"Oh, my God!" Jack hollered from the street. Ben leaned out the window of the garbage truck and looked back at his partner. "What?"
"It's, it's..." Jack's gorge rose and he fought off retching. You've gotta come see this.
Ben swung down out of the cab and walked toward Jack until he could see the arm dangling limply out of the waste bin. "Huh," he said. "I guess they didn't need him anymore."
"Who— who does that?" Jack demanded.
"The folks at one-twelve West Elm, I guess." Ben shrugged. "They should've used the yard waste bin, though. Compostable, right?"
"How can you be so, so calm about this? Someone put a body in the trash! We have to call the cops or, or something."
"No cops," Ben said. "They'll complicate everything, and the family will wonder why we didn't take care of it like we're supposed to, and—"
"Oh, hey." Jack had crept close and poked the arm. "It's fake, like one of those things they put out around Halloween. Thank God, right?"
"Yeah, man. Can we get on with it?" Ben headed back to the driver's seat.
"Uh, hey," Jack said. "What did you mean, 'like we're supposed to?'"