Heads You Lose Read Free Page A

rest stop about fifteen minutes from their house. It wasn’t a popular hiking destination, but it got enough foot traffic that a decaying corpse would eventually be noticed.
    Paul pulled the truck into the rest stop and breathed a sigh of relief when they saw the parking lot was empty. Lugging the body off the truck was easier. There was no point being gentle with a corpse. But still, the thud when it hit the ground sent a wave of nausea through Paul. He wished he’d brought a joint to calm his nerves. He wanted to stay calm for Lacey, but his calm was wearing off. They dragged the body about a quarter-mile down the trail, unwrapped the corpse, and dropped it down a short embankment. The body ended up facedown, or would have if it had had a face. Paul folded up the plastic tarp. He pulled off his gloves and told his sister to do the same.
    “What will we do with all this plastic?” Lacey asked.
    “Burn it,” Paul replied.
    “We can’t burn plastic. Do you know how bad that is for the ozone layer?”
    “Our DNA is all over the gloves, Lacey. The ozone layer can suck it.”
    “We should have worn cloth gloves inside the plastic gloves. Then we could have burnt the cloth gloves and left the plastic ones with the body or maybe in a dumpster somewhere,” Lacey said.
    “Let’s remember that for next time,” Paul replied, his patience waning.
    Lacey took the flashlight from Paul’s hand and said, “We better double-check and make sure we haven’t left anything behind.”
    She beamed the light over the body, which was now tangled in brush. While Paul worked to dislodge a thick branch, Lacey gingerly hiked down the embankment to the side of the body. She scanned the area around the corpse with the flashlight. That’s when she noticed it. The watch.
    She’d seen it before, lots of times. An old Seiko with a new leather band. One of those watches that supposedly winds itself through regular movement, although most people end up shaking their arm to wind it up. It never kept exact time. Lacey studied the body again. It was the right size. The clothes were the same, although all the men in Mercer seemed to dress alike. Holding her breath, she unclasped the watch and viewed the inscription on the back under the glow of the flashlight:
4 D LOVE D
     
    “Paul,” Lacey said. Panic was edging into her voice, tears catching in her throat.
    “Where are you?” Paul said, peering over the embankment.
    He saw his sister standing over the corpse with the flashlight.
    “We know him,” Lacey said. “It’s Darryl. It’s Darryl Cleveland.”

NOTES:
     
    Dave,
    Okay, back to you. I think it’s time for a little backstory on the siblings. Maybe you can take care of some of that.
    Also, I’ve decided Lacey should be studying botany. You might want to get started on the research since you’re good at that sort of thing. Mind setting that up in your chapter?
    Also, I didn’t mention how the parents died. I’ll leave that detail to you. I don’t care how. Just don’t go crazy. Leave the mafia out of it. Capiche?
Good luck,
Lisa
     
    Lisa,
    Nice job. I’m reminded how succinct and propulsive your writing can be. Don’t worry about backstory—I’ve already got a novel’s worth in my head.
    Just a note for both of us to keep in mind as we continue: Let’s make sure we don’t start taking sides, with you favoring Lacey and me favoring Paul. That’s the kind of predictable gender stuff that derailed us back in the Fop days (although I stand by my allegiance to Lucius Van Landingham). I think we’re both above that now.
Dave
     

CHAPTER 2
     
    “Dude grew fucking honeydews in Qua- tar .”
    That’s what Paul’s friend and mentor Terry Jakes used to say about Darryl Cleveland. Spoken in Terry’s unplaceable twang, it was the first thing to pop into Paul’s head when Lacey identified the body. Then he pictured Darryl in elementary school, a quiet blond kid always attached to his beat-up ten-speed. After high school,