A Dead-End Job

by Justin Alcala

  “What about my mark?” I pushed back. “You forget I’m a damn professional hitman and Death hired me to kill your friend Dillinger.”

  “Let me handle that,” Jumbo brushed me off. “I think Death will understand once I explain.”

  “Wrong’o buddy,” I hissed. “I might be new to the game, but I know that Dillinger is an Unmentionable and he screws up Death’s system. Guess what? I’ve been hired to kill him on pain of an eternity in Hell. That won’t change.”

  Jumbo sighed. “Buck, are you really going to ignore everything I told you.”

  I took Luna’s hand. “Not sure yet,” I tried to say without sounding as frustrated as I was.

  “If you’re serious, you’ll spare me some time to think.”

  “There is none to spare.” Adam punched his truck. “We are in overtime already.”

  “Take it or leave it, Red Skull,” I bluffed while trying to ignore Adam’s hostility. We were all a bit frustrated, and it was so damn hot. Could someone shut off the sun already?

  “Let him go.” Jumbo waved me off. “I think Buck here is in grave danger and he could cost the world its natural balance, but if he needs time to think, we’ll give it to him.”

  “I’m no stranger to sarcasm.” I narrowed eyes. “From my perspective, you’re all a bunch of shit pouches. Jumbo, you’re helping a damn vampire and undead construct,” I said while thumbing to Adam. “There’re entire Victorian novels packed with their documented murder sprees.” Adam creased his brow but remained mute.

  “This is beyond morality, dude.” Jumbo massaged his temple. “We have a counter plan to stop the rebellion but will likely need you for it.”

  “Pray tell what this plan is?” I queried.

  “With this.” Ken Doll stepped forward and presented the Hello Kitty key once on Dub’s wrist, handing it to Jumbo. Jumbo reached out and retrieved the key, pumping his fist.

  “This is a start,” Jumbo breathed in relief.

  “Maybe for you, ya dingus,” I snapped. “But not Buck Palasinski.”

  “Dude, you are a damn professional killer,” Jumbo jeered.

  “Yeah.” I guided Luna away from the assembly. “Maybe I am, but don’t expect me to just help you because you have a few valid points. In fact, don’t expect much out of me at all. Now, can I go?”

  Jumbo shook his head. “Stupidity is not a crime, so yes, you’re free to go.”

  “Good,” I barked. “Come on kid, we’re leaving.” I looked over my shoulder while Luna and I walked away. “Goest and fucketh thyself.”

  The van was parked in front of Gamer’s Pair-a-Dice, a red zone at the moment, and I was on the tougher part of the westside. I didn’t think this through. I continued to walk through the decayed parking lot asphalt. I could hear hurried footsteps behind me. It was the hostess. She jogged in front of me and blocked my path.

  “What?” I demanded. The hostess held out her hand, which was pinching a white business card. There was a twenty-dollar bill folded under it.

  “Here, please,” the hostess said, her pitch high and hopeful. “Use this to get back to your van. The number on there is in case you change your mind, friend.” I took the card and tucked it in my pocket. I had to admit that Team Dillinger was far more courteous.

  “What’s your name, anyhow?”

  “Selena,” she said through her red lipstick grin. “My mom was a big fan.”

  “Well, Selena.” I pulled up Uber on my phone. “I’d ditch Dillinger and crew while you still can. They’re a bunch of douche canoes.”

  “They’re the only douche canoes I have.”

  “Well, not me. I have me, myself, and I.”

  “Okay, friend. I’ll have the phone on me. Call whenever.” She smiled. I tugged Luna’s hand. “Have a great day.”

  I gave her an over-the-shoulder middle finger.

  I was a baller on a budget. I had no money. The credit card I’d been using should have declined a few swipes ago. The cash Selena gave me could hardly afford Pam the Uber driver, who would pick us up in seven minutes. A hotel, motel, or worse was out of the financial plan. The van was too risky to retrieve just yet. The few friends I had would be in danger if we stayed on their couch. There was only one option. I had to go back to our flat.

  I thought about how I could secure the apartment while peering out of the window of Pam’s foreign SUV. The vehicle’s air conditioning still had that new car smell. It felt good. Luna dozed off next to me, using my arm as a pillow. Ms. Boise had said that she would give me time to think, but Dub had breached the unspoken cease fire by attacking me. I wondered if this would change our arrangement, putting us in danger. Then again, Dub had never actually attacked me. In fact, the only reason he and the hag children had attacked at all was because Adam and the gang had showed up. Could Dillinger and the Undead Union have tried to press Dub’s hand by exposing him in front of me or were they just in it for the key?

  Dub may have killed poor Freddy. If he did, then that took our deal off the table. The ping-pong game of points and counter points continued until we returned home, but ultimately it came down to one thing. I’d need to learn Freddy’s fate for myself. Before I did, I had to set up the apartment like it was a dwarf fortress along with Home Alone traps, occult wards, and a panic room. So, when we arrived back at the apartment, I hurried Luna up the stairs.

  The apartment appeared to be unmolested. I pushed the ruddy couch against the front door, my only entrance, and closed all the drapes. I went online and read a few doomsday prep forums for trap ideas. I skipped explosives and went straight to the swinging weights and nail spikes. After securing the windows with spring-loaded spears made from mop handles and butcher knives, I scoured Google for magical protection tips. I was flooded with anemic sites that suggested positive attitude and meditation, but eventually found blogs with more tangible measures.

  I used some of my role-playing miniature paint to mix up a batch of Haint Blue, a popular shade that allegedly deterred malevolent spirits. I then removed my couch barricade and painted the outside threshold of my apartment door, surrendering my security deposit in the process.

  Next, I was instructed to hang garlic, but because I didn’t have any fresh cloves from the garden at the moment, I did the next best thing. I dangled a half bottle of garlic seasoning and a frozen garlic pizza on shoe strings over my front room window. Finally, I read about the power of salt against dark magic and remembered that Dillinger had some prepared in his booby trap. I collected all of the McDonalds salt packets in my junk drawer and made a line near every room’s edge.

  Once that was complete, I organized the bathroom into my panic room. I placed pillows in the bathtub for Luna to hide in and then reinforced the cheap white cedar door with a solid maple one that had been lingering in the building’s laundry room. I nailed a two-by-four pried from my bed frame into the bathroom wall to be slid down behind the washroom entrance as an extra barricade. Finally, I placed the hammer and a softball bat in the washroom. If I went down, Luna could hide here and make her last stand.

  The house looked like an obstacle course. I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and then joined Luna on the couch for what I hoped wasn’t my last meal. We ate while watching public access cartoons. Luna gave the apartment a once over, her eyes locked on the garlic pizza and seasonings dangling from the ceiling. Her nose crinkled and her mouth turned into a near flat smile. Luna must have had her doubts about my ADT system for vampires. I bided my time until the show’s happy ending to break my newest line of bad news. I was about to break and enter Freddy’s home. If I took Luna and we were caught by the police, they’d take Luna to a foster home. Plus, if I went alone, I could be quicker. It was best if she stayed here at Fort Knox.

  “Hey, kid,” I said with my hands delicately gripped on her shoulders like one of those TV dads. “I have a favor to ask.” Luna’s brows knitted. “I need you to stay here by yourself for an hour.” Her expression hardened. “Just listen. Have I ever steered
you wrong?” Luna puffed her nose. “Exactly. I haven’t. I’m going on a dangerous trip that could get me in trouble with the police. If I’m caught, they’ll take you away.” Luna’s expression dulled. “Once again, that’s bad.” Luna put me through another one of her torturous intermissions. “So, what do you say?” I sat there with my hands on her shoulders like an idiot. After an eternity Luna nodded and shooed me away with her little hand. I smiled.

  “Thanks, kid. I’ll be back in no time.”

  18

  I drove the sedan to the address left on Fredrick L. Waters, Occult Expert’s magnet. He lived in a suburb called Oak Park. The area bordered Chicago’s west fringes, and in some ways appeared to be nothing more than an extension of the city with its busy streets and tightly packed commercial buildings. It wasn’t until you continued west into the residential pockets of Oak Park that you understood that this is where the wealthy went to enjoy a taste of city life while basking in Victorian mansions, eating at fine local restaurants, and accessing plush public parks. Freddy didn’t live in that part, though. He lived in the butthole of Oak Park near the highway that the wealthy drove on to get to their estates.

  A weight saddled my shoulders as I scouted Freddy’s building. I shrugged off the antsy feeling within as simple precautious awareness but deep down, I knew I felt naked because I didn’t have Luna. After finding a parking spot nearly three blocks away, I unruffled my tie in the rearview mirror. I’d changed into my suit in hopes to blend in with the struggling upcoming hopefuls of Oak Park. They’d be coming home from work around now, and I hoped I’d easily be ignored. Once I thought I looked like a regular office Joe, I grabbed a few unopened bills from the glove compartment, Old Lilith’s satchel, and then headed toward Freddy’s address.

  Freddy’s block was filled with heather precast brick buildings with tall bay windows along their faces. There were small decorative panes of stained glass running up the centers. The whole neighborhood looked like mass-produced Frank Lloyd Wright knockoffs. The green door to Freddy’s complex had one of those buzz entry systems with key fob access. Since my custodian key wouldn’t work, I waited near the short front lawn, pretending to open up bills while absentmindedly fidgeting with my ring of keys. When a young couple complete with new baby in a stroller pushed toward the front door, I came ambling after, my nose still in my mail. The couple were using the buddy system to open the door with their key fob while removing their daughter from the stroller and collapsing the cart to squeeze it through the entrance. The father took one look at me with my nose in a final notice, frowned, then held open the door. I gave an inattentive thanks before entering; a feigned look of concern washed over my face while I tucked the bills in Old Lilith’s satchel.

  Once I put space between the young family and myself, I scouted the bottom floor for additional exits in case my errand went sour. I found a back door between the maze of narrow gold painted walls with chess pattern tile that led to the alley dumpsters. There was also a single outdated elevator complete with an accordion-style gate and round buttons. A few garden apartment windows that led into bushes if I was desperate. Once I designated my emergency exits, I used the stairs and went up to Freddy’s unit.

  The fifth-floor carpet smelled of mildew. Every door looked the same except Freddy’s, which had a tacky sign that matched the magnet under the knocker. I looked over my shoulder to ensure the hall was clear before listening. Quiet as can be. Luckily, his door lock didn’t match the key fob system. It gave a guy with a custodian key complete access. I gave one last glance from my left to my right before sticking my key inside and entering.

  The unmistakable stench of bad milk emanated from Freddy’s little place. Where my cheap apartment sacrificed location for size, his tiny studio flipped the script. There was a garage size room complete with a convertible futon, tiny entertainment system, and computer desk covered in gaming books. A small archway led to a tightly-packed kitchen with enough walkway for a single person to get stuck between the miniature fridge and oven. On the opposite side of the studio was a beaded curtain that led to an awkwardly exposed closet bathroom complete with pink out-of-date tile and stained porcelain.

  What a shit hole; and I should know. I’d lived in every cheap shack and shanty Chicago had to offer. This place screamed temporary, while I sort out my divorce.

  I wasn’t a detective, but I read a lot of grimdark noir, which practically made me an expert of one liners and clue searching. I followed the standard spiral technique, searching the outer rims of the shoebox apartment before getting to the deeper little crevices and drawers. Beyond the scattered dice and pornography expected of a thirty-year-old role player was one obvious indication that the worst may have occurred for poor Freddy. All of his clothes were still neatly folded in his drawers and his bumper sticker covered luggage was in his closet. There was a half-gallon of milk with a week late expiration date and leftover Chinese takeout with the receipt stapled to the pint box. The purchase had been made ten days ago and was the only food for Freddy to live on. Poor people ate leftovers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  I tried to get into Freddy’s computer but was locked out after several failed attempts to guess his password. I searched his drawers for tips that could help move along my sinking investigation. Hidden under a copy of a Codex Gigas was an obsidian stone dagger complete with an ivory bone handle. I was no historian, but an apparent Mayan snake had been engraved into the grip of the weapon. The creature’s rattle-tail started at the pommel and slithered up as if its hissing mouth was regurgitating the blade. I filed the blade under badass and then pocketed it in my coat.

  I slunk along to the bathroom in hopes that Freddy might have hid something in the bog.

  Clever folk concealed valuables in plastic baggies taped inside toilet tanks. Such was not the case. All I found was a ratty flush valve. I was about to give up when my eye caught an unsettling piece of evidence. Bespattered on the inside of the shower curtain and along the pink tiles inside the tub was the lightest spray of what could only be dried blood. I crouched down near the stains and made out thin incisions within the fiberglass molding, the kind that are accidentally made when chopping vegetables on a kitchen carving board or hacking up a corpse. I shut my eyes and sighed.

  Suddenly the buzz of voltage pursued by a strobe of yellow light flashed behind me. A throaty hum over my shoulder crooned an old Irish song I recognized as The Black Velvet Band.

  “Tsk, tsk. I cannot believe you bit the bait, Danny Boy,” a granulating voice called out behind me. I leapt up and removed Thing One. The Mad Knight smiled as he looked down the barrel of the silencer. “Jumpy, are we?” He leaned on the wall. The rawboned man had slicked his fern-flushed hair back into a ponytail, giving his cat eyes that much more impish definition. He wore an eighties style letterman jacket, red chested with white sleeves, over a dress shirt clipped to a leopard pattern tie. His taut leather pants clung over white high socks and dark loafers.

  “How did you slip past the beaded curtains? They’re impregnable alarms for teenagers smoking pot since the sixties.”

  “And her hair, it hung over her shoulder,” he sang. “Tied up with a black velvet band.” The Mad Knight paused, straightened out his back and stared at me. “I get around,” he quashed before moving to sit on the closed toilet. “Buck, seriously, you are so much better than this.” He stared down as his feet. He frowned, licked his thumb, and rubbed it along a scuff on his toe cap.

  “What are you babbling about now?”

  “Come now, laddie. Dub obviously wanted you to come here, and you fell right into his poorly spun trap. You should have known that’s what the entire dog and pony show at that hobby store was about.”

  “Wait, so is Freddy actually dead?”

  “Of course he is. My brother always kills his subject. It’s like…” He shrugged. “…his thing.”

  I hung my head. I’d killed poor Freddy. “Come on, keep your chin up, Danny Boy.”

  “Why would he
do that?”

  “I don’t know, the guy isn’t all there.” The Mad Knight tapped the side of his noggin.

  “No, I mean why did your brother want me to come here?”

  “So he could separate you from Luna, of course.”

  “Dothur, what are you talking about?”

  “Ugh, I hate that name.”

  “Stop buying time, asshole, and answer the freaking question,” I ordered. The Mad Knight straightened out. His face went blank.

  “Oh, there we are. That’s the Buck I like.” He hesitated, wiping his lips before grinning. “I told ya before, I spy. My brother does too. It’s why he took Freddy’s face in the first place. He watches everyone like they’re pieces on a chessboard.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Nah, I’m a spontaneous voyeur. I like to shoot from the hip.”

  “You’re seconds away from being shot in the hip, then the chest, and then your smirking face if you don’t keep talking.”

  “Dub knew you had a soft spot for the little werewolf girl you stole from his rebellion. Once you packed your van like a mobile home this morning, my brother’s girlfriend calculated that the statistical chance you’d join them deteriorated into the one percent range. They couldn’t have that, so we wove a last-minute plan to press the matter by showing you fake Freddy in order to tempt you into making a mistake.”

  “Go on.” I thumbed back the hammer of Thing One.

  “I was supposed to post up here. I doubted you’d come by, but if you did, I’d nab the little girl while you were rifling through Frederick’s porn and take her to the safe house.”

  “But I didn’t bring Luna.”

  For the first time, I saw The Mad Knight’s eyes glimmer in true excitement. He leaned in and stared at me from the tops of his cat eyes. I could hear the slather of spit from his mouth as his lips stretched up to his dagger sharp cheekbones. The light bulb on his chest flickered.

  “Exactly.”