Page 23 of The Millionaire Mortician
“Good morning, boss,” he started.
Everything else, he stated, started to sound like a mummer, but he kept on going as we entered the building. I made my way into my office to change into my scrubs and signed whatever paperwork Parys shoved in my face. Then I made my way to one of the embalming rooms.
The mortuary smelled like it always did — sterile chemicals, a hint of flowers from the lobby, and the cold scent of still flesh waiting for me. I clocked in mentally, letting go of the outside world’s thoughts for the time being.
One of my embalmers was there prepping a body for me.
“Good morning, Mr. Marcano. Here’s a forty-seven-year-old man who suffered a heart attack. As usual, the family wants him to look like he’s just sleeping peacefully,” Greg informed me.
“Good lookin’, G. I got it,” I told him as I started to get suited up.
Once my protective gear was on, I adjusted the lights and started the process — arterial embalming with careful touches to restore what was lost. There was a rhythm to it all. With my line of work, it was a kind of patience that most men didn’t have. I always told myself it was God’s way of keeping my spirit balanced — dealing with death so I could see life clearer.
About an hour in, I heard the door creak open. I didn’t look up right away because I sensed no threat, and I knew that pace of footsteps. Maverick never waited for an invitation to enter anywhere.
“Still at it,” he finally spoke, leaning against the wall.
“Always,” I replied, not looking up from the needle in my hand. “I gotta give the people what they want.”
Mav nodded as his eyes scanned the room. He always looked out of place around the bodies like he was too restless, and he had too much live energy running through him to be comfortable in the stillness.
“Have you thought about the plan we came up with? Mallo said any day now we’ll get a text with a location to meet the connect,” Mav inquired.
After some time, I came up with a dope and discreet plan that would guarantee us the seat.
“If you’re good with it, I’m great with it,” I answered confidently. “Ain’t no way that nigga would turn down what we have to offer.”
We had used the bodies in my funeral home to store our drugs for the longest, which gave me the idea to take things up a couple of notches. We would use bodies to transport the drugsfrom Venezuela to New York undetected. They would just have to supply us with dead bodies, and I’d make sure the paperwork matched up as a US citizen’s remains returning to the country for proper burial.
“He’d be a fuckin’ clown ass nigga if he did,” Maverick shot back, sharp and certain.
I finished what I was doing, finally set my tools down, and turned to face him. “Once we’re in, we gotta move correctly so that we stay in. We gotta move with strategy like Mallo did, or better.”
Maverick’s jaw flexed. “You already know I’m ready. We’ve been waiting on a lane like this,” he assured me.
One thing about my brother and me was that although he was hot-headed as fuck and acted on impulse, he was a smartass nigga, and we made the perfect team.
“That’s what I like to hear.” I shot him a solid head nod.
Maverick looked at me for a long second, then glanced at the body on the table. “You good, bro?”
“Yeah.” My tone dipped softer. “Daija dipped out of the house early this morning before I woke up, and that shit kind of fucked with me,” I confessed.
Maverick chuckled. “She’s moving like us now, huh? Out the door before sunrise, making plays.”
“Facts.” I looked down at the body and smoothed the sheet over his chest. “It’s an adjustment for sure, but she deserves it. I gotta let her shine without me pulling her back and shit.”
Mav slapped my shoulder lightly. “She’s straight, you’re straight, and we’re gon’ be more than straight once we make this move, aight?”
I nodded, though my eyes stayed on the work in front of me. Death didn’t wait, and neither did opportunity.
It was one body at a time, and one move at a time. Still, in the back of my mind, I knew it was coming. Maverick and I werestepping into something bigger than what we had ever touched. And once we did, there was going to be no turning back.
I had just finished closinga woman’s mouth when my phone buzzed across the counter. I glanced at the screen and saw it was an unknown caller. Since it was my business trap phone with a limited number of persons with the number, I knew it had to be of some importance.
I quickly stripped the gloves off my hands and slid the bar to pick up the call.
“Yo,” I answered.
