Nether

The black luxury car came to life with a tranquil purr. With the body secured in the trunk, Burklin tapped the accelerator and drove slowly through the alley, heading for the street. He checked his watch. Still two minutes ahead of schedule. Another successful pickup.

The dachshund sat inside her traveling crate on the passenger seat. Towels, stuffed animals and several squeaky toys populated the plastic enclosure. She pawed at the terrycloth and bunched it into a makeshift pillow. The crate's metal grille rattled as she worked. "I know what you're thinking," she said. "I'm privy to tonight's screw up du jour. I shouldn't say anything."

"Then don't."

"Too late." Listening to Pearl talk was about as melodic as a Kim Carnes song played through an underwater speaker. "Giving you advice is a waste of my vocal talents. Your balls will shrink any minute now and you'll say, 'Damn it, my plan won't work. Maybe next time.' You'll drive to the Dumpster and dispose of the body. Then we'll go home and watch Cosby reruns."

Burklin flipped on the headlights as they emerged from the alley. "You don't know anything," he said. "You think you're so smart."

"I am smart. And whose fault is that? I'm telling you, stick with Garrick's plan. Drop the body in the Dumpster."

"You don't know what I'm thinking. You're a--a tiny dog with an even tinier brain."

"Ooh, good comeback, Gallagher. Did you spend all week coming up with that one?"

Burklin rubbed his eyes and turned onto a side street. He beat his fist against his chest.

"What's wrong with you?" Pearl asked.

"What do you think is wrong with me? My stomach hurts."

"You're driving the wrong way, idiot. The Dumpster is farther north."

"Don't worry about it. I need antacids."

"You can take antacids at home," Pearl said. "After the job."

"I need something to settle my stomach."

"You're stopping the car for that? With a corpse in the trunk?"

Burklin slowed and turned into a convenience store parking lot. Stopping the car, he scanned the area in the rearview mirror. A taxicab idled across the street, but other than that his was the only car in the vicinity.

He looked through the store window. "Okay, I don't see anyone inside except the cashier. Sit tight. I'll run inside and buy the pink stuff."

"Blood?"

"What?"

"You're covered in the Burger Clog manager's blood, moron. You can either tell the cashier you got your period, or you can take off the blood-soaked sweatsuit."