Some Assembly Required: A Hemisphere Story (RECTIFIER Book 1)

by Kit Nash

  “For someone trained to spot a liar, you sure are lousy at it,” said Fat Mustache. He ripped the pad from Officer Porter’s hands, quickly scanned the pages and then looked up at Ridzik. His eyes which had looked exhausted moments ago now looked alert and filled with hate.

  “Did Spaulding put you up to this?” Fat Mustache demanded.

  “Who?” Ridzik asked.

  That one word was all Ridzik had time to get out before Fat Mustache charged him. The larger man grabbed Ridzik with two meaty fists and slammed him up against the hood of his rental.

  “Don’t play dumb with me you little shit! My little girl is dead and Spaulding hired you to pull some fucking prank on the day of her funeral.”

  “I don’t know any Spaulding! Get off me!” Ridzik tried to shove the bigger man off him. It was an exercise in futility.

  “Whoa! C’mon Jack! Let the man up,” said Officer Porter, trying to free Ridzik and failing just as miserably. Discount-Varys just stood there, content to let the conflict play out.

  “You really expect me to believe the ashes of the man who murdered my daughter were stolen on the day of her funeral?” Jack bellowed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ridzik said, straining to keep his voice as calm as possible. “I just came here to lay my brother to rest. I didn’t know him very well, but Layne wasn’t a murderer.”

  “Let him up, Jack! The same explosion that killed Alexa also killed Ridzik. None of the evidence proves he was trying to kill her.”

  Jack released his grip on Ridzik.

  “I don’t need proof. I know it in my bones.” He turned away and then he looked back at Ridzik. “You get the hell outta Hemisphere.”

  Ridzik said nothing. He didn’t know what had just happened, let alone what to say. He watched dumbfounded as Officer Porter lead Jack back to his grieving family. They were all looking him at with the same disdainful look Jack had given him. Why shouldn’t they? Jack believed Layne had murdered his daughter, the rest of the family probably believed the same thing.

  “I don’t understand. The medical examiner told me Layne died in an explosion.”

  “Yes, along with five teenaged girls, including Detective Fowler’s only daughter. For what’s it worth, I believe your story about someone stealing your brother’s ashes. But I would take Detective Fowler’s parting words to heart, they are the kindest ones you’re likely to find in Hemisphere.”

  Get Your Ass to Mars

  “FUCK HEMISPHERE,” DEIDRA suggested after hearing his wild and bizarre story.

  “What about Layne’s ashes? I came out here to lay him to rest. I can’t leave until that’s done,” Ridzik said.

  He was sitting in a booth at Big Ed’s Chicken and Waffles. He had ordered a healthy serving of eggs, hash browns, bacon, and pancakes. But he’d barely touched it. He could now add loss of appetite to the list of things stolen from him since his brother’s demise.

  “What are you going to do? Find the thief yourself?” Deidra prodded.

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” he said, flipping The Lair business card between his thumb and pointer finger.

  “Let the police find Layne’s ashes. That’s their job.”

  “They think he’s a murderer. Finding his ashes isn’t high on their priority list.”

  “Jamie… maybe Layne was a murderer.” It was probably the softest accusation in the history of accusations, but her words still angered him. He dropped the business card to keep from crumbling it in his fist. His jaw muscles jumped.

  “He was a lot of things, Deidra. But I refuse to believe he was a murderer.” He said the words, but did he really believe them? Just last night he’d suspected Layne of being a meth dealer. Was murderer that much of a leap?

  “I’m sorry. I just want to help you. But there’s nothing I can do and as much as you hate to admit it, there’s nothing you can do either. Let the police do their jobs. So you can either wait in Hemisphere alone, or you can wait with me. I miss you.”

  All the anger drained out of him. Dee had always calmed him down. It was the thing he loved most about her. She always said, exactly what he needed to hear.

  “I miss you too. Tell your family I’m sorry and I’ll be on the first flight out tomorrow.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for. I love you, Jay.”

  “I love you too, Dee.”

  He hung up the phone and became painfully aware of the physical distance between them. It was like taking a spear to the heart. He missed her more than he ever had. He wanted to call her back. His thumb hovered over her contact. One swipe right and desire would become reality. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and paid full price for a meal he didn’t eat. Ridzik climbed into his rental intending to return to his hotel. But instead of typing the hotel address into his GPS, he searched for The Lair. Surprisingly, he found it. Only 7 minutes away. Again his hand was frozen with indecision. Should he click START or CANCEL? He knew which option Dee would want him to pick. He could hear her scolding him already. But another voice, one he hadn’t heard in years overrode hers. It said five words in an unmistakable Austrian accent from his childhood.

  Get your ass to Mars.

  Fuck it. Ridzik would humor his brother one last time. He clicked START before he lost his nerve. 7 minutes and 13 seconds later he pulled onto the street the locals called Conjurer’s Row. It appeared to be the town’s version of Bourbon Street. Only creepier. Most of the businesses in Hemisphere closed at nightfall, Conjurer’s Row seemed to be the opposite. Every establishment had an open sign hanging or glowing in the window. Several businesses caught his eye. There was an Adelaide’s Spells and Incantations, The Magic Men’s Warehouse, and something called The Wand..erer. His destination, The Lair was on the north end of Conjurer’s Row. It was a two-story building with wood siding, a wrap around porch, and a metal roof. Ridzik parked in the gravel parking lot and got out. He could hear music coming from inside. A rock song he didn’t recognize. The dirt path leading to the entrance was lined on either side by a row of motorcycles. Each one backed into a narrow spot at exactly the same angle. He walked briskly past the bikes trying to forget all the horrible things Sons of Anarchy had taught him about biker gangs. A wood sign with the words THE LAIR carved into it, hung from two chains directly above the porch steps. There was a faint yellow light shining through the windows but other than that the porch was dark. Ridzik climbed the steps with a confidence he didn’t feel and nearly screamed when an enormous man emerged out of the shadows. The looming figure blocked his path to the door. He was the biggest man Ridzik had ever seen. He was instantly reminded of Gregor Clegane from Game of Thrones. The Mountain that Hides would give The Mountain that Rides a run for his money.

  “Show me,” the giant boomed. His voice was as deep as he was tall. He stared down at Ridzik with his massive arms folded across his equally broad chest.

  “Show you what?” Ridzik managed to say.

  “Your pass. No admittance without a pass.”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  Ridzik fumbled the business card out of his pocket and offered it to the Doorman who looked down at the card with only his eyes. The rest of his body was still, like a stone statue.

  “Goodbye,” he told Ridzik.

  Ridzik had descended the stairs to the dirt path before he even realized he was moving. The Doorman watched him. Ridzik hung his head in defeat and turned away. Damn you Layne, he cursed. Why would you give me a business card to a place I can’t get into? Layne was dead, and he was still pranking his little brother. He was as angry with himself as he was with Layne. Did he really think a stupid business card to a biker bar with a twenty-seven-year old movie reference on it would help him find his brother’s ashes? Ridzik was so irritated that he walked right past the very thing he was looking for. His peripheral vision saw something that took his preoccupied brain longer to process. He stopped, turned around and walked several feet back towards the entrance. His breath caught when he saw it. He sto
od in the middle of the dirt path, staring at the eighth motorcycle from the entrance on the left side. Painted on the side of the bike was a decal he would never forget.

  A burning rose.

  This was the thief’s bike. Of that there was no doubt. Which meant that the thief was in there somewhere. He looked at the bar. There was no sign of the enormous Doorman, but Ridzik knew he was there, watching and lurking in the shadows.

  Ridzik could do some lurking and watching of his own, from the safe confines of his Chevy Cruz. He returned to his rental, cranked the engine and moved to a different parking space, one that had a better view of the thief’s bike. He would sit here all night until the thief came out if that’s what it took. An hour later the thief had still not come out but during that time Ridzik had learned what the Mountain that Hides had meant by “show me.” The Doorman hadn’t been prejudice against Ridzik, he performed his emerging out of the darkness trick with everyone desiring entrance to the bar. But where Ridzik failed, these potential patrons succeeded. When the Doorman said “Show me,” these people either lifted up their shirt sleeve to reveal a shoulder tattoo, or they pulled down the collar of their shirts to reveal the ink on their chest. Ridzik saw one girl pull her pants down enough to reveal the tattoo on her hip. The girl and her friends laughed. The Mountain didn’t. All these tattoos were of the exact same thing. A black silhouette of a dragon.

  Just like the one on Layne’s chest. His brother was an elite member of this bar. Another thing he had learned about his brother post-mortem. Ridzik’s pulse quickened when he saw a man with stringy long hair clad in biker leather, exit the bar. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he been holding when the man got on the bike next to the thief’s and rode off. Another hour passed and all he got for his trouble was two more false alarms. He'd never gotten a tattoo or even had the desire for one but he wanted a black dragon tattoo now more than anything. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he was inside the bar, he would have no trouble picking out the thief among the patrons. Turns out he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  When he saw the attractive woman with pink hair, leather jacket, tattered jeans, and unlaced boots descend the steps, he didn’t think twice about her as a suspect. In fact he had already dismissed her completely when she straddled the bike with the burning rose on it.

  “Shit!”

  He jumped out of the car, his original plan to block the thief in with his rental completely forgotten. Ridzik sprinted across the parking lot, gravel shooting out from under his Sanuk slip-ons. He arrived at the entrance of the dirt path just as her bike roared to life. Ridzik came to a sliding stop in front of her.

  “Watch it, dickhead,” the thief said.

  “Where is he?” Ridzik demanded.

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, dude,” she said and tried to steer the bike around him. He moved directly into her path.

  “Layne Ridzik. I know you stole his ashes,” he said.

  He glared at her. She looked him up and down through pink strands of hair.

  “Is there a problem, Kelby?” The Mountain called from the porch shadows.

  “Yeah, this assclown won’t let me leave,” she hollered over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving Ridzik’s.

  Kelby? Layne’s ashes had been stolen by a chick with pink hair named Kelby, Ridzik mused.

  “Let the lady pass,” The Mountain said, as he descended the stairs. Each step creaked in protest under his weight.

  “Not until she returns what she stole from me,” Ridzik said. Was he really talking back to a man three times his size? If the Mountain heard him, he showed no sign of it. He kept lumbering forward, his muscled arms protruding off his torso as if the sheer density of his muscles prevented him from letting his arms hang limp.

  “You better move before Joe moves you,” Kelby warned, with a smile that was anything but friendly. The Mountain’s name was Joe? Of course it fucking was.

  “Tell me where my brother’s ashes are, please,” Ridzik pleaded.

  Something he’d said cracked the woman’s stoney veneer. Her lips parted as if she was going to say something, but then Joe the Mountain arrived.

  “Move. Now,” Joe ordered.

  Ridzik held his hands up in surrender but he didn’t move.

  “Joe is it? Look this is going to sound bat-shit crazy. But someone riding that bike stole an urn containing my brother’s ashes and I’m just trying to get them back so I can lay him to rest.”

  Ridzik waited to see if Joe had an any humanity and if his sad story appealed to it.

  It was a hard NO on both accounts. Joe punched Ridzik in the face. He had no idea that someone so big, could move so fast. There was a loud crack, followed by blinding pain. Ridzik lay on his back amid a cloud of dirt. Blood squirted out of his broke nose like a geyser. He moaned in agony.

  “Thanks, Joe,” Kelby said as she rolled the bike forward, intending to speed off, but she looked down at the writhing man. There was something strange about the way he was bleeding. His blood, instead of spilling down his face and splattering his shirt like the laws of gravity demanded, was bubbling out of his nostrils at a rapid rate and then rose into the air. Kelby watched, mesmerized as the man’s blood formed into half a dozen marble sized drops that floated through the air. She followed the drops as they flowed above the row of bikes and sailed east down Conjurer’s Row as if they were carried by an invisible current designed only for them.

  “Layne, you sonofabitch,” Kelby said, a smile forming on her mouth. She rolled the bike back over to Ridzik.

  “Get on,” she told him. He looked at her outstretched hand as if it was a snake poised to strike.

  “Fuck you,” he mumbled through his hand that was cupping his broken nose.

  “You’re not my type. Get on and I’ll tell you why I took your brother’s ashes.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” he said.

  “Debatable. But you are blind. Look at your blood.”

  He moved his hand away from his nose and looked down at his bloody palm. He was about to ask her what the hell she was talking about when he saw it. The blood pooled in his hand, suddenly lifted into the air. He gasped as the glob of blood the size of a quarter levitated down the dirt path and turned East as if it were in pursuit of the rest of his flying hemoglobin.

  “What the fuck did that ape do me?” Ridzik asked.

  “Joe didn’t do it. Layne did.”

  “I don’t understand what’s going on?”

  “Get on. I’ll explain.”

  Ridzik stumbled to his feet, refusing to take her outstretched hand. He climbed onto the bike. She rolled the bike forward and waited for him to grab her waist. When he didn’t she said, “Hold on tight, Ridzik.” Then Kelby gunned the bike onto the blacktop of Conjurer’s Row and headed south.

  Some Assembly Required

  KELBY STOPPED THE bike at the first intersection. She could turn left, right, or go straight. Which way had the blood gone? She had no idea. Thankfully, she had five liters sitting behind her.

  “We need to follow your blood. Flick some into the air,” she said.

  To his credit, Ridzik obeyed. Kelby stayed on the shoulder, following behind the drops of blood at 15mph.

  “Where’s it going?” he asked.

  “It’s leading us to the last piece of the Rectifier.”

  “What’s that mean in English?” Ridzik asked.

  Kelby smirked. She could deal with a bit of insolence because if he was being insolent then he was accepting the impossible situation his eyes were telling him.

  “The Rectifier is an ancient weapon that allows the wearer to fight supernatural evil.” Kelby paused waiting for Ridzik to squawk at the absurdity of what she was saying. To her surprise, he didn’t.

  “You with me?” she asked.

  “You had me when my blood started floating in the fucking air.”

  “Good. Hemisphere is a nexus between Earth and Hell. It’s the responsibility of the Rect
ifier to protect the town from demons wanting to cross over. Layne was Hemisphere’s Rectifier.”

  “What does this have to do with his ashes?” Ridzik asked.

  “Whenever a Rectifier dies, the gauntlet breaks up into pieces and is scattered across the land. I used Layne’s ashes to find all the pieces but one. Your blood is the key to finding the last piece.”

  Ridzik watched as the last drop of blood floating in front of them, evaporated in the wind.

  “More?” he asked.

  She nodded “Yes.”

  He wiped his nose, wincing at the pain that shot through his skull. He shook the flecks of blood off his hand and watched as they congealed into another red marble.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way. But the more blood we have the quicker we will find the missing piece.”

  Sighing, Ridzik repeated the painful exercise. Squeeze and shake. Only a few drops flew off his hand and joined the floating ball of hemoglobin.

  “That’s all I got. My nose has stopped bleeding.”

  “Let me see.”

  Ridzik tilted his head back and instantly regretted it. Kelby elbowed him in the face. Pain flooded his senses and blood flooded his eyes. He cried out in agony and nearly fell off the back of the bike.

  “Jesus!”

  “I’m sorry, but it was necessary,” Kelby said, not sounding apologetic in the least.

  When his vision cleared, he saw that the blood marble was now as big as a ping pong ball. The blood quickened its pace through the air and Kelby gunned the bike to keep up. They cruised through the streets of Hemisphere at 60 mph, following behind the shimmering sphere of red blood. Ridzik held tight to her waist with both hands, hoping some of the blood on his hands was staining her shirt. He buried his face into her backpack because looking forward put too much pressure on his nose. It was the same backpack she’d placed the stolen urn in. He watched the asphalt race by underneath the speeding motorcycle. Kelby leaned into every curve and he leaned with her. What else could he do? His blood may be at the center of the single strangest night of his life, but he was merely a passenger.