“Since you decided to bury Crazy Eddie all proper-like, I’m considerin’ you his next of kin.” Roscoe, Moe and Samson were at Mt. Zen Cafe. They had gone over the assignments, but last week, Moe had found Crazy Eddie, dead from carbon monoxide poisoning, in his trailer up the mountain. Samson had volunteered to take care of the burial.
The three of them had visited Crazy Eddie every week for the last few years. He had been squatting on state land, so Roscoe could have had him evicted, but instead, they kind of took care of the guy. Roscoe had never known Crazy Eddie before he came back from Vietnam. He had always been crazy, but his mother had known him before. They had gone to school together. She had asked Roscoe to watch over the guy. That’s why Roscoe was willing to pay for a simple burial, but no. Samson had to waltz in and order proper embalming, a fancy coffin and a big headstone with a flag on it.
“You just inherited his trailer. Get it off state land or I’m gonna start chargin’ ya campin’ fees.” Samson looked up from his food. “What?!” he said with his mouth full of Egg Thing. Roscoe replied, waggling his fork at the little guy, “You heard me. That trailer of his is yours. Now, get it offa my mountain.” Samson nodded. “I’ll call a tow truck and see what I can do.”
Roscoe nodded. “At least ya didn’t think you could haul down that piece of crap with yer pickup. Those might look like tires on that thing, but they ain’t nothing but rubber decorations.” Samson nodded and went back to eating. Moe chimed in between bites, “Don’t use the heater.” Samson smacked Moe’s arm. “Not funny. Crazy Eddie DIED in that trailer.”
Moe replied, “I know! I was the one who found ‘im.” Roscoe could almost smell the food still in Moe’s mouth, half-chewed. “Pipe down, both of ya.” Samson turned toward Roscoe again, “Can I wait until after Thanksgiving weekend? I’ve got a great meal planned for Kit Kat.” The whole thing was irritating Roscoe more than it should. “What part of get that trailer off my mountain didn’t you understand?”
Samson argued, “But Thanksgiving is TOMORROW! How am I supposed to get a tow truck that can tow that big fifth wheel through the SNOW before then?” Roscoe dropped his fork on his empty plate. “I suggest you get on the horn right now, then.” Samson’s face fell with disappointment and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “What’s the matter with you, Roscoe?” He snapped back at Samson before the guy could even finish his sentence, “Whatsa matter with me? Crazy Eddie is dead and I gotta tell my momma ‘bout it.”
He hadn’t told his mother about Crazy Eddie yet. She had moved down south to warmer climates, so she wouldn’t have heard. At least he hoped she wouldn’t have heard. She still called people up in Merriton regularly. Actually, Roscoe suddenly felt the need to call her immediately. He stood up and replied to Samson while he walked out of the cafe, “You gotta week to get it down. Go have yer Thanksgiving with Kit Kat, but if that trailer ain’t down the mountain by next week, I’m gonna start chargin’ ya.”