The Book of Death

by AnonYMous

  JD sighed. ‘I’m not looking for any trouble.’

  Ringo grinned menacingly and growled, ‘Well I am trouble, and it looks like you found me.’

  The bartender stepped back even further away from the bartop, corking up the bottle as he did so. JD shook his head and then turned to face Ringo, looking him dead in the eye.

  ‘You don’t fuckin’ learn, do ya?’

  Ringo placed a hand on JD’s shoulder and squeezed hard. With his other hand he pulled out a pistol from a concealed holster at his side. He pointed it at JD’s face. ‘We been hearing rumours that the Bourbon Kid is headed this way. You’re drinking bourbon, ain’t you? Are you the Bourbon Kid?’

  JD took a deep breath. ‘Y’know why he’s called the Bourbon Kid, don’t you?’

  A high pitched male voice from the crowd of onlookers shouted out. ‘I know. They say that when the Kid drinks bourbon, he turns into a fuckin’ giant, a psycho, and he goes nuts and kills everyone in sight. They say he’s invincible and can only be killed by the Devil himself.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said JD. ‘The Bourbon Kid kills everyone. All it takes is just one sip and then he goes nuts and kills everyone in the bar. And I should know, I seen it happen. Quite a few times.’

  Ringo cocked his pistol and snarled at JD. ‘Let’s put it to the test. Drink your bourbon.’

  JD looked at the glass of bourbon and thought about picking it up. It looked like pretty good stuff. He glanced back over at Berkley. ‘Bartender, is this real bourbon?’ he asked.

  Berkley looked confused. ‘Sure it is. Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘No reason. Just checking.’

  JD picked up the glass and raised it to his lips. The whole bar watched, barely able to stand the tension of waiting for him to drink the contents. As if to torment them he didn’t actually throw the contents down his throat straight away. He paused for a moment, deep in thought. Did he really want to go down this road again? He thought about making an apology for what he was about to do. The thought passed all too quickly and he smiled to himself. Then, like a man who hadn’t had a drink for a week, he downed the entire contents of the glass in one mouthful, before slamming the glass back down on the bar.

  And it was definitely real bourbon.

  Thirty-One

  Outrunning a mob of angry girl scouts wasn’t as easy as it sounded. With the rather hefty Book of Death tucked under one arm, Sanchez was carrying even more weight than usual. And having just been in a fight with a vampire dressed as Santa Claus he was already feeling pretty tired. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going. Panting heavily as he rushed along the icy sidewalk, he took a look back over his shoulder to see if the Sunflower Girls were as close as their screams suggested. It came as no surprise to him to see that they were closing in on him. One of them (a dark haired girl who looked like she’d be a future gold medallist in the shot put) was out front and she was gaining fast. In fact she was close enough that Sanchez was able to get a look at the early stages of a moustache she appeared to be cultivating above her top lip.

  He needed to think of a plan quickly. How the hell was he going to ditch this angry mob? He sure as hell wasn’t going to outrun them. What he needed was an escape route. He hoped to spot a cab, preferably a passing one that he could flag down and jump into before the girls caught up with him. The streets of Santa Mondega were usually rife with taxicabs, so taking his gaze off the moustached girl at the front of the pack he began scouring the roads for one as he ran. There was no traffic about at all. Not one single car. The snow had kept virtually everyone indoors.

  As he raced perilously along the icy street he made a snap decision. There was a left turn up ahead that led into a busier part of town. Unable to slow himself down as he approached the corner, he attempted to turn but instead slipped on a patch of black ice. His feet took off, leaving the ground completely. As his head fell backwards and his feet carried on upwards he instinctively dropped his arms to try and soften the fall by landing on his hands. The Book of Death came loose from his grip and bounced onto the icy ground at the same time as his ass landed on a particularly cold slab of ice. And this ice was slippery. Before he knew what was happening he was sliding along the sidewalk in some kind of high-speed race with The Book of Death. His fat ass trailed just a few feet behind it. The only good thing about his predicament was that he was now moving slightly faster than when he had been running. His major problem was that he had no control over what direction he slid in. He skidded ass first off the end of the kerb and out into the middle of the road. And he finally heard the sound of a car approaching.

  The ice on the road wasn’t as bad as it had been on the sidewalk, so his momentum slowed significantly. He eventually came to a stop slap bang in the middle of the road and watched in horror as The Book of Death bounced up into the air and into the path of the oncoming vehicle. There was an almighty bang as the fender of the car smashed into the book, sending it flying back up in the air and down the road. Sanchez looked on in dismay as the pages of the book blew open and it landed face down in a puddle of snow and ice in the road. The driver of the car slammed on the brakes and it came to a screeching stop in the middle of the street.

  Sanchez hauled himself up into a seated position in the road. Tempting though it was to lie there and collect his thoughts as he processed just how badly bruised his ass would be, he knew that the first of the angry girls would soon be upon him (if of course she was allowed to cross the road without an adult). As he attempted to climb to his feet, only too aware that the back of his pants was soaking wet, he heard a car door open. A voice called out to him.

  ‘Sanchez, quick, get in!’ It was Flake. The car that had hit the book was her Volkswagen Beetle. It was now in front of him with the passenger side door open and Flake beckoning him to climb in. He didn’t need a second invitation. He rushed over and jumped in, pulling the door shut behind him just as the biggest Sunflower Girl slammed into it. He pushed the lock down on the door and poked his tongue out at the ugly schoolgirl as Flake put her foot down on the accelerator and pulled away.

  ‘Hold on,’ yelled Sanchez. ‘Pull over by that book.’

  Flake drove the car down the road, swerving on the ice as she went, to where the book was lying face down in the pool of snow. Sanchez unlocked the door again and opened it, leaning out so he could grab the book. Flake slowed the car down and they came to a stop right by the book. Despite appearing to have no driving skills whatsoever (in Sanchez’s opinion) Flake had in fact hit her mark spectacularly. He reached down and grabbed a hold of the book and hauled it up from the street by its front cover. He plonked it on his lap and slammed the car door closed again, then he turned to Flake.

  ‘Okay, floor it!’ he ordered.

  Flake didn’t wait to be told twice. She accelerated off down the middle of the road towards the city centre leaving the chasing girl scouts way behind.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, not taking her eyes off the road. ‘What happened back there? Why are those girls chasing you?’

  Sanchez inspected the book in his hands. The cover was damaged, torn and scratched in several places, but worst of all, upon opening it he discovered that most of the pages were sopping wet.

  ‘Dammit, Flake,’ he groaned. ‘The book is ruined. Your bad driving might have cost me the reward money. And Jessica will be annoyed.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It looked like you were in trouble, so I didn’t have time to show any caution.’

  ‘It was nothing I couldn’t handle.’

  He blew hard on a few of the pages in a vain attempt to dry them out. Flake did not respond, and after a few seconds of flicking through pages of the book and tutting, he suddenly became aware of the fact that he may have been a little short with her. This was confirmed when he heard her sniffing. He glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye. She was close to tears. She was trying to hide it, or hold it in, but she was definitely having a bit of a sob. Sanchez sighed.


  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘Rick is dead. Someone killed him to get their hands on that book.’

  Sanchez was taken aback. He’d given Rick a bottle of liquor the day before. What a waste! And who the hell was willing to kill to get their hands on the book? ‘Oh shit,’ he blurted. ‘Do you know who killed him?’

  Flake shook her head. ‘No, but his neighbour Crazy Annie said she heard something last night.’

  ‘Annie McFanny?’

  ‘Yeah. I saw her this morning. She was absolutely hysterical.’

  ‘Why what did she say?’

  ‘She said she heard Rick being tortured all night.’

  ‘How’s that funny?’

  ‘It’s not. She said that the killer was after a book.’

  ‘The Book of Death?’

  ‘I don’t know, but that’s the only book Rick had so I thought they might head to the library, then you’d be in trouble.’

  ‘Did Annie see the killer?’

  ‘I couldn’t really tell. She said she thought it was Santa Claus and his helpers.’

  ‘Whoa!’ said Sanchez. ‘Santa Claus, you say?’

  ‘Yeah. Well, she is crazy. Let’s face it, half of what she says is nonsense. It’s just hard to tell which half sometimes, you know?’

  ‘I think she may have been right.’

  ‘About what? Santa?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Uh huh. Some big fucking vampire dressed in a Santa outfit just tried to get the book from me. He had a hip flask of green liquid with him too. The kind that causes paralysis.’

  Flake gasped. ‘Oh my God, Rick had green lips when I found him. Where’s this Santa guy now?’

  ‘I gave him a taste of his own medicine.’

  ‘The green stuff?’

  ‘Yep. Then I set fire to his beard. He went up in flames. Pretty sure he’s dead now.’

  Flake slowed the car down as they approached a red light at a pedestrian crossing. The car slid on the ice and cruised right through the crossing, narrowly missing a teenage boy who was crossing the road. It eventually came to a stop on the other side of the crossing and Flake then accelerated away again. ‘Rick would be pleased,’ she said wiping a tear from her cheek.

  ‘Yeah. Those little girls weren’t too grateful though.’

  ‘Oh, that’s why they were chasing you?’

  ‘Yeah. Bitches.’

  Flake took a right turn. ‘We make a pretty good pair of cops, don’t we?’ she said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Well, you’ve just located the missing book.’

  Sanchez nodded in agreement. ‘That’s true.’

  ‘And you’ve just killed the Santa who we think was the child killer.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He had to congratulate himself. He had done rather well. ‘What have you done though?’ he asked.

  ‘I just saved you from getting your ass kicked by a Sunflower Girl.’

  ‘Take a left up ahead.’

  ‘Why? Shouldn’t we head to the station? We should report all this to Captain Harker. He’ll be really pleased to hear about this. Plus we’re late for work.’

  ‘I want to stop off at the Tapioca to try and repair this book that you ruined.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ Flake turned the steering wheel and the car skidded around the left turn that Sanchez had pointed out. ‘You need any help fixing the book?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Sanchez staring down at the book again. ‘You’ve done enough damage to it already.’

  ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘Just drop me off. I’ll make my own way to the station later when I’ve repaired the book.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone I’ve got it though, okay?’

  Flake frowned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’ll have Santa’s angry fucking reindeer on my tail, most likely.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘People are obviously willing to kill to get their hands on this book.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Flake. ‘After all, that book is very dangerous. Don’t go writing any names in it!’

  ‘I don’t think I’d be able to even if I wanted to. The pages are soaking wet. This is going on the radiator when I get home. I can’t return it to Jessica like this.’

  Flake took an unusually long breath. ‘How well do you know Jessica?’ she asked.

  ‘Pretty well,’ said Sanchez. ‘I nursed her back to health after the Bourbon Kid tried to kill her. Twice!’

  ‘Yes, but what do you know about her?’

  ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘Well, have you considered the possibility that she might be one of the people who’re willing to kill to get their hands on that book? I didn’t really take to her when she showed up at the station. There’s something about her I don’t like.’

  Sanchez couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘How can you not like Jessica?’

  ‘She just seemed like a bit of a bitch, that’s all.’

  ‘Hey, watch who you’re calling a bitch! You hardly know her.’

  ‘Sorry, Sanchez. I just don’t trust her. You should be careful. I mean, she lives in a place called the Casa De Ville. It sounds like an evil place, doesn’t it?’

  Sanchez shook his head. ‘So you don’t like her because she lives in a place with an evil name? That’s ridiculous.’ He turned away and stared out of the window for the rest of the journey, to ensure that Flake could see how annoyed he was.

  When they reached the Tapioca, Sanchez climbed out of the car and begrudgingly thanked Flake for the ride. His top priority now was fixing up The Book of Death and delivering it to Jessica at the evil sounding Casa De Ville.

  “Evil sounding,” he laughed to himself. Flake was so stupid. The Casa De Ville would no doubt be a very welcoming place when he turned up there with the book.

  Thirty-Two

  The floor of the barroom in Purgatory was strewn with the smoking corpses of more than a hundred people. After one sip of bourbon, JD had vanished, replaced by his alter ego, the Bourbon Kid. Slaying everyone in the barroom had been exhilarating and easy. He was back, and ready to return to Santa Mondega to finish off the undead for good. No more loose ends. This time no one would be left alive.

  Berkley the bartender was the only person left standing. He poured the Kid another glass of bourbon, filling the glass to the top without waiting to be told. The Kid sat back down on his barstool and dusted himself off, reflecting on how good it felt to be back to his old self. As the corpses on the floor began to smoulder and vanish into puffs of smoke, he heard the saloon doors behind him being pushed open. The doors rattled as they flapped to a close. What followed was the sound of a pair of boots crunching on the barroom floor, making their way up to the bar.

  A deep male voice boomed out. ‘Bartender, get me a bottle of Shitting Monkey.’

  The Kid recognised the voice. This wasn’t a man who was likely to be pleased to see him. They had only met once before and it hadn’t gone well.

  Berkley flipped the lid off a bottle of Shitting Monkey and placed it down on the bartop. The man who had entered the bar sat himself down on a stool to the left of the Bourbon Kid. He picked up the bottle of Shitting Monkey and took a large swig from it. Then he let out a satisfied “Aaaah” to indicate that the taste pleased him immensely. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he spoke to the Kid.

  ‘Finally, we meet again.’

  The Kid looked over at his new drinking partner. The most notable feature was his right hand. It was made from solid steel. Only one man in the world had a hand like that.

  Rodeo Rex.

  Rex was a bounty hunter who claimed he worked for God. He was a big fucker too. He had shoulder length brown hair, mostly concealed underneath a large white Stetson. His biceps bulged out of a sleeveless blue denim jacket, showing off an array of tattoos featuring words like DEATH and CHOSEN. He also wore a pair of very tigh
t blue jeans. They wouldn’t be tight on many men, but when you had legs the size of tree trunks, like Rex did, anything was going to be tight fitting.

  ‘You’re looking a lot better,’ said the Kid, referring to the last time he had seen the bounty hunter. On the previous occasion Rex had been little more than a bloodied corpse rotating round and round on a large ceiling fan in the Nightjar.

  ‘Did me a deal with the man in red,’ said Rex. He took another pull at his beer. ‘I loved my work hunting down the undead so much that when he offered me the chance to carry on under his employment, I couldn’t say no.’

  ‘He keepin’ you busy?’

  ‘There’s a never endin’ supply of hell dodgers to be taken down. Fuckers keep on multiplying. And right now there’s a revolution goin’ on in your home town.’

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘So the man sent me to show you the way.’ Rex took another sip of his beer, then he held the bottle up towards the Kid, gesturing for him to chink glasses. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To killing vampires!’

  The Kid picked up his own glass and duly chinked it against Rex’s. ‘To killing everything,’ he replied. Then he poured the contents down his throat and slammed the empty glass back down on the bar again, ready for Berkley to top it up once more.

  As Berkley was refilling the glass, Rex turned on his stool and looked back to the entrance. He put his non-metallic hand to his mouth, stuck his index finger and thumb in and whistled loudly. A moment later a tall dark figure appeared at the entrance, a man with a large quiff of black hair atop his head. He pushed the saloon doors open and walked slowly through them. The Kid recognised him too. They’d met before, albeit only briefly a few times. It was Santa Mondega’s most well known muscle for hire.

  The King. The man they called Elvis.

  He wore a white suit with gold trims and a pair of large gold-rimmed sunglasses. In his right hand he was carrying a large guitar case. He sauntered up to the bar as if he was gliding across a stage in front of an audience of imaginary female fans. When he reached the bar he laid the case down on the bartop.