"Damnit," I sighed. There was a dead hooker in the trunk. I'd had a feeling there was, but part of me was really hoping there wasn't. It wasn't my first, and something told me it probably wasn't going to be my last. It was, in fact, my fourth dead hooker in the trunk.
No refunds, no exchanges.Before you start accusing me, I didn't put her there. I never put them there. I wouldn't even know where to find a hooker if you asked me, but somehow they always end up in my trunk. Actually, not my trunk. I don't even own a car. I rent. Lately I'd been checking the trunk before I drive the car off the lot, and it's actually really cut down on the incidences of trunk hookers, but I suppose you could say I got careless.
How long had she been in there? I'd been driving the car for three days now, so it would have to be longer than that. That's not good. I was only alerted to the possibility of some extra cargo by the funk that had drifted into the cabin. God, it's been really hot lately, too. It was going to be a closed casket for sure.
You might think I'd be worried about the police. The first time I discovered a dead hooker in the trunk, I was definitely worried. You'd be surprised how casually they approached the situation. I remember my fingers trembling as I dialed 911 from the rusty payphone outside the Desert Sands motel, convinced my life was over but prepared to give my side of the story. After the dispatch operator answered, I choked out the words, "I found a dead hooker in my trunk." There was a long pause, which probably seemed longer because my anxiety had reached a boiling point, and finally she responded in a droll monotone, "Sir, 911 is to be used for emergencies only. Please call the non-emergency dispatch line tomorrow between the hours of 9am-12pm and 1pm-5pm and someone will be happy to help you with your problem." *click*
"Two days? I have other things I need to put in the trunk, you know." The dispatch operator had obviously heard this complaint before.The rest of that first "dead hooker in the trunk" incident is pretty uneventful. I shut the trunk, checked into the Desert Sands, and waited till the next afternoon to call it in. "Do you need help disposing of the dead hooker, sir?" I did, and a couple of grumpy deputies begrudgingly made their way out to the Desert Sands, and the three of us wrapped the dead hooker in a hotel blanket (I'm sure it'd touched worse) and rolled her down a ravine across the highway. I found it odd that the deputies were betting on whether or not she'd roll all the way down or get stopped by a rock or plant along the way, but whatever.
I'd called the rental car company after I found the first dead hooker in the trunk, and they seemed even less surprised than the police. "Sir, our policy is to provide a one-time credit of one free rental day, minus gas and insurance, to any customer who finds a dead hooker in the trunk of one of our cars. We've recently changed our terms and conditions to include dead hookers in the trunk as part of our pre-inspection release of liability, so in the future please check your vehicle's trunk for dead hookers before leaving one of our authorized rental locations." Though they provided me with that free rental day, they also made me pay a $39.99 "clean up" fee because I hadn't popped for the extended rental insurance they pushed for when I rented the thing.
The second dead hooker in the trunk was discovered during a trip to Chicago. I'd taken my grandfather to Costco, and as we returned to the car burdened by our hefty take, I popped the trunk. We both stood silent for a minute. "Charlie, there's a dead hooker in your trunk." "There certainly is, Papa." "Well, you'd better call 911." Luckily I'd learned my lesson. It was Saturday, so I knew we'd have to wait till Monday to call it in, so as not to disturb the officer's weekend. On the way home we stopped by a gas station and bought a couple of bags of ice and tossed them on our friend and tried our best to forget about her.
Two days later I called the non-emergency dispatch line and was told it would be two more days before anyone could come out and assess the situation. I was, needless to say, a little irritated. "Two days? I have other things I need to put in the trunk, you know." The dispatch operator had obviously heard this complaint before. "Sir, you're not the only person with a dead hooker in the trunk that needs help." I couldn't really argue with that.
Two days later a grumpy old-timer rumbled his way up my grandfather's gravel driveway and approached the front door, clipboard in hand. He asked to see the dead hooker in the trunk, and as I popped the trunk he exclaimed, "You got yourself a good one there!" I didn't really get the humor. Then he asked, "Did you kill the hooker in your trunk, son?" I raised my eyebrows. Maybe this old-timer meant business. "It doesn't really matter, I just need to check the appropriate box on my form here for department tax purposes. If you killed the hooker, we're gonna have to send you a 1099 form at the end of the year so you can pay taxes on the disposal cost, but if you just found her in your trunk like that, it's on us." I told him I hadn't killed the hooker, he checked the appropriate box on his form there, and he and my grandfather got caught up talking about the war. An hour and a half later I asked him, "So what do we do about the dead hooker in my trunk?" "Ah, yes, well what say we head out to Lake Michigan and try to sink her to the bottom, yes? With all the budget cuts lately, the department's been asking us to get creative with our disposal methods. It ain't like it used to be, is it?" He and my grandfather laughed and laughed. I didn't really get it.
I called the rental car company and told them I'd found another dead hooker in the trunk. "Is the dead hooker still in the trunk, sir?" I told him it wasn't. "Without the dead hooker in the trunk, sir, it's hard for us to verify that there was a dead hooker in the trunk." I told him there might be some blood left in the trunk, and he told me he'd need to place me on hold to speak with his supervisor. Several minutes passed. "Hello sir, yes, I've just spoken to my supervisor and he says that we will be able to accept blood as a suitable substitute for a body, but we will be unable to provide you with another credit as you've already used your ‘dead hooker in the trunk' exemption in the last 18 months." That seemed only fair. They did, however, waive the cleaning fee, even though I had again opted not to spring for the insurance.
The third dead hooker in the trunk was discovered at a customs checkpoint on my way from San Diego to Los Angeles. I had a tail light out, and as I tried to cruise my way through the long line of disinterested checkpoint operators, someone took notice. My particular operator, a portly, unkempt woman of about 50 who'd obviously paid the price for a sedentary lifestyle, asked me to pull over for further inspection. As the border patrol deputy rifled through the backseat of my rental car I could sense his boredom. It was nothing but maps, empty 5-Hour Energy reservoirs, and a glove compartment full of paperwork that had never been touched. Finally he said, "Sir, please open your trunk for me, and we'll have you on your way." I pulled the release lever and heard, "My God." "Shit," I thought to myself, "there's another dead hooker in the trunk." Suddenly I heard the deputy speak into his radio. "I need backup at the silver Ford Taurus at checkpoint 21754. We got a body here." I leaned my head out the window. "There's a perfectly logical explanation for tha…" I attempted, before being met with the deputies harsh, "Keep your hands on the fucking wheel!" I obliged.
Two minutes later I heard the deputy on his radio again, "Checkpoint 21754, I'm gonna need to cancel that call for backup. It's just a hooker in the trunk." He approached my window again, completely relaxed and with a chuckle in his voice. "Boy, you really gave us a scare just now. You know you got a hooker in the trunk?" I told him I didn't. "Yeah, they'll sneak up on you! Listen, we're pretty swamped right now and the Chief is a real tight ass about using department resources for dead hooker in the trunk disposal, so would you mind taking care of this for us?" I asked him what he wanted me to do with it. "Just pretend you killed her and you're trying REAL HARD for us not to find her. What do you do?" That night, as I lodged a brick against the gas pedal and watched the rental car fly off the roadside ledge and explode in a blaze of glory, I was real thankful I'd sprung for the insurance.
Three years later there I was, staring at the ripening hooker in my rental car's trunk. "Shit," I thought to myself, "it's Saturday."