Dig It

Dig It

              John's an archeologist. He's quite famous in fact, tenured at his University, and known for making great discoveries in ordinary places. John always sports a snap brim fedora. The important thing for John, you see, is to make a discovery, any discovery.
         Early in his career john realized that discovering things was hard work, but putting things in interesting places and then taking pictures was by comparison much easier. This lead john to spend much of his time in graveyards, particularly those with above-ground mausoleums. The important thing, John knew, was authenticity, you had to have people bones. Sheep bones just don’t cut it.
         All this bone hunting kept John quite busy, not as busy as he might have been if he had to find hidden bones, but hectic still. John was truly proud of his system, it was a thing of beauty. First, he’d pick a nice deserted spot on the map, then apply for a grant to dig in that nice spot, hire a half dozen struggling grad students, let them go to town, while he hit the graveyards.
         After a few weeks, he’d toss in a few slivers of bone, or in some cases a whole femur or a skull. Voila! A discovery! Since most areas have some remnants or refuse from a long time ago, the mix of real findings with his additions were always quite interesting. John had studied long and hard to develop this system, and thought it best displayed the highest traditions of his profession.
         The best part for John was the grad students. He wasn’t gay by any means, he paid hookers and picked up drunken girls in bars like every other uber-straight guy. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the physique of the young guys he hired, did it? Particularly when they used the outside showers he set up on the dig sites.
         He was just preparing to make another small discovery when he went  into the little town of Humidor near his dig site to find a bar, perhaps a hooker, and hopefully, since it was hot and sweaty out, a baseball game, or a track meet.
         John flipped his fedora on the bar and gave the place a look. A shit-hole. And an empty one. Curiously, that emptiness included a bartender. He’d seen nastier places, but usually someone was at least around to guard the booze.
         “Ello?”
         “Anybody home?”
         “Open?”
         “Yeah, just a sec..” finally from what must have been the basement
         John heard stomps, then saw first shaggy blond hair, then a head, then shoulders, then what must have once been perky bags of silicon, then the timeless body of a woman ten years older than her clothes, with soon to be retro hair to match. John’s first thought was of a beer poster from 1996….after being rained on.
         “Hi, there, sorry, what can I get you?” Miss Budweiser asked.
         “ You have heine?”
         “No, got Michelob though”
         “ That’ll work.” John said, sensing limited beer options.
         “’k, my name’s Trina”
         “I’m John”
         “Nice to meet you, John, I didn’t know they were shooting a movie in town.”
         “Neither did I”

         Trina wondered what he did do then, he sure looked like he was in costume, but he was sort of cute. Trina’s standards were high, too. Her friend Janelle told her that was her problem, being too picky, and Trina agreed. Her relationships usually only lasted a few days, as soon as she thought that the guy was beneath her, she’d stop calling him. There were always more fish in the sea, and she was still young.
         And in good shape, she thought, as she smoothed the black skirt she was wearing down the front of her legs so it’d not cut into the front of her thighs. That skirt was her secret weapon, in the ten years she’d had it, it’d never failed to get her a new fish. Mebbe it was this guy, he must have money, since he ordered Heineken.
         “So, what does bring you to Humidor?” as she leaned over the bar, elbows close in to push that expensive cleavage up and together, so he’d have to notice if he tried to look at her eyes.
         “I run the Indian dig outside of town”
         “ An Archeologist, Like Indiana Jones!”
         “Well, it’s really nothing like that at all” fingering the fedora that once had Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom printed in bright red on the band. 
         “Well, then, sugar, what is it like?” Crunching the jugs up a bit more and flashing the faithful, I’m yours, smile she’d practiced in the mirror since she was thirteen.
         John noticed.
         “Well, I could take you out to the dig site, or better yet, I need to do some research here in town later, how long do you work?” deciding that with a few beers he would be able to pretend it was ’96 later in the graveyard, and get some help. He wanted an almost complete body this time, so an extra set of hands would have two uses later.
         “ I’m done at one, but I could close a bit early if that would be better for you”
         “One’s fine” finishing his beer “ I’ll pick you up, there wouldn’t happen to be a baseball diamond around here, or a track field?”

         Bill was one of three full-time police officers in Humidor. Bill was proud of his job, his status and most particularly his ass. The appearance of his ass in uniform was the greatest thing that Bill had ever seen. You didn’t just get an ass like that, it took years of effort in the gym, careful diet, and pricy tailoring.
         Bill reckoned he spent about two hours a day of his own time on his ass, and about an hour of department time doing iso-metric butt clenches. Bill would watch with shame as the other officers walked regularly, not going to the effort to squeeze with each step to get that power look in their stride. He’d come close to mentioning their comparatively sloppy tone, but was never one to brag. After all, the other guys really didn’t have a chance.
         Generally, Bill’s job consisted of cruising around town patrolling, and giving out the occasional speeding ticket. It suited Bill just fine. He was The Man in Humidor.
         That was why Bill was surprised when his radio crackled, calling him.
         “This is officer Rogers, go ahead” in his best impression of TV cops voices, careful to hit a shot of nasal spray in each nostril before the reply.
         “ We got a call about lights in the cemetery out at St. Matt’s, neighbors are worried about Father Andy, take a look?
         “Sure, e.t.a. 5 minuets, Rogers out” after hitting each side with two full sprays just to be sure he was clear.
         Bill went in with lights off, so as not to scare away whatever kid was about to meet the hard-ass in town.
         Bill gave a solid four shots in each side, just in case he had to run, then tossed the bottle of spray in his pocket, you just never know how long these things will take. Bill dismounted his vehicle just as quietly as he could, did a couple of deep knee bends to loosen up, adjusted his vest and shirt line, and crept into the graveyard. He was almost on top of the mausoleum when sudden brilliant light filled his head.

         Father Andy had heard the telephone ringing in his quarters, but he was not in them, and really could not get there, so he let it ring. Andy became a priest to help people, to spread the word of God, and to have privacy. When the phone rang he was in his special private room just off his private residence inside the empty Church of Saint Matthew. Andy thought of this small room as his Chamber of Onan, and he spent just as much time there as he could, and absolutly hated to be disturbed.
         Andy could ignore the phone, but when he heard clattering and banging coming from the Church itself, he threw his long robe on and stormed from the Chamber to investigate.
         Upon reaching the ground floor of the Church Andy saw the strangest sight he had ever seen. A man, dressed as though in a movie, was dragging the  large form of a police officer toward the alter of the Church, while a barely dressed woman with leaves and dirt stuck to her bare knees clung to his arm and whined in his ear.
         “What, in the name of God, is it you think that you are doing!?” Andy shouted as he made his way over the last few steps and emerged into the Church.
         Several things happened at once at this point. John, who was dragging the unconscious form of Bill, whom he had earlier struck over the head with the shin and partial foot of one Jacobias Ferny who had passed on in eighteen hundred and fourty three, let go and looked at Andy. Trina, whose knees were very sore from the rough floor of the mausoleum, ran into the back of John’s legs, twisting an ankle and falling across a pew. Andy, seeing the injured cop, forgot all else and ran headlong across the Church, his robe streaming behind him to reveal Victoria’s Secret fall line bra and panty set in Lucifer red, with matching pumps.

         Bill, coming too after being dropped, first clenched all of his muscles, then yelled “freeze!” wishing he had a chance to use some spray, while reaching for his gun, that John had.
         “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you” John said laying his hand on bill’s shoulder to hold him down.
         John kneaded the mass of Bill’s shoulder, and with softening eyes said  ” you have excellent muscle tone, especially for someone as big as you, I’m impressed.”
         Bill usually had to rely on himself for compliments, and so was honored by the obvious admiration “I work very hard, but especially on my rear, help me up and I’ll show you” All thought of law and order fleeing his mind.
         Trina watched this display of twiterpation with amazement, and looked to Andy, also stunned in his open robe and lace. “So do you just like the clothes, or are you queer too?”
         “I just like the clothes, what size are you?”