A little graverobbing never hurt anyone

Bill Stone sweats as he digs a hole. Like the others he’s dug it will be long and deep. Bill is hoping this one will have some good stuff; it’s been a while since he had a real sale to Max. About three feet down, a thunderbolt peals and it starts to rain. Bill puts down his shovel, climbs out, and gets his raingear and ladder out of his truck. He sets the ladder beside his hole, puts his coat and hat on, and jumps back in.

The rain slows Bill’s progress, and he starts to mutter to himself. He sits down in his hole, and pulls out a cigarette. Bill puts the cigarette in his mouth, pulls on his fingers, tugs on the cigarette, and lights it. He breathes slowly, both to catch his breath and enjoy the smoke’s flavor. Once he’s finished, Bill tosses the butt out the hole, stands up, and resumes digging. A few minutes later he hits wood. Laughing, Bill clears off the rest of the lid.

As Bill brushes the dirt of the lid and begins to open it, a light shines on his face.

“Oh so you’re the one.”, says the man with the flashlight. “No, don’t get out; we’ll chat just fine with you in that hole.”

“Who are you? What makes you think you’re in charge?” Bill asks.

“Me? I own this cemetery. That puts me in charge. That, and this letter of recommendation from my friends Smith and Wesson. Now why are you here in the middle of the night opening my graves. This place wasn’t cheap, even with the cemetery. But I’ve got quiet neighbors. At least, ‘til you started bothering them.”

“Who am I bothering? Look, I ain’t found much here, I’ll get it back if that’s what you want.” Bill looks around for a way out, but there isn’t one; the owner’s blocked his path to the truck, and there’s a fence around the area.

“You’re bothering my neighbors, which means I have to deal with upset family members, police, and other unpleasantries. Like this rain.”

“Look, you wanna call the cops? Go ahead. Here, use my cell.” Bill says as he tosses his phone. “Can we go inside and wait for the cops? I’d rather be drier than wetter when the book me.”

“No, I don’t think so. Ye see, there’s a lot of people unhappy with me. First, there’s some families upset because I bought the place. Just when that was dying down, you start disturbing my neighbors. Now families are accusing me of graverobbing, and each new time the police come and toss my place after reopening the grave you robbed. So no, you’re not coming out of there.”

“Well, you are going to call the police, right? I mean, that’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?” Bill stutters with the wet and cold and fear coursing through him.

“No, I’ve seen enough police for now. I set that grave up two weeks ago for you to dig. Found me a nice old headstone, planted that pine box you’re on, and covered it. No, you’ve dug your grave, now die in it.”

Bill hears a gun roar, and falls. The owner puts away his gun, and searches Bill’s body.

A couple hundred, the landowner thinks. Not bad; that and the truck should cover things for a while.