A Dead-End Job

by Justin Alcala

  This was really bad.

  Within the span of ten minutes or so, my nightmare had become a damn Netflix full fifteen-episode series. Saying I was cornered was an understatement.

  Ms. Boise wanted me to betray Death. She’d been all calm and professional about her proposal, but I knew a snake when I saw one. She’d bitten me once, and I assumed she was slithering back to finish off the job. The only question was, what the hell did she want with me?

  Now there was this Irish lunatic, The Mad Knight, who wanted me to betray everyone. I didn’t think he was testing my loyalties to either party. It seemed like something different entirely. From what he was blabbing about, it seemed like he had some vast knowledge that obligated him to fix the entire world through a storm of disarray. Sure, it may have felt as if he was offering me a partnership in his bizarre heroics, but it came with a lot of catches. For starters, it sounded like I’d make enemies with Death, the Devil and, oh yeah, God. It was a classic bait-and-switch deal.

  Sure, if I joined him, I’d finally have an ally when it came to killing Dillinger, and there was a chance I could give Death the slip, wiggling out of my ominous circumstance, but at what price?

  I had no answers. While I hoped The Mad Knight was just some immortal psychopath down on his luck, his words haunted me. It was the mention of Death turning on me that lingered, making me fear that I was doomed without The Mad Knight’s help. Perhaps making a deal with him was my only hope. Perhaps it was a big trap. Whatever the case, for that night, and every night thereafter, I’d make sure to fasten each lock, secure each window, and sleep with Old Lilith nearby. Ms. Boise, Dub, and The Mad Knight were coming back for me, and I didn’t know how it would end.

  15

  I’d been sitting in bed drinking thoughts for breakfast. I was drowning in speculation and needed somewhere to clear my head. This is what happened when you’re fresh out of Zoloft and didn’t have money for a refill. I’d done a bit of internet research and found that The Mad Knight’s story checked out.

  Ancient Irish mythology stated that there was a legendary witch named Carman with three wicked sons. Though stories contradicted one another, folklorists agreed that she’d created a great blight in Ireland that had only ended when some ancient fairy race known as the Tuatha Dé Danann had stepped in. After Luna woke up, I checked under the bed for real monsters before crisping elbows of raisin bread for breakfast. When we were done eating, we packed the van and headed to see Denise. Now that Ms. Boise, and more importantly The Mad Knight, knew where I lived, I decided to take provisions for a few days just in case. I brought a change of clothes, the last of the food in the cupboard, and tap water in a milk jug. We made our way southwest to Resurrection Cemetery.

  It was a sunny Friday in Chicago, which meant that come four o’clock, everyone would be outside enjoying the only three months of warmth in the Midwest. No one in the three-one-two area code knew exactly what we had done to offend nature, but it was clearly unforgivable.

  Luckily, it was early so Luna and I had a few hours to spare. It took three cigarettes and an hour of driving to get to Resurrection Cemetery. The famous rust stains along the gate’s bars were known throughout Chicagoland as the grip marks of Resurrection Mary, resident ghost.

  Legend had it that the famous vanishing hitchhiker was struck down by a car along Archer Avenue in the 1930s. Since her death, she’s terrorized motorists by asking for rides to Resurrection Cemetery. Most folks said that she was a beautiful young woman in her early twenties, and appeared very much alive, clad in period ballroom clothes. It’s only when she vanished at the entrance or singed the bars with her grip to release the lock that witnesses realized she’d been a ghost. The story has inspired other tales across the country, but it all started here.

  I told the Luna the story as we approached and watched her gaze narrow and follow the gate stains as we drove through. It was funny to think that a vicious werewolf would be afraid of a ghost, but kids will be kids. We swerved through acres of cemetery road, pulling over underneath a tree near Denise’s grave. I turned the key, letting the engine rumble idle while staring at the steering wheel’s horn. A murder of crows balancing on the oak’s arms above us cawed their cemetery hymn. It was never easy to visit Denise’s grave. Although I tended to leave with peace of mind, it was not without awakening feelings and regrets that I’d rather let sleep. We lumbered up a small hill toward Denise’s grave, and the memories that I just couldn’t wash out started to blacken my mind.

  It had been Christmas Eve. Denise was supposed to work the late shift, but the December snow caused for slow business and cut hours. I had spent every holiday by myself, and although I pretended it didn’t bother me, Denise knew it sucked. I had planned on dragging my recliner to the apartment window while helping myself to antidepressants and a glass of twelve-year single malt Aberlour until I fell asleep. As I’d let the caramel burn set in, the door burst open and a caroling Denise, donned with gifts under her arms, told me that this Christmas would be different. I still remember the smell of her vanilla lotion as she had leapt in my lap, watching me open my future-favorite black Prada tie and silver dress watch. For your next job, she had told me. Little did she know, it would be. We had spent the rest of the night watching creepy clay animation, ordering Chinese, and finishing off the scotch. It doesn’t sound like much, but it was everything.

  That story is just one of many that I could tell. And that’s why I’m so damn angry. How is it that a girl like Denise, the only star bold enough to twinkle in an otherwise black sky, is the one that’s snuffed out? She was the needle in the haystack. She worked all the soup drives and took in stray animals. She was the only one that sympathized with even the lowliest wretches of society, wretches like me. So, who will put flowers on a flower’s grave? I decided long ago that it would be me. I’d do it by making people leading blameworthy lives hurt.

  Justice masked as revenge? Maybe, but it worked for me.

  Luna and I made it to the grave. I stood mute while Luna dusted off the headstone, tracing her finger over each letter and wordlessly mouthing the name Denise. I saw Luna’s index finger trace over the date of death, glower, and look up at me while squeezing her doll. I didn’t cry anymore, but the stone in the pit of my stomach caused me to tuck my lip up tight as I searched for something to say. Luna inspected my face as if it were a crossword puzzle.

  “Yeah,” I forced out through an exhaled breath. “She was my sweetheart, kid.”

  Luna didn’t flinch. She moved to my side and just stared down at the headstone with me.

  The crows continued to call as we stood in green grass. The sun gleamed down, heating our backs while shaping a gold shimmer across Denise’s name. I watched the sparkling sheen skate across the marker and wondered if it was something more. I wanted to pretend it was a sign from Denise, but the levelheaded voice in my mind, the one that had remained silent out of respect for the dead, finally spoke up. It was the sun, nothing more. Now that the mystery had been solved, there were bigger issues that deserved my attention.

  Whether I wanted to accept the absurdity of my predicament or not, the fact remained that I had been killed by John Dillinger while doing a job for Ms. Boise. My life was spared by whatever fate awaited me in the afterlife in return for working for Death. He was taking time off and expected me to help him kill anything that was trying to cheat him. First stop was John Dillinger, my former murderer and vampire.

  However, while trying to finish the wily bastard, I’d stumbled upon a civil war going on in Chicago’s undead community. It appeared that Ms. Boise had hired me to kill Dillinger because he was part of a usurper group of undead that took over the necrotic throne, and after an unwelcome visit to my home, confessed that she was hoping I’d finish the job. Not to mention the problem that was possibly the biggest wild card: Ms. Boise’s boss, a bizarre elven lunatic known as The Mad Knight.

  He didn’t care at all what happened. Instead, he was interested in a bigger picture, trying
to break the dysfunctional system that made everyone from the mouse to the lion miserable. He narrowed down the source of the problem to God, the Devil, and Death, and wanted to use my inside position to thwart the fat cats of fate. Or so he said. How he planned on doing that was anyone’s guess.

  That left me here. With my place compromised, a little girl to protect, and a job unfinished, I had decisions to make. My first priority was keeping Luna safe. I had to decide whether she was safer with me or somewhere else. Maybe I could pawn her off on Bethany for a few days, but then again, I didn’t exactly have Luna’s condition figured out. If the girl changed into a toothy grinned werewolf, it could be bad for Bethany’s babysitting career. I’d have to keep Luna with me, one eye peeled at all times.

  If I wanted to keep our squishy parts intact, I’d need to make a decision on the undead rebellion. Ms. Boise and the ghoul gang surprising me at my home had been a power play. They’d offered the olive branch but had also been flexing their clout. If I didn’t play ball, they knew where I lived and had the resources to hurt me. I didn’t appreciate it. Would tricking the rebellion into a room rigged with explosives get me bonus points with Death? I also wondered how that might affect my relationship with The Mad Knight, who suggested he couldn't care less about the uprising.

  At times like this, my military background reminded me that the mission came first. Killing John Dillinger was the assignment. Ensuring Luna’s safety was my personal charge. Ms. Boise was a distraction. I started to think about how I’d go about locating Dillinger again. He would stay away from The Violet Hour if he was as smart as I knew he was. As I strained to think how this mission could be any more demanding, the mission called for more.

  My cell phone gave a short buzz in my pants pocket; I pulled it out. There was a single, simple text that said Is he dead yet? Jumbo, who was house sitting for Death while supervising my job, wanted results. I didn’t have any. I texted back Pending. Alright, new plan. I’d stop at The Violet Hour and kidnap one of the creepy-smiling host and hostess duo. Then, torture. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t have much of a choice at this point.

  I took one last look at Denise’s grave and blocked out any disapproval she might have about what I was up to. If I was ever going to see her again, it wouldn’t be in Hell, which was where I was going if I didn’t get this job done. I took a deep breath and looked to Luna. She took notice of the white-haired statue that was finally moving and stared up at me.

  “Ready to go, kid?” I asked. Luna nodded. “We’ve got work to do.”

  We rolled out of the sprawling cemetery toward the scarred gates. I was trying to wipe the solemnity off my face for Luna’s sake when a glint from the intersection between the cemetery road and Archer Avenue caught my eye. I slowed down the van and made out a visitor fixed at the corner. I could hear Luna’s breathing speed up as we gaped at a woman adorned in a glossy embroidered white dress. She was young with a porcelain face and honey colored hair. She looked up at us with a melancholic moue and raised her hand. With a single flick, she jutted out her thumb. No, way. This couldn’t be. Luna squealed. The noise caused me to press down on the gas, swerving past the hitchhiker onto Archer Avenue as fast as I could.

  “No,” I said aloud. “Hard no.”

  The shock of our little encounter helped shake off the gloom. We were an hour into Chicago traffic when my phone rang. It was Nolan, our Dungeon Master. I was an advocate for phone safety while driving, but the fact that we were at a standstill on the Stevenson Expressway made Nolan’s call an exception. I put the phone on speaker, letting the white noise from the audio fill the van.

  “Hello. This is Jack Burton in the Porkchop Express,” I greeted in my best Kurt Russel voice.

  “Mr. Burton,” Nolan’s voice called out in a terrible Egg Chen imitation. “Where is da’ six- demon bag?”

  “Oh, man,” I sighed while beeping my horn at the truck trying to cut me off at two miles an hour. “Our imitations are awful.”

  “Da’ worst,” Nolan agreed. “But dats not why I’m calling.”

  “What’s up, Mr. DM?”

  “Hey, buddy, I just had a strange encounter with Freddy, and I wanted to make you aware.” “Nolan,” I laughed. “It’s still morning. Do you live at the hobby shop?”

  “Don’t you judge me. I wanted to pick up da’ new wizard’s book before work so I could read it on my lunch break.”

  “Okay, nerd. What did Freddy the Vampire Slayer have to say?”

  “He was asking if I knew where you were. He wanted to talk more about vampires.”

  “Well, he’s weird, so I guess that’s not so strange.”

  “Well, yes and no. That’s not what was strange. What was strange is the fact dat’ he said he’d already stopped at your house, but you weren’t home.” I waved my hand at Luna, who had helped herself to the radio buttons. “Last I checked,” Nolan continued over the obnoxious pop song. “You weren’t about giving out your address.” I turned the volume down and cleared my throat.

  “Yeah, it’s the whole stereotypical ex-military conspiracy theorist thing,” I joked to disguise any concern. “They give us a whole speech about expectations before we’re discharged.” Nolan laughed. “Seriously though, that is bizarre, but I’m going to bet Freddy got it from that dip shit, Darren. He gave it to Bethany, too. It wouldn’t shock me if he was passing it out like candy on Halloween. The guy hates me.”

  “Yeah,” Nolan cut in. “But Bethany is a chick. Let me clarify, Bethany is an attractive woman. They don’t usually talk to Darren. He’s susceptible to fold like a lawn chair. Otherwise, Darren takes his job pretty seriously. Too seriously to be exact.”

  “True. Maybe Freddy was there when Darren gave it to Bethany?”

  “No, Buck. I was der’ when Bethany asked. She was super concerned about Luna and asked me if it would be weird tah’ ask Darren first.” Luna eyeballed the phone. “I gave her da’ thumbs up. Freddy was gone fer’ the day though.”

  My Chicago accent translator took a moment to process. “Hmm, well that is definitely out of the norm. I appreciate you letting me know.”

  “Yeah of course, buddy. Alright, I need to get tah’ work. Are you going to make next week’s session?”

  “I should be able to,” I said with a delay.

  “Dude, that will be in two weeks.”

  “I know, I know. Sorry, life is crazy.”

  “Alright, well, I’ll cross my fingers. The party needs you.”

  “Well, until then.”

  Nolan said goodbye and then I pressed the off button. Luna studied me biting my lip as I thought about what Nolan had to say. How did I go from having a secret Bat Cave to running an open house?

  Careless paperwork, that’s how.

  All things considered, Freddy was the least of my worries. As offbeat as he was, the guy was harmless. If he showed up at the doorstep of my apartment sometime in the future, I’d scare him away with an empty threat and then endure the awkwardness of his glares at Gamer’s Pair-a-Dice. That is, if I ever had an apartment again. If I didn’t solve all my little dangerous issues soon, I might not be able to return home.

  We rolled down the littered streets of Damen Avenue shortly before lunch to scope out The Violet Hour again. I was just going to do a quick drive-by to see if the delivery trucks and cleaning crew were still on schedule. It’s funny that I was so resolute in returning to the place where I had nearly been killed, but such is the burden of my profession. I slowed down just enough to take in a red sign posted on the front of the establishment. I strained to read the letters as I slowed down the van.

  CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. CHECK OUT OUR WEBSITE FOR MORE DETAILS.

  Son of a bitch.

  Dillinger knew he was exposed. Staying there would have been a big mistake. He wasn’t going to reopen until he solved his little hitman problem. I recalled all the jobs I did in the past. Collectively, none of them had given me as much grief as this one. Apparently tracking down supernatural monsters
was tougher than I’d thought. A car behind me beeped, forcing me to return to the regular speed. I kicked the van forward and thought about my backup plan.

  You win this one, Dillinger, but I have an ace up my sleeve.

  16

  The groan of my mobile office’s engine caused a stir in the donut shop’s drive-through. A look of horror came from every driver in the stretched line of economy vehicles. My pollution machine grumbled over the environmentally friendly clown cars. I had asked Luna what she’d wanted for lunch after putting a few miles between us and The Violet Hour. She’d pointed at an over-the-top bakery’s mascot smiling along the street. He was a stereotyped Italian man with a puffy mustache and chef’s hat balancing a plate of donuts on a tray. The building’s white eaves and pitched Italianate roof architecture were tastelessly cliché, but if the girl wanted racist donuts, then racist donuts was what she’d get.

  After crawling through the line, paying with car toll change, and receiving our order, we found a parking spot in the donut shop’s lot and turned off the van. The pair of us took our overly frosted donuts into the back cab to let the van’s engine cool down. It was hot out and I noticed that the summer humidity made me ripe. I felt naked nowadays when I wasn’t armed, a rabbit’s hole of piled psychological issues that I didn’t care to get into, so I wore a jacket even in the ninety-degree weather. It was a Chicago Bears windbreaker, with enough room in the chest to hide Thing One and Thing Two. I’d earned it for buying an economy case of cigarettes. I sipped my super-sized black coffee while watching Luna chow down on a chocolate puff with a parading protest of animal candy on top. She poked at the sugary creatures so that none escaped before glancing up with a chocolate smile.