A Dead-End Job

by Justin Alcala

  “Alright,” Jumbo concurred. “One social security number for a Luna Palasinski.”

  “So you’re saying I’ll have supernatural sanctions in Chicago as well.” I puffed smoke that filled the room. Adam frowned, Jumbo coughed, and Selena covered her mouth. Even Luna gave a little hand wave over her nose. “Sorry, you guys don’t mind if I smoke?”

  Dillinger wished goodbye into his phone’s receiver and then clicked the off button. “Like I said,” he corrected while rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I’ll see what I can do. DuSable and I can handle the Negative One Union, but they’re only a piece of the community. There’s aberrations, sidhe, fiends, and other monstrosities. We’ll have to dance around a lot of red tape.”

  “How are you going to do that?” I leaned on the sectional sofa.

  “I’m going to check in with the self-appointed protector of Chicago,” Dillinger answered.

  “He’s a fallen angel gone straight. Use to be a corruptor. Stole souls for Satan.”

  “Guy sounds like an asshole.” I puffed more tobacco.

  “He kind of is,” Dillinger concurred, “but his intentions are righteous so we let him have a sheriff badge.”

  “You supernatural types are complicated.” I puffed another plume of smoke.

  “Man,” Jumbo hissed. “I’m not giving you custody of Luna if you can’t control your smoking. Not all of us are immune to lung cancer, dude.”

  I looked to Luna. She had her arms crossed and nose crinkled. I smashed the cigarette in the last of my mashed potatoes and moved the plate next to the no smoking sign along a side table.

  “There,” I exhaled. “It’s a smoker free environment. You win. Now can we get back to Luna.”

  “Luna will be fine, man,” Jumbo concurred. “Dillinger is the man. He’ll work it out on the supernatural side.”

  Dillinger shrugged.

  “Besides,” Jumbo typed rapidly onto his laptop’s keyboard. “We have more pressing matters to talk about.”

  “You mean lying to Death,” I said frankly.

  “There’s no lying to him,” Jumbo amended. “Trust me, I’ve tried. However, what I have here is a legal document I’ve been working on that gives Dillinger amnesty from Mr. Grim’s Unmentionables operations so long as he cooperates with proper authorities. It’s a tit for tat sort of thing.”

  “You think Death is going to give protection to a near century old vampire?” I asked.

  “I think our friend may see it in his best interests to offer impunity so long as I cooperate in giving up other…” Dillinger hesitated. “Less earnest undead.”

  I gave Dillinger a flat look. “You do know that he would send me to stop these less than earnest undead should I not be let go from my internship? What kind of undead do you plan on giving him?”

  “Should Death continue your employment.” Dillinger put a heavy emphasis on the word ‘should.’ “You would only need to continue slaying the most horrific undead. Those who abuse or pervert their status as immortal for malevolent gain. The true monsters that don’t deserve a second chance.”

  “True monsters, as in those that murder people and drink their blood,” I jabbed.

  “I told you I have donors,” Dillinger defended. I shook my head. “It’s not going to work.”

  “It will,” Jumbo volleyed. “I’ll see to it. Death and I are boys. I’ll get him to understand where we are coming from.” Jumbo pivoted his scooter and drove it closer to me until I could smell the fruit gum on his breath. “Besides, as Dillinger said, you need to worry more about your status as an intern.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  The rain let up just a step before dawn. Dillinger walked us out to Michigan Avenue while a valet retrieved the van I’d driven over. Luna had fallen asleep up in the room and continued to snuffle as I picked her up and carried her outside. The pair of us sat out in the chilled air for a moment without saying anything. Sometimes you didn’t need to say anything after you just fought an army of evil. Finally Luna let out a sleepy snort and we both smiled.

  “She’s a doll,” Dillinger complimented. “Hold her tight.” He combed his fingers through his greased hair. “It can all go by so quickly. Trust me on this one.”

  “I do.”

  “By the way, this is yours.” He handed over the watch Denise had given me. I placed the metal band over my wrist and clasped it on. The reflection gleamed.

  “How did you know that Luna would transform when she did?”

  “I’m a businessman. It’s my job to know things.”

  “Seriously, out with it.”

  “I’ve had a few close encounters with lycanthropes. The wolf is always looking for reasons to unleash itself. Full moons, threatened pack members, and their allergy to silver are all triggers. I didn’t want to, but knew that we could use that to our advantage should the situation call for it.” Dillinger winked. “On that note, you may want to give your house a once over for any unnecessary silverware. It could do a number on your home decor.”

  “Don’t think I have the money for silverware or home decor.”

  A confused and shaky bellman in a red soldier’s coat hurried over to us, comparing a briefcase’s claim ticket to the one between Dillinger’s fingers. “Mr. Hellman,” the young man’s voice squeaked. “Here’s the briefcase you requested, sir.” Dillinger nodded, handed the kid a fifty and removed the case from his hands.

  “Thank you, young man.” He nudged his nose for the kid to go away. The bellman scurried behind his desk, eying his crisp fifty. “On that note, tough guy, this is for you,” Dillinger pushed the briefcase in my hand.

  “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”

  “Nonsense. It’s not much, but it should get you through the month. If I were you, I wouldn’t be too eager to ask Death for a salary, but you might want to start thinking up a line.”

  “I’m two steps ahead of you. How does, ‘Sir, I’m the backbone of this organization. I need a raise now or I quit,’ sound as an opening?”

  “I’d work on your curtain raiser a bit more before you give it to him.”

  The van grumbled up along the curb and a valet leapt out. Dillinger waved the woman over and handed her a crisp hundred-dollar bill. The girl smiled and hurried into the lobby.

  “Why a hundred?” I questioned as I stuffed Luna into the passenger seat.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why a hundred for her, and only fifty for the bellman?”

  “You kidding? She’s a woman. They’re going to rule this world one day.”

  I looked to Luna as I buckled her in and crossed my fingers. After shutting the door, I walked over to the driver side, stopping before I hopped in.

  “John,” I called out as he began to walk back inside. He looked over his shoulder. “I hope I don’t have to kill you, but I will if it comes to it.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.” Dillinger smirked.

  I drove down Congress listening to Tom Waits’ Blood Money album. It had been a funny sort of day and I thought Luna and I deserved to sleep in until next Christmas. I wondered how I was going to get us something to eat on my salary. Maybe I’d take a loan out or ask one of the gamers for a few bucks until I figured something out. I always did.

  I stared at the briefcase between Luna and I at a light just before the 290 onramp. Since red lights in Chicago define a minute as an undisclosed stretch of eternity, I figured I would take a little peak. I flipped the clasps and opened up the top. Smiling at me were bricks of Benjamin Franklins stacked on top of each other like a cheerleading pyramid. There had to be at least a hundred-thousand dollars. I knew what Dillinger might be doing, coaxing me with hard cash, but decided to allow it. As the light turned green, my poor money management skills decided that Luna and I should get breakfast before returning home.

  26

  I fluffed the stupid pillows on my sofa at least ten times. “How to speak German” played on the speaker in the background. Our n
ew place was a vast improvement from the hole in the wall I’d been tolerating the last few years. Luna and I each had our own room. Also, the leasing office guaranteed that the gym wouldn’t give me tetanus, and that the warm water lasted longer than a commercial jingle. The place made me feel like the Monopoly guy.

  I lit the strawberry-vanilla fusion candle that Luna insisted on buying at the supermarket and breathed in its fruity fragrance. My palms were sweaty, and my legs wouldn’t stop twitching. Death would be here any minute. Everything had to be perfect. Man, I wish I hadn’t quit smoking just yet.

  Luna came out in her favorite Wolverine t-shirt, Harry the doll tucked under her arm. She stared at me as I scrubbed the pretend stain from the kitchen counter again. Today I’d finally know if I’d done enough to make Death happy. Jumbo warned me that he was a perfectionist. If I messed this up, I’d likely be sent to the bowels of Hell. That didn’t sit well with me. I liked Earth, maybe now more than ever. The doorbell buzzed.

  “Man oh man,” I stuttered. Luna shoved me to the side. I went to get the door. She pressed the intercom and made a clucking noise with her tongue.

  “Hello,” Bethany greeted. “It’s your friendly neighborhood babysitter.”

  “Shew,” I exhaled, stress hanging from my shoulders. Luna buzzed Bethany in. I continued the breathing techniques I’d watched online, trying to ignore the call of chemical dependence. “Three deep breaths a day,” I recalled the mantra. “Keeps the tobacco away.” There were footsteps in the hall followed by the click of the door handle. Bethany sauntered in with her Disney smile and a suspicious bag from the toy store.

  “Wow,” she exclaimed. “Place looks great. Is that strawberry-vanilla I smell?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know all, Buck. Now, are you ready for the big interview?”

  “Uh,” I stuttered. “I think so.”

  “Come on, that’s not the attitude that gets you anywhere.”

  “Heck yes, I am. When you think workforce, look no further. Buck Palasinski is your

  * * *

  man.”

  “Better. Oh, Buck, you’re going to do great.” Bethany straightened my collar. “What was the position again? Waste Management?”

  “Waste Management Coordinator. I coordinate the waste, lady.” Bethany giggled.

  Luna collected her Star Wars backpack packed with babysitting provisions and took Bethany’s hand. Luna knew what was really happening and did me a favor by shuffling Bethany out before Death literally reared his ugly head.

  “Oh, looks like Luna is ready to go.” Bethany waved. “See you tonight.”

  “Yes, see you around dinner.” I hurried over for a hug. Luna gave the one-armed cool girl hug and then pulled Bethany into the hall. I shut the door. The apartment was too quiet. I needed to keep myself occupied, quick. I ran to get the booklet and pulled it out of the protective plastic cover with a pair of grill tongs. I turned the pages of the 1987 Second Series Punisher issue one I’d bought back from Denny and relaxed. Frank Castle’s quest for murder kept me calm. I was halfway through when the door buzzed again.

  For whom the bell tolls.

  I straightened my tie and walked over to the front door. I checked myself in the mirror as it buzzed again. My reflection was as good as it got. I took one last breath and then opened it up. Jumbo sat in his original electrical throne, Death beside him. Jumbo, donned in a t-shirt that read “Life is Good with Tacos,” looked me up and down and laughed.

  “What?” I sputtered.

  “Why are you dressed up, man?” Jumbo asked. “You look ridiculous.”

  “Hey, it’s a job interview, isn’t it?” I massaged the back of my neck.

  “Um, can we come in?” Death tilted his hooded, faceless head.

  “Oh, yeah, definitely.” I took a step backwards. “Please, enter, my friends.” I bowed.

  Jumbo shook his head. I stood up.

  “So,” Death said with his uninterested voice. “This is home, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I shut the door behind them. “It’s not much, but –”

  “No, it’s not,” Death cut in.

  Oh man, this was not the way I wanted things to start.

  I waved over to the table and pulled out a chair. “Would you like a seat?”

  “Funny.” Jumbo’s face went sober.

  “Oh, no.” I pulled a chair out and moved it to the side. “I mean, I’ll make a handicap spot for you.”

  “What?” Jumbo spat.

  “I mean a spot for your wheelchair,” I corrected.

  Death pulled one of the freshly assembled Swedish chairs from under the table and sat down. He folded his skeletal fingers together over the counter while tapping his foot impatiently. I waited for the pair to settle.

  “Coffee, anyone?” I offered.

  “Finally,” Death said in a vanilla inflection. “I thought you would never ask.”

  “Sorry,” I apologized. “Coming right up.”

  I hurried to the kitchen and removed the coffee decanter from the heating plate. I poured two cups and brought out creamer with the sugar I’d just purchased. I was lock, stock, and barrel in coffee essentials. I balanced it all on a ridiculous looking tray with flower designs and laid out the spread. Death pushed the creamer and sugar to the side and sipped his cup.

  Apparently Death takes his coffee black.

  Death sipped his coffee before removing a set of note cards from his cloak’s sleeve. He straightened them on the table and cleared his throat. “Buck, thank you for coming to this interview.”

  “We came here, dude,” Jumbo interjected. Death stared at Jumbo for a long moment.

  “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

  “As I was saying,” Death rebounded. “Thank you for taking the time to interview with us. It appears that a lot has occurred while I was on vacation.”

  “How’d your vacation go anyway?” I tried to make small talk.

  “Well enough,” he acknowledged.

  “Where’d you go?” I planted myself in the chair across from him. “Fiji, Bermuda, Thailand?”

  “San Diego Comic-Con,” he retorted.

  “Oh.” I stopped in my tracks. “Was it cool?”

  “Uh, yeah. Except I won Best Cosplay.”

  “Oh.” I gave a small clap. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I didn’t dress up,” he concluded. “Buck, can we please get back to the cards.”

  “Yes.” I motioned to his note cards. “Of course.”

  Death flipped to a white paper card with pink lines. He traced his place with his index finger. “I’ve reviewed your performance report. As said before, I see that you were very busy during your internship.” I nodded but held my tongue. “That’s good. You need to see how rigmarole matters can be. No one is just going to give you a pass in the afterlife business. With that being said, Buck.” He paused, leaned down as if he was struggling to read his own handwriting, then continued. “What accomplishments this quarter are you most proud of?”

  “It was just a week,” Jumbo rectified.

  “Silencio, Jumbo.” Death slapped his boney palm on the table. “Buck, can you just answer the question.”

  “Yeah,” I dove in. “No worries. I’d say that I’m most proud of unveiling the plot to steal your scythe, which is safely secured in my bedroom mind you, and slaying the powerful swindlers that tried to take it.”

  “Yes.” Death flipped to a new card, his voice monotone. “I guess you could say that was neat. Let’s move on. Buck, which goals do you feel you fell snort on?”

  “Snort?” I asked, perplexed.

  Death pulled the note card inches from his faceless hole. “Short, not snort. Which goals do you feel you fell short on?”

  “Eek.” I cracked my fingers nervously. “That’s a great question.”

  “Why?” Death accused. “Did you fall short on a lot of your goals?”

  “No,” I objected. “Not at all. In fact, I feel like I did a great job
overall. However, if I had to pick one thing I’d have liked to do better, I’d say that I wish I could have resolved matters quicker. I mean, it took me nearly a week, and then I learned that Dillinger wasn’t exactly the guy we wanted to slay.”

  “Ah, yes,” Death jeered. “Jumbo has also updated me on the relationship built with Dillinger. He tells me you both came to a collective decision to not kill Dillinger as I’d instructed?”

  “Dude,” Jumbo cut in. “We went over this.”

  Death held up his hand at Jumbo. “Ah, ah. Let Buck answer.”

  I tried to stop my leg from bouncing nervously under the table. “Yeah.” I took a breath. “You see, Dillinger was paramount in unveiling the conspiracy within your domain, and we learned later that the only reason he was your target was because fake Jumbo wanted him dead. It was an unsanctioned death ordered by fake I.T. So ultimately, we made Dillinger a business partner.”

  “I’d hardly call this a conspiracy,” Death argued. “But I think I may understand what you’re struggling to communicate.”

  “Uh, okay. So as I was saying.” I tried to repair the derailment. “Not only did we put an end to the plot, but Dillinger is going to help weed out future Unmentionables, making this organization’s workload that much more manageable.”

  “Yes, yes.” Death knocked his paper notes on the tabletop. “Buck, I’m going to cut straight to the chase. There’re a lot of people who would love this job. What makes you think you could be an agent of Death? Why are you an asset above the rest?”

  Here it was, the knockout punch. The question of all questions. What makes me important? Answer wrong and I was done for. Nail it, and I might just stand a chance. I focused on the watch Denise gave me, cleared my thoughts, and then breathed out.

  Here goes nothing.

  “Mr. Grim Reaper, sir,” I opened up. “I highly respect your millennia of hard work and service. I could only dream of being as devoted as you. I also know I may have come off as uncouth in our early encounters, but I’m hoping you can look past that. You see, I’ve always wanted a career that I could be proud of, but I lacked opportunity. Within my time in the service and later as a hitman, I realized that I had a real talent for researching, locating, and disposing of targets. Much like yourself, I became obsessed with my work and never stopped until the job was done. I think given that, and with my modern skill set, I may prove to be a valuable resource to this organization. Finally, I am willing to learn, always wish to grow, and am humbled by the idea that I can be trained by the greatest professional hitman in existence. For these reasons, Mr. Grim Reaper, I feel that I could be a valuable employee for your institution.”