September 26, 2018
Galveston, Texas
Working quickly, he pulled the wire cutter from his backpack. He snipped off the dead man’s fingers and put them into a sack. The oversized duffle bag was barely big enough for the task. He dragged the mutilated body to his car, past the empty beach houses, and heaved it into his trunk.
It was a short drive to the East Beach parking lot. A pavilion on stilts loomed in the dawn’s mist. When it was high summer season, the pavilion offered snacks and restrooms. It was now closed until March. The Dumpster behind the building would be rarely emptied. It took all his remaining strength to heave the bag over the edge of the blue metal container.
Finished, he walked to the jetty that protruded into the bay, fished out the small sack from his pocket, and casually tossed the fingers into the roiling waves.