The cemetery, the morning we brought poor dead Mokes to it, was quiet. Very quiet. The Spring sun in the blue sky was quiet. The air was quiet. The birds were quiet. And the small group of mourners standing over by a gravesite in silent prayer, they were quiet too.

We approached the group with our engines off. Out of total respect. We moved the bikes forward in neutral, and in silence, just using our feet to advance the machines.

We stopped near the mourners. We got off our bikes. We went over to Sam’s trike, which was part of our funeral cortege. Mokes’ casket rested on the makeshift flatbed rigged to the back. We lifted the casket from the trike’s apparatus. Then we slowly carried it to the sorrowful mourners yonder. They did not look up. They were too lost in their sorrow and in their own thoughts.

Fallon, our leader, bowed his head politely and walked over to the clergyman in charge and spoke softly to him.

“Say, Holy Fucker Guy: you think we could share this hole with you people? We gut a dead loved one here too.”

It did not seem possible, but at this question, the mourning group became, somehow, even more silent.

“Find out if we can put Mokes on the bottom!” Blitzbreath called over to Fallon.

“Let’s see if we can use the fuckin’ hole at ALL first, asshole!” Fallon hollered back angrily.

“Mokes ain’t gonna WANNA use the hole if he ain’t on the BOTTOM!” Blitzbreath yelled.

“What the fuck DIFFERENCE could it make,” Fallon asked, getting annoyed.

“Well, it’s SAFER, for one thing!” Blitzbreath shouted.

Jennifer spat out a huge green logie in disgust. “ ‘Safer’!” she fumed. “Mokes is deader than my ol’ man’s two-inch cock and this lunatic’s worried about his fuckin’ safety.”

“Aww, hell, you know what I mean,” Blitzbreath said, lookin’ at her. “From dogs diggin’ up bones, and pigs rootin’ around for truffles, and shit.”

“How the fuck deep do you think pigs root around for truffles, asshole!” Jennifer inquired angrily. “To China? They dig just under the surface. They’re usin’ their noses, fa crise sake, not shovels! How the fuck far do you think you could dig with your nose!! You think you could dig up a buried body with your nose? Just try it sometime, asshole. Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ goddamn stupid!”

“You’re both kinda not too bright,” Fallon intervened, getting annoyed. “This is a cemetery, not Ol’ MacDonald’s Farm. They don’t let dogs or pigs in here. And quit callin’ Blitzbreath stupid, Jennifer, you ain’t no fuckin’ scientist yourself.”

“Besides,” Analyzer observed helpfully, “it would actually be better if Mokes was a little closer to the surface ’cause if he’s farther down than the sowbugs and squids an’ stuff would get to him sooner ’cause that’s where the gooier life forms live, farther on down.”

“I think I’m going to faint,” one of the women in the original group of mourners said.

“Yeah, well, just don’t die,” Fallon said, looking over at the pit. “I don’t know if that hole will hold three people. Besides, there’s only two caskets available. After a week underground without a fuckin’ coffin you’d look like fucking hell. Not that you look so great right now, frankly.”

She was a thin frail woman, but when she fainted to the grass it sounded like a rhino had collapsed.

“I think you’d better leave!” one of the suited men said suddenly, shaking his fist – the seven guys and the two women standing near him now all tending to the fainted woman and saying things like, yes, and, mm-hmm, and, the sooner you all go the better.

Fallon just looked at them and blinked.

“I said I think you’d better leave!” the man said again.

“Do you mind if we bury our buddy first???” Fallon asked him. “I mean, sooner or later he’s gonna haffta be buried, ya know. I mean we just can’t cart him around with us like he still was ... well, like he still was.”

The clergyman in attendance looked at Fallon and said, “Just what sort of mental illness has caused you people to imagine that you could bury someone in someone else’s grave just as easy as you please?”

Fallon looked all around the place. “Well, hell, it’s the only grave dug, for one thing,” he said, irritated.

The Prayer Guy looked at him for a second. Then he said, “Let me see if I have this straight: you have the impression that anyone who dies can be buried in any open grave in the cemetery?”

“How else would they do it,” Fallon asked, “dig the holes to order? Hell, they’d never catch up. That’s why I’m surprised to see only one place available. I expected to see the entire cemetery upside down. I’m surprised we’re the only two groups dickering for this place.”

“If it’s a chick they’re buryin’,” Murk called over, “Mokes is gonna wanna be buried on the top. Not on the bottom. Keep that in mind.”

“What do you mean ‘dickering for this place’?’” another suited man shouted. “This isn’t some goddamned swap meet! We purchased this plot!”

“If it’s a chick they’re buryin’,” Lopside said to Murk, “Mokes is gonna wanna be buried in the same coffin.”

“Isn’t there some way to shut these terrible people up?” one of the women asked desperately.

“No, ma’am,” Fallon said to her with the tired expression of one with firsthand knowledge. “Unfortunately, I’m the unlucky leader of the biggest collection of yapping goons in history. I’m surprised we haven’t heard something from Mokes yet.”

“Mokes is still dead, Fal,” Elaine called over.

“Thank you, Elaine,” Fallon said, not turning to her.

“Well how about it,” he said then to the group. “We ready to get this project underway, or ain’t we?”

One man went red. “You madman! We’re not going to let you bury some foul carcass in with our Henry!”

“Well, I guess they ain’t buryin’ a chick!” Fallon called back to our group.

“In that case,” Sudzo said, “we’re gonna haffta bury ’em back- to-back. Just in case Henry is a faggot.”

Another woman fainted.

“Somebody get the police!” several of the men shouted.

“I found at least one cop!” Batterbrain shouted from somewhere.

“Bring him here!” one of the suited guys shouted, still glaring at us.

“OK!” Batterbrain called back. “Bring me a shovel!” The third woman fainted.

“All we gut is a trowel!” Mort called out, his face inside a duffel bag.

“I ain’t gonna dig no six feet down with no goddamn fuckin’ trowel,” Batterbrain shouted.

“Forget it,” Fallon yelled, annoyed, then said to the clergy guy,

“Listen, we’d like to get moving along on this thing. Now, if you would just cooperate...”

“Let me explain something to you people,” the reverend said.

“What the fuck’s the holdup on this thing anyway!!” Marsha yelled over.

“Relax, relax!” Fallon said. “They’re goin’ through the ‘let me explain something to you’ phase.”

“Well, tell ’em to hurry,” Marsha said.

“Hurry,” Fallon said.

“This grave belongs to this party here,” the reverend said. “It has been purchased by them, and can only be used by the deceased who is already lying in it.”

“I demand somebody get the police!” that same man said again.

“Shit,” Batterbrain said in slow exasperation. “Alright, gimmee the goddamn trowel.”

Francine brought it over to him.

Fallon had his fingertips to his chin and was deep in thought. Then he said, “Well ... how much do these plots cost?”

“Oh, I think about a thousand dollars,” the reverend said.

“Fuck! I could buy a fuckin’ zoned acre for that!” Fallon said in disbelief. Then he said, “Ok, fuck it, what the hell – the law sez you gutta use a cemmiterry, you gutta use a cemmiterry.” He turned.

“Get the bail kitty, Raoul, and give these people five hundred bucks.”

Raoul lifted his jacket and started opening snaps on his money belt. “This is s’posed ta be for gettin’ people outa the hole, not puttin’ ’em in one.”

“Get the bail kitty, Raoul, and give these people five hundred...”

“I got it, I got it, don’t get fuckin’ uppity.” Raoul went over and gave the clergy guy five hundred dollars.

“Well,” Fallon said to the reverend, “that should about cover it. Can we get on now with makin’ Mokes ekilogically perfect?”

The reverend lifted the money out of one hand with the other and numbly looked at the red welt in his palm that Raoul made when he slammed the money into it. “Ummm ... What?...” he said finally.

“Fuck this shit!!” Fallon suddenly hollered. “They’ve got the fuckin’ dough! Let’s get this thing over with! Maybe MOKES can stay here all fuckin’ day, but we gut other things ta do!”

“Now you’re makin’ some sense,” Murk said gruffly, breaking from the bunch, walking over to the grave and jumping down onto the lid of Henry’s coffin. He eased himself down the side of the coffin and worked his way to the base of the hole and then looked up at us and clapped his hands quickly and impatiently a couple of times. “Wanna just slide Mokes’ box right on in ’ere?” he directed, his arms out and waiting.

The three men who were on their knees patting the fainted women’s faces, they suddenly abandoned the women and ran over to where their buddies were watching what was going on.

“That biker creep is standing inside Henry’s grave!” one of them said to a gaping buddy. “What is he doing in Henry’s grave!”

“Tryin’ ta figure out how the motherfuck I’m gonna get outa here once Mokes’ coffin is put in here with me,” Murk said distantly, his hands suddenly on his hips, his head turning all around, hunting for future climbing routes.

Fallon walked over and stood at the edge. “I think we oughta put Mokes down first,” he said, scratching his head in continuing puzzlement. “This might be a rainy winter and I don’t want water seepin’ in on him, makin’ ’im moldy and havin’ ’im go sour.”

Murk said “Ok,” and hoisted up one end of Henry’s coffin and looked at a couple o’ Henry’s paralyzed friends. “One o’ you lazyass roadworkers wanna reach down here and give me a hand with this fuckin’ thing? I don’t know what’s in this box but this Henry dude musta been one fatass overweight motherfucker. It’s no wonder he’s dead.”

“Somebody get the police!” they both shouted.

“Hold yer goddamn horses!” Batterbrain said from somewhere. Some of us guys reached down into Henry’s grave and a minute later Henry’s casket was outside the grave, Mokes’ casket being inserted instead.

“Don’t forget to put him face down,” Fallon said, watching. “If ya put ’im face up, that puts Mokes’ cock in proximity with Henry’s ass, and he’s gonna be like that for maybe a thousand years. An’ horniness is a deceitful motherfucker. He might just yield ta perversion. I see no reason to encourage this.”

“Well Mokes ain’t no faggot!” Sudzo said. “If he’s face up under Henry I can guarantee ya he ain’t gonna be trying ta fuck the guy. An’ puttin’ Mokes face down is fucked up, believe me.”

“Ok, then, keep Mokes face up,” Fallon said, after a second. The three fainted women had by now brought themselves around, their attendants having a moment ago allowed them to reflop to the grass in order to scamper over to see what Murk was doing in Henry’s plot, and the first thing the three women did was to start screaming for the men to “do something about this.” The men were running all around, giving warnings to us about this and that, saying a lot of sentences with the word “outrage” in them, tugging and pulling at our clothes, and getting brushed away. They finally all settled on the tactic of all of them shouting all at once, “SOMEBODY GET THE POLICE!”

“Hold on, dammit, I’m workin’ on it !” Batterbrain said from somewhere. It began to dawn on everyone that Batterbrain only spoke when there was a call for the police.

And so it was that all our work – and all the efforts to stop our work – became stilled. For the first time since the instant before we showed up the cemetery was again in complete silence. Everyone turned toward the general direction of where Batterbrain’s voice had been coming from. All who looked saw a casket inch upward, end first, out of the ground. In a moment it was completely out of the hole, and in fact slid about ten feet down the sloping grass and then stopped.

Batterbrain then climbed out of the hole and went over and opened the coffin with a crowbar. He lifted something to a seated position by the “armpits” and held it up for view.

“His name’s Detective Fisher. He’s only been dead four years so he pro’bly ain’t forgot too much about his job. You’re gonna haffta come to him, though.”

“Typical cop,” Barbara said, polishing her nails. All three women, and two guys this time, fainted.

Fallon did not appreciate Batterbrain’s efforts. “Now, what the fuck did you do that for!” he said. “We can pro’bly all get in real trouble for that!”

“You’re all insane!” one of the still-unfainted guys roared, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands pulling at his own hair.

“Look at ’im,” Lopside said, shakin’ his head in disapproval. “We’re all actin’ real collected an’ calm: he’s havin’ a complete nervous breakdown, and he says we’re nuts.”

Mokes’ coffin was now in place at the bottom of Henry’s grave. Henry’s casket was being readied for re-lowering to its new position atop Mokes’.

“I sure don’t like the idea of someone bein’ on top of Mokes like that,” Sudzo said, shaking his head, standing at the edge of the gravesite and looking down. Sudzo turned and walked over to the Church Guy, who so far for the duration of this intermingling of Biker and Citizen had remained conscious, and Sudzo inquired, “Tell me, Roland, or Reverend, or whatever the fuck it is God calls you: about this ‘raisin’ o’ the dead’ on the Last Day, are they gonna take the time to see if there’s extra people under the main guys? By ‘main guys’ I mean the guys whose names is actually on the tombstones? I mean, Mokes’ name ain’t gonna be in evidence anywhere in this graveyard to the passin’ angels what come by to haul these people up. So they may just come by, yank Henry up, and then move on.” He didn’t bother to wait for an interpretation from the aghast clergyman. He walked quickly back over to Fallon. “I think we oughta put Mokes on top,” he said in an urgent tone. “He’s on the bottom, it’s likely he’s gonna get left here on the Last Day. Meanwhile the rest of us’ll be hangin’ out in Heaven with hot nuns who died as teenagers from sheer holiness, abstinence and chastity, and who’ll finally have the A-OK from God Almighty to start fuckin’ like hyperactive apes. Meanwhile ol’ Mokes’ll still be down here on Earth by himself jackin’ off all alone as usual.”

“All right, Murk, pull Mokes outa there and put Henry in first,” Fallon said boredly.

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