As public employees we weren’t supposed to, but most days Mr. Segura would take a long lunch. We’re talking two, two and a half hours. Who knows what he did to pass the time, but I’m betting a nap in his car was part of it on days when he’d drive out to the taco truck behind the Chevron for one of those big burritos all covered in red sauce. That thing can really K.O. you.

After a couple of hours, he’d come back to find me doing some grunt work, like wiping down the table, and he’d always say the same thing to me: “Hey, we make a pretty great team, you and I. Ha ha.” 

And I’d be down there in the basement, my eyes tearing up from the chemicals, and I’d go, “You said it, Mr. S. A great team. Ha ha.” 

Real funny stuff.

But most of the time he wasn’t a bad boss. He’d even go out of his way to make work fun, which can be hard in this business. 

For instance, one time we had a guy come in who was in pretty bad shape. They pulled him out of the Green River up by the airport, and they weren’t even sure how long he had been down there before he floated.

Mr. Segura sent me down to do some weighing and measuring while he played computer solitaire and had a snack upstairs. And when I got down there, I found he had taken the sticker off his avocado and put it right smack in the middle of the poor guy’s belly. 

It said: “Ripe when soft.” 

Cracked me right up. Get it? Ripe? The smell can be unreal, especially in the summertime. Smearing some VapoRub under your nose helps a bit, but it can’t cover everything.

Anyway, I always thought he was a pretty good guy. And I guess I should know, because I was the person who probably saw the most of him — eight a.m. to five p.m., five days a week.

Sometimes, after I’d screw something up, he’d say to no one in particular, “That’s the thing about coworkers. You don’t get to choose ‘em, and then you end up seeing more of them than your own dang wife.”

Of course, that was back when she was around to be seen at all. 

Lately, it seems nobody’s seen her. 

I guess some people got to asking questions, and before we knew it Sheriff Gary shows up and said to Mr. Segura, “Hey, Phil, can we chat down at the office for a few minutes?”

And poor Mr. Segura, he said, “Sure, Gary. Whatever you need.” 

And it must have been some chat, because that was the last I saw of him. They took him straight to jail that afternoon, where he sat for three weeks waiting for his trial to start.

And I was left all alone at work, probably not much happier than he was. 

I didn’t even want this job in the first place. I only got it because Eva kept riding me, asking why am I always just sitting around the house on Fortnite, and not going out to provide for her like a real man?

So I reminded her how I have the PTSD from my time in the Army, defending all her freedoms. Like her right to free speech, for example. And believe me, when she gets to nagging at me like that, I sure wish I hadn’t bothered.

And she snorted and said, “Freedoms? Is that why they kicked you out of basic training? For defending too many of my freedoms? Didn’t even make it a lousy two weeks.”

Which is true, but still a pretty mean thing to say. To a veteran and all.

And I didn’t even want to be there in the first place, and after three weeks without Mr. S the work was kind of piling up, and there was lots of stuff I didn’t even know how to use yet, like the circular saw. 

I was just hoping that the whole thing’s a big misunderstanding, and Mr. S would be back soon to help me out.

I was lucky at first. Nothing too tricky came in.

For example, on the second day without Mr. S around, Sheriff Gary brought this fella in off the bus, and we unzipped the bag, and there was a little black entrance wound, a bullet hole, right under his eye.

“Well, what do you suppose happened to him?” Gary said.

And I, just being honest, I said, “Jeez, Gary, I don’t really know.”

I mean, it’s not like I was there, you know?

But he just laughed and slapped me on the back and said, “Yeah, sure. Good one. It’s a real mystery.”

So, I turned in the papers half blank, and I guess he filled them out for me. Or maybe he didn’t even check them. 

I was mostly on my own all day, but Sheriff Gary would come down every once in a while to shoot the breeze. I’d just move bottles around in the cabinets and try to look like I knew what I was doing. Sometimes I’d hold one up to the light, and kind of make a frowny face at it, and then write something down in my notebook. 

It was usually: “I sure wish Gary would get the hell out of here so I can get back to my Sudoku.” Something in that vein.

But then one day Gary came in just before quitting time looking serious, and I was all like oh crap, because whatever it was he was bringing me, I knew I wouldn’t be up to the task. 

And he looked right at me, and he said, “We found her.”

I didn’t even have to ask who.

Next thing I knew, poor Mrs. Segura was lying right there on my table. 

“Now, the way he tells it,” Sheriff Gary said, “she fell and hit her head. You know, like an accident. Then he panicked and buried the body out back. But look at here.” He pointed at some dark blue marks wrapped around her neck. “These sure look like contusions to me.”

OK, well “contusions” mean bruises, even I know that. They make you memorize some long-ass word for every ordinary thing down here. It’s all a bunch of bullcrap. Of course, down here they’d probably make me say, “It’s all a bunch of bovine excrement.” 

“Contusions, eh?” I said, putting on my best frowny face. “Best let me take a look at her.”

—

I’d been getting to work a bit late — because who was going to say anything, you know? — so the next morning I walked in around ten, and went to unlock the door, and it was already open. I thought, hell, it’s just like me to forget to lock up last night. 

I walked down the stairs hoping nobody stole anything, and turned the corner to the office, and then I stopped dead in my tracks. 

Mr. Segura was standing down there in the middle of the room, wearing his favorite lab coat, just kind of looking around, taking it all in. 

“Oh,” I said. “Hi.”

And he said, “I guess it takes a lot more than all of that to get you fired from government work. Ha ha.” 

Right back at it with the jokes. But he’d lost a ton of weight, and he looked pale and gutshot and sick to his stomach. 

We mostly sat around not saying much. It was an awkward morning, if I’m being honest. 

Around noon, Sheriff Gary wheeled one in, looking pissed off at both of us. He banged the cart off the back wall and just left without saying anything.

I started to unzip the bag and oh, goodie, it’s another bum. The smell hits you before it’s even half open. I got out the VapoRub and offered some to Mr. Segura, but he didn’t take it. 

He was just kind of standing there, looking at me funny.

I said, “Mr. S, you want I should weigh the stomach contents?” 

And, still looking at me funny, he said, “Here’s twenty bucks, kid. Why don’t you go take yourself a nice long lunch.”

So I walked up the stairs, thinking, Well, shoot. If I scoot right now, I can go get me one of the those wet burritos and squeeze in a nice nap before quitting time.

Meanwhile, on my way out the front door I heard that old circular saw kick up down there and start screaming away at something hard and unpleasant sounding. I never did figure out how to turn it on. 

I thought, Twenty bucks is more than enough cash. Maybe I should pick up an extra one for Mr. S. Carnitas with an extra side of avocado, how he likes it.

But then I thought, Nah. 

I don’t recall him ever picking up any extras for me.

But I knew exactly what I was going to say to him when I got back after lunch and saw him wiping down that stainless steel table, the fumes from the ammonia burning into his eyes.

A Great Team was originally published in Black Cat Mystery Magazine