I’d like to tell you that Harvey Prince had a heart of gold.
But I don’t like being a liar.
Harvey was one of the nastiest, foulest people I’ve had the displeasure to know. On more than one occasion I beat the man, chipped a few of his teeth and broke his nose for him. Nothing helped his disposition.
Harvey took on his father’s business, that of preparing headstones for Cross and those foolish enough from out of town to try and purchase from him. He enjoyed mistreating people, and so I mistreated him. There was no comfort from the man, no effort to help those who needed it.
I don’t deny the right of anyone to make a profit. I deny them the right to be miserable when they go about it.
For years I hoped to find something against him, some tepid offense which could justify my dislike of the man and my belief that he needed a single shot to the base of the skull.
Nothing. Not a damned thing until yesterday morning.
It would seem that Mr. Prince fully enjoyed carnal relations with the dead. Not the undead, mind you, merely the dead. Embalmed and planted in the ground.
I found him at his lovemaking in the morning when he was supposed to be delivering a headstone. I was there to pay some last respects to a friend, and I saw him engaged in his amorous activity in the grave with a deceased individual.
He begged me to see his point of view. Told me that no harm was being done.
I asked him to see my point of view. When he asked me what it was, I smiled, drew my pistol and said, “Why Harvey, the grave’s already dug.”
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