1) The body of Herschel Boone lay on the morgue table in the prep room, covered with a plastic sheet. No one else was present. The Funeral Director was in his office, beginning the paperwork for the burial procedure. The Cowboy was upstairs cleaning up from digging the Jones girl’s grave. It was quiet in the prep room, so quiet that the two angels in the black tuxedoes made little noise as they entered through the doorway leading from the garage. They stood silently before the sheeted Boone, their wings rustling with just the slightest hint of agitation. Then the tall one produced the Polaroid camera while the shorter one pulled the plastic sheet off of Boone’s body.

“Interesting,” the shorter one said softly.

The taller one aimed the camera at Boone’s crotch, centering on the large uncircumcised penis that lay pointing to the left, then depressed a small red button. A flash filled the room, followed by a tense whining sound, and a white square of paper slid from the camera. The tall angel pulled it free while the shorter one once again covered Boone’s body with the plastic sheet.

“Let’s have a look,” the shorter angel said, taking the photo from the taller. It scrutinized it for a moment, allowing it to develop fully, then smiled and tucked the photo in a side pocket of its tuxedo jacket.

2) The two dark angels stepped through the full-length mirror into the Jones girl’s bedroom, moving carefully so as not to damage their wings. Once through they stood for a moment, silently gazing down at her lifeless body. Then, without a word spoken between them, the taller of the two produced the ubiquitous Polaroid camera while the other one loosened the Jones girl’s jeans and pulled them, along with her panties, down around her knees. When it was finished it stepped back, gesturing to the one with the camera.

A sudden flash filled the room, followed by the tense whine as the picture was ejected. The shorter one plucked it from the camera’s slot and inspected it, then handed it to the taller one and pulled up and refastened the Jones girl’s pants.

They both exited back through the mirror, disappearing just as the Jones girl’s mother entered the room.

3) The two dark angels stood over the decapitated body of Buck Malone. Steady rain fell all about them, causing them to rustle their huge white wings every few moments in order to shake the water off.

“The head has been removed,” said the shorter one. The tall one nodded silently. The short one then kneeled beside the body and began loosening Buck’s pants while the tall one produced the Polaroid camera and made some minute adjustments. When Buck’s pants were around his knees, the shorter one rose and nodded its head to the tall one, who aimed the camera at Buck’s exposed genitals. A quick flash filled the alley, followed by the whining sound, and the white square of paper emerged from the camera. The tall angel plucked it free and handed it to the shorter one, who looked at it as it continued to develop.

“Unremarkable,” it said, tucking the photograph into an inner pocket of its tuxedo jacket.

4) The two dark angels once again entered the prep room by way of the garage. Betty’s nude body lay on the morgue table.
Minus her head.

Her clothing was piled on the floor below her feet, with the panties, displaying a slight trace of menstrual blood, lying on top. A can of Vienna sausages was clutched tightly in each of her hands.

A white towel, now soaked red with blood, had been wrapped around the stump of her neck to slow the bleeding, though most of the blood had already drained from the body into the grooves of the morgue table and thus into the septic system.

A small handsaw, its blade covered with blood and bits of flesh, lay on the zinc counter top. Betty’s head sat in the sink itself, her facial features locked into a wicked and fearful grimace as she stared up at the two dark angels.

“He’s a violent one, is he not?” remarked the shorter of the two. The taller one nodded, then turned back to the body and produced the Polaroid camera, focusing on the abundant sandy brown pubic hair covering Betty’s genitals.

The camera flashed, a tense whining sound filled the room, and a small white square of paper slid from the camera’s frontal slit.

The two waited a moment as the picture developed, then scanned it together.

“Sweet,” said the shorter of the two, tucking the photograph into one of the side pockets of its tuxedo jacket. The taller one nodded in agreement.

A moment later they were gone.

5) The two tuxedo-clad angels stood hidden in the shadowy doorway of the hardware store, watching the street. A red Cadillac had just passed, and another car was approaching from the opposite direction.

“Things are moving rather quickly now,” the shorter one said. “We need to act soon if we’re to realize our aim.”

The tall one nodded silently.

6) Standing beside the Cowboy were the dark tuxedoed angels, the tall one holding the Polaroid camera. Their massive wings rustled against each other, creating a dry rasping sound. An insectile sound.

As the Cowboy watched, the shorter angel knelt down beside the body of Wilbur “Daddy” Root, mayor of Buell. It loosened the mayor’s pants and pulled them down, exposing the mayor’s small flaccid penis. The tall angel aimed the camera.

A click. A flash. A tense whining sound.

A white square of paper slid out from the camera. The tall mute angel examined it, then showed it to the other.

"Excellent," said the shorter angel.

They both then turned towards the watching Cowboy.

“I’m not dead yet,” said the Cowboy.

The shorter angel appeared to smile.

7) The two tuxedo-clad angels stood in the doorway of a large mausoleum several hundred feet from the recently filled grave. The taller one held the Polaroid camera anxiously. Their wings rustled slightly.

“We’re too late unfortunately,” said the shorter one. “The Cowboy has been interred and there’s nothing we can do.”

The tall one nodded solemnly.

“This means our great work will remain unfinished . . .the complete picture will never be seen.”

The tall one nodded once again, then set the camera down on the small stoop and crushed it beneath one of its large booted feet.

“Yes, that about does it,” the shorter one said, eyeing the shattered camera parts.

They stood there for a moment longer, then turned and disappeared inside the mausoleum.