A Dead-End Job
Page 21
However, according to IgotStonedinSalem.com, an occult website for practitioners of magic, there was a Bokor priest in New Orleans that claimed to be the student of Jean Baptiste Point du Sable. The article went on to say that Jean Baptiste Point DuSable had been a powerful voodoo priest in life, which helped bring him his fortune. Later, he ascended from death to seek revenge upon those that wronged him through a powerful voodoo ritual. How he was wronged or who his student had been, wasn’t mentioned in the article, but if any of this was even slightly accurate, it would explain the rotted man I had coffee with. Jean Baptiste Point DuSable was a voodoo revenant.
I finished the last of my third hotdog. My traps had been set, my projects completed, and stomach filled. There was nothing more for me to do but wait. So long as Dillinger did his part, this plan just might work. I thought about how I’d warned him before I left the coffee house. Men that dealt in death tended to respect honesty, no matter how brutal. I hope he’d taken what I’d said as advice and not a threat. Otherwise, Dillinger might have been tempted to backstab me tonight. Probably not the best idea you’ve ever had in retrospect, Buck.
The apartment’s calm was deafening. I smoked another pair of cigarettes, staring at a grain in floor’s wood until a listless daze fell over me. I really needed Zoloft. A cool breeze blew through the broken window. Distant thunder foretold an omen I couldn’t interpret. All I wanted was to save Luna. The only people I planned to kill were monsters. I was the good guy for once. Right? Puzzled, a voice rang out in my head. It was the words The Mad Knight uttered.
We are not proper men, Buck.
22
It was the clap of thunder that woke me. It had been so loud that, for a second, I thought I was back in Afghanistan. I stood instinctively, knocking the ashtray off my lap. The light drizzle outside matured into a proper storm. The apartment was dark. I pulled out my phone to see what time it was. The clock on the wall read ten minutes past eleven. I was cutting it close. I saw I had one text. It was from Fake Jumbo.
Updates? It read. I slid the display and cleared the text.
“I have a date for you.” I tucked my phone into my coat pocket. “With five pretty little ladies in jackets.” I kept egging myself on as I collected my car keys. “They’ve been good little girls all week, but today ain’t no school night.” I gave myself one last glance in the bathroom mirror. I was disheveled and pale. Was this really how I wanted to look when I died? I ran my face under some water, straightened my tie out, then slapped color in my cheeks. I stared at myself again.
“Redemption time, you piece of shit.”
I returned to the dining room, squeezed on my leather gloves, grabbed my coat, and marched out of the door. It was game time. I flicked my coat’s lapel up as the rain trickled down my neck. I gave the sky a stare that said don’t push me. There was a flash of lightning but no thunder. I took my time walking to the van. Getting my head right was far more important than being prompt at the moment. I had to convince myself that I was the baddest man on the block. I hopped in the van, let the engine call out into the night, and then pushed the pedal down with purpose. The beast kicked up mud. I flipped on the playlist titled “Walk Like a Badass” on full volume. By the time I neared downtown, I felt brazen enough to drink honey straight from a damn beehive.
I parked in my usual spot under Lake Shore Drive. I had fifteen minutes left on the clock.
This was the first time I was going unarmed to anything. I felt exposed. Anxiety tried to rise to the surface, but I kicked its gasping head back under water. If circumstances called for violence, I’d just have sore knuckles in the morning. I collected the briefcase used for businessman disguises and trading Punisher comics. It was heavier now with Old Lilith in it. By the time I tightened my mental bootstraps, there were ten minutes left.
I sang Louis Prima’s Just a Gigolo to calm myself while walking north along the Lakefront Trail onto the steel bridge and crossed the Chicago River. I noticed a long barge docked alongside the construction site stacked with cargo crates the size of semi-trailers that hadn’t been there before. I took note, used my backdoor path to sneak near the construction site, and approached the slit in the Spiral Tower’s fence. There were five minutes left.
Rain clouded my vision with blends of pewter, slate, and charcoal from the hazy concrete backdrop. I slopped through the gravel’s muck. Five figures stood at the lip of the Spiral’s hole. A petite form matching Rosita’s held up an umbrella. Huddled beneath it was a small silhouette with slumped shoulders gripping a doll. Luna. On Luna’s opposite end was a hunched body with the build of a professional wrestler. A soaked tuxedo clung to their thick shoulders told me it was Dub. Adjacent to him was a wiry figure flushed in shadow. They held a heavy pistol at a fifth person perched on their knees. I closed the distance and saw that the man with the gun was none other than The Mad Knight. He wore a fisherman’s slicker and had his green hair braided into twin pigtails resting on each shoulder. At the bottom of his barrel was a wincing Dillinger.
I tried not to show signs of shock, swaggering up with my hands in my pocket.
“When the end comes I know.” I planted myself a few yards away. “That I’m just a gigolo. Life goes on without me.” The group stared at me. “Oh, hello,” I greeted with my best crazy eyes.
“Mr. Palasinski,” Rosita announced. She had painted her face with a Día de Muertos skull complete with webs along her forehead and flowers over her brows. A necklace made of animal bones hung from her neck. “Thank you for your promptness.”
“It’s Buck,” I corrected.
“Apologies,” Rosita conceded. “I’d nearly forgotten. Now, if you don’t mind, my associate here will now frisk you for security reasons.” I shrugged. Dub plodded over to me, his hair flung over his face. His white Mickey Mouse gloves patted my chest, ribs, and underarms with authority. He was strong. Luckily, I wasn’t armed. After fondling my thighs, Dub straightened his back and returned to his post alongside Luna. “I’m sure you may be asking yourself why our friend Mr. Dillinger decided to join our little meeting.”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “Luna, you okay?” Luna nodded.
“He was caught surveying our meeting place,” Rosita explained. “You wouldn’t have any idea as to how he knew where we were meeting, would you?”
“Sounds like our phones are bugged or something,” I deflected. “You should probably use a burner. Now do you want the scythe or not?”
Rosita narrowed her lips under a sterile stare. “Yes, let’s complete the transaction. The child for the scythe. Show us the merchandise please.” My hands hesitated. I flicked the brass hasps and opened the briefcase. A disassembled Old Lilith greeted them. Dillinger shook his head. “Excellent. Now, please, assemble the rifle, Buck.”
I flung a suspect look, but no one budged. After a long pause, I pulled the stock from the briefcase and connected it to the remaining parts. Even in the rain I could put a rifle together in seconds. When Old Lilith was complete, I showcased it to the group. Rosita looked to Dub. He grunted.
“Excellent, Buck,” Rosita applauded. “Now give it to Dub.”
“Absolutely not, Mrs. Potato Head,” I chided. “I get Luna first.” Dub cracked his neck. “There’re only five bullets in the chamber. I have no other weapons. You hold all the cards. The least you can do is assure me that I’m not going to be double crossed. Send me the girl.”
“Agreed, Buck.” Rosita pulled the umbrella over her head so that the storm showered down on Luna. Luna cringed. “Dub, please escort the little one to Buck.” Dub did as told, and guided Luna by her shoulders. Luna picked up her pace and hugged my leg. I pet her cheek then tucked her behind me. “Now hand the rifle to my associate, Buck.”
I remembered what Jumbo told me. Unless I did this willingly, Old Lilith couldn’t be taken. It was up to me now. I closed my eyes, weighing everything one last time. Giving them the rifle meant we might be able to get out of here. It was super bad though for the future.
“Take it,” I commanded. Dub hastily tugged the gun out of my hands and backed away. An emotional weight stirred in my stomach. Dub took several eager steps backwards. Dillinger lowered his head. The Mad Knight gave his T-rex grin. Even the ever-frigid Rosita’s hands trembled. It was done.
Rosita cleared her throat. “We’ll need to ensure that Buck truly has given us the firearm willingly. Dothur, please stand up the prisoner.”
“Stand up, laddie,” The Mad Knight commanded in his junkyard voice. Dillinger glared at me before coming to his feet. He’d warned that these creeps were as cliché as two-timing villains could get. Greed warps logic. The Mad Knight motioned his pistol toward the edge of the hole.
“Hold on there, tiger.” I pointed to The Mad Knight. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”
“No it wasn’t, Buck,” Rosita agreed, her lips slithering into a hard line. “However, Dillinger is not just a liability. He’s our sworn foe. Punctuating his skull with a bullet is necessary. That is,” she delayed. “Unless he’s your ally after all.”
My spine stiffened. I traded a stare with John, whose copper eyes waned. “I warned I’d likely have to kill you, John.” I shrugged, secretly studying the foreground for an escape route for Luna. Dillinger’s nostrils flared. Dub lifted Old Lilith and targeted Dillinger through the scope, ignorant to the measures needed to properly aim a long-range rifle. Still, he’d need to be blind and rocking on a speedboat to miss Dillinger from this range. Dub checked the safety. I covered Luna’s eyes.
“Last words, traitor?” shrilled Rosita.
Dillinger grimaced at Rosita. Rain dripped from his nose. He showed her his sharp, clenched teeth before returning his attention to me. “Buck, I told you, these people will betray you. Don’t let them do this.”
“Ugh,” Rosita snarled in disgust. “Shoot him, Dub.”
Dub fired. The bullet hit Dillinger straight in his heart. A blemish of red colored his dress shirt as the impact jolted him backwards down the crater. A splash echoed from below. I’d seen a lot of people get shot, but this was different. John Dillinger had spent his entire life trying to escape death and now his dead body lay at the bottom of a six-story hole. It was like watching a monument bulldozed. Still, better him than Luna.
“Something catch your eyes, brother?” The Mad Knight jested. “I’d have gone for the noodle.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rosita corrected. “The scythe kills all as long as it hits its mark. So ends the reign of Dillinger.”
“Okay,” I announced over a crack of distant thunder. “You have what you want. We’re going now.” I guided Luna in the direction of the fence’s gash.
“Incorrect, Buck,” Rosita uttered. Dub flipped the barrel toward me. I locked in place.
“What are you doing?” I chastised.
“Tying up loose ends,” Rosita declared.
“You bitch,” I cursed.
“If it’s any consolation, you never stood a chance, ” she continued. “Every step has been calculated from your early hiring to your internship with Death. The odds have always been in our favor.”
Dub’s face slurped and wrenched until it took the shape of Jumbo. The tiny head on Dub’s burly body was outlandishly spooky. Jumbo’s false face smiled like a Jack-O’ Lantern, mocking me with his blue-dyed braces.
“If you want Luna to stay safe,” Rosita urged. “I suggest you walk toward that ledge.” Luna squeezed at my jacket and squealed. “I assure you, we’ll take good care of her, Buck. After all, we’ve had plans for her from the beginning. That is, until Dillinger broke her free.”
I squeezed Luna tight. This was the inevitable finish I feared. Rosita, Dub, and The Mad Knight would double down, claiming Old Lilith, killing off anyone that opposed them, and taking back Luna. I was powerless. It only took me a second to decide that this fate, one where Luna survived, was still better than us trying to escape, and getting killed in the process. I’d suffer so Luna could thrive.
“Please, just take care of her,” I begged, prying Luna’s clasped fingers from my coat.
Luna tried to readjust, but I pushed her away. “Kid,” I looked directly at Luna, “I’m glad I got to say goodbye. Now, don’t do anything stupid. You have a long life ahead of you.” Tears welled from Luna’s eyes. Her grief gave me long-awaited purpose. Drops from the sky rolled down from my scalp to my cheeks, masking any tears. I trotted to the hole, rolled my neck, and halted exactly where Dillinger had.
“Trust us,” Rosita consoled with a barren voice. “She’ll make a powerful soldier with enough training. Now, say goodbye, Buck.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dub wasted no time. He shouldered Old Lilith and squeezed the trigger. Whiplash kicked my neck back as the bullet struck my temple. Ringing cried in my ears. My numb body tumbled into the Spiral’s bedrock hole. There was a weightlessness. I plunged down with the rain into a pool of cold water. I heard my spine crack before what was left of my head slopped to the side. My last vision was Dillinger’s body, his mouth gaped open, and his arms flung next to me. I thought of Luna as my vision faded.
23
A gurgle bubbled in my ears. The sharp pressure in my temple eased. My back popped and fingers curled. A torrent of warmth shuddered through every limb. The ectoplasm was doing its job.
I pried my eyes open. A helix of gauzy film coiled around my head, unaffected by the rain. The halo of vapors corkscrewed along my bullet wound. I tried to remain still, letting the hocus-pocus do its thing. The wafting ectoplasm curled to a billow of cloud that I inhaled into my mouth. I raised my hand and felt my temple. It was smooth and unblemished. I sat up. My body felt brand new, refreshed like I’d had ten hours of sleep on one of those fancy foam beds that no one can afford.
“That was creepy to watch,” Dillinger muttered faintly. I turned to face him. He sat squat in a puddle of pooling rain and blood. The hole and red stain over his heart lingered, but Dillinger seemed uninjured.
Vampires.
He used a pinkie to dig water from his ear while he stood. “Looks like everything is going as planned. I told you they’re predictable.”
“Yeah, well,” I whispered. “They still have Luna up there so let’s stick with the plan.”
“Take it easy, Abercrombie. You got the real rifle?”
“Yeah.” I stood up and ogled the silo. “It’s on the top.”
“Great. Get into your position. I’ll call the cavalry.”
“Remember what we agreed on, Luna first, not the rebellion.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
Dillinger dug in his soaked coat and removed his phone. He sent a text and then set the device on a crate next to him. He combed his hands through his slicked hair before nodding to me. That was the signal. I slopped to the silo and climbed its barred ladder. I summoned my inner ninja, creeping up the slippery rungs as softly as possible so that Team Evil, who were still up on the surface, wouldn’t hear me through the storm. Once on top, I opened the rusty toolbox, removing my satchel. One by one, I extracted the real 7.62 caliber bolt-action rifle pieces from the man-purse and assembled Old Lilith. I’d done my best to paint the earlier M40A3 to look like Old Lilith. Apparently, no one could tell the difference.
Dillinger took cover behind the collection of steel construction crates. I heard the groan of corroded metal from his ambush point. Dillinger protruded an old fashion Thompson 1918 submachine gun from a chest. Apparently I hadn’t been the only one who planted toys. I stared as Dillinger fidgeted with his Chicago Organ Grinder’s ammunition drum. He must have sensed eyes on him because his jaw set as he looked back at me.
I wagged a finger and mouthed. “Cheeky monkey.”
He grinned, bobbed his brows, and then hardened his expression again as he raised his Thompson.
Calm struck while we waited. I adjusted the scope’s optics to the low-light setting, coloring
everything in dull green. Denise’s watch glittered from rain and outlying high-rise lights. If there was a Grim Reaper, Devil, and God, then there had to be an afterlife. Maybe it was just my psyche trying to ease my mind, but I decided Denise could be watching, and if so, she might be proud. Using that thought as motivation, I readied for battle.
The silo quaked beneath me before I ever heard the truck above. There was the cacophony of bangs and booms, from a far-off crash of the construction fence to the grinding of engine gears from the surface. Gunfire from The Mad Knight’s pistol rang, and then Rosita’s voice called to run. I saw headlights brighten the lip of the Spiral’s hole. Suddenly, two silhouettes appeared along the crater edge up above. Rosita glanced down before flashing her head back to the speeding vehicle chasing her. The rumbling disrupted any clean shot. I aimed my shaking sights at her forehead but pulled away when I spotted Luna clutched under Rosita’s arm.
The violent orchestra crescended when the squeal of brakes revealed the front of Adam’s semi-trailer truck just ten feet away from the hole, blocking Rosita’s escape. The front grill girded with flowers, iron spikes, and a mounted pig’s head covered in Norse ruins. Adam, Selena, and Ardicus sat in the cab dressed like commandos. Along each side of the cab was a pair of welded bars stretched out like eagle wings with wired mesh for feathers. Adam was herding the group into the pit.
From the darkness, a large bird of prey flew over the truck, descending down the hole and landing at the bottom. The creature shifted into a hulking humanoid figure. The transition was rigid with the cracks of bones, jerks of body parts, and a wail of agony. When the transformation was complete, Dub stood at the bottom of the hole clutching the fake rifle. A split second after, a hum of electric followed by the tungsten flash of an antique camera blinded me. When my vision adjusted, The Mad Knight stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother, the bulb along his neck flickering. The pair seemed unaware of John’s and my missing corpses.