A Dead-End Job

by Justin Alcala

  “Are you telling me,” I laughed. “That’s Frankenstein’s Monster?” Dillinger’s postmark half-smirk stretched wider, but he didn’t answer.

  “You’re a hitman, Mr. Shaw,” Dillinger pressed on, tapping his long fingernails together. “In my time, that was a well-respected profession. It was necessary for business. I still think it is. So, I don’t blame you for taking work. Unfortunately for you, your employer doesn’t rattle her tail before she bites. The dame used a middleman to tip me off about your attempts to take my life days before you tried. Shame on me, I should’ve asked Zombie Pete more questions. The guy isn’t exactly trustworthy. Or at least, he wasn’t.”

  “What rotten luck,” I sighed. “Do me a favor though, John, and tell me who the hell this woman is?”

  “The lady with Idaho branded on her face represents someone heinous. You see, there’s a political uniform in the supernatural world. We have new rules and organizations that keep us away from the suspicions of man and his pitchfork and torch routine. Your first employer represents people trying to hostilely break down those walls.”

  “Good for them,” I complimented. “Monsters like you need to be stopped.”

  “No, you’ve got it all wrong. Her kind isn’t trying to kill monsters. They’re using paranormal entities to…” Dillinger paused, looking behind me as if there was someone else there. I could hear a creak over my shoulders as if someone was shuffling in a seat. For the first time, I realized that when the crowd of freaks had come down to watch my interrogation, they hadn’t all shown themselves. “Well, they’re using paranormal entities to reestablish the old way. Ways that would end up with mortals being slaves.” I leaned forward, trying to stretch the chords around my chest and arms. I could feel them loosen slightly.

  “Then I think I know who they are,” I whispered while taking a deep breath to put stress on my bindings.

  “Do you now?” Dillinger tapped his chin.

  “Yes.” I cleared my throat. “They’re working on a machine of mass destruction that can destroy entire civilizations.” Dillinger’s eyebrows rose. “If we let them construct it, we’re all doomed. There’s hope, though. A young boy named Luke Skywalker lives on a planet called Tatooine.” Dillinger closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. He remained that way for a moment. I must have finally chipped away at his patience. I continued to shift in my seat, masquerading my intentions of loosening the extension cord as an act of discomfort.

  “Very funny, Mr. Shaw.” Dillinger opened up his eyes again. “It’s good to have a sense of humor, especially in your situation. Now, let’s get serious again. You haven’t told me anything about your second employer.”

  “If you thought my first employer was bad,” I said while testing the bindings. They felt loose enough to make some sort of move. “Then the second is a real doozie.” Dillinger leaned back in his chair again. “You see, after you gunned me down and I lay drowning in my own blood, someone interfered. I wouldn’t exactly say they saved my life as much as they didn’t let me die.” I wriggled one arm up ever so gently. All it would take was an upward thrust to free it. “That’s because my second employer was—” I paused dramatically. Dillinger tilted his head, eager. I braced my arms, ready to heave off the extension cords, and then coiled my legs to my chest.

  “Karate Kid,” I shouted while bucking my legs into Dillinger’s chest. Dillinger wasn’t ready. He fell back into his chair as I propelled my arms upward. Unfortunately, I hadn’t loosened the cords as much as I’d thought, and I had to struggle for a few more essential seconds to release myself from their grip. By the time I’d hurled the extension cord to the ground, Dillinger was back up on his feet, dusting himself off. I grabbed my satchel and took several large footsteps toward the cluttered wall of kegs. Dillinger must not have been too concerned because I could hear his shoes slowly tap my way.

  Bad move on his part.

  I plucked the beer tubes from the compressors, causing a fountain of gold and amber to spray violently from the kegs. In addition, the air tanks feeding the kegs gas sprayed a sharp mist that created a thick gilt fog. Both of us were blinded by the storm, but I’d been busy memorizing my escape route. I crawled toward the lift, hopping on top of its hydraulic platform. I pounded on the up button and could feel the conveyer ascend. I made out a foggy set of red eyes struggle in the gold mist as several kegs fell from their stacks, rolling along the floor.

  As I took in the beautiful sight, I made two very vital observations. First, the escape hatch above me had a padlock on it. If I didn’t loosen it, I’d be crushed. Second, near the stairwell was the cloudy outline of a hunched figure sitting in an electronic scooter. I couldn’t be sure, but I swear I’d seen that silhouette before. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs reminded me that along with food and air, not being crushed like a bug was essential. So I withdrew Thing Two, unloaded on the lock several times, and then donkey kicked the trap door open, wiggling out the opening feet first.

  The smells of freshly cooked steak, sweet grass, and truck exhaust told me that I was back on North Damen. Due to the late hour, there were very few people around to see me sprout like a booze god with my gas and beer fountain. I hurried my way to the van, looking behind my shoulder during the entire half block sprint. No one pursued me.

  I reached the van and banged on the glass. I could see Luna peek her head out from the cab. I must have been soaked and bloodied upped because her eyes grew ten times wider. Her hand hovered over the lock before finally deciding to pull the latch up. I jumped in the seat and kicked the car into drive with one motion, my door still open. Luna ambled her way into the passenger seat. We leapt out from our parking spot like a rodeo bull released from its pen. I closed the door with one hand while steering with the other, my eyes scanning for Dillinger, Adam, or anyone else. I was screwing up by the numbers and needed to take shelter so I could put the pieces back together.

  14

  I have what’s called a genetics problem. While some people nearly murdered by Count Chocula and his gang of miscreants might go hide in a hole, I was already trying to figure out a new way to take out Dillinger. I’m sure that if I dusted off a few old memories, my ability to rebound in stressful situations was related to a childhood stemmed denial mechanism. Nothing like the shame of being poor and abused to keep you going.

  Isn’t reflection fun?

  I needed to dissect the moving truck’s worth of information I’d just taken in. Fact: Dillinger’s hunting grounds included The Violet Hour. Fact: he had minions including Frankenstein’s monster, Charles Bronson, and his juice box hostesses to help him with his wicked deeds. Fact: Dillinger was part of a larger establishment of supernatural creatures that were trying to keep order within their horrific ranks. Fact: Dillinger was a bit of a badass, and I should be happy that I escaped with my life.

  As for unanswered questions…those were piling up at an alarming rate. For starters, it was obvious that Death wanted Dillinger dead because the vampire was cheating fate, but what about Idaho-Face? She had seemed pretty alive when we connected, plus it was morning, so she wasn’t some neck biter. If she was part of some undead resistance, what would killing John Dillinger do for her? Why would she tip Dillinger off about me if she hated him? The questions kept pouring in. Why did they want Luna? Who else was part of this Monster Organization? Why did I puke up body smog? Who was in the scooter at The Violet Hour? What hair color did they put on bald people’s driver’s licenses?

  As we drove the last part of our trek home, I made one last check for cars shadowing me. I’d taken the effort to lose any tail earlier in the trip. I weaved between vehicles on busy streets, took sudden turns, and cruised through a pay-to-park building. Now that we were in the rougher part of town where I lived, the cars were sparser and the streets lonelier. There wasn’t anyone on the road besides my van. I reminded myself that although today was a disaster, I still had one distinct advantage. I knew where John Dillinger stalked his prey, while Dillinger was clueless as
to where I called home.

  Luna and I emptied the van. I collected my satchel while Luna grabbed her toys. We locked up then hurried to our building. Living in the tougher part of town has its advantages in my line of work. There was bad lighting and no one along the sidewalks. Hurried walking wasn’t suspicious. It was common. The van was parked a half block away. Luna and I speed-walked to our apartment complex’s front door. I shuffled with the keys while Luna drew swirls along the glass with her sweaty finger. I took a moment to watch as she entertained herself. She must have felt me staring because she shot a glance back up.

  “You good, kid?” I asked with the best smile I could conjure. “Because I can take you somewhere else.” Luna twisted her lips and raised an eyebrow. “I’m just saying,” I twisted the key in the knob. “There’re shelters out there where they can find you a family. I’m sure someone out there could give you a good home.” Luna shook her head, growled, and then shoved the door open as the key clicked. “Okay, okay.” Luna stomped inside. “Jeez, anger issues.”

  I went to the wall where all the mailboxes stood and checked my slot. There were four pieces of mail, all with Final Notice warnings along the cover. Did they have to print them like that? I could feel a sickness bubble in my stomach. Working for your soul didn’t pay well. If I didn’t do something soon, I’d be living in my van. That would work wonders for my reputation. “The Hobo Hitman, he’s begging to kill for you.” I was in the middle of taking deep breaths when a pounding came from the glass entrance. I jumped out of my skin, digging in my jacket for Thing One.

  “Buck,” hollered the muffled voice of Bethany as she fogged the glass. I exhaled, released my fingers from the pistol grip and then shuffled to the front door. I opened it to find Bethany with a department store shopping bag in her hands. She crinkled her nose and gave a crooked grin.

  “Sorry.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I tried to call, but I realized I didn’t have your number. Also, did you get attacked by Cujo or something?”

  “Uh, hey Bethany, I didn’t know you had my address.”

  “I got it from your gamer registration card. Darren pulled your delivery store file.”

  * * *

  “How did you get him to do that?”

  “I flirted with him?”

  “Genius. Maybe that’s what I’m doing wrong.”

  “Why? How do you get things from him?”

  “Death threats, mostly.”

  “Yeah, you might want to change your approach.”

  “Come in.” I waved as I moved from blocking the door. Bethany stepped in and her eyes latched onto Luna, who was now spinning in circles while starting at the ceiling to keep herself entertained.

  “Hi, Luna.” Bethany waved. Luna turned to her and approached. Bethany crouched to Luna’s level, examining her clothes. “I’m glad to see the clothes fit. Look—” She dug in her department store bag. “I brought you something.” Bethany plucked out a stuffed animal. I froze in place as she pulled out a grey wolf with a blue t-shirt. If life was trying its luck as a standup comedian, I was the punch line to most of its jokes. “This is Harry,” Bethany introduced while handing Luna the toy. “I had one when I was a little girl. When I heard they recreated his show, I had to get you one.” Luna hugged the wolf, clueless to the irony, and then stared into the remaining contents in Bethany’s bags.

  “Oh.” Bethany handed Luna the bags. “These are just some more clothes and other girl’s things I thought Buck might not have thought of.”

  “Please tell me there’re no Disney pink pajamas in there?”

  “No, but there is some underwear, brushes, and other necessities. I’m pretty sure you didn’t get her any,” Bethany jabbed while poking a finger in my arm.

  “Hey, I feed her. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Seriously, though, how’s she doing?”

  “About as well as a kid in her situation can be.” I rubbed the back of my neck. Luna looked bored with adult talk and took her stuffed animal to the stairwell, where she made Harry the Wolf dance along the front step. Bethany watched, the trace of a smile along her lips.

  “Still not talking?”

  “No.”

  “Well, give it time.” We watched Luna as she bent the wolf’s head to imitate a howl. I pursed my lips.

  “So.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks for this. I honestly don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Honestly, I wish I could do more.”

  “Oh, Bethany, you’re one of the good ones.” Bethany’s stare slipped onto the big red letters along the envelopes.

  “Buck.” She kept her eyes on the mail. “Are you doing okay?”

  This was embarrassing. I tucked the bills deeper into my grip. Social navigation wasn’t really my thing, but I tried to sway the conversation elsewhere.

  “Oh, these,” I stuttered. “They’re old. They’re not even mine, actually. I think it’s the neighbors. Mailman must have messed up. Hey,” I hurried. “Did our characters level up last session?” Bethany tilted her head to the side, paused, and then answered the question.

  “Yes, but it didn’t go without issue. Nicolai’s barbarian misinterpreted a half-orc chief’s singing as a war cry and attacked the entire Blood Reaver tribe.” I belted into a laugh. Bethany joined in, choking on her words. “It gets better,” she snorted. “In order to make amends, the paladin forced Nicolai’s barbarian to marry the half-orc’s daughter.”

  “I don’t know who loses on the deal.” I held onto my gut, roaring a laughter that let out all of the stress I’d been holding back the last few days. It felt good.

  Bethany updated me on the rest of the game, gossip at Gamer’s Pair-of-Dice, and the next scheduled game day. I told her about meeting Terminator on the Green Line, and she countered with a unicycle rider on the Eisenhower Expressway. We joked about the White Sox and topped it off with Bethany’s thoughts on the latest Mandalorian episode. We’d lost track of time when Bethany’s cell phone went off. The caller face read Tim.

  “Whoa,” she called out while staring at her phone’s face. “Look at the time. I should go.”

  “Yeah, besides, Luna’s probably starving.”

  Bethany put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Tim. Give me one second, I’m in an echoey hall.” Bethany looked up at me. “Give me your phone,” she demanded. I dug in my side pocket and pulled out the device, using my thumb to unlock the interface before giving my phone over.

  Bethany balanced her own cell phone on her shoulder and ear while programming her number into my contacts list. “Call me if you need anything.” She leaned in and returned the phone before giving me a light hug. She smelled like lilacs and vanilla.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “See you at game day.” I watched her make her way out and waited until she was safely in her car before I turned to gather Luna. Luna shook her head at me, her eyes drooped, and her mouth was in a half frown.

  “Hey, when you’re an adult you have to talk. It’s what we do. You should try it.” Luna rolled her eyes and then we made our way up the steps.

  I slid my key into the front door. Luna and I entered the flat, our hands weighed down by Bethany’s gifts. The streetlights colored the dark apartment in a soft blue light. I shut the door, locked it, and then flipped on the lamp. To my surprise, sitting statue still on my couch were three figures. On instinct, I stepped in front of Luna, dropped the bags and final notice envelopes then dug inside my coat. My thumb flicked the holster’s guard strap, making a snap sound.

  “No need for violence, Mr. Palasinski,” the woman with the Idaho birthmark on her face declared. Her voice sounded as crisp and orderly as when we first met. She was dressed in a burgundy business suit that was a size too large. Her eyes remained fixated on the cell phone she was thumbing. She patted the open cushion next to her without looking up. “Please, come sit.” I took in her friends. To Idaho-Face’s immediate left was a brawny man in a tuxedo. He had a dirty pair of two-toned shoes and white cotton gloves. His f
ace was completely covered with his long, wet black hair. He was stock still, void of breath. But it was the figure slacked in my secondhand recliner across the coffee table that surprised me the most.

  Sitting with their skinny fishnet stockinged legs was the green haired stranger I’d seen on the Green Line. The androgynous creature lit a cigarette and brought it to their brightly painted red lips. Their yellow cat eyes were painted with runny mascara spoiled by dry tears. They wore a candy-striped coat that was accented by a flickering light bulb chained around the neck. The stranger’s sex-pink pencil skirt matched their stiletto high heels. What frightened me the most though was the smile. It was wide and curled at the ends as if they knew a sick joke that no one else would appreciate.

  “You’re right.” I gripped Luna’s hand. “There’s no need for violence. Luna and I are leaving.”

  I unlocked the apartment door once more and opened it, keeping my eyes peeled on the strangers as I guided Luna out. I could feel her tug me into the hall before squeezing my hand and screaming. I turned to see what the matter was, only to find that my apartment hallway was filled with children. Only, they weren’t kids at all.

  They were the height of early grammar school students, wearing old fashioned frilled dresses and little sailor suits. Their faces though were anything but youthful. They were the cadaverous cockled glowers of elderly men and women. They had puckered lips, wrinkled skin and milky white eyes. A few mouths gaped open, showing serrated buttered teeth spaced like a Jack O’Lantern. They were at least twenty strong, holding hands and spinning like devils let out for a night. I tugged Luna back into the apartment and shut the door.