The Shame of Sin

I am the reason he is dead

No, nonsense. This guy crossed the mob. Whether I was there or not, he would have ended up in the river.
Then why do I feel so bad?
Because killing is wrong. Your whole life is full of wrong.

Jeff Triani was driving through the suburbs of Minneapolis, following the Mississippi river to the south. He always hated doing the dump-offs because if he got caught there was no way to wriggle out of it. If he was involved in a shooting he could claim it was self defense. If he was found bribing police he could say he found the wad of money in the street and was turning it over to the proper authorities.
But how do you explain a dead guy in a sack in the back of your sedan?

Jeff returned to the point he always went to when he dumped bodies. The only eyes that would be on him down there belonged to the weeds protruding from the middle of the road. In a matter of seconds Jeff parked the car, opened the door, and grabbed the body from the backseat and draped it over his shoulder. In a few hours the body would be halfway through Arkansas.

Why do they have to be so limp?
Because they're dead, moron.
What was so bad that it deserved a floating death in the Mississippi?

"What was in the bag?" A squeaky voice made Jeff stand still. He turned to see a child of about 5 looking at him with wide eyes.
"What are you doing down here?" Jeff stalled.
"I live here." The kid pointed at a nearby house that stood on the edge of the river. "What was in the bag?" The child asked again.

Did the kid know anything about the mob? Does he even know people can die?
"A sack of potatoes." It hurt to lie. Almost as much as it hurt to kill. He should not be in the mob, not when he feels the sting of every sin.
"Why didn't you eat them?"
"They were rotten." Another quick jab to Jeff's heart.
"Rotten?"
"Um..." Jeff stuttered, "T-they don't work... good... anymore."
"You should meet daddy!" The child almost jumped up and down. "He can fix anything!"

No kid, he can't fix this. And if you tell him about this, he'll end up floating right alongside those potatoes.
Jeff returned to his car and opened the door before the kid spoke again. "Where are you going?"
"Home." Jeff buckled his seat belt before pulling back up onto the road.

*************************************

Two weeks would pass before he returned. This time it was a small woman sacked up in the bag.
She didn't even do anything wrong! Jeff's conscience argued with him. She was a loving wife who ended up loving the wrong kind of man. Why did she have to die?
He sent this new body on its journey to the Gulf of Mexico before returning to the car again.
"What was wrong with those potatoes?" The voice was back, along with the kid.
Jesus, he's not going to stop until I have to put him in a sack too! Jeff stopped. His heart hurt for even thinking about such an idea.
"Rotten." He said through clenched teeth.
"I feel bad for the potatoes. What if they tried to be good, but didn't know how?"
"Then they shouldn't have crossed my path." What the hell? I am not this total hardass. I can barely stand throwing some burlap into some water. Why am I trying to look tough? For this... kid?

"Just leave me alone." Jeff heaved the body in with a resounding splash and walked briskly back to his car. His words made him sounds like a victim of a bullying. This kid can't bully me. He's FIVE! But he's saying all the right things...

*************************

Only three days later Jeff returned once more. This time with the husband. Evidently he did not get the idea once his wife was murdered to pay up. We are ruining lives, families! How can I commit myself to such a horrid profession?

As soon as he stood up, he found the kid there, waiting.
"Give me the potatoes." The kid sounded too serious for his age.
"Kid, back off!" Jeff dragged the body from the backseat.
"I want them to have a chance! They don't know how to be good, and I want to give them a shot!"
Jeff said nothing but continued to walk to the river.
"Gimmie 'em!" The child yelled and stamped his foot.
Jeff kept his silence and pace.
"Gimmie!" Without another warning, the child leaped into the air and pulled at the sack. The sudden change in weight sent the bag and kid sprawling to the ground.

"God Damnit!" The mobster turned around, fury in his eyes.
Then he saw it, and his skin went as white as the corpse. The sack had opened up, and the dead man's head portruded out and stared back at the child.
"Y-Y-Y-You're..." The child was shivering too violently to speak. "P-P-People?!"
"I told you to leave me alone!" Jeff cried. Was that supposed to make things better? Yelling at the broken child?

The child would never think of the word 'rotten' again without breaking into shivers.
What had I done? I messed this child up good. He was only five. Should I kill him?
Argh, how could I think of something so terrible?
You're in the mob! Toughen up!
He's a kid! A kid that had done nothing wrong other than meet me.

That was it. Jeff was done.
"Look kid. I'm sorry." Jeff could not figure out a way to explain this to the kid. "I'm sorry..." He spoke the last apology to himself more than the kid. A tear fell down Jeff's cheek while the kid sat there in horror.
Jeff kicked the body into the river and returned once again to his car.
"Ok kid. I'm done. You'll never see me again."
He put the car in reverse and drove back up the dirt road, the kid still had not moved.

Where am I going?
Away. Far away.
Where?
Anywhere but here.

Jeff drove out of town, and never returned to Minneapolis.

"P-P-People?" The child's voice rang through his head. He could barely believe it himself. He drove west. Not for any particular reason other than getting away. Getting away from the kid, the mob, his life. It was time to start over.
What can I do? All I know is mob life.
Where can I possibly go?
The child's voice continued to echo in his head over and over.

Then in a brief moment everything clicked.
He realized where he was going and what he would do.

*************************

A few months later Jeff stood tall. His overalls were covered in dirt as he stared out over his land in Idaho. He did not have a lot of land to farm, but it felt good just to see what he had created.
Up and down the rows he walked, inspecting every potato as he went. Soon he stopped as he came across a rather small, wimpy potato. It was barely big enough to pick up with his index finger and thumb.

He smiled while gazing down at it.
I'm giving every one a chance.