Getting to the Dominican Republic was an adventure all in itself.  On our way to the airport, I realized my passport was 10 days expired!

Shit! Now what? Did I even NEED a passport to get into the D.R.?  Or just on the way out?

One quick Google search confirmed it was a definite need both on the way in and on the way out.  We had just a few hours before having to meet the UPS flight to claim the corpse.  Without a passport, that would be nearly impossible!  Without a doubt, I needed to be there when the cargo flight landed. Now it was just a matter of how I was gonna get there.

I had already promised the dead guy's family that I was coming.  Because I "cared" - unlike all those other shyster lawyers vying to land this case. (wink-wink) If I didn't keep my word, what would they be left thinking - especially with all the other empty promises yet to come?

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!  What was I gonna do?

I looked over at the undertaker.  She looked back at me.  Both of us panic stricken.  (Leaders don't panic. They get concerned.)  The thought kept circling in my head.  Who the F#@K came up with that anyway?!?! Carnegie, Warren Bennis, Donald Trump? I'm REALLY effing concerned here!

"Okay. We got this," I said.  "We can catch a flight to Puerto Rico.  How long will it take to get us to the D.R. from there?"

"By plane?" asked the undertaker.

"By boat," I said. "How far is it between the two?  Do you think we can smuggle me in that way?"

"I don't know. Let me check."  She called her funeral director to ask him to do a bit of quick research for us.

"It will take a couple of days. But it's very dangerous. Trip Advisor doesn't advise," he replied a few minutes later.

"How dangerous?" I asked.

"A lot dangerous," he said.

"Ugh! Okay. Thanks." I disconnected and kept driving.  Shit! Now what?

"Don't worry. I got a plan." The undertaker got on the phone to our friend at the D.C. passport office.

"We've got an emergency," she said. "We need a passport renewal for A.C. - ASAP!  Like right now!"

"Okay.  No problem. Give me the number," said D.C.

"Got it," Undertaker said into the phone.  "Head South, A.C. We're going to Miami, trick."

"Woohoo!" We both screamed out, fists pumping through the now open sunroof of the Hummer.

Seven hours later, we boarded our flight to the D.R.  Fresh passport in hand. No illegal entry necessitated.  There was a faint skid mark across my smiling face from where the photo got run over as I dropped it in the street in front of the passport office.  But, eh... no one noticed much.

The SDQ airport was a roaring madhouse!  There was a loud cacophony of merengue music, laughter and chickens clucking.  We quickly made our way out to our waiting taxi that took us to the cargo shipping area.  An old, beat up hearse was stationed outside the morgue, awaiting us all - the body, the family, the undertaker, and the lawyer.  We had made it! Wooohooo!

The trip from the airport to the family village/ghetto of Christo Rey took approximately 2 hours and 45 minutes of driving through winding rural roads, hilly terrain, one pit stop at a convenience store so that the men in the hearse could stop and eat some fried chicken, another stop a few minutes later for some refreshments at a roadside stand where slain goats hung by their hind legs, and finally an unexpected stop when the hearse broke down in the middle of a small village.

The guys in the hears came over to our taxi, said something to the driver, and then they all left together.  They left us behind to fend for ourselves as another small gang of Haitians - kids, this time - swarmed both vehicles from all sides. By "small", I mean probably a million!

"Cierren los cristales y atranquen las puertas!" The taxi driver yelled out behind him.

"Wha...?" I tried to ask, unable to articulate.

And, just like that, they were gone - leaving behind that gem of advice to close all the windows and lock the doors.

Shit! Double Shit!! Shit! Well, on the bright side, we didn't have to pay the cab fare for that long ride to our certain death.

The decedent's brother was trailing behind in his rusty jalopy.  It was only a few short minutes before he pulled up behind us shooing the little kids away from the taxi, then from the hearse.  He said something to them that I couldn't understand, and the kids backed away with hands clasped in front of them, bowing slightly as they retreated.  They had big toothed grins spread across their little faces...awwww... they're so cute! Uh, yeah... not really... get us the eff out of here!!! What just happened?!?

It turns out that the hearse driver and his team of imbeciles thought that they had been cursed by the spirit of the dead guy for having left his body sitting in the sweltering heat while they enjoyed their lunch.  So, they couldn't think of anything more reasonable to do than to run away when the hearse gave out.  They may have grumbled something about the devil-woman with the yellow hair riding in the taxi - but, I'm not too sure about that.