Everything was going according to plan. The designs for the new house were finally complete, the city inspector’s approval was granted, and the house had been demolished. All that remained was one wall. One. Stupid. Secret-holding. Wall.
“Jim, we have a problem here.”
“What kind of problem?”
“You need to come down and see for yourself.”
When the guy who has worked with you the longest, who also happens to be a former Green Beret can’t even talk about a problem on the phone – well, you know it’s not anything good. This would not just go away. So you go and stare at a hold in the ground and scratch your head. Because that’s what you do.
“That’s one hell of a problem. Have you called the police? I mean, should we call the police?”
“Well, I thought you should see ’em first… make the big decision. You are the boss,” he stammered. His hands shook from wanting a cigarette. This is one nasty business.
“Jeeeezus Frank! They’re BONES. We can’t build a house on top of bones! And they don’t look like they belong to any four-legged, furry animals, either, so no cover-ups.”
Frank shuffled his feet the way he always does when he’s avoiding unpleasant business. You’d never know he was ever a Marine the way he was acting. Twitchy. Like maybe it’s bringing up memories for him or something.
“Phone. Call. Now.”
He snaps to and calls. Once a soldier…. Semper Fi and all that…
The police arrived twenty minutes later. A big guy who rocks the car when he gets out takes one look into the excavated area and calls for an M.E.
“Sheila? It’s Jim. We have a problem…”