking once.”
***
Out in the backwoods, Poch was working the Makita electric chainsaw as hard as he could. He’d cut the feet from just below the knees and was working to remove the hands.
The head was always a bitch. He’d never liked sawing off the head. For one, it was a heavy mother fucker to bag and dispose of.
He’d pulled the teeth before cutting the head off.
And recognized the face from Fox-news, as a missing FBI snitch.
No matter, nothing to do with him. The main body parts went into a plastic bag and then into a very deep hole. Enough to stop wild hogs from digging it up.
The rest he bagged and took on out to the nearby lake and dumped for fish bait.
He was saving to open a fishing tackle shop by the lake. The lake, for some unknown reason, was teaming with fish. A few more of these jobs and he was there.
He’d once come across a couple of overweight city gents, just off a dirt road digging a hole to bury a body.
They’d pulled their guns and were shitting themselves thinking he was the law. But shotgun in hand he’d calmed them down and done a deal. Told them he could do it much better.
He’d take care of the body and any others that came along in return for a flat fee.
$1000 seemed to be fair. So, he ended up in the city waste disposal business.
***
“Why now?” asked Tico, “It’s fucking working a treat. The kid does all the heavy lifting. He’s dumb as shit. It’s perfect.”
Dom leaned over the table. “He has to fucking go, he knows too much.
Do you realise how many stiffs that fucker has gone through. He literally knows where all the bodies are buried. When Bobby Carrozza realized that, he blew a fucking fuse.”
He’d raised his voice, but quickly lowered it. Then gestured for another round of drinks.
The waitress came over slowly and refilled their glasses.
“You boys staying long?”
“No,” said Tico, “As soon as the Poch is here, we’re gone.”
***
Poch was looking at a face he knew in the front page of the local paper.
And it worried him.
He was an illegal named Martinez who delivered the packages to be chopped. And now he was dead. A coyote revenge killing, the main headline read.
Poch called his Ma, and she, as always, calmed him down and said, “Not to worry son. The good lord would find a way.”
***
“A Country Boy Can Survive,” was pounding out of the box when he entered the bar.
He loved that song.
Tico saw him and waved him over.
He sat and studied the made men from the big city. Tico, overweight and sweating.
Dom, with his strained poker face, looking like some pale ghost rider. As if he was not really there.
“Jobs done boys; can I get my pay?”
Dom slipped him a fat envelope.
Then added, “Let’s step out back for a minute, we need to clarify something.”
Outside they stood in the shadows.
Dom, silencer in hand, was just about to clarify, “the something,” when a shotgun blast ended his conversation. As Dom slumped to the ground, Poch slashed Tico across his fatty throat with his razor-sharp fish gutting knife.
Then stepping back he admired his work, smiled, looked at the waitress holding the shotgun and nodded.
“Go feed your fish,” said Ma Pochettino. And went back to work.
— —
Bio: Frank Sonderborg was born in Dublin, Ireland, lives in the UK and does his best to write interesting stories. His stories have appeared in: Action: Pulse Pounding Tales 2:, Noir Nation 3: Noir Nation 5:, Pulp Modern JFK Issue #6, Pulp Alternative, Shadows and Light:, Thrills, Kills ’n’ Chaos:, ShotgunHoney, Twist and Twain.
Read more from Frank on The Yard, HERE
Purchase a couple of the works Frank is in, through the affiliate buttons below.
Read more Criminal fiction on The Yard: Crime Blog
Follow us on:
Looking for another book to read? Try our Bookstore.
