Undiscovered Selves (1974)
Black alien eyes bobbing without purpose. It was hard to tell what they were looking at. Dale moved the head closer to his face and in that second both front claws spread wide as if attempting to fly.
“Watch out for your nose!” Jack yelled.
“It’s a blue.”
“No fuckin’ way. I ain’t never seen one.”
Jack dropped his thick rubber gloves and expertly grasped the blue lobster. “We throw this one back. It’s bad luck to eat ‘em.”
“We let this one live,” Dale heard dead Randy say. “We let this one live.”
“Jack, let me toss him.”
Jack clapped him on the back and made a crooked smile. “You do the honors, buddy.”
“Randy, this one’s for you,” he mumbled softly.
“Touching!" Jack laughed. "Now get to work."
****
Randy died five years ago on Route 22, hitting a guard rail going 100 mph, passed out at the wheel. At least he went out in style, in a sea of empty Budweiser cans. Probably never felt a thing. If there was beer in heaven, Randy would be there. Dale wondered what Randy would think if he could look down and see him with this dead girl. It wasn’t really his fault he killed her—someone else told him to do it. He felt like going home now, maybe open a can of Dinty Moore and watch TV. He looked down the way Randy might at his handiwork. What an unplanned mess. Maybe a bear would come along and clean it up, devour the whole thing. Then the police would think she was killed by a bear. That would be a lucky break. Forget the Dinty Moore, now he felt like tapping a beer for Randy's sake.