“I’m still trying to figure that one out. You want to keep stuttering all night or you want to help me lift this heavy fucker out of my trunk? Oh, and get your gun.”
Lester reached under the passenger seat and pulled out a loaded snub-nose Colt Cobra .38 that had belonged to his older brother before he died. It was bundled up in a dirty towel, which Lester unwrapped. He stood there for a moment staring down at it but Charlie reached out for it and Lester handed it over to him without a moment’s thought.
Charlie nonchalantly said, “You never know,” as he stuck the gun in the back pocket of his jeans.
They then heaved Dale out of the trunk, pulled him into some brush, and closed the trunk. Charlie put the oval key into his pocket. Then he stuffed the gun down the waistband of Dale’s jeans.
“I c-c-c-can’t go back to jail.”
“Goddamn it, Lester, I can’t hear myself think. Dale got in over his head and died. Dead happens all the time.”
They began pulling Dale through the grass and brush and down the trail to the cliffs of Whipperwill. He wasn’t a big guy, but he was bigger than either of them and the deadweight made him seem heavier than they would have thought. By the time they got to the cliffs, they were both panting and covered with sweat. Up there, with the river wide below them, there was a slight breeze that would have felt good if either had been in the mood to notice.
Charlie got behind Dale and lifted him up by his underarms. “I want you to hit him a couple of times. We need to make this look like he put up a little bit of a fight.”
This might not have made sense to Lester if he’d thought about it, but Lester never questioned anything Charlie said so he hit Dale twice, very hard, in the face. Blood spattered from his nose and lips, and Lester cut his knuckle on one of Dale’s teeth.
Lester stood there, holding his sore knuckles and looking down. “Fuck,” he said, without a trace of stammer. Tears welled up in his eyes and he felt very much like vomiting. When he looked up, Charlie had Lester’s gun in Dale’s hand pointed straight at him. It took Lester a few moments to figure out what was going on. Lester tried to make eye contact with Charlie but he was staring at his chest without any hint of expression. Lester opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out but his last breath.
The shot rang loud, echoing down the river. It hit him straight in the heart and Lester fell over dead in the clearing. The gun dropped onto the ground and then Charlie dragged Dale to the edge of the cliff and hoisted him up and over. He heard a faint splash, then walked over to make sure Lester was dead.
Lester was lying there, his Willie Nelson T-shirt soaked in blood and a trickle coming out of his mouth. His eyes were staring straight up and Charlie turned him over. He pulled Lester’s wallet from his back pocket and took most of the money out of it, then put the wallet back. He put the oval key in Lester’s front pocket. He would miss Lester’s company but now wasn’t the moment to be getting sentimental. He would walk back to his house and in the morning call the police and report his car missing.
Charlie didn’t waste any time. The last thing he needed was for someone to see him out there. He took smokes and his personal effects out of the car, stuck the Thin Lizzy tape in his back pocket, and put the square key in the ignition. He knew it would seem strange for Lester to have stolen Charlie’s car like that, but the cops knew he had always been trouble and no one would want to pull Charlie any deeper into it than necessary. White-trash boys were always killing each other around here and with everyone neatly dead, there wouldn’t be too much paperwork, no messy trials or investigations.