Abra-Cadaver

by Matt Drabble

  He pulled up and stepped out into the warm night air. He hefted his weary bulk and headed into the house. His bones were getting too old to be trekking across the county just to satisfy his own appetites.

  He slid his key into the door lock and yawned loudly and long. His head was back and he popped his crumpled spine, compressed from the long drive. A noise sounded from behind and he turned slowly to greet his cat who had no doubt returned from his own back alley activities.

  “Norman?” He called sweetly.

  There was a blur of movement that leapt out from the dark and he only saw it as his senses were scrambled from a blunt object’s blow. He staggered forward and saw a hooded black caped figure as his world faded.

  ----------

  Tommy drove Ally home, much to Dixon’s silent and sulky objections. The night was quiet and mirrored the SUV’s interior. He did not quite know what to say. They had all been thrown together again in the most unsettling of circumstances. He had hoped that they would all discuss their past and their future. Arnold Trotter had gone to prison and he knew they all felt a degree of responsibility. He hoped beyond hope that Dixon was right for once and that Trotter was indeed unaware of their non-participation in his conviction. But he couldn’t help but feel that it was the stuff of childhood naive thoughts.

  “So what do we do now?” Ally asked, breaking the silence.

  “Honestly I don’t know,” Tommy sighed. “I hope that I’m worrying about nothing. Maybe Dixon’s right, maybe Trotter knows nothing about us and if he’s out he’ll get picked up in a day or two. Outside of that, I guess we lock our doors and wait.”

  “I meant what do we do now?” She laughed softly. “The night’s still young and I could use a drink or maybe ice-cream,” she said thoughtfully.

  Tommy smiled genuinely. Maybe trapped inside his own thoughts for too long was playing havoc with his imagination. This was real life after all. The shadowy presence of The Captivating Cosmo X was hardly likely to be combing the country plotting intricate revenges for them all.

  “Ice-cream it is,” he smiled and steered the car towards the diner.

  ----------

  Larry Taylor opened his eyes slowly as his head pounded hard against his skull. He tried to sit up but he found that his arms, chest, and neck were all secured to his long oak kitchen table. His stomach rolled with nausea and he desperately tried to think straight. Right now his mind was his only weapon.

  “You’re awake I see.”

  The voice pierced his heart with icy daggers.

  “Who are you? What do you want with me?” He spoke calmly and hoped to play for time to think.

  “A little truth, that’s all.”

  “About what?”

  “Oh let’s not play games Larry, let’s really not.”

  Larry tried to see what the figure was up to, but he couldn’t lift his head high enough to see. The shadow was moving around the room out of sight.

  “The Trotter trial,” the figure demanded.

  “What about it? You think that Arnold Trotter got the shaft at the trial or something?” He asked unconvincingly.

  “Oh I think that we both know that to be true,” the figure laughed without humor.

  “But I didn’t do anything, I swear I didn’t!” Larry panted, his voice close to breaking.

  “DON’T LIE TO ME!” The figure roared in an ear splitting scream. “You’re going to tell me everything that you know Larry, I can assure you of that.”

  As brave as Larry Taylor had hoped that he was, his bladder let go when he heard the sound of the chainsaw starting up. The whole sorry tale took only a few minutes and halfway through he started to blub.

  “Please, I’ve told you everything that I know,” he sobbed. “Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone I promise.”

  “And do you keep your promises?” The shadow enquired.

  “Yes, yes I do,” Larry wept, “I always do.”

  “Then that’s something that we have common my dear Larry,” the figure giggled in a high shrill voice.

  The chainsaw roared and filled the kitchen with diesel smoke fumes that made Larry gag and cough.

  “You know I’ve never tried this without using the trick box,” the shadow pondered aloud.

  The chainsaw blade whirled with dizzying speed as the light glinted on the spinning silver. The caped figure brought the hungry teeth down on Larry Taylor’s stomach and the flesh was ripped apart. Larry screamed for as long as he was able to, as chunks flew in a crimson spray that splattered the walls. The pristine white tiles were soon ruined with gore as the blade tore through flesh before splintering bone. The two halves of Larry Taylor soon began to pull apart as gravity widened the gap. The dripping sides of his opened stomach yawned widely as his internal organs were shredded in the chainsaw’s path.

  The shadow stood back from the sodden mess and surveyed the work. “Ta-dah” it whispered softly.

  8.

  suspicious minds

  “So when did you buy this place?” Tommy asked, looking around from their deserted booth in the closed diner. The place was an American 50’s throwback. Nan’s had been an institution in town for as long as anyone could remember. Parents and grandparents had supped shakes here, holding hands, and playing footsie under the table.

  “After the divorce,” Ally said, looking down intensely at her strawberry glass. “Look I don’t know why, but I feel like I owe you an explanation about me and Russell.”

  “Ally, you don’t owe me a thing,” he smiled, while at the same time hating the way she regularly used Dixon’s first name.

  “I know that it must look odd to you. You know, coming back here and finding that we were married.”

  “I’m guessing that he’s got a lot of hidden depths.”

  Ally laughed. “No not really, there’s not an awful lot below the surface of Russell Dixon. But he’s got a good heart in there,” she added seriously. “I was in a bad place and he helped look after me while I got…, straight…, if you know what I mean,” she said with blazing cheeks.

  “So why did you get divorced?”

  “Well it sounds terrible to say, but when I was able to see straight again, I was able to see straight,” she said cryptically.

  “And this was your settlement?” He said panning around the diner.

  “Yep,” she said proudly. “This place is a landmark in town and it was going to rack and ruin.”

  “Well it looks like you’re doing a hell of job,” he said impressed.

  “I like to think so. It’s not easy, but I think that the locals don’t want to see the place fail and Russell was great with helping me get set up.”

  I bet he was, Tommy thought, picturing the wads of dirty cash that would have changed hands with every contractor and tradesman.

  “So it’s your place now?” He asked trying to sound casual but his reporter instincts were kicking in again.

  “Pretty much,” Ally answered but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  Tommy suddenly thought that the reporter in him would love to get a look at the diner’s books. He imagined that there was a healthy influx of Dixon’s dirty cash floating in through the front door and walking out the back clean as a whistle. But even with his limited social skills he knew that it would be a bad idea to probe any further. He had seen enough movies to know that if he started poking around the corners of the diner’s finances, Ally was bound to find out. He had no idea just what sort of a relationship might be possible with Ally after the heightened circumstances had died down, but it was something that thought might be worth perusing.

  ----------

  Gaines hung up the phone and sat back in his customary thoughtful pose. There was little in the way of good news about Arnold Trotter’s whereabouts. The process of sifting through dental records pulled from the mouths of scorched skeletons was time consuming. If Trotter was indeed loose, then he was concerned for the man. Trotter was obviously sick and in desperate need of help. There was a report o
f a woman having her car stolen not that far from the Blackwater Heights hospital. Apparently she had been leading her daughter into some woodland and someone matching Trotter’s description had taken her car. If Trotter was wandering around he was no doubt scared and staggering around helpless. He had always felt a strong sense of guilt for not doing more to help the man. He had allowed himself to be sidelined in the investigation 20 years ago and all for the sake of a quiet life. He knew that he could not have been expected to know just how corrupt the trial would have been, but that was little consolation. Now that he was running things, perhaps this would be the kick start he needed to set things right before he retired off into the distance.

  ----------

  The excitingly named but dull as dishwater Kelsey Falcon watched the sun rise from his balcony. The marina stretched out below him with visions of affluence and wealth. The gulls sung their morning song; gentle caws to welcome the day.

  Kelsey held his coffee mug and relished the rich aroma. His tastes were expensive and he was fortunate to be able to afford them.

  He had operated a legal practice back in the hick seed town of Denver Mills, but there was little of any financial note to be gained from practicing law in his home town. His cases had consisted of mainly dull paperwork shuffling with the occasional boundary dispute. He’d lived on little but dreams ever since he had first opened his doors. Television land’s portrayal of slick suited lawyers badgering and trapping witnesses on the stand before driving flashy cars home to Malibu mansions was someway short of the mark. He made a living, but little more. That was of course until Arnold Trotter had entered his life, along with a discreet flash of Adrian Todd’s checkbook. He’d had little in the way of moral dilemmas and one look at all those zeros had washed away whatever small doubts he’d had.

  As Arnold Trotter’s defense attorney it hadn’t been a difficult case to throw. The town had practically been salivating at the thought of poor Mary’s shocking demise. The juicy details had been ripped from the lurid pages of a Hollywood script. His job was to basically sit back and let the travesty unfold before his eyes. There had been no objections, no cross examinations, no witness calling, and no real defense of any kind. The longer that the trial went on, the more Arnold Trotter seemed to withdraw into himself. He offered little in the way of explanation and his overall creepy demeanor did little to endear him to the jury. They had returned a verdict in record quick time. Fast enough to make Kelsey wonder as to just why they bothered leaving the courtroom altogether.

  After the trial he had upped and left Denver Mills, just glad to be away from the small town. He had felt little guilt over his own culpability; his conscience offset by his new bank balance. Unlike the others that he suspected would soon be throwing their new found wealth away, he had secreted his with careful investments. He was determined to make the money work for him so that he wouldn’t ever have to again. He knew the rumors about Adrian Todd’s extracurricular income streams, but they were of little interest to him. Unless of course Adrian was to found to be in need of a defense lawyer.

  The sea breeze floated up and into his plush apartment and he closed his eyes against the sun, appreciating the day as he usually did. Thinking about Denver Mills always brought back the only sour memory of the trial. Arnold Trotter had exploded into a violent outburst when the gavel had fallen. He had begun screaming bloody vengeance and promising retribution against those that had sinned against him. Kelsey could still hear that shrill voice emanating from the tall skinny man and he shuddered at the thought. He cleansed the terrible recollection from his thoughts by glancing down at his boat moored in the marina below.

  The “Lucky Star” was his retirement present to himself. A Sunseeker Portofino 48, a 16 meter cruiser. He had managed to find a used one that hadn’t quite broken the bank. Adrian Todd had provided him with a lead on a second hand one that had been for sale at a steal, as long as you were prepared to not ask too many questions.

  He dressed quickly, eager to be out on the ocean’s choppy waves. Despite being a small rotund man, short of hair and wide of girth, he was never short of the companionship of attractive women. Haven Bay was home, it seemed, to a large population of wealthy widows. Trophy wives who had all kept to their regimes of self-maintenance ingrained from years of being on the arms of wealthy men. His dance card was full more nights than not, but today was for himself. Today was for the sea.

  He positively skipped his way down through the apartment building and out into the day beyond. The marina was full of buoyant boats of many shapes and styles, but all exuded prosperity. The wooden boardwalk was pristine as always. The docks had a strict policy on their appearance and nothing was ever out of place. He made his way along to his berth where the “Lucky Star” bobbed up and down merrily awaiting his boarding. He stepped aboard enjoying the sense of ownership of such a beautiful vessel. He enjoyed his private days aboard more so than when weighed down by companions.

  The day was new with virgin dreams of burgeoning possibilities as he set sail. He putted gently out of the marina as the throbbing power beneath his feet strained at the leash, desperate to be free.

  He was a few miles out and enjoying the solitude of an empty ocean when the shadow fell over him from behind. Before he could turn around the taser shocked his body with 50,000 volts that crumpled him to the floor. He spasmed and jerked as he looked up into the dark shadow that loomed over him, and a shadowy face smiled cruelly.

  ----------

  Tommy parked and walked along the quaint street. The store awnings were well kept and attractive. There were many plant troughs displaying a variety of floral decorations provided by the town’s council. It had always been the case in Denver Mills that civic pride was a source of pleasure for the residents.

  McEwen’s gallery was situated along this street surrounded by its affluent neighbors. Tommy had been expecting something dark and gothic judging by the painting that hung in Dixon’s lake house. But the gallery was in fact a jaunty affair, bright and breezy with a large glass front and welcoming feel.

  He opened the door and stepped inside accompanied by a jingling bell above the door.

  “Tommy,” McEwen greeted him, stepping out from the rear of the store.

  “I’ve got to say it’s not what I was expecting,” Tommy said looking around.

  The floors were beech hardwood strips and the space was open with only a couple of dark leather sofas to break the flow. There was a long coffee table that was glass and chrome that held expensive looking brochure books. Several pieces hung on the walls under tasteful spotlights, but none came from the same dark place as the other painting.

  “I’d like to say that it was all my design, but truth be told I have an agent who deals with stuff like this,” McEwen answered. “I’m just the cash cow and she’s the brains,” he smiled a little bitterly.

  “Is all of this your work?” Tommy asked looking around at the pleasant paintings.

  All were bright and colorful and seemed full of life and vibrancy and Tommy found it hard to reconcile the two different styles.

  “Well it’s what we’re trying to move on to,” McEwen said without much enthusiasm. “Apparently the market is moving in this sort of direction.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “It’s lucrative I guess,” McEwen said gloomily.

  “What about the painting that Dixon’s got?”

  “Ah that, that was one from my early days. It got me noticed and paid for all this,” he said waving his arms around.

  “You must have been pleased,” Tommy said wondering if his old friend ever even smiled anymore.

  “You want to see my own display? I keep the stuff that is more personal in the back office.”

  “Sure,” Tommy answered, wondering if he really wanted a tour around McEwen’s imagination.

  McEwen led him into the back office. The room was devoid of office equipment and was another smaller gallery of its own. The paintings that hung in here were dark in colo
r and in thought. The pieces seemed to suck the very light from the room and drew the shadows in closer. Tommy could only stare at the depression splattered across the canvas. Pain and torture were sculpted by the strokes of a paintbrush, as McEwen’s anguish was plain to see.

  “I guess it was a kind of therapy after…, you know,” McEwen said softly.

  Indeed Tommy did know. He’d been haunted by the same darkness that seemed to permeate hanging frames. “I had no idea,” he said in a hushed whisper. “Weren’t you ever able to talk to anyone?”

  McEwen stared at him as though no-one had ever made the connection between his work and the birthday party. “About what?” He asked innocently.

  Tommy saw then just how lost his once friend had become. Of all of them, McEwen seemed to wear the deepest scars.

  ----------

  Kelsey Falcon came to as the box closed around him, sealing him inside, and sealing his fate. His senses rebelled as the box was dragged bumpily across his deck.

  The box was Perspex and large enough to fit a man of his limited stature inside. He groggily tried to feel for an exit, but his arms wouldn’t move. He looked down in panic to find his arms strapped inside a straightjacket and wrapped with heavy chains.

  “W-W-W-What is this?” He stammered, his voice echoing off of his plastic tomb.

  He looked up into the hidden face of a shadowy figure dressed in a long black hooded cape. His assailant wore a perverted version of an old stage costume; a black suit and cape that drowned the figure’s physique and sex. Kelsey would have laughed at the absurdity, if he wasn’t chained and locked inside a transparent coffin that was being slowly dragged to the side of the boat.

  “I was always fascinated by escapology,” the figure whispered in a high pitched girly voice as it hefted the heavy box.

  “What do you want?” Kelsey pleaded, “I can give you money, lots of money.”

  “And why would you want to do that?” The shadow answered as it sweated with heavy labor. “You don’t owe me any money do you?”