Death & Stilettos

by Jason Krumbine

  Gamboa leans back in his chair and just stares at the ceiling, like he’s silently praying for strength.

  “I’ll take it from your silence you know, but I’m going to repeat it,” Jack says. “Not only did the program completely fail, it failed on such a level that it could only be called a massive disaster. And you know why it was a massive disaster? Because it’s a bad idea. Because it doesn’t work.”

  “That was over twenty years ago, Jack,” Gamboa says. “Twenty years ago. Give us some credit here.”

  “I don’t care if it was a hundred years ago.”

  ‘They’re already using this in China.”

  “That’s great for China,” Jack replies. “Maybe you should move over there.”

  “This stuff is going to get out there,” Gamboa says.

  Jack’s voice turns hostile. “Is that a threat, Victor? Because it better not be getting out there through you,” he warns. “If the Council gets so much as a whiff that you’re building a black market, you’ll be shut down so fast the entire reaper community’s going to get whiplash.”

  “Jack,” Gamboa says calmly, “I’m not talking about a black market. I would never even entertain such an idea. But you and I both know there’s going to be a need for this technology in the coming years. How many incidents in the last couple of months have we had to bail other reapers out of? These were situations that would have been simply resolved if the original reapers involved had been outfitted with this technology and not antiquated pieces of wood, cloth or metal.”

  “And we’re not ungrateful for your assistance, Victor,” Jack says tensely. “How many more letters of commendation do you want from the Council?”

  “I don’t want any,” Gamboa says. “I want the Council to stop being so damn afraid.”

  Jack sighs loudly. “Look, Victor, I don’t have time to argue this with you every week. You guys have your special toys. Just be happy with that, okay? Stop trying to push it further.”

  Jack doesn’t wait for a response and hangs up.

  There’s a dial tone coming through the speakerphone for a second before Gamboa disconnects it. He straightens his tie.

  “Sorry about that,” he says, finally addressing the sisters. “I honestly thought that it was going end on a better note this time.” He walks around to the other end of the table and offers his hand to the sisters. “Victor Gamboa.”

  “Avery Graves.”

  “Brooke.”

  They shake hands and Gamboa takes a seat next to Brooke.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what was that all about?” Avery asks, nodding at the phone.

  “Not at all.” Gamboa settles into his seat. He’s at ease, talking about what is clearly his favorite topic. “That was all about progress and people who don’t want it. You know Jack Kindred?”

  “No,” Brooke says. “But he sounds like a bad murder mystery character.”

  “Unfortunately he’s not,” Gamboa explains with a smile. “He’s the head of the Council’s training initiative. At the end of the day, he’s the one that signed off on your reaper certification.”

  “I’m not good with names,” Brooke admits.

  “She’s not,” Avery agrees. “She dated a guy for weeks and only knew him as Steve the bartender.”

  Gamboa continues, unfazed by the brief interruption. “Jack and I go back a ways. We used to work together in San Francisco. For the last year and a half. I’ve been trying to convince him to get the Council to sign off on using the new reaper technology we’ve been developing her. It would be a huge to boon to the reaper community and, of course, to our firm. But it’s like talking to a brick wall.” He shakes his head. “Honestly, and I know it won’t sound modest, but we’re trying to revolutionize the entire reaping community and the Council.”

  “You’re right, Brooke says. “It doesn’t sound very modest.”

  “I’d go with audacious,” Avery says.

  Gamboa shrugs off the thought. “It’s not that audacious. But it is inevitable. The current class structure that we’re under? Cloth, metal and wood? It’s ridiculous. This isn’t the dark ages anymore and, grim reapers shouldn’t be operating like it is. What am I saying?” He smiles. “I’m preaching to the choir.”

  Brooke cocks an eyebrow. “You are?”

  “Of course,” Gamboa replies. “You have one of our devices, don’t you? The Spectral Analysis device?”

  Brooke and Avery look at each other.

  “How did you know that?” Avery asks.

  Gamboa flips open a folder on the table. “Isn’t that why you’re here? Ibanez gave you one of our devices to field test.”

  “Marcus Ibanez?” Avery clarifies.

  Gamboa nods. “Yes, I’ve got the paperwork right here.”

  “Are we talking about the same guy?” Avery asks.

  “Tall, skinny, kind of pale?” Brooke adds. “Looks a little like a douchebag?”

  Gamboa frowns at the description, but agrees nonetheless. “I would assume so. There aren’t any other Marcus Ibanez’s that I know of.”

  “I think you’ve got the wrong paperwork there, buddy,” Brooke says.

  Gamboa looks at him. “Is that so?”

  “Maybe you didn’t get the memo but Ibanez was running some kind of dead soul scam out of your offices a few months back.”

  Gamboa’s nostrils flare a bit and his attitude becomes less easy going. “Well, obviously I’m aware of that,” he says. “But Marcus was also involved in our research and development department.” He holds up a piece of paper. “He signed out one of our devices and gave it to you ladies for field testing.”

  “That’s funny,” Brooke says.

  “And how is that funny?” Gamboa asks.

  “Because nobody told us,” Brooke says.

  Gamboa replaces the paper. “You don’t have a spectral analysis device?”

  “Oh, no,” Avery replies, “we definitely have it. But nobody signed us on to be a part of your field testing program.”

  Gamboa studies the sisters for a moment. “I see. There does seem to be some confusion here.”

  “Yeah,” Avery agrees.

  Gamboa taps the table for a moment. “My secretary said that you were here to discuss the device.”

  “Well, we’re not,” Brooke says.

  “We’re here to talk to you about Shannon Stanford.” Avery waits a second, watching Gamboa’s expression and then asks, “Do you remember her? Shannon Stanford? You reaped her about six months back.”

  Gamboa closes the folder. His body language suggests that the topic is inappropriate. “Of course I remember her. I remember all my departed souls.”

  “Wow,” Brooke says. “I have a hard time remembering all the men I sleep with.”

  Gamboa looks at Brooke and coolly says, “Maybe you’re sleeping with too many.”

  “Well, it’s something I’m working on,” Brooke admits.

  Avery says, “We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions?”

  “About Ms. Stanford?”

  “Yeah.”

  Gamboa taps a finger against his lips. “That’s a bit unprecedented.”

  “But developing reaper technology outside the three reaper classes isn’t?” Avery asks.

  “That,” Gamboa says, getting to his feet, “is called progress. What you’re doing is called being nosy.”

  “It’s not a crime,” Avery says.

  “No, of course it isn’t,” Gamboa agrees. “If being nosy were a crime I think we’d all be in jail.”

  “Good thing it’s not a crime then,” Avery says.

  “Good thing,” Gamboa echoes hollowly.

  “We spoke with Ms. Stanford’s daughter the other day,” Avery says. “Lori?”

  “I’m familiar with her,” Gamboa responds.

  “Lori’s concerned that her mother might not be at peace,” Avery says.

  “Well, I can’t really speak to that,” Gamboa says. “None of us can till we’ve crossed over
ourselves.”

  “You know,” Brooke says. “I can’t help but notice we’re still sitting but you’re standing now.”

  “That was my subtle way of letting you know that the meeting was over,” Gamboa says, folding his hands in front of him. “Clearly I need to be more direct.”

  Avery gets to her feet and Brooke follows.

  “Okay, well, now it just sounds like you’re avoiding us,” Avery observes. “And that’s going to make me think that you screwed up with Shannon Stanford.”

  “Well, then you would be wrong,” Gamboa says, bristling. “I’ve been doing this for almost twenty years. I don’t ‘screw up.’ I think you’ll agree with me, Ms. Graves, when I say that there is a special relationship between a grim reaper and the dead. It is something far more intimate than two living souls will ever experience. We escort these people to the beyond, to the afterlife. It is not something to be taken lightly.”

  “Are you implying that you’ve been taking it lightly?” Avery asks.

  “Of course not,” Gamboa replies. “I treat this job with nothing but the utmost respect. You, however…” he trails off.

  “What exactly gave you the impression that we’re taking it lightly?” Brooke asks, perking up for a fight.

  “You’re here checking up on me,” Gamboa replies.

  “We’re just looking into something for a friend,” Avery assures him.

  “Then you should be more careful,” Gamboa says, walking over to the door. “That’s how reapers lose their jobs.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Brooke holds up her hands. “That sounds like a threat.” She looks at Avery. “Did that sound like a threat?”

  “It had the echo of a threat,” Avery agrees. She asks Gamboa, “Are you threatening us?”

  Gamboa turns back to them and looks genuinely wounded. “Of course not. I’m merely giving you some friendly advice.” He points to the phone. “You heard my call with Jack. The Council is very set in their ways. They apply medieval rules to modern day issues. And the Council doesn’t like it when reapers go around questioning other reapers.”

  “You know,” Avery says. “I can’t help but feel like you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “If anything, you started building that mountain when you came in here, Ms. Graves,” Gamboa replies. He holds up his hands and clasps them together. “Six months ago a woman died. She was lost and confused. I provided her a beacon in the darkness and helped her find the path to her next life.”

  “That’s all we wanted to know,” Avery says.

  “Then you already know it,” Gamboa replies. He gestures to the door, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other responsibilities.”

  Avery and Brooke start to leave.

  “One more thing,” Gamboa stops them. “Since you’re not actually signed into our field testing program, I’ll have to ask for the spectral analysis device back.”

  “Of course.” Avery pulls the black box out of her purse and turns it over. “It’s a nifty little device.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Gamboa takes the device. “It’s the future, Ms. Graves. One day every reaper will have one of these.” He smiles at them. “No more silly tapping sticks.”

  “Can’t wait for the day,” Avery says dryly.

  “Neither can I,” Gamboa replies. He smiles. “Thank you and, by all means, any time you want to discuss the future of grim reaping, my office door is always open.”

  Gamboa waits until he’s sure the Graves sisters are in the elevator and heading down. His face drops all pretense of a pleasant attitude. It was bad enough his meeting with Kindred went so poorly. And now this.

  There’s a bad taste in his mouth.

  Gamboa adjusts his tie, it’s feeling a little too tight around his neck. He walks back over to

  the phone and dials the extension for James Decessus.

  “Mr. Decessus office,” the secretary answers with a melodic tone.

  “I need to speak to Mr. Decessus,” Gamboa says. His voice is strained and he feels his blood pressuring spiking.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Gamboa,” the secretary replies. “But Mr. Decessus is in a meeting. Can I take a message?”

  Gamboa’s frown deepens, threatening to make the creases a permanent addition to his face. “Yes.” He looks down at the black box in his hand. “Please tell him the Graves sisters were just here and they were,” he pauses, carefully searching for the right words. “Asking questions.”

  eighteen

  "Well, I'm just going to come out and say it," Brooke's talking around the two inches of the meatball sub that's in her mouth.

  Avery looks up from her cellphone and frowns disapprovingly at her sister. "Don't do that."

  "Do what?" Brooke asks. Although it sounds like, "Ooth whaath?"

  "Talk with your mouth full," Avery says. "It's disgusting."

  They're sitting in a booth located adjunct to the bar in Clark's. Avery has a chicken Caesar salad in front of her with a glass of water. Brooke has a foot long meatball sandwich and a side of french fries.

  Brooke takes a moment to wash down the meatball with a drink from her soda before replying. "Any more disgusting than that song and dance Gamboa was giving us? Because that was a song and dance. A full fledge routine. The thing with the phone call and his meeting? He was totally showing off for us, you know."

  "You would know about men showing off," Avery replies dryly, setting her phone on the table.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I would. Men like to show off for me," Brooke says without a hint of modesty. "What can I say? I have a thing about me."

  "Does it go hand in hand with your ability to make men fall in love with you?"

  "Sometimes, but not always." Brooke grabs a handful of fries. "And I don't 'make' men fall in love with me, you know. It just happens."

  Avery pokes at her salad, but doesn't eat it. "Gamboa was clearly up to something."

  Brooke snaps her fingers. "That's what I was going to say! The man obviously did something."

  "Obviously," Avery agrees.

  "At the very least," Brooke says, "he messed up."

  "He did something wrong, as it were."

  "At the very least."

  "Absolutely," Avery says. "But what do we have? A gut feeling?"

  Brooke nods her head. "A gut feeling isn't going to get us anywhere."

  "It would help if we knew where we wanted to go," Avery points out.

  Brooke stretches back in her seat. “What do you think he did?”

  "Gamboa?" Avery shrugs again. “I’m not sure.”

  "Do you think Lori's mom is still there?"

  Avery doesn't answer.

  "Yeah," Brooke says, picking up her sandwich again. "Me neither. Also, Gamboa was, like, way creepy. That it wasn't my imagination, was it?"

  Avery nods in agreement. "Extremely creepy."

  "But not like, I'm-going-to-skin-you-alive-and-then-wear-your-skin-creepy," Brooke amends. "Something creepier than that."

  Avery raises an eyebrow. "You can get creeper than that?"

  "Well, remember, I dated that Goth guy for six months," Brooke says. "I know a little something about creepy. So, what do we do now?”

  “I don't know,” Avery answers. She drums her fingers on the table. “We can always go back to Lori’s after dark.”

  Brooke looks at her sister like she just dropped her top and started shaking her naked breasts for all the world to see. “Excuse me?”

  “What? Lori said most of the haunting happens after dark,” Avery says, grabbing a forkful of lettuce. “Maybe we’ll find a clue or something.”

  Brooke frowns. “That’s a horrible idea.”

  “Says the woman who thinks getting back together with her ex loan shark boyfriend is a good idea,” Avery mutters.

  "Oh, yes, please. Let's talk about that."

  "I would love to," Avery replies, ignoring the sarcasm. "I'm so glad you finally brought it up.”

  Brooke shakes her head vigorous
ly. "No. There is a huge difference between getting back together with Stanley and going back to a haunted house in the middle of the night. For starters, that place pretty much scared the crap out of me in the middle of the day. Why would I go back there at night?"

  "Because it's our job," Avery interjects.

  "And second," Brooke continues, "this is why I didn’t tell you about Stanley.”

  Avery pauses. “Okay, you’re going to have to connect the dots for me.”

  “It’s not that hard,” Brooke says. “I can sum it up in two words: You’re judgmental.”

  Avery looks back her. “Really?”

  “Really,” Brooke says. “You know, I was the one cheating on him the first time around.”

  Avery thinks about it for a moment. “How is that supposed to help your case?”

  “Stanley was loyal,” Brooke continues. “He is loyal. And I think he really cares for me.”

  “Your last ‘relationship,’” Avery adds air quotes, “hinged on a bartender's tongue.”

  “Then you can you say I’m maturing.”

  “By going back to your ex-boyfriend?”

  “Who happens to have a lot of positive qualities,” Brooke points out.

  “Don’t you still owe him money?”

  “Money isn’t everything,” Brooke replies.

  “No, but I’m pretty sure it factors in pretty heavily when you’re dating a loan shark,” Avery retorts. “I’m your big sister. I just want what’s best for you.”

  Brooke makes a gagging noise. “Please stop before I regurgitate all of my lunch.”

  “God forbid we make a genuine emotional connection." Avery rolls her eyes. "Speaking of, how is Steven the bartender these days?"

  Brooke folds her arms. "I wouldn't know, because I haven't seen him in weeks."

  "Really?" Avery asks, not believing her for a moment.

  "Really," Brooke asserts.

  "Because you were pretty hung up on his tongue."

  "Stanley has plenty to be hung up on as well," Brooke replies.

  Avery taps her fingers against her chin. "I'm trying to remember, how did you describe Stanley's penis once?"

  Brooke groans. "Please don't."

  Avery smiles. "The past hurts doesn't it?"