For as much as he drinks and smokes, Edge isn’t in all that bad a shape. Maybe seventy really is the new fifty. Between the two of us, working nonstop, we manage to dig our way down to the solid metal box in a matter of five minutes. We worked up a sweat doing it, but it’s a good kind of sweat. A sweat that can lead to great things. That is, we manage to avoid the police.
“You two keeping a watch for Mendel and Dernitz?” I say as Edge and I drop to our knees, take hold of the strong box handles.
Turns out the box isn’t heavy at all since all it purportedly contains are bones of someone long deceased. Edge is able to let go of the box while I carry it to the Jeep, set it into the small storage space that exists between the back seat and the tailgate.
“Should we fill the hole back in?” Ed
