Arson inspectors called the fatal truck fire accidental. Police had no intention spending any real time investigating the deaths of two minority drunks with off-the-scales blood alcohol content burned to a crisp after illegally dumping medical waste in a suburban Roman Catholic cemetery.
Nor did official inquiry turn up anything suspicious when a prison guard killer named Roland expired from the COVID in the prison infirmary.
Lt. Smith and Capt. Jones took a good 40 minutes drinking in Jones’ man cave after their shift ended before the three deaths came up in conversation. Jones hoisted an authentic Oktoberfest beer stein decorated with yodelers and busty beer hall waitresses. Smith drank from a tall pilsner glass adorned with the Bundesadler, Germany’s coat of arms that depicts a black eagle.
To the late, great Sgt. Miller, Jones said.
He hoisted his stein.
To a real hero, Smith said.
They took big gulps of Beck’s beer.
Jones poured two shots of Jägermeister from a green bottle on the table.
May our comrade rest in peace, he said.
And purity, Smith said.
The prison guards tossed the root-beery German liquor down the hatch.
I love drinking German beer, Smith said.
Beer helps us stay in touch with our roots, Jones said.
We’re lucky we’re descended from the master race, Smith said.
Jawohl, Jones said.
It’ a pity Roland was black and not one of us, Smith said.
Jones laughed.
That COVID took him down fast, he said.
COVID didn’t kill him, destiny did, Smith said.
Jones wasn’t exactly sure what to make of his buddy’s mysterious remark.
I know all about fate, Jones said.
Tell me, Smith said.
Friends don’t let friends fry drunk, Jones said.
That caught Smith by surprise.
I don’t get it, he said.
Those two shit bird fried steaks in the truck, Jones said. Neither drunken buddy looked out for the other drunken buddy, he said. Shit birds of a feather burn together.
In the midst of taking another swallow of Beck’s, Smith choked mid-gulp.
They shouldn’t have been sleeping in the truck, Jones said.
Smith caught on immediately.
No, you didn’t, he said.
Jones guzzled the rest of his beer.
Yes, I did, he said.
OK, I might as well brag a little myself, Smith said.
Join the crowd, Jones said.
As long as the cameras aren’t on, it’s pretty easy to strangle a nigger with an IV cord.
No, Jones said.
Yes, Smith said.
You?
Me.
Why didn’t you tell me?
I just did, Smith said.
Why didn’t you tell me?
I just did, Jones said.
Thinning the herd, Smith said.
Survival of the fittest, Jones said.
Only the strong survive, Smith said.
The final solution.