A Dead-End Job

by Justin Alcala

  “What the shit are those,” I called out to my surprise party. The man with the tuxedo remained still and green hair’s already-wide grin grew bigger. Idaho-Face kept her eyes on her cell phone but pressed her lips together as if ready to speak.

  “The children won’t hurt you.” She combed her black hair behind her ear. I could hear a zoom from her phone as if she just sent an e-mail. “They’re just here to ensure that you talk with us.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I said dryly, trying to mask any anxiety. “Luna needs a play date.”

  “Mr. Palasinski,” Idaho-Face said with a lifeless tone. “I’m here because you never completed your contract.”

  “Luna,” I warbled in a soft voice. “Cover your ears, kiddo.” Luna took her fingers and cupped the sides of her head. “Fuck you, lady. You set me up.”

  “Oh,” Idaho-Face said frankly. “How so?”

  “Hmm,” I hummed. “Let’s see. You sent me to kill an immortal vampire. You forgot to tell me that he was the John Dillinger. He suspiciously somehow knew the stakeout location you suggested. Oh, then when he visited me in this location, the guy shot me down in a hail of gunfire. I should be dead.”

  “You’re upset, Mr. Palasinski,” Idaho-Face spoke flatly. “I understand. Perhaps I should have chosen my words more assiduously. The point I’m trying to make is that our organization couldn’t help but notice that you’re still pursuing Mr. Dillinger.”

  “Yeah,” I grunted. “That’s for personal reasons.”

  “It will still benefit our organization, Mr. Palasinski,” Idaho-Face continued to thumb her phone while a text bell rang from it. “So our contract seems to remain valid.”

  “Oh spare me, lady,” I interrupted. “I know all about your stupid undead rebellion and I don’t care.” Tuxedo Man’s head jerked in a sudden chiseled motion, locked in on Idaho-Face. She clicked the side of her cell phone and placed it into her suit coat. For the first time, she raised her chin and made eye contact. I could see that besides her strange birthmark, Idaho Face had two different colored eyes.

  “Very good, Mr. Palasinski,” Idaho-Face complimented with her same unaffectionate voice. “I assume that Mr. Dillinger attempted to recruit you for his Undead Union then?”

  “Not exactly,” I responded. I didn’t want to tell her that Dillinger only informed me of the ridiculous war because he was likely about to kill me. It couldn’t hurt if Idaho-Face thought that I possibly had a dangerous ally. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get out of this one. Let’s consider that while my current house guests didn’t have any supernatural vaporizing powers, I was still in a bind. First, Luna and I would either need to go for the high-rise window nearby or fight through the army of Benjamin Button monsters in the hallway. Luna’s scream might have been ignored, but shattered glass or gunshots would likely draw police. Still, knowing my off-putting track record, violence might be better than trying to talk my way out of this one.

  “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Palasinski?” Idaho Face questioned in a monotone voice.

  “Lady.” I slapped my thigh. “Please stop calling me that. It’s Buck.”

  “Okay, Buck.” She squared her posture to my own.

  “And what should I call you?” I asked.

  “Whatever you’d like, Buck.” Idaho Face pressed her hands to her lap.

  “Ms. Boise, it is.” I smiled. The green haired stranger snorted. Tuxedo man stretched his gloved hand and placed it on Idaho-Face’s thigh. Idaho-Face pushed it away quickly, causing the hand to retreat.

  “Sure, Buck.” She straightened her cuffs. “Now, please, elaborate.”

  “Dillinger,” I sighed. “Wanted to know who was trying to kill him.”

  “And?” asked Idaho-Face. I watched as Green Hair savored their cigarette and decided I wanted one of my own. I took the time to remove a smashed cigarette from a crumbled pack in my back pocket, all the while keeping myself in front of Luna. I patted myself down for a lighter, keeping the cigarette hugged on the corner of my lips as I answered.

  “And,” I said through the side of my mouth. “I told him some crazy bitch with Idaho tattooed to her face.”

  “Hmm,” Idaho Face hummed. “I see, Buck.”

  “Ms. Boise,” I said as I found my Zippo in a side pocket and flicked its spark wheel. “What the hell did you expect? Like I said.” I lit the end of my crooked cigarette. “You screwed me.”

  “Blame will get us nowhere, Buck.” Idaho-Face folded her hands together. I watched as her cheeks twitched as she struggled to press her lips into a smile. It was as creepy as Mickey Rourke’s plastic surgery. “I would like to be honest with you. We are navigating a war between usurping dictators and those with enough temerity to stand against their tyranny. We are few, but formidable. Since we don’t have the numbers to complete all of our tasks alone, we outsourced. Now, I’m unsure who else hired you to destroy Mr. Dillinger, but clearly your new employer and I have similar mindsets. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement?”

  “What about tipping Dillinger off to my shooter’s perch?” I argued.

  “Deception, Buck,” Idaho-Face bit back. Her voice was so vanilla that I couldn’t tell if she were lying or just bad at stirring plausibility. I took another deep puff of my cigarette. This was a delicate negotiation, which made me a bull in a China shop. I needed to remain calm. I ignored the shuffling feet outside my apartment door and gripped tighter on Luna. She clutched my leg.

  “I don’t think my employer would be open to it.” I shrugged. “Seeing that he likely wants you dead as well. He’s not a big fan of undead.”

  “Perhaps, that’s not as distressing as you believe Buck,” Idaho Face objected. “He should at least hear our offer.”

  “Sure,” was all I could muster. “Fire away.”

  “In return for your employer’s assistance,” Idaho-Face returned her hands on her thighs. “We would offer them a position at the head of our table once we reclaim the Necrotic world of Chicago. They could administrate the direction of the necrotic population as they see fit. If they truly despise the undead, they could even have you dispose of them.”

  I recognized the word necrotic from role-playing games. It was a form of the word necromancy or the forced manipulation of dead. Creating armies of skeletons, forcing lost souls to do your will and siphoning the life out of victims were all forms of mainstream necromancy. It was exactly what Death was ticked off about. I tried to hide my disapproval by looking over Luna again. She was breathing heavily, her face strained into a grimace. I patted her on the back before tucking her deeper behind my leg.

  “What’s in it for the messenger?” I asked, pretending to care.

  “I’ve noticed quite a few bills in your mailbox, Buck,” Idaho-Face replied. “Perhaps we can assist by ensuring that you never have to worry about a bill again.” She examined my walls and ceiling. “Perhaps even assist in an upgrade to your home?”

  “Just say it,” I bit back. “You mean my shit-hole.”

  “Your words, Buck.” Her expression dulled. “Regardless, your reputation as a sharpshooter is celebrated within the underworld community. We could use a permanent commodity like you and that rifle within our organization.”

  “I’ll pass along the message,” I cut in. “Now, can I please have my damn shit hole back?”

  “Certainly, Buck.” Idaho-Face nodded and stood. Green Hair leaned back in the recliner, combing a hand through their widow’s peak.

  “I need a minute with our host,” Green Hair called out. Green Hair’s voice was heavy and masculine with a grind like old clock parts. My ear caught a hint of an Irish brogue. It didn’t fit the stranger’s sharp and smooth features. Shockingly, Idaho-Face gave Green Hair a black look before moving out of the living room. Tuxedo Tim, who’d been motionless to this point, followed as she approached the front door. I pressed Luna to move away. Idaho-Face nodded, opened the door and waved Tuxedo Man out. I pressed on my toes and leaned outward t
o peek into the hall. There was a line of hag-children waiting like trick or treaters. They reached their talonlike hands out. Tuxedo Man gripped one of the children’s clawed fingers and then reached out to Ms. Boise. She sighed and closed the door behind them. I took Luna by the shoulder and lightly guided her toward my room. Luna gripped Harry the Wolf and hurried to safety. If Green Hair, who seemed to be in charge, wanted to talk, then it would just be the two of us.

  My Millennium Falcon ashtray was docked on the coffee table, its pool filled with crushed cigarette butts. I added one more to the collection before digging in my pocket for a replacement. I sat in the center of my couch and drifted into a relaxed position while plucking a new cigarette from the pack, but there were none left. I tried to give a careless shrug, but I knew that I opened up negotiations on a ridiculous note.

  Green Hair pulled out a pack from inside their striped coat, removed two filtered cigarettes, and extended their hand. I looked at Green Hair’s fingers, which were long and spidery. Green Hair’s black slits stared at me as a lunatic smile spread beneath. Green Hair dug in their coat. Before I could react, they removed a matchbook with a gold octopus on a plum cover, folded their fingers over one match and flicked it all in one motion so that the tip was aflame. Okay, cool. Green Hair extended the burning match to the tip of my cigarette and then their own. I took my cigarette, examined it, and then placed it in my mouth before puffing the smoke.

  “Not bad, aye?” asked Green Hair with a gravelly voice. I reveled in the sweet taste of the tobacco.

  “Not bad.” I flicked ash into the Millennium Falcon.

  “Should I start with an introduction then?”

  “That would only be proper.”

  Green Hair’s lips stretched wide. “We are not proper men, Danny Boy.”

  “No, we are not.”

  “Where should I begin? My real name is Dothur, though I’ve earned a dozen nicknames within my few centuries. Most fellas call me The Mad Knight.” He paused and smiled. “Trust me, I didn’t make that up. I’ve always considered myself as quite calm, plus I don’t save princesses. The manky lad in the tuxedo is my foolish brother Dub. We’re the two remaining sons of the ancient Irish witch, Carman.”

  “Wow, you’re oddly forthcoming.”

  “I don’t like to waste time on polite ceremonies. Manners are—” he paused, rolling his head, “—exhausting.”

  “I get it. Nothing worse than holding in a fart.”

  “You said it. Nevertheless, centuries ago, our mother slept with a devil, fair folk, and Death himself to have us. It was a vie for power that helped Mother get hanged and had us running for our lives. For the last few hundred years, the three of us separately went our own way stealing, murdering, and plotting for power. However, when our oldest brother, Collin-Dian, was murdered recently, Dub and I decided to have a little family reunion. You see, Collin ruled the supernatural community in Chicago and when he was slain, a silly new hierarchy took over. Your Ms. Boise was one of Collin’s most loyal subjects and when he died, she solicited Dub through her powers of seduction. She and Dub gathered those loyal to my brother’s memory and organized, and I’ve just been along for the ride.”

  “Wow. That’s a hell of an info dump if I ever heard one. So let me guess, you’re helping this rebellion to retake the throne for yourself?”

  The Mad Knight’s lips parted into a beam, showing a strange set of tiny teeth that I’d only just noticed. They were perfectly set, but as small as a child’s and twice as many.

  “No, lad. I could give two shites about the rebellion.”

  “Uh,” I buzzed. “You might want to tell that to your brother’s girlfriend because I’m pretty damn sure she’s ready to give her life for the uprising.” The Mad Knight chuckled. It was guttural and genuine, which made it genuinely creepy.

  “I know.” He puffed. “They all would.”

  “Uh.” I smashed my cigarette into the ashtray. “Why are you telling me this?” The Mad Knight shrugged.

  “Not sure. Maybe I like you. Maybe I’m bored. Perhaps I’m showing what’s up my sleeve in hopes that you present me with what’s behind your back.” The dead light bulb around his neck flickered momentarily.

  “Behind my back?”

  “Yes, like the fact that you’re working for Death,” he plopped on my metaphorical lap with a smile.

  “Wait, how do you know that?”

  “The quick version? I was spying. I always spy. It’s my thing,” he said while wrinkling his nose and snickering. “You see, there’s three big powers in this world that keep me from doing all the fun things my heart desires. The Big Honcho is one, Satan another, and finally Death himself. Anytime I try to do anything meaningful, I run into one of their brick walls.” The Mad Knight crossed his legs. I tried to look away.

  Sharon Stone he was not.

  “Let me tell you,” he continued. “It can be really annoying.”

  “I’m playing a tiny violin for you.” I rolled my eyes. “What is exactly meaningful to you?”

  “If I’m being honest, sheer chaos.”

  “Like the Butterfly Effect?”

  “No.”

  “Like Deus ex Machina?”

  “No.”

  “Hey, Alex, do I have to answer in the form of a question or are you going to tell me?”

  The Mad Knight laughed. “Let me ask you a question. When has society’s system ever profited you? I mean truly.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I sighed. “I’m going to need another cigarette for this.” The Mad Knight protruded another cigarette from his pack and handed it over. He lit it with another match while going on.

  “Think about it, Danny Boy,” The Mad Knight said in a tone as soft as shattered glass. “Knowing your profession, as I do, I’m assuming you had a tough upbringing?” I smacked my lips together but remained quiet. “You see, the dotted lines that most people try to follow in order to get their slice of happy-pie is broken. Whoever made the map drew those lines crooked on purpose. They go nowhere. We go nowhere. Once it is realized, we’re in too deep, prisoners of the substances and lifestyles we are used to. It’s an infinite loop.” I thought back to my alcoholic father, overworked mother, and inmate brother. The Mad Knight either did his homework or was speaking truths.

  Possibly both.

  “And?”

  “It was never our fault. The system worked us. It has for a few millenniums now. Worst yet, it’s just a squat reflection of a bigger order. Go straight to the top. God made a structure so he could exist. Satan needs that structure so he can thwart it. Death needs structure so he can end it. No one wants to admit that the bricks are lain crooked because that means it’ll have to be bulldozed, disregarding that the house will eventually fall.”

  “And you are going to be the one to knock it down?”

  “Shite if I know. What I just presented to you, Danny Boy, are just cliff notes. In its truest, most raw form, this information has driven wise men mad. I’ve thought about it until I thought a hole in the ground. I spent decades wondering if there’s ways to stop the cycle, and if doing so is worse than allowing the shit pile to stack higher.”

  “Won’t it just collapse upon itself?”

  “Of course, only to start again. The circle always continues. Unless—”

  “Unless you stop it?” I cut The Mad Knight off.

  “Unless, true chaos, not this organized anarchy masquerading as discord, rears into the cycle.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “That’s very true. It’s an occupational hazard that comes with thinking.”

  “Okay, full circle. Why are you telling me this?”

  “The randomness of what I do is a stranger to even me. However, now that I have told you this, let’s work with it. Why don’t you give Death your two-week notice and join me? Come on, we both know the guy is a self-centered egotist. He’ll likely turn on you eventually.”

  “Well, since he controls my existence, that’s probably not a good idea.
”

  “Such a safe answer. Come on, Buck. Shock me, say something less predictable,” he sighed. I stayed mute. “Fine, we’ll kill him together.”

  “I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ll bet it’s hard to pronounce.”

  “Or am I starting to make sense? After all, you do have his scythe, don’t you?”

  “So?” I tried to play it cool.

  “That’ll do it.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know,” The Mad Knight laughed. “I don’t think that far ahead. It’s too much like…”

  “Order?” I crushed my cigarette onto the hull of the Millennium Falcon. The Mad Knight beamed.

  “Ah, you get it, Danny Boy.” The Mad Knight dabbed the butt of his own cigarette into the ashtray. “Maybe we’ll use the scythe to go after the Devil or God. Maybe we’ll cut a hole into the fibers of the Universe. The world is our oyster.”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Crazy. I just have so much on my plate already. There’s this new internship plus Luna. I’m just not in a position to deal with world-ending uncertainties right now.”

  “We’ll work on that.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, okay. Think about it though, would you?”

  “Sure.”

  The Mad Knight slapped his hands on his thighs. “Well, I should be going. Good luck with my brother’s girlfriend. She’s been cooking up things for you for some time.”

  “Yeah, I’ll think about the offer. For now, though, it’s late. Plus, I never invited any of you over in the first place.”

  The Mad Knight smiled. “No, you didn’t.”

  He stood up and strode with long crooked steps to the front door, flaunting his backside as he sashayed. He opened the front door, turned to me, and gave one last horrifically wide smile. I short waved him goodbye and then watched him exit, shutting the door behind him. I immediately ran to the entrance, peeking through the peephole. The Mad Knight paraded to the spiraling stairwell banisters, and without looking down, he leaned in over the handrail and fell over. I was taken aback by his apparent suicide, but the thump at the bottom never came. Instead, there was only a strobe of light followed by silence. My hands quickly locked the door latch as my heart thumped out of its chest.