A Dead-End Job

by Justin Alcala

  Jumbo held his hand up to Death. “Hold on. Let me handle this.” Death shook his head. “Buchanan, is it?”

  “Buck,” I corrected.

  “Buck,” Jumbo said with a smile. I noticed that Jumbo still had braces. “We’ve been watching you for a while.”

  “How long?” I asked.

  “Long enough,” Jumbo answered. “We’ve seen everything.”

  I blew smoke up into the air like a locomotive. A cigarette never tasted so good. “Even on the toilet?”

  “Even on the toilet,” Jumbo repeated.

  “Sorry,” I apologized.

  “Everybody poops,” Jumbo responded, “but we’re not here to talk about your need for Number Two.” Jumbo shifted his weight, making himself more comfortable on his chair. “Buck, it’s safe to say you haven’t lived a very peaceful life.”

  I shrugged. “You could say that.”

  “I just did.” Jumbo’s lips drew a hard line. “Your trip to the afterlife isn’t going to be good.”

  “Well.” I put the butt of my cigarette out on the floor, “I ain’t no saint.”

  “No, you’re not,” Jumbo confirmed. “It’s going to suck.”

  Death shook his head slowly. It was kind of strange seeing the guy on horror novels and bad movie covers in the flesh…or bones.

  “Well.” I rubbed the stubble on my chin. “What’re my options?”

  “See,” Jumbo cheered as he looked back at Death. “I told you he’s not dumb. He knows exactly where this is going.”

  “Thanks,” I sang dryly. Death hadn’t moved.

  “Buck.” Jumbo brought his attention back to me. “You’re in a position that hasn’t been offered to anyone for a few hundred years. Now you have a one-way ticket to Hell, but we can change that. We want to know if you’d like to work an internship for Death instead?”

  “Like.” I looked at Death. “Getting him lunch?”

  “Mmm,” Jumbo hummed, “kind of. You see, Death has been working hard, and he deserves a break.” Jumbo cupped his mouth and whispered. “Between you and me, man, the guy’s is kind of a workaholic.”

  “Here we go again,” Death bellowed.

  Jumbo smiled. “Anyhow, we need you to learn his trade and then take care of some special work while he’s out.”

  “You want me to kill people?” I asked.

  “No,” Jumbo objected. “Well, kind of. We don’t want you to kill the everyday people. That would be messed up. We just need you to take care of the ones that refuse to die.”

  * * *

  “Like Madonna?” I asked, managing a straight face.

  Jumbo snorted. “I like you.” He looked back to Death. Death waved his hand in a spiraling motion as if to say get on with it. Jumbo turned back to me. “More like the people who go out of their way to cheat death.”

  I tried to guess where this was going. It was all a bit overwhelming. Not mere minutes ago, I was some scumbag contracting executions for cash before getting gunned down. Now, here I was face-to-face with Death and his handicapped buddy. Unless this was some Stanley Kubrick plot, I was in a one-in-a-million kind of scenario. Most people might poop their pants in a circumstance like this, but I’d been conditioned to adapt to weirdness since I was a kid.

  Evictions, my brother’s arrest, Afghani ambushes—the trick is to deal with the situation first, and then panic later. Simple damage control.

  “Define people who cheat death for me, please?” I asked feeling my shoulder for kinks. I’d knocked it out of its socket several times, and the pain was something I dealt with daily. For some reason it was gone. Jumbo squeezed the mechanism on his extendable claw hand, causing it to pinch open and closed. I don’t think he was aware that he was doing it. He hummed while staring at the floor.

  “I could tell you,” he said as he maneuvered his chair so that he could see both Death and I, “but I’m not sure that will tell you.” Jumbo turned his attention to Death. “Maybe it’s time for a field trip?”

  “What the heck.” Death pulled up his sleeve to reveal a fitness watch. “I could use the exercise.”

  I tried to hold back a laugh, disguising it as a cough. You don’t want to tick off the guy keeping you away from eternal damnation. Death walked toward the office entrance. Jumbo followed. Death grabbed the shabby bronze handle of the outdated wood door. I was told that this was an abandon lawyer’s office that I could use to set up my shooter’s position, but looking at the lettering peeling on the glass, I should have known better. The sticker letters on the office entrance were so far removed that you couldn’t make out any title. Had I done a little research, I would have probably learned that this entire building was owned by my employer. Previously-alive me had definitely been set up. Death used his delicate skeleton knuckles and knocked on the entrance to the tune of Shave and a Haircut. He pulled the door open and to my astonishment, a wall of rainstorm-grey water blocked the hallway. Before I could ask any questions, Death plunged through the wall of liquid and disappeared. Jumbo studied my face. I bounced my eyes back-and-forth between him and the doorway.

  “You’ll get use to it,” he insisted. I looked around the office and spotted my oversized computer satchel and rifle. I went to collect the items, but Jumbo spoke up. “You won’t be needing those things anymore. Trust me.” Jumbo moved toward the door and drove through the waters. He might be right about the rifle, but old habits die hard. It was a Hitman 101 no-no to leave evidence. I grabbed the rifle and disassembled it as quickly as I could before shoving it in my leather satchel. I slung the strap over my shoulder before hurrying toward the door. I took one deep breath before slipping through the shimmering surface. Here goes nothing.

  A stream of cold smothered my skin. My sight left me, replaced by undulating grey fog.

  Pressure pushed down on my body like I’d been trapped at the bottom of an ocean. A hollow despair as deep and dark as the day Denise died filled inside me. It was an emptiness so raw that I began to struggle, thrashing about in a futile attempt to escape it. Quickly as soon as it started, it had ended; my head came up from the water. I was wading in an onyx stream thick as tar that flowed into an endless cave. Not far from me was a rickety, long boat made of tattered wicker. Death and Jumbo were inside it. They were dry. Death held a single wood oar.

  “Come on, man,” Jumbo called out. I swam to the boat. The water didn’t give me any resistance nor did it splash up. Death extended a paddle and waited for me to climb aboard. I slopped my computer bag onto the planks of soft wood padding the boat floor.

  Jumbo pursed his lips. “Man, I thought I told you that you wouldn’t need those things anymore.”

  I used Death’s oar like a monkey bar to pull myself inside. Once I had gained my balance, I shook off the boggy water from my coat and pant legs. It ran off me as if it were snow. “I’m not comfortable with leaving evidence,” I stressed as I took a seat. Jumbo looked to Death with a silver braces smile.

  “Smart,” he complimented, turning his attention back to me. Death shook his head and steered us forward.

  The river’s path was filled with rocky passages. There was a soft glimmer of green mushrooms and fungi that lit up the otherwise murky caverns. The air was crisp and the atmosphere cool. We pushed on, and while Death navigated, I watched as the water I’d shaken from me crawled away from my feet, climbed up the boat walls, and leapt back into the river. Not creepy at all. After a short while, Death moaned. Jumbo and I looked ahead and saw a boat similar to the one we’d been riding, only it was in pieces. There was a splash near the broken boat, and I could see the top of a large serpent swimming through the debris. It was something straight out of the Jurassic Park, chewing on the whicker of the starboard planks with its crocodile like mouth.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked as I reached for one of the two .45’s concealed under my coat.

  “That’s Miss Hissy Face,” Jumbo said in a low voice. “The real question is, who was in the boat?”

  Death grumbled.
“It was probably that damn mummy again. If I ever figure out where she’s hiding, it’s going to be epic.” Jumbo frowned. The massive serpent swam over to the boat. Death reached out and petted her scales with the oar before she submerged. “Good girl,” Death praised. “Kill the infidels.” I kept my mouth shut.

  The boat waded through the river long enough for me to untie my dress shoes and empty out the creepy, not-wet water. As I tied my laces back up, the raft came to a sudden jolt. I looked up and noticed that we’d pulled up onto a rocky shore. Death stretched his long skeletal leg and stepped out of the boat. He then reached back in and dragged the entire boat onto shore. I fought to get Jumbo’s heavy wheelchair off the brim of the canoe.

  “Would you just add a handicap ramp to this thing already?” Jumbo pressed his hands in prayer.

  I stepped out first and pulled at the front wheels, eventually half-dumping Jumbo onto the shore. I stumbled backwards and felt a strange crunch. I looked down expecting to find shells, and instead I made out thousands of little rodent skulls. I squeezed my eyes closed and took a breath, mentally erasing the dead mice and squirrels. I opened my eyes again and saw that Death and Jumbo were headed in the direction of a decayed steel door. There was an electronic keypad next to the tarnished lock stile and after Death dialed several numbers, the door drew open with a moan from the hinges. A drape of beaded curtains hung from the threshold, blocking any chance of seeing what was inside.

  “Hurry now,” said Jumbo as the two split through the beads.

  “Is this a trust exercise?” I paused, left alone. No one answered.

  I crunched through skulls and entered the beaded fortress. As I pushed through the curtains, I found that I’d leapt into a hall stuck in the disco era. There were peeling eggshell walls and a wicker mail table with envelopes scattered on top. Potted bamboo trees and macramé planters decorated corners. Glow in the dark paintings of psychedelic tigers and girls on roller skates were “tastefully” arranged on the wood paneling. Clearly, Death had a different perspective of time.

  Death and Jumbo made it to the end of the corridor and turned right. Curiosity drew me to the mail table covered in FedEx boxes and promotional offers. I so wanted to know who else lived here but stifled my interest. I tried to catch up and found that they’d made their way to another hall filled with a dozen marked apartment entrances. Death and Jumbo were parked in front of a door marked double zeros. I watched as Death dug into his sleeve and removed a key with a Hello Kitty face on top. He stabbed it in the keyhole and turned it several times before finally twisting the doorknob. Death pushed inside, then stopped to block the entrance.

  “Dang it.” Death slapped himself on the side of his hooded head. “You two stay here. I totally forgot something.” Death hurried into his apartment. I could hear death metal and moans from neighboring units.

  “Creeped out yet, man?” Jumbo asked. I was. After all, I was about to go into Death’s house. Who knows what I’d find? The tough guy in me wasn’t about to admit an ounce of fear to my future employers. If I failed to convince them I was the guy for the job, I’d probably get sent to a fiery abyss, where I’d be tortured with endless Enya music.

  I cleared my throat. “Are you kidding me? I’m having a great time.”

  The apartment door swung open, and Death hurried out with white badges and a sharpie in his hand. On his chest was an ivory sticker with a label that read “Hello, my name is.” Written in underneath was ‘The Big Cheese’ in handwritten letters. Death peeled another label off its backing and carefully handed it to Jumbo. It read “Hello, my name is: Jumbo the I.T. Guy.”

  “You’re joking.” Jumbo patted the label on his shirt.

  “This is new hire orientation.” Death handed me a sticker that spelled out Hello, my name is: Buchanan Palasinski. Underneath in all caps it said, I’m an applicant, which was underlined three times and topped with a frowny face. Death took a step back and inspected us. “Perfect. Okay, you can come in now.” Death whirled around and hurried back into his apartment.

  “Well, man.” Jumbo grinned. “If you thought the boat ride was strange, just wait until you see Death’s apartment.” Jumbo pushed the joystick on his controls forward and the chair wheeled through the door. I took one last look down the endless apartment hall, half expecting The Shining twins to appear. I needed another smoke, but I didn’t think that Death would approve. Instead, I looked up at the ceiling and took a few deep breaths. Whatever I saw in here, I’d need to be ready. I took two brisk steps forward and entered Death’s apartment.

  To my astonishment, there wasn’t a tower of skulls or a stream of tortured souls. Oddly enough, the walls were sky blue, bad IKEA furniture, and a bookshelf collection of 80’s Classics DVD’s. I could smell fresh coffee brewing. Death and Jumbo went passed a closed door marked Server Room in pencil and into a living room. I looked at John Cusack, who was staring at me with doubt from a pair of tilted sunglasses along the cover of “Better Off Dead.” No, the irony wasn’t lost on me. I tried to center his go with the flow sense of humor before moving along.

  The front room was open and neighbored by a small octagon kitchen. While the front room was plain with its leather couch, mid-sized television, and empty fish tank, the kitchen was booming with activity. The Spanish wall tiles were covered with picture frames of happy people at parks and in front of fireplaces. I studied the photos and made out lettering that read “8 x 10 frame,” along with the brand of the frame company. On the kitchen table was an array of blinking lights from a laptop computer, a Maximus 5.0 coffee machine, and high-definition printer. There were notebooks and newspapers scattered along the floor, and an opened cardboard box with Styrofoam peanuts filled to the brim. I looked inside. An Optimus Prime action figure still wrapped in its package lay at the top.

  “This is my home.” Death motioned to the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Death’s voice was inviting for the first time. “I have tea too if you’d like?”

  “Thanks,” I grunted. “But I don’t think I need any more caffeine today.”

  “Alright,” Jumbo spoke up. “Thank you for coming. We brought you here to show you what your internship will entail. Death, mind booting up the files?”

  Death was all legs and arms balanced on a too-small steel chair. I wondered how uncomfortable his brittle looking bones felt sitting there, his dark robe pooling around him and onto the floor. He clicked the keys of his laptop several times to light up the screen. A Thundercats screensaver greeted him. Death moved the mouse over a dark blue icon folder with an orange cartoon skull. He double-clicked it, opening a list of files labeled by titles and names. Death scrolled down through the records.

  “Hmm,” he hummed. “Which one. Oh,” he exclaimed as his mouse stopped on a specific file. “This will be perfect.”

  Death clicked the file open, and a neatly written profile popped up. It read like a Dungeons and Dragons character sheet, complete with the person’s name, nationality, and history. A picture also hung in the top right corner. I scanned the document. The name read, Peter Crane, a.k.a. “Zombie Pete.” I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. A pale, purple-skinned man with yellow eyes and half a nose eyed the camera. He had bad rocker’s hair with crimped bangs and a jean-vest studded with shoulder spikes. His hand, which was wearing a fingerless biker glove, was balled into a fist near his rotted chin.

  “Is there a new Evil Dead remake coming soon?” I asked.

  “No,” answered Jumbo. “Though we do need you to summon your inner Ash. This here is Peter Crane. I chose him because he’s from your hometown of Chicago. That should make things easier. He’s known as Zombie Pete on the streets and is a real pain in Death’s ass.”

  Death nodded as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I hate that guy.”

  “You see,” said Jumbo. “Zombie Pete uses a guitar bought from the crossroads to steal the life out of his audience. Though he should have been dead in 1991, Zombie Pete survives because of his Fender Telecaster. W
hile his body decays, he continues to cheat death.”

  Death brought his mug of coffee up to the area where his mouth should be. Though there was a void where his entire face should be, I could hear slurping. “He’s not even a decent a musician.”

  This was getting hard to comprehend, and that’s saying a lot for me. Compared to most people, I had lived a pretty wild life, unethical, but wild. Yet in all of my time, never did I think the Grim Reaper, water serpents, or undead rockers ever existed. Had I not felt the bullet, I honestly would guess that I was having a relapse of that acid I tried in ’01.

  “I didn’t go to college, Jumbo.” I looked over Death’s shoulder at the screen, “but I’m going to guess that you don’t need me to write a review for his next Double Door concert.”

  “I think he’s catching on,” Jumbo said to Death. Death stayed lurched over his laptop but gave a thumbs up from over his shoulder.

  “You need me to off him.” I read more of Zombie Pete’s information.

  “Frag.” Jumbo shrugged. “Assassinate, execute, whatever you want to call it, man.” My eyes continued to scan the profile. I reached for a note that was marked Undead Talents. Along with the ability to steal life from his victims through music, the description noted that Zombie Pete couldn’t be killed through conventional means.

  “Question,” I asked. “How am I supposed to eliminate the target if I can’t kill him?” Jumbo cleared his throat. “Death, Charlie has the golden ticket. I think it’s time.”

  Death stood up from his chair and paced to a skinny closet door near the pantry. He opened it and plucked out a six foot long, wood handled scythe. Its stem was a dull brown with hundreds of small marks and dimples. The curved steel blade had been oiled, but the metal itself bore scars along the bridge. I was now looking at what millions conjured up when they imagined their untimely demise. Death and his scythe. He walked it over to us and gently placed it on the kitchen table as if it were made of glass.

  “Old Lilith,” Death introduced. “She’s been with me since my first time on Earth.”