Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I thought of a lot of different words when I thought about her and ‘mother’ in any form was not one of them. Cunt was usually the first word that crossed my mind.
“You sure you don’t want me to come?” Dre asked. She bit her plump lip. Awe, she was nervous for me.
I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll be quick about this shit and I’ll be back before Bo gets home from school. Besides, the bitch doesn’t need even more people wasting their time on her than we already are.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Like she didn’t know if she could believe me. I didn’t know what else I could do to convince her that I really was fine. That this was more of a disposal than anything else. My gaze shifted from Dre’s when I caught her staring over my shoulder. I turned to see my younger, and not nearly as handsome, brother stepping out of the house, a navy backpack slung over one shoulder.
“What’s up, Kev-ster?” I asked, pinching his shoulder.
Kevin smiled and tugged away. “Stop calling me that, man,” he ground out.
“Okay, I’ll work on another one, but Kev-ster is for sure nickname plan B.”
“She in there?” Kevin asked, pointing down to the box.
“That’s what they tell me,” I answered.
Kevin squinted as if he were trying to see what was inside without opening the lid. “Seems kinda small.”
“You boys behave yourselves,” Dre said, turning to go back in the house.
“Wait,” I said, pulling her back. I kissed her on the lips and she deepened the kiss, pulling me close until Kevin cleared his throat and she pulled away, wiping her fuckable lips.
“Cock-blocker,” I mumbled. Dre giggled.
I caught Kevin staring at her ass as it swayed up the steps and disappeared into the house. I smacked him in the arm. “Ow,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “Sorry, man. It’s not my fault. She’s got a great ass,” he said, his apology not sounding the least bit apologetic.
It’s not like I could blame the kid.
Dre’s ass really was epic.
When the screen door slammed shut Kevin turned to me. “You ready to do this?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.
I gathered the box under my arm and Kevin followed me to my car. He got in on the passenger side, flinging his backpack into the backseat. I passed him the box to hold on his lap while I drove. “Why exactly do we have the bitch’s ashes anyway? Didn’t you say she was married to a rich guy?”
“Yeah, Mitch. Apparently he told Dre that he found out she had a secret account she was hiding from him. He said she admitted that she was saving money so she could leave him.”
“You don’t think that Mitch...”
“I wouldn’t blame him if he did,” I answered before Kevin could ask the question. “So what’s in the bag?” I asked, turning the engine over. I couldn’t help but smile when I heard the sweet vibrations of my car coming to life. Dre had given it to me last night, tired of waiting for a perfect moment when our lives were a thin balance between totally anarchy and mild chaos.
“You’ll see.” Kevin smirked. “Where we going?”
I threw the car in reverse.
“I’ve got the perfect place.”
****
I could smell our destination long before we reached it.
“Dude, this place really is perfect,” Kevin said, leaning his head out the open window and beaming from ear to ear like a kid approaching the gates at Disney World as he took in the sight before us.
A rusted sign swayed back and forth from the top of a metal fence.
Logan’s Beach City Dump.
I put the car in park. Kevin handed me the box and grabbed his backpack. We headed up some makeshift construction stairs that led to the top of a rusted crane looming like a dirty dinosaur over the piles and piles of compacted garbage. My eyes watered from the putrid smell coming from below. “Let’s do this,” I said reaching for the box. I tossed off the lid and threw it like a Frisbee. It spun in the air until it settled without so much as a sound into the piles of trash below.
“Wait!” Kevin said, holding up his hand. He set down his backpack and got on his knees. He fished through his bag and pulled out a couple of red dollar-store birthday party hats and two of those cheap kazoos with the plastic thing on the end that unrolled when you blew into it like a frog’s tongue. “Here, put it on,” he demanded. “It is a celebration after all.”
“I like your spirit, kid.” I placed the hat on my head and positioned the kazoo between my lips, hanging out of the side of my mouth like a cigar. Kevin pulled out a bottle of cheap whiskey and took a long pull, handing the bottle to me. I did the same, relishing the way the bitter liquid burned my throat on the way down. Kevin then lit a joint and took two long drags, again passing it to me.