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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Crime/Gangster · #2222002
Not all rats have four legs....
Tommy Sheehan leaned his shovel against a tree and lit a cigarette. He looked at the full moon and then toward a marsh where frogs were calling. Then his eyes turned to the rolled up carpet with wraps of duct tape around it. He didn't know who was inside, only that he was a rat.

His older brother Eddie always said don't ever be a rat. If you have to do time, do it. He'd seen maybe a dozen guys who went out rolled up in something. He got called to get rid of dead rats because when he did it they went away for good.

He'd built a small fire to keep the mosquitoes away, and twice since then big red beetles flew into its flames. He couldn't figure out what made them do that. He knew it was something about their nature but that's all. A few times an hour he had to break up a branch or two and add the pieces to the fire.

Mostly he had been digging. It takes a long time to dig a hole big and deep enough for a body. Especially when the person doing it works alone. There's no book on disposing of bodies, but if Tommy Sheehan wrote it, working alone would be rule number one.

It was four hours later when the hole was ready. He pulled a folding pocket knife from his coat and sliced through the layers of duct tape. After unrolling the carpet he sparked his lighter a few feet above the dead man's face.

"So it's you! I figured they'd get ya sooner or later, Eddie." he whispered. He rolled the body back up in the carpet and slid it to the edge of the hole.

"Sleep tight, rat." he said, kicking it into the trench.

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