Alfie

In forty seven years of good clean, obedient boy next door by the book living, I committed one single criminal offense, and this was aided by my cousin Alfie. You know the kind. That one relative that was always just no good. The bad apple, the one that woke up the family with ate night calls from the sheriff’s department. The one that would cause cop three counties over to say “I pulled over someone with this name before…” and you’d know instantly who he was talking about. Any way, the day my cousin Alfie called me, I was sound asleep in bed at four in the morning. I was twenty-two at the time, just starting up my law practice and just recently married. And you know how relatives just have to tank things like that. Early that week, I’d been invite o dinner at my Aunt Ida’s house, with Sue, my wife. Ida was Alfie’s mother. Sue and I went over, even though it was in the sticks. The house was on farmland that hadn’t been farmed in three generations. That particular branch of our family had always produced the Alfies of the clan. The house was old and rundown. The floor was muddy, and they kept a large hog in the front yard, called Walter, as a pet. Now, I have no problems with pigs, but it is a bit off putting to drive up to a white bleached sagging farmhouse, surrounded by wild growth, and find yourself staring at a large pink pig, splattered in mud, chewing something unrecognizable. My wife made a disapproving sound, but nothing else, because she also had a bad branch on her family tree, and that particular evening had included custody disputes and people pulling knives on each other. He evening itself as actually uneventful, Ida was still her robust homely self, Alfie his usual rambunctious self, and my uncle Bud was not present, as he was back in jail. All in all, it was quiet night; all we had was a small fire in the den and an altercation with a raccoon in the garbage bins. Quiet. A week later, the phone rings at four am, and when I pickup and when I pick up, my immediate response is to ask “Alfie?” because I knew he was in town. Not even my clients would wake me at such ungodly hours. But anyway, my cousin was on the phone, and needling me, and how he needed my company. Now even a boy like Alfie is also given his share of God’s gifts, and the boy could persuade the moon to come down from the heavens. Soon, I was agreeing with him, and then I was making arrangements for him to pick me up in ten minutes. He showed up soon, and he’s got this car, a little old and dented, but still running. I hop in the front seat and then we're riding towards the coastline, a good forty-five minutes away. I fiddle with the radio, then I go “So, Alf, man, why’d you need me to come?” he mumbles something about not liking to ride alone, but he’s too focused on the road and I start thinking something’s wrong. “Hey, man, this isn’t anything illegal is it?” “Naw, man. But who better to bring than a lawyer is it was, huh?” he chuckled, but I didn’t. “Aww c’mon, man. But seriously. We’re blood, we’re kin. We owe each other from first breath to last. I just didn’t want to be alone. Just got to run an errand.” I protested “Kin don’t owe each other. We just help each other when we feel like it, and it’s the truth. Relatives make you feel like helping more often, that’s all.” We sat in silence. At the half hour mark, we stopped for gas. Alfie went inside to the restroom and I stay with the car. I step outside, and I see something leaking from the trunk. I got to check it out, and there she is. A dead hooker in the trunk. Surprise, surprise from cousin Alfie. So I’m freaking out, and Alfie comes back. “Awww shit. Didn’t want you to see that.” “See what? The dead bitch in your goddamn fucking trunk?!” “Well, yeah. But it doesn’t matter. We’re fifteen minutes from the coast. Fifteen minutes in this goes away bro.” “What the fuck?! What I should do is call the police, then let you sink or swim, “bro”. But I’m already accessory. Therefore fucked. Now I don’t care who she is, or why she’s here, but what the fuck do we do?!” remember how I said Alfie could talk the stars from the sky? Well, four minutes of haggling later, he’s got me in the front seat, and we’re running for the coast. He dumps her in, and a few bubbles, and she’s gone, for good. The ride back is quiet. When I get home, I just stumble in. my wife is there, in her dressing gown, her eyes full of question. “My cousin just made me accessory to murder. Can I get something to drink?” wordlessly, she moved to the tap and drew me a cool glass of water than I drained in one gulp.