Hauling Ash

by Tonia Brown

  The corpse stared at the bag with distaste. “What’s that?”

  “You should know. It’s yours.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  “Yes it is. A bag filled with ten thousand in cash, just like you said. Only it wasn’t in locker six, it was in locker nine.” Otto tossed the key beside the bag, as proof.

  “This isn’t my bag,” Walter said. He slid the zipper open, peeking inside with a small grunt. “This isn’t my money either.”

  Otto gave an irritated huff. “I know you were passionate about your finances, but not even you can possibly recognize your money by sight.”

  “I don’t gotta recognize it to know it ain’t my money.”

  “What on Earth would possess you to believe that this bag full of money isn’t your bag full of money?”

  Walter snatched up the rabbit’s foot and inspected the dangling key. “For starters, I told you locker number six, not nine. I don’t care what your fancy key says. Second, that is a black duffle bag, not a brown suitcase. And third, any moron that can count can see that ain’t ten thousand dollars.”

  Otto closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose while he put together his rebuttal. “First, I told the man at the counter who I was and he gave me that key. Second, maybe your friend moved the money from one locker to another, and into a new bag. Why? I don’t know, he was your supposed pal. Ask him. As for the third reason, I realize it isn’t exactly ten grand because I may have made a few stops on the way home.”

  “Stops? What kind of stops?”

  “You know … stops.”

  “What kind of stops?” Walter repeated as he narrowed his dead eyes at Otto.

  “I needed some gas and I got a bit hungry because you made me miss breakfast. Not to mention my coffee.”

  “Breakfast and gas and coffee don’t take two hours.”

  “No. This did.” Otto slipped a brochure from his jacket and held it out for Walter to narrow his dead eyes at instead of Otto. “I booked a cruise for this weekend. Guess where I’m going.”

  Walter snatched the brochure from Otto and said with a grin, “The Bahamas?”

  “Correct.”

  “Atta boy!”

  Otto checked his watch, doing a bit of math in his head while Walter relaxed onto the couch again and began flipping through the travel brochure.

  “The ship leaves in about two hours,” Otto said, “which gives me enough time to pack and get my rump down to Charleston. I’ll have to hurry.” He rushed off into the bedroom to do just that.

  “What about your precious job?” Walter said from the living room.

  Otto tossed a few tee shirts and shorts into a backpack. “The cruise doesn’t return until next week. I called Mr. Gerald from the travel agency and told him I changed my mind about my bereavement leave.”

  “The bastard didn’t give you trouble about taking off?”

  “No. He was badgering me to take all of it because he doesn’t want pay me while I’m gone.”

  “He can’t do that. He has to pay you.”

  “I’m not going to argue with him. It’s bad enough just talking to the man.” Otto dumped the contents of his underwear drawer into the backpack. One could never have too many changes of briefs or socks.

  “This is a singles’ cruise,” Walter said.

  “I know,” Otto said. “It was the only one leaving today.”

  “You realize that means it will be full of available ladies?”

  “I realize that.”

  “Good for you. Maybe you can find someone to help you spread my ashes. And then spread her legs later on.”

  “Walter, must you be so crass?”

  “What? Some women find grief attractive. Use it to your advantage, boy.”

  “I shall do no such thing. I explained already that it was the only one leaving today.”

  “Still, you never know.”

  Otto grunted. He knew, all right. He knew he had no plans on meeting anyone on that boat, singles’ cruise or not.

  “What about the dog?” Walter said.

  “He’s coming with us,” Otto said.

  “Dogs can’t go on cruises.”

  “He can on this one. It’s a pet friendly cruise.”

  “Ah, I see that now.” Walter raised his voice a bit as he read aloud, “Bring your best friend along as you meet and greet other fellow animal lovers.” The corpse snorted. “I didn’t know they allowed that.”

  “Neither did I. Normally space is limited. We lucked out and got the last animal slot available. I had to pay extra for it and Finster won’t be able to stay in my room. They have an onboard kennel. He will be pampered and have his every whim catered to.”

  “And probably be sedated,” Walter said softly.

  “I heard that.”

  Finster yipped, because he heard that too.

  “You tell him,” Otto said.

  “Sorry boy,” Walter said.

  “I’m kind of excited about all of this.”

  “You should be. The Bahamas is a beautiful place, as I recall.”

  Otto had no idea what Walter was talking about because he didn’t recall the old man ever going to the Bahamas. Or anywhere, for that matter. He poked his head back into the living room. “When did you visit the tropics?”

  “Years before your time.”

  “Must’ve been before Mom and Pop … you know …” Otto looked down into his half full backpack, his memories dancing dangerously close to the accident that left him an orphan at nine years of age. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the awful vision. “Well, anyways, I haven’t had a vacation since my honeymoon.” He zipped up the pack and carried it into the living room where he dropped it on the floor by the door. “You know, I thought the travel agent would give me trouble for paying in cash. She said folks do it all of the time. Apparently they save up their tips and some folks even bring jars of loose change. Almost no one pays with a check.”

  “That’s because banks are crooks.” Walter tossed the brochure onto the coffee table.

  Otto grabbed Finster’s shot records from his desk, as well as his own passport.

  “That passport up to date?” Walter said.

  “Yes sir,” Otto said.

  “Let me get this straight, you, of all people, keep an up to date passport on hand?”

  “Why is that so unusual?”

  “Because you never go anywhere.”

  “I’m going somewhere now. And I don’t have to worry about stopping to get one made up. Which means in a few hours I will have your ashes in the water and you can go about your merry way. Is that good with you?”

  Walter shrugged. “Fine by me, but you’re forgetting an important thing.”

  “Which is?”

  Walter waggled a stack of fifties at Otto. “This isn’t ten grand.”

  “It’s always about money with you. Isn’t it? Look, I am not going to argue about the necessity of spending a few dollars on myself much less transportation to the wilds of the tropics so I can dump your ashes over the side of a boat.”

  “You ain’t listenin’ to me. This isn’t ten—”

  “Walter!” Otto shouted, loud enough to wake the dog.

  Finster whimpered at the raised voices.

  “I swear,” Otto said, “if you say that isn’t ten grand one more time, I will do something unpleasant. I don’t know exactly what, but I will do it so hard. I swear.”

  To Walter’s credit, he didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t keep insisting that the money wasn’t ten grand. Instead, the old man said something different. Not so much different in subject matter, just far, far different in quantity of said subject matter.

  “This is a quarter of a million dollars,” Walter said.

  “Is it?” Otto said after a moment’s pause.

  “At least.”

  Otto blinked a few times, unsure what the dead man was driving at. “I don’t think I quite got that. Can you explain it again?”

  The corpse l
ifted two stacks of bills and held them up to Otto’s face. “Look at this. Stacks of fifties and one hundreds. There’s even a stack of thousand dollar bills at the bottom. There’s got to be an easy quarter of a million in here. Maybe more.”

  “A quarter of a what?”

  “A million.”

  “Impossible. You said that bag had ten thousand dollars in it.”

  “I said my brown suitcase had ten grand in it. This isn’t my brown suitcase. And what kind of man are you if you can’t tell the difference between ten grand and almost a half a million? I thought I raised you better.”

  “Half a million!” Otto’s eyes widened in horror. “You said a quarter before. Are you certain there is so much? Maybe it just looks like a lot.”

  Walter chuckled. “You’re serious, aren’t ya? You can’t tell the difference between a lousy few thousand and all of this money?”

  Otto shook his head and sat. “Not really.”

  “Here, let me put this in perspective for you. My suitcase had stacks of fifties. Ten grand in all.” Walter snatched up a thick wad of fifties, slipped the rubber band from the wad and began thumbing through the bills. After a quick session of flipping and counting, Walter dropped a small pile of bills onto the coffee table. “There. That’s a thousand.” He counted out nine more identical piles across the coffee table, pausing to grab another stack of fifties when he ran out. “This, my boy, is what ten thousand looks like.” Walter returned the rubber band to what was left of the second stack of bills and tossed it inside the duffle bag, which was, admittedly, still quite filled with money. “That’s more than ten thousand. You getting’ the idea now?”

  Otto’s mouth opened and closed a few times, as if of its own accord, while his brain processed this overload of unbelievable information. “That … you’re … that is … I carried … these are …” Connections connected, thoughts formed, ideas arose, until finally, at last, Otto understood. He pointed at the duffle bag. “That’s not ten thousand dollars.”

  “Slow and steady wins the race, eh, Eightball?”

  “That isn’t your money. That isn’t your suitcase.”

  Walter looked to Finster and said, “He gets there in the end, don’t he?”

  Finster yipped.

  “I don’t understand,” Otto said. “I told Scooter you sent me and I was Eightball and he gave me that key.”

  “Scooter? Who in the hell is Scooter?”

  “It’s short for Scott Weller isn’t it? I thought it was a nickname.”

  “No. Scott’s nickname is Scotty.”

  “His badge said Scooter.”

  Walter groaned and rolled his eyes about in their sallow sockets. “His badge said Scooter because that is the name of the car rental company at the bus station. You went to the wrong damned window. I told you to go to the Check In window.”

  “No you didn’t. You said go to the bus station and find a man named Scott Weller. You didn’t say anything about going to any window. I thought Scooter meant—”

  “Ya thought wrong. I don’t know no damned Scooter.”

  Otto snorted. “Well he certainly knew you. Yes he did. And when he found out I was your nephew, he was quite impressed.”

  “Really? Why would he …” Walter paused as he thought about this a moment. “Wait up now, what did you tell him my name was?”

  “Waldorf.”

  “Walter Waldorf? Or just Waldorf?”

  “Just Waldorf.”

  “Just Waldorf? No Walter?”

  “You said to tell him I was Eightball and that Waldorf sent me.”

  Falling back against the couch, the dead man let out the mother of all groans. The windows shuddered in their shutters. The pots and pans rattled with his woe. The far too pink vase nearly trembled right off of the mantel.

  Finster covered his face with his little paws and whined.

  “Uncle Walter?” Otto said. “Are you okay?”

  “You’ve done it now, son,” Walter said.

  “Done what?”

  “You’ve gone and done it.”

  “Gone and done what?”

  “You’ve screwed the pooch.”

  At this, the dog quit his whining and gave Otto a curious look.

  Otto leapt to his feet. “I most certainly have not. I might not be the most sexually active man on the block yet I would never stoop to—”

  “Sit down, Otto,” Walter said.

  “I won’t have you spreading such vicious rumors about—”

  “Octavious Alexander Waldorf,” Walter said. “Shut your mouth up and sit your ass down.”

  At the sound of his formal name, Otto closed his mouth and dropped onto his chair, staring in silence at his dead uncle.

  Walter cleared his throat, which consisted of a loud gurgle and a disturbing view of the man’s skin fluttering at the open gash of his neck. “By screw the pooch, I meant you’ve made a terrible mistake. Not literally screwed your pooch. A crime against nature that not only are you incapable of committing, I don’t I think your dog wouldn’t put up with it either.”

  Finster yipped in agreement.

  Otto nodded to his dog, glad that was cleared up.

  Walter pressed on. “You have, however, committed a different crime.”

  “What was that?” Otto said, confused again.

  “Stealing.”

  “Stealing?”

  “You know, pilfering, nipping, robbing, thieving? Stealing.”

  “I’ve never stole anything a day in my life!”

  “Eightball, think about it.” Walter scooped up part of the ten thousand dollars he had counted out. “If this isn’t my money, whose is it?”

  Otto did think about it. And what he thought wasn’t pleasant. “Ah, yes, I see now. Well, that’s easy to fix.” Otto grabbed up the rest of the money lying about and stuffed it back into the duffle bag. “I’ll pop this back from whence it came and all shall be well.”

  “What about the money you’ve already spent?”

  “Oh, I forgot about that part. Still, easy enough to solve.” Otto snatched the wad of fifties Walter clutched, and shoved it into the bag. “I will go to the station, explain the little mix up, grab your cash to replace the money I have already spent, Bob’s your uncle, and why are you shaking your head like that?”

  Walter continued shaking his head for a full five seconds before he explained, “Aside from the fact that my name isn’t Bob, that plan has two things wrong with it. One, it’s never going to work and two it’s never going to work.”

  “Sure it will. It’s a reasonable solution.”

  “It might be a reasonable solution thought up by a reasonable human being. The only problem is this money doesn’t belong to a reasonable human being. It doesn’t even belong to a human. More like an ape. In a suit.”

  “Ape in a …” Otto let the idea slip from his mind as he stared at the corpse.

  The ghost of Walter Waldorf bore a mix of pity and fear all over his dead face.

  “Walter, whose money is this?” Otto said.

  “I believe it’s Toney Maloney’s money,” Walter said. “Most people know him as Toney Waldorf Maloney.”

  “Waldorf? Really?”

  The corpse nodded as he stood and went to the window.

  “Are we related in some way?” Otto said.

  “Nope,” Walter said. He pulled aside the curtain and peered out at the lawn. “It’s a nickname.”

  “After the salad or the hotel?”

  “Neither.”

  “Ah.”

  “It comes from Maloney’s favorite way to kill folks.”

  “That makes sense I suppose.” It took a moment for Otto to properly process that last bit, because he wasn’t expecting it. Combination of words such as ‘kill folks’ didn’t enter his everyday conversation. “Bear with me for seeming so obtuse, but did you just say kill folks?”

  “I did.”

  “I don’t suppose that is a euphemism. Is it?”

  “Sure is.”<
br />
  Otto exhaled a long breath of relief. “Good. For a minute there I thought—”

  “Waldorf is a euphemism for slitting someone’s throat, right at the Adam’s apple, and then shoving a handful of walnuts down the open hole.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Along with their testicles.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “They call it a Nutcracker Necktie in Atlanta.”

  “Do they?” Otto glanced to Walter’s throat, to the gash hanging open like a wide smile.

  Walter glanced back to the silent Otto, then placed one hand over the wound and another over his groin. “Stop staring. I wasn’t Waldorfed. Mine was a regular old muggin’ turned murder. I steered clear of Maloney in my time. I wish I could say the same about you.”

  “I’ve got trouble on my hands, don’t I?” Otto said.

  “You’ve got worse than that. You’ve got company.”

  “What!” Otto leapt from the couch and scrambled for the living room window.

  “The black sedan parked across the road. They pulled up about the same time you did and they’ve been watching the house since.”

  Otto yanked the curtain to one side and then jerked it back into place after he saw the black sedan and the two burly men in matching black suits seated inside. “Who do you think they are?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re Maloney’s men. When I saw them park across the street I wasn’t sure they had followed you home. Guess I know better now.”

  A wild thumping pounded in Otto’s ears—the sound of his heart trying to crawl its way up his throat. His breath came in short spurts as his lungs fought his escaping heart for purchase against his spasming chest. His stomach revolted as well, doing its best to toss the remnants of the morning’s meal up the narrowing shaft of his throat. Somehow, in the midst of this, Otto managed to find his voice, though it was as small and panicky as he felt.

  “Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.”

  “Calm down, Otto.”

  Otto couldn’t calm down. He could do just about everything else instead of calm down. There was no way in heaven or on Earth he would ever calm down again. Not when he had a Nutcracker Necktie waiting for him. He didn’t even like walnuts.

  “Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.”

  Walter rushed Otto, grabbed him by the cheeks and pulled him down to eye to eye with the much shorter corpse. “Eightball, hush and look at me.”