[Jenna's] Gang of Deadheads_a World of Deadheads novel

by Paul Atreides

  Marv chuckled and headed toward him. “I can accommodate that.”

  Tommy put a hand out to stop him. “Dude, that was a hypothetical noogie. What do you say, Jenna? Davy is always a kick in the pants.”

  Jenna waited for Marvin to shrug his indifference. “Okay, let me take off the robe, which is quite comfy I have to admit, and put the ruined clothes back on. It’ll just take a minute.”

  “Far out!”

  “What will you do, Marvin?” Jenna’s voice filtered from the bedroom.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go watch fish spawn with Mike,” he replied to goad Tommy’s expression of distaste.

  ***

  Jenna and Tommy managed to catch the last bus of the evening that would take them to an empty Nordstrom. Well, empty of live people, anyway; as was usual at night, the place would be crawling with deadheads. On their walk across the parking lot, Tommy asked, “So, what’re you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a pair of nice jeans.” Jenna thought if she got into any more skirmishes, and she undoubtedly would — she wasn’t about to give up no matter what Nancy or this Jason (whoever he was) said — denim would hold up better than the ruined cotton skirt and silk blouse she had on. “And I’m thinking a man’s flannel shirt.”

  “Well, Davy is sure to find the perfect match. Hey, we could get a really cool sweatshirt to pull over it all, too.”

  Jenna shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  Inside the store, ignoring the concerned expressions of passers-by, they headed for the men’s section which was Davy’s usual nighttime haunt. Tommy peered over the racks of clothes, Jenna scoured between them, and found no sign of their favorite clothier. They met at the very back of the store next to the fitting rooms.

  “Nope,” Jenna confirmed.

  “Maybe he’s in helping somebody. Hold on a sec.” Tommy brushed through the curtain, searched each room, and returned with a shake of his head.

  “Guess we’re on our own.”

  “Can I help you find something?” A man rounded a rack of casual shirts.

  “More like someone,” Tommy replied. “Have you seen Davy around?”

  The man frowned. “Davy. Everyone wants Davy.”

  “Sorry, dude. No offense, really. It’s just that —”

  The guy waved off the apology. “Sure, sure. He’s out of town.”

  “Really?” Jenna asked. “Where’d he go?”

  “Miami. Ha!” He rolled his eyes. “He thinks he’s going to meet Versace.”

  Tommy laughed. “Well, dude, if anyone can pull off getting to someone like that, it would be Davy.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” The man wandered away.

  “Well, I really didn’t need help anyway. May as well get started. Jeans, first,” Jenna stated, and turned to head for the women’s department.

  A pair of dark grey Levi’s looked good and fit well, she wandered to the young men’s racks, and shuffled through long sleeved shirts until settling on one in a medium tan.

  “Yeah, cool, that one’s good. Let’s your hair color stand out,” Tommy offered. “Now what?”

  Perusing the signage, Jenna spotted her next stop and pointed. “That way. Something comfortable, and sturdy,” she said, making her way to the shoes.

  She took her time walking the aisles, gazing at the shelves top to bottom, when a pair of tan boots caught her eye. She pulled the box and sat on a bench to try them on. “Crap. I need socks. Tommy, grab a pair from the shelf over there, please.”

  Tommy tore the wrapper off, handed them to her, and waited. “And?”

  “They’re a bit snug, but they’ll stretch, right?”

  “Hey, if they don’t have a larger size on the shelf, we can always go into the back and tear the place apart. It’ll give the day shift something to do tomorrow.”

  Jenna stood and took a few steps, turned and came back with a smile. “No, I think I can make these work.”

  “Are you sure? It’s a long walk back.”

  “Eh, so if they start to hurt, I’ll take them off and go barefoot.”

  “Your feet’ll get cold,” Tommy warned.

  “Like they aren’t perpetually cold now.”

  Tommy laughed. “Yeah, well, I guess you’ve got a point there, dude.”

  -15-

  Davy wasn’t in any rush. The plan took weeks to figure out, but there he was in Miami. Ignoring the buzz as he pushed through people on the trek up the gangway from the plane to the terminal, his anticipation and excitement peaked. Inside the airport he paused long enough to locate the signs for Ground Transportation. The cabs would keep running, especially during the high season of travel to the warmer climate, but he sprinted along the concourse.

  He stood and waited until a voice said, “South Beach,” then jumped into the back seat and had settled in for the ride before the driver slammed the trunk closed over her passenger’s luggage. His mounting excitement so overwhelmed him, and his mind raced with ideas as the scenery rushed by, that he gave little more than a passing glance — a slight disdainful wrinkle of the nose — to the so-last-collection ensemble of his fellow passenger.

  At the Cardoza Hotel, Davy pushed through the cab door rather than startle his unknowing hosts by opening and slamming it shut. He consulted the tourist map he’d snatched from a rack on his way through the airport, established his bearings, and headed south the few blocks to the now-infamous villa on Ocean Drive, the former Casa Casuarina. At two-forty-five in the morning, the huge wrought iron gates were closed, of course, as were the double doors to what now served as the lobby to a hotel since the designer’s murder.

  Once inside, Davy paused to take in the grandeur of the ornate palace and sighed. The building was much larger than pictures of the front façade might lead one to believe. “This could be a long hunt. But I know you’ve got to be here somewhere. I’d bet my reputation on it. Now,” he played out a silent eeny-meeny-miney-moe at the cascading windows along the back, the staircase, and various hallways leading off in different directions and cooed, “Giaaaneee. Where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” a voice echoed through the room. “What do you want?”

  Davy turned full circle in search of the owner of the decidedly male voice. “Hello?”

  A hand popped up over the back of a sofa and waved. As Davy made his way across the expanse, the man himself sat upright. Though Davy longed to flap his hands through the air and his insides screamed, “Oh, my God, oh, my God,” he managed to contain himself. The only outward excitement he allowed was a huge, white-toothed smile that exploded over his face, an outstretched hand in greeting, and the steps he took much too fast. “Mr. Versace, sir,” he babbled, crossing the room. “I don’t know, I feel like I should bow or something.”

  True to his fashion sense, Versace was dressed for the climate in linen pants and shirt, and sandals. Perhaps because of the manner in which he’d died, the ordinarily personable man had become wary of strangers. Gianni acknowledged the outstretched hand but didn’t offer his own. “You are?”

  “Oh, uh, David. David Krauss. Davy.”

  “Uh, huh. And.”

  Davy finally allowed his hand to drop down to his side and the smile lessened. It always hurt his feelings when famous people acted as if it pained them to have to deal with peons, mere mortals of the world. As if. Yet he was determined to succeed in this quest. “I’d like you to design a dress.”

  The great man chuckled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been involuntarily retired.”

  “Well, you’ll want to un-retire for this. I promise.”

  “I can’t imagine.” Versace gave a bored gesture toward a chair. “But, go on.”

  Davy sat and opened the large manila envelope he’d clutched for the past six hours. With an almost religious reverence he slid a photo out and handed it over. “Can you imagine designing a wedding gown for her?”

  Davy had stolen the photo of Jenna while he kne
w nobody was home. Taken at a picnic of some sort, the picture didn’t immediately impress, it took a moment. “These are not the legs of a model, no.” Versace tapped a fingernail to the print as he lectured. “The hips and waist have good proportions. The breasts, mmm, a little large, but nice, shall we say? The neckline is good.” His studied gaze moved up to the face and he paused for a long moment. “This señorina, this woman, she’s —” He placed fingers to his mouth and tossed a kiss to the air. “Is it her eyes. Perhaps her smile? But, there’s a look, a how do you say? An aura.”

  Davy nodded. “It’s going to be a wedding for the ages. This will top anything you’ve ever seen or heard about. So, of course, I knew you had to be the one to do this.”

  “And, this señorina, she would be a proprio agio, eh, comfortable, with one such as I, she wouldn’t be frightened?”

  “Oh, heavens, no.” Davy relaxed more into his usual sense of self and added, “Honey, she’s as dead as we are.”

  “Really.” Gianni gazed at the picture. “And you say she’s getting married? Is this possible?”

  Davy straightened in his chair. “Who’s going to stop it? I intend to make this the most fabulous event ever. Di’s wedding will seem positively pauperish in comparison.”

  Keeping the photo, Gianni stood. “Well, I must think about this. There’s an empty room.” He pointed to the ceiling, sighed, and said with an undertone of disgust, “A hotel. It’s disturbing, what they’ve done with my home.” He paused for another sorrowful sigh as he glanced around what used to be his own living room. “But, we learn to … live, I suppose. So, you must go and rest. Meet me in the morning, shall we say nine o’clock? We’ll help ourselves to what they pass off as coffee, and I’ll render my decision.”

  Davy had never experienced such a long few hours in his life. This wait was worse than some wakes he’d attended over the years. Ones that felt weeks long, as he listened to mourner after mourner drone on for what seemed like days about how wonderful, what a good father, brother, son, nephew, friend the deceased had been, until he screamed for them to “Shut. Up. Already. Lord have mercy.” Not that the bereaved heard him, but fellow deadheads and, more often than not, even the recently departed appreciated the gesture.

  Before the appointed meeting time the next morning, Davy sat fidgeting in a chair in the lobby, like a five year old in anticipation of his turn at the piñata, and waited. And waited. An hour passed and still no sign of Versace. Davy wandered through the building and followed his nose to the solarium, now the hotel restaurant, and there the designer sat, tapping a thumb against the table in irritation at being kept waiting. Davy rushed to the table. “Please, accept my apologies. I thought you meant —”

  Versace held up a hand to halt the excuses. “Allow me to say, my new friend, this will not be acceptable. You’re lucky I find this woman to be so irresistible. Otherwise you would be going back to — where is it?”

  “Dayton.”

  Versace gave a single wave of dismissal. “Yes, yes, to Dayton. Alone. Now, I must meet her. And measure, of course. Then I must go to Paris for fabric and then Milan to build.”

  Unable to restrain himself, Davy’s fearful expression broke into laughter. “Oh, my God, you’ll do it? You’re going to do it. I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. Oh, this is fabulous!” His hands flapped at the air like he was attempting to ward off a hot flash.

  Gianni observed Davy’s state of excitement with an air of boredom. “Must we, really?”

  -16-

  The whole wedding issue began to grate on Jenna’s nerves and her mood turned surly. Over the next few days, whenever the opportunity presented itself, she wandered the city alone. The excursions became as much an effort to test her theory as an attempt to avoid Davy, who she’d been told was looking for her to go over some ridiculous plan.

  She wandered up and down the streets, and repeatedly passed the alley of her previous altercations. When each inspection came up empty, she began to think maybe her hunch was right on the money; perhaps the man got so freaked out from the experience he’d mended his ways. Jenna realized it had been Marvin jumping into the mix that had saved the girl and provided her theory. Yet, the thought she’d actually helped someone boosted her spirits and emboldened her to give it a try.

  In search of a test subject, she began to look at people with a new perspective. While sitting in Epstein’s, she stole peeks at Tina-I’ll-Be-Your-Server-Today until Tommy noticed. Though he perceived a shift in the waitress’ attitude and demeanor over the past weeks, Tommy gave Jenna a scowl and slight shake of the head as if to say, “Not her. She couldn’t handle it. You’d send her right over the edge.”

  Now, a woman about the same size and build as Jenna stood at the bus stop tapping a finger to the screen of her cell phone, unaware of the ogling she got from a young man sitting on the bench behind her. Jenna walked over, looked each way down the street as if preparing to cross, pushed an arm into her, and felt the buzz of contact with the living. The woman shivered and grabbed the lapels of her jacket closed, but otherwise made no indication anything could be amiss. Jenna pushed until she had a full leg and arm embedded. The woman shifted her weight to the opposite leg, but other than issuing an offhand, muffled, “Lord, it’s getting cold,” continued with her obsession of the video game she’d been playing to pass the time.

  Jenna again checked for reactions from deadheads in the area, but none appeared to pay the slightest bit of attention.

  Jason watched with interest from his vantage point on the roof of a two-story building. He’d been able to focus on other issues until he became fully aware of Jenna’s intent to disobey. Like all deadheads, he was quite familiar with the gag of the dead entering the bodies of the living. Most did it to mess with pseudo-psychics as a way to tease them or scare them out of preying on the innocent, or the grieving who were looking for reassurances their loved ones had crossed safely and were at peace. Like Marvin’s brother, David, though his ability was weak, real mediums — like the one from Long Island with her own television show — had no need of parlor tricks. They could converse easily with the dead.

  But it was clear to Jason that Jenna had different intentions. He had no doubt she could slip in, no doubt she could extract herself. Despite Marvin’s panicked machinations, that was the easy part. But how strong was she? Could she take control without doing harm?

  Jenna pushed her way in and became disoriented for a second. The woman’s head shook in confusion, her eyes squeezing shut, opening and peering across the street as if trying to refocus blurry vision. After a moment, she went back to the game on her phone. Using all the energy she could, Jenna slowly turned her head and raised her gaze. The man on the bench came into view. The woman’s thoughts shifted into a question, What am I looking at him for? Jenna returned focus to the cell phone and the girl’s thought pattern went right back to the shifting icons on the screen. Jenna raised a hand to scratch the back of her head, the woman’s body followed suit. Jenna smiled and a smile spread across the woman’s lips.

  “Okay, now can I get out?” Jenna asked.

  The woman gaped around, confused by the question that came out of her mouth, and surprised at the odd sound of her own voice.

  “Get out of what?” a male voice behind her asked.

  Jenna jerked around in surprise, but this time her host body didn’t follow, and she stepped away.

  “Oh, uh, I was just commenting on the game,” the woman replied, lowered her voice and added, “I think.” Then she expelled a breath of air, opened the buttons of her jacket, and mumbled, “What is with this weather?”

  Jason relaxed. “It’s gon’ take you some practice, I see. But I got a feelin’ you’s just strong enough, and determined enough, to do it.” He watched Jenna walk down the street, head high, in purposeful strides. “Yep, you’s gon’ be a real handful, you is,” he uttered in a quiet voice and followed.

  Jenna stopped every few blocks and tried out her new skills.
The initial disorientation dissipated faster and the buzzing became less of a distraction. Each time it became easier to control the movements of the women she pushed into.

  Nine tries from the first attempt, Jenna slipped in and, without so much as a second’s hesitation, made the woman she’d taken over walk at a rapid pace. She pushed her way through a crowd, stepped to a counter at a coffee shop and placed an order, paid with cash from the woman’s purse, and took the steaming cup out to the street. Not a single questioning thought broke through to Jenna’s mind and she removed herself.

  The woman stood quiet, looking from the cup in her hand to the store front, then shrugged and sipped at it as she returned the way she’d come.

  “I think that’s going do it.” Jenna nodded in satisfaction and headed for the hotel.

  Jason disliked the smile on her face. “You’s stronger than I thought.” He turned his mind to his protégé, You better come watch her — His head jerked upright and a fierce, terrifying gleam glazed over his eyes. The spine straightened, eyes peered into the distance, and the appearance of the shuffling old man disintegrated. He finished his command to Nancy, now! and his form dissipated from view.

  Two miles away, Kate huddled between a nightstand and the wall to the bathroom of a rundown flophouse, her forearm still in a cast, and pleading voice rising in volume and pitch. Harvey waved the gun around in a drunken rant, his slurred obscenities screamed at the top of his lungs until a loud explosion in the tiny space pierced through his yelling. He dropped to the floor in a heap and Kate wailed.

  Jason stood inside the closed door of the room and called to him, his deep bass voice booming through Harvey’s ears. “Harvey.”

  Harvey stood up and gawked around. “What happened?” He glanced down at the body lying on the floor, the face a mangled mess, a pattern of black powder burns spread across one cheek. Blood oozed from the wound, drooled down the lower jaw and dripped onto the worn, threadbare carpeting.