Death & Stilettos

by Jason Krumbine

  She didn't know who they were meeting. Avery refused to give too many details on the drive over. But regardless, Brooke hadn't been expecting her two worlds to intersect so soon.

  There's a faint flicker of recognition in the squiggle lines that are Ramburg's eyes as he glances at Brooke, but nothing else.

  Brooke’s trying hard to remain casual, but her body betrays her, tensing up at the sight of Ramburg.

  Avery doesn’t notice.

  "Ms. Avery Graves," Ramburg greets them. "It’s been too long.”

  “Not long enough,” Avery replies. She wrinkles her nose. There’s a strong odor drifting off of Ramburg. It’s a combination of food and sex.

  The squiggly line that stands in for Ramburg’s mouth twists upwards into a smile. “I would invite you in, but I’m the middle of entertaining guests.”

  “Dicky,” a woman moans from inside.

  “A moment, my dear,” Ramburg calls over his shoulder. He has a slight accent. It almost sounds Russian, but not quite. He looks at Brooke. “You’ve brought a guest.”

  “My sister, Brooke.” Avery makes introductions. “Brooke, Dicky Ramburg.”

  “A pleasure,” Ramburg says. His eyes take Brooke in completely, committing every detail to memory. He looks back at Avery. “I wasn’t aware your father had produced two lovely daughters.”

  “I’m not here to talk genealogy with you, Dicky,” Avery says.

  “Of course not.” Ramburg sends one final look Brooke’s way.

  There’s something in his eyes that makes her blood run cold.

  “What can I do you for this evening?” Ramburg asks Avery. “Hopefully it’s a matter of life and death to have come knocking here.”

  “We need some equipment,” Avery says, pulling out a piece paper.

  Ramburg glances over the list quickly. “It’ll take me at least two days to get any of these.”

  “You have fifteen minutes.”

  Ramburg makes a sound that could be considered a laugh.

  “I don’t know what’s funny,” Avery says. “Because I’m not making a joke.”

  “That’s what makes it funny,” Ramburg replies. “Two days.”

  Avery pulls out her cellphone. “Maybe I should give Steve Russell a call. I’m sure he’d love to hear all about your trafficking of illegal reaper goods.”

  Ramburg’s smile turns into a snarl. “You’ve got a funny way of asking for help.”

  Avery smiles sweetly. “I learned from my Dad.”

  He crumples up the paper. “I can have the items in question in twenty minutes, but it’s going to cost you.”

  “I’ll owe you a favor,” Avery offers.

  “I prefer cash.”

  “Favors are all I’ve got right now.”

  Ramburg snorts. “Fine.” He looks at the list of items again. “Part of me wants to ask what an upstanding grim reaper such as yourself wants with items like these.”

  “You should probably not listen to that part of yourself,” Avery suggests.

  “Dicky...” the woman inside moans again.

  “You sound like you’ve got your hands full anyway,” Avery says.

  Ramburg pulls a card from his pocket and hands to Avery. “My man will call you when it’s ready. And, please, try not to visit me at home anymore.” He looks at Brooke and smiles again. “A pleasure meeting you, Ms. Graves.”

  twenty-three

  The job takes all night.

  Avery and Brooke carefully work their way through Lori Stanford’s house distributing the items that Ramburg obtained for them. The creature residing there makes the job harder than it should be and drags it out longer than they would have liked. So it takes them all night.

  One phone call to Russell eats up that time between night and morning and before they know it, the sisters have missed out on any kind of sleep.

  They crash at their office.

  Avery’s lying on the sofa, still dressed in the same clothes from the day before. Brooke’s seated behind the small desk, where her mother used to set up shop. Her feet are propped up where the typewriter used to sit and her head is hanging over the back of the aging chair.

  “My head is killing me,” she moans. “It’s like having a hangover without the benefit of all the alcohol from the night before.”

  It’s ten in the morning. The sun’s bursting through their office window, lighting the place up like an abused child’s playhouse. Brooke’s got bags under her eyes large enough to carry a princess’ entire wardrobe.

  “I can’t remember what sleep was like,” Avery says.

  Brooke doesn’t reply.

  “Hey,” Avery snaps.

  “What?” Brooke grumbles.

  “Just checking to make sure you’re not asleep,” Avery says.

  “I’m not asleep.”

  “Are your feet on the desk?”

  “No,” Brooke lies.

  Avery twists her head around to look at her sister. “Get your damn feet off the desk.”

  “No.”

  “We eat there sometimes.”

  Brooke looks at her sister. “Do you eat on the desk itself?”

  "Hey, you never asked me about Ramburg," Avery says.

  Brooke's eyes fly open. "What?"

  "Last night," she says. "You never asked me how I knew Dicky Ramburg."

  Brooke’s breath catches for a moment. “I figured it would just be another, ‘You’re better off not knowing.’”

  “Yeah,” Avery agrees. “You’re probably right.” She yawns. “I’m not involved with anything.”

  “What do you mean?” Brooke asks.

  “Nothing illegal,” Avery tells her. “I’m not involved with anything illegal. That’s not how I know him.”

  “Okay,” Brooke replies.

  Avery looks back at her sister. “You’re taking this really well.”

  Brooke gives a weak shrug. “I think I’m too tired to be nosy.” It’s only half a lie, so she doesn’t feel too bad.

  “Lucky me,” Avery says.

  A courtesy knock on the office door brings the conversation to an end.

  Emma Graves walks in, her gaze flicks quickly across the office, before settling on her eldest.

  Avery sits up. “Hi, Mom.”

  Brooke peeks past her Mom. “Where’s Lori?”

  “Home,” Emma says, “enjoying her first restful day in a while.”

  “I’m glad somebody is,” Brooke mutters.

  “She sends her gratitude,” Emma finishes. “Lori’s home is disturbance free and her mother is at peace. I think you girls deserve a pat on the back.”

  “You know,” Avery says, getting to her feet, “you could have just gone to Russell to begin with. He would have had the entity removed from Lori’s house, no questions asked.”

  “And I think we can all agree that that would have been a problem,” Emma says. She smiles. “You did a good job. I’m proud of you. Your father would be proud, too.” She pulls the check and a photo from her purse. She hands the check to Avery. “This is the rest of your money. And this,” Emma hands the photo to Brooke, “is Robert D’Angelo.”

  One look at the photo and Brooke’s wide-awake. She jumps her feet. “Is this photo current?”

  “Very,” Emma assures her.

  “Mmmmh.” Brooke moans. She can’t tear her gaze away from the photo. “That is a fine looking man. I think I’m getting wet just looking at his picture.”

  Emma sighs. “Could you please not be so crude?”

  Brooke shows Avery the picture. The older sister nods in agreement. “I don’t know, Mom. He is pretty hot.”

  Emma rolls her eyes.

  “This is who you want to set me up with?” Brooke asks her mother.

  “Dinner this weekend at my house,” Emma says. “Robert will be there. Avery, you and Jack are invited as well.”

  “Okay, hold up.” Brooke gives her mom a look of concern. “I don’t know that that’s such a good idea. I kind of move at my own pace.
”

  Avery starts to say something, but another arrival cuts her off.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  The Graves’ turn to the front door. James Decessus, named partner of Messor & Decessus, stands at the front door, looking especially well rested. He’s in his late sixties with white hair and a slightly pudgy face.

  Before they can say anything, Avery and Brooke’s world is completely shattered.

  Decessus holds his hand out to Emma. “Emma, dear, it’s been too long.” He places a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. Her body language becomes rigid and cold.

  “You two know each other?” Avery asks. Her voice is coarse. She’s not sure what she’s seeing.

  “We’re acquainted,” Emma replies tersely.

  “Nonsense,” Decessus says with a smile. “Acquainted. As I recall it we were almost married.” He looks at the sisters. “Now wouldn’t that have been an interesting twist of fate?”

  Avery and Brooke share a look of confusion.

  Emma pulls her hand back. “I think you’ve been looking at the past through rose-colored glasses again, James.”

  “It’s the only way to avoid the heartbreak,” Decessus replies with a sad smile. “If you’re in the middle of a family meeting, I can always come back later.”

  “I was just getting ready to leave,” Emma says. She turns back to her daughters, “I hope to see you this weekend for dinner.” To Decessus she says, on her way out, “I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure seeing you again, James, but it would be a lie.”

  Decessus watches Emma leave. He turns back to the sisters, clapping his hands loudly together. “That is a remarkable woman you young ladies have for a mother.”

  Brooke raises her hand. “I’m confused.”

  Avery folds her arms. “Yeah, me, too.”

  Decessus shoves his hands into his pants pockets and strolls around the office. “So, how was your night?”

  Avery and Brooke look at each other, confused, but trying to be careful.

  “Long,” Avery answers.

  “I would imagine so,” Decessus says. “My night was relatively pleasant. I took my wife out. Tuesday’s are date night for us. No matter what else is going on in our lives, we block out Tuesday night for us and us alone. It’s a tradition that has proved to be invaluable to our marriage.”

  “Congratulations?” Brooke says. “I’m not really sure what the proper response is.”

  Decessus doesn’t seem to care about her response. “My morning, however, has been considerably less relaxed. Before the sun had even risen, I received an extremely unpleasant call from Steve Russell,” he continues. “It would seem that one of my reapers, Victor Gamboa, has been accused of a class two illegal soul displacement,” he pauses and watches the two sisters for a reaction. There is none. “Apparently Mr. Gamboa planted a class two spiritual entity in the home of one Lori Stanford. His purpose or motivation for doing so is still unknown, but then the Council doesn’t normally worry itself with details like that. They’re only tool in their arsenal is one of blunt force. They see a problem that needs smashing and they just...smash.” Decessus lets his gaze wander around the office before settling back on the sisters. “My firm has officially been served sanctions by the Council.”

  “Ouch,” Brooke says, smirking.

  “Yes,” Decessus agrees. “‘Ouch.’ Thanks to this little incident our operations in Century City are suspended, pending a full investigation by the Council.”

  He pauses again, watching the sisters

  “Is this the part where we’re supposed to offer our condolences or something?” Brooke asks.

  Decessus smiles, but it’s humorless. “I was thinking of ‘or something,’ seeing as you are Mr. Gamboa’s accusers.” He sighs. “You know, this is the second time you’ve accused one my reapers of wrongdoing. This isn’t exactly what I expected when I offered you both a golden ticket.”

  “Interesting choice of words.” Avery says.

  Decessus gaze narrows for a moment. “This isn’t going to become a habit, is it?”

  Avery shrugs. “I guess that’s really up to you, isn’t it? I mean, you seem to have poor taste in employees.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” Decessus muses, throwing Avery’s words back at her. “Considering my offer.”

  “I think we all know that wasn’t out of the kindness of your heart,” Brooke says.

  “Oh, do we?” Decessus nods his head. “I take it we’re going to play the game, then.”

  “What game?” Avery asks innocently.

  Decessus levels his heavy gaze on Avery. “The game where we all pretend that you didn’t frame Mr. Gamboa for an illegal soul displacement he didn’t do.”

  “Well, I guess if he didn’t do it,” Avery says, “He doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  “He shouldn’t, should he,” Decessus agrees. He regards them silently for a minute. “What did you think was going to happen?”

  “You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” Avery says.

  He points at them. “I offered the two of you something I don’t offer every grim reaper.”

  “No, just ones who apparently hold a position on the Veto Council,” Brooke says.

  Decessus pauses. He gives a soft chuckle. “I might have misjudged you at our first meeting.”

  “That happens a lot,” Brooke says. “We’re used to it.”

  “I’m sure,” Decessus says. “But here’s the thing, I think you might have misjudged me, as well.”

  Avery shrugs. “I guess time will tell on that one.”

  Decessus chews on the corner of his lip for a second. “I’ve had to suspend Mr. Gamboa indefinitely and remove him as the head of our research and development. It’s going to set us back months, if not longer. The sanctions against my firm could cost us millions of dollars.”

  “Somebody put something in Lori Stanford’s home,” Avery replies. “According to the exorcist Steve Russell brought in, it was a nasty something.”

  “And in the absence of any evidence of the real culprit,” Decessus says, “you’ve decided to frame one of my men.”

  “It’s not a frame if he’s guilty,” Avery says.

  Decessus tilts his head. “I’m sorry, was that a confession, Ms. Graves?”

  “Of course not,” Avery says, brushing it off. “We didn’t do anything to confess.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Decessus expression turns cold. “Let me put it in plain English, Ms. Graves: You’ve cost me money. When my partner and I founded this firm we did it with two goals: Helping the dead and making a lot of money. As far as I’m concerned, you’re now impeding both of those goals.”

  “Well, I’m sure that since Mr. Gamboa is innocent,” Avery says, “you won’t have anything to worry about. The Council will clear him pretty quickly and they’ll probably revoke those sanctions just as fast. Gamboa seems like a hard worker. I’m sure he’ll make up for any lost time,” she steps up to Decessus. “Although, if he’s not innocent…” she trails off and shrugs. “Maybe you need to be more careful with who you hire.”

  “Maybe I should,” he agrees.

  Decessus and Avery lock eyes. Neither looks away.

  “By the way,” Avery says. “We’ll be declining that job offer after all. Thanks, but no thanks.” She pulls a piece of plastic from her back pocket. It’s the piece she found in Lori’s home. She simply drops it into Decessus’ hand.

  Decessus stars at the piece of plastic for a long moment, his face a complete mask.

  Suddenly his face breaks into a smile. “Well, I think that covers everything,” he starts for the front door. “Tell your mother it was a delight to see her again.”

  Avery waits about two minutes after Decessus leaves before breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Wow,” Brooke says.

  “Yeah, I know,” Avery agrees.

  “So the stuff from Ramburg worked?”

  “It certainly l
ooks like it,” Avery says.

  “This is crazy.” Brooke shakes her head. “What do you think?”

  “I think our lives just got a little more difficult,” Avery admits.

  Decessus settles into his limo and his calm exterior disappears with the blink of an eye. His face curls up into a snarl and his eyes twitch with displeasure. He snaps the plastic piece in two.

  He smacks his armrest angrily. “Shit!”

  “Sir?” the driver asks over the intercom.

  “Back to the office, Davis.” As Decessus feels the car pull into traffic, he says, “Never mind the office. Take me to the club.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The intercom switches off.

  Decessus fumes in silence.

  “Shit,” he mutters again.

  His cellphone rings, startling him.

  “Yes?” he answers.

  It’s a woman. “Please hold for Councilman Hoeksema.”

  The color drains from Decessus’ face. He tugs at his tie, hoping that loosening it will help him breathe easier.

  A minute passes with Decessus on hold.

  It’s a long minute.

  “James,” a raspy voice says from the other end.

  “Councilman,” Decessus says.

  Councilman Hoeksema doesn’t say anything. There’s just the shallow breathing of an older man in Decessus’ ear.

  “It’s a real shit storm you’ve got down there,” Hoeksema says finally.

  “Yes it is,” Decessus agrees reluctantly.

  “Are you going to get it taken care of?”

  Decessus rubs his forehead. His fingers come away wet. He’s sweating. When was the last time he sweat?

  “I’m certainly going to try.”

  Hoeksema coughs loudly into the phone. “That’s not very reassuring.”

  “It’s not my job to reassure you.” Decessus regrets the words almost immediately.

  “That’s not the agreement we came to, now is it?” Hoeksema says. “If you don’t take care of the situation with the Graves family I’ll send someone down there who can. And if I have to do that, they’ll take of you, too.”

  Decessus’ lips tighten. “My hands are tied thanks to those sanctions you yourself authorized.”

  “Maybe you should have taken better care,” Hoeksema says.