They pulled off the Gulf Freeway when they were well out of the subdivisions around Clear Lake, and Houston was still just a glow on the night horizon. Neuman drove down the access road until he came to a dirt track that seemed to lead to nothing but darkness through miles of the flat coastal plain. He turned off and drove a hundred yards or so until the uneven ruts dropped slightly, and the tall clumps of plume and muhly grass hid them from the highway.
“Okay,” Neuman said, cutting the motor. “If you’ll hold the flashlight, I’ll do the shit work.”
“No argument from me, but why don’t we just shine the headlights on it?”
“Because this is going to take a few minutes, and I don’t want anybody seeing us and deciding to drive out here to see what it is we’re doing.”
They got out of the car and Neuman opened the trunk and took out two large plastic bags of garbage and set them beside the road. He took a pair of surgical gloves from a box of them that he kept in the trunk, pulled them on, and walked over to the plastic bags.
“If this doesn’t pay off, I’m going to be pissed,” he said. He bent down and tore open the first bag and began dumping everything out in one of the sandy ruts of the road, walking backward as he shook out the contents of the sack. The hot humid days had steamed everything in the sacks, and the odor was horrendous. Paula held her nose and quickly found the downwind side of the refuse. Taking a step or two into the tall grass, Neuman came back with a stick, straddled the string of garbage, bent down, and set to work.
There was a soft breeze coming across the grasses from the coast, but it was warm and gummy and there was not enough of it to carry away the stench of what Neuman was stirring around with his stick. But more important it wasn’t enough to blow away the host of mosquitoes that quickly found them. The spring rains had provided these insects with enough pools and puddles and mud holes to multiply themselves into numbers that approached plague proportions and within minutes they were swarming as thick as a fog. Paula swatted at them furiously and swore and fidgeted while Neuman inched his way along the rope of garbage. After ten minutes of this Neuman stopped and looked up.
“Paula, if you don’t hold the damn light still I can’t do this,” he said, his voice rising slightly.
“We’ve just got to figure out something else. This is not going to work.” She was writhing. “They are eating me!”
“You wearing a slip?” he asked.
“Yeah…”
“Squat down, pull the slip down over your legs, pull the dress up over your head, stick the flashlight out of a hole, and KEEP IT