The Last Donut Shop of the Apocalypse (Kelly Driscoll Book 2)

by Nina Post

  “Where is Raum? He lives for these meetings.” Vassago tapped a pen against the table.

  “You find lost things, Vassago,” Forcas said. “It should be easy for you to find him.”

  “I don’t find things like Raum. He’s not a possession,” Vassago said.

  “Isn’t he?” Forcas shifted his eyes to the ceiling.

  “Not anymore,” Imamiah said. “None of us are. We’re free-wheeling mercenaries. Tumbleweeds.”

  “And where’s the manager?” Vassago said.

  “Which one? Kelly or the robot?” Forcas said.

  “Either one,” Vassago said.

  Imamiah put up a hand. “Af is member-at-large. Where’s he?”

  “At large,” Crocell said from the sofa.

  “Where is everyone?” Forcas stood, knocking his chair to the floor. He looked at his watch. “I’m going to go look. It’s not like Raum to be this late to a meeting, let alone miss an opportunity to showboat. We could form a quorum with the majority present, but we really ought to find Raum and Af, and get a manager in here to give the manager’s report.”

  Most of the chairs and sofas had filled up, and the residents focused expectantly on the board members.

  “Hell’s Bells,” Forcas muttered, and left the room.

  Forcas found Gil tied to the fitness center doors, and deduced that Gil had tried to roll away until his battery depleted. He undid the clever knots someone had tied and wheeled Gil down the hall to an area by the elevators that had two chairs and an electrical outlet, plugged the telepresence robot in, and went to find Raum and Kelly. He found her scrutinizing the closed circuit camera footage at the front desk with Clementine.

  “Kelly, are you coming to the meeting?” Forcas leaned over the granite counter. “Gil is dead.”

  Clementine slapped a hand over her mouth then spoke through her fingers. “Oh God! What happened?”

  Forcas put his hand out and waved it side to side. “It’s not like that. He’s―his power center―”

  “I tied him up to the fitness center,” Kelly said, without taking her eyes off the closed-circuit footage.

  Clementine slapped the desk and cocked her head at Kelly. “Why would you go and do a thing like that?”

  “He kept following me around.” She pointed at the screen and spoke to Clementine. “Go back to the hallway. OK, now the mail area.”

  “What’s going on?” Forcas said.

  “Raum’s acting crazy.” Clementine plucked a cleansing wipe from a dispenser and attacked the top of the desk, rubbing the luggage cart binder, the package binder, the guest binder, and all the pens.

  Kelly adjusted the picture to show footage from four different areas. Forcas came around back and saw something flit past the camera by the elevators. “Was that him?”

  “Don’t know. Keep an eye on that screen, Clem. I’ll be at the meeting, since Gil is indisposed.”

  Kelly missed the SPs and wanted to go home to the SSI building. Home. She turned the word around in her mind and gave it a suspicious look. Was that her home?

  “Let’s get this quorum formed―” she said.

  “So we can get the party started!” Crocell yelled from the sea of residents.

  “No, so I can go home.”

  Forcas did the roll call. The board members confirmed attendance, and Forcas declared a quorum. “Why don’t you start with the manager’s report, Kelly.”

  She put the thought in a burlap sack and gave it to a stagecoach driver about to leave Cheyenne.

  “Kelly?”

  She thumbed through her papers. “Keep your wings on. The Association’s monster percentage is currently 84.20%. As many of you know, Claw & Crutty are leasing stairwell space to new tenants. I don’t know if any residents have used the stairwell lately, but it’s pretty impressive what some of the new tenants have done with the place.”

  Crocell stood up. “Seriously? Have you seen the build-up?”

  “We’re working on it.” She drummed her fingers on the clipboard. “We haven’t found a substance strong enough to dissolve it.”

  Gaap looked up from his needlepoint. “What do you mean, build-up?”

  “Really? You haven’t smelled it?” Crocell said.

  Gaap shrugged.

  “The monsters in the stairwell don’t have their own bathrooms,” Crocell said, “so they use communal toilets in the corners of the stairwells, and it crystallizes into a rock-hard amber material that smells like an outhouse.”

  “The cleaning crew is working around the clock on the problem,” she said. “They’re rigging minor explosives, and―”

  “Minor explosives?” Crocell said.

  “They’re facile with explosives.” Her stony expression shut down that line of discussion. “Finally, we’ve received a number of suggestions for repatriation support, which we’ve decided to provide.”

  “For what?” Gaap said.

  “For any tenants who have fallen or been cast out or just diverted from their native dimension. We thought it would reduce the chances of another apocalypse. Ideally, you would receive this support at the place of origin, but none of us can count on that.”

  “But we’re bound here,” Crocell said, looking innocent. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’ve already tried to escape once. I’m sure you’ll try again. Also, the new DVR for the security camera system has been purchased and installed at the front desk, and I’ll be watching.”

  The door made a click sound, indicating another resident swiped their access fob. They all turned to look. The door stayed open, but no one entered.

  They heard someone singing Let’s Be Neighborly by Roger Balbi at the top of his lungs like he had just staggered out of a pub at four in the morning―an hour which, Kelly thought, would be Kermit’s purview.

  Seconds later, Raum stumbled through the door wearing pink and green hibiscus-pattern swim shorts, a blue collared shirt open to the chest, wingtip shoes, and green calf-length socks with embroidered Scottie dogs. He had a purple sweatband he had probably mugged off the Jackal, and held a near-empty bottle of tequila.

  Forcas gaped. “Raum, what in the name of―”

  “Ohhohohooonoo!” Raum said. “Duzzn’t matter, Fercass! He duzzn’t care what I do.”

  Raum lurched across the room and managed to reach the table of the Board of Directors. He leaned his forehead against the window. “Cold,” he mumbled. “S’nice. S’really nice. ‘Cuz is too warm in here. Makes me wanna tear this human skin off.”

  Vassago shot a glance at Forcas and then Imamiah.

  “Raum, let’s get you to your apartment, OK?” Imamiah said, holding out his arms as though ready to catch him at any moment. Raum veered away, pirouetted around Kelly’s chair, and leaned against the window, obviously enjoying the cold window against his back. He lifted up his shirt to his ribcage and closed his eyes. She watched him carefully.

  “Iz all I want,” Raum said.

  “What, Raum?” Forcas asked.

  Kelly knew. To be where he was accepted and loved.

  As though Raum could hear her, he kneeled next to her chair and whispered to her with jet-fume breath. “I tried everything. I called all the so-called experts. They were no help, you know? I jus’ wanna know if”―his face tightened for a second―“if I’m forgiven. ‘Cuz I don’t believe what they say.”

  His expression turned bleak and his voice trailed off. “I called them all.”

  Kelly had caught Raum on the phone once. She thought ‘caught’ because of his reaction, like he’d been doing something embarrassing. She had heard, “Well, what do you tell your people, then? Your, what do you call it, congregation?”

  Raum had been calling religious leaders and looking for answers. She felt a stab of pity for this fallen angel who wanted desperately to return to the fold despite his bravado, but felt he couldn’t, so she led him out of the room, gesturing to Forcas that he should go on with the meeting. Raum slackened and leaned on her to the po
int where she had to almost drag him.

  In the hall outside of the pool area, she saw Af heading towards the club room.

  “What―Raum?” Af hurried over to take the drunk angel from Kelly. He took a step to the side and shifted Raum on his arm. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s toasted,” she said. “I didn’t know angels could get like this.”

  Af arched a brow. “He’s not as much of an ang―”

  Kelly put a finger to her lips then shook her head.

  Af pressed his lips together and nodded like he understood. “I’ll take him up.”

  “I fiiine, Af. You know what?”

  “What.”

  “I know.”

  “Know what, Raum?”

  “I know the chicken said somethin’ to you,” he whispered intensely, and Af reared his head back a little from Raum’s breath. “What’d he tell you, Af? Did he tell you you’re forgiven?” Raum smiled―maybe the saddest smile Kelly had ever seen―and attempted to stand unsupported.

  He wobbled and clung to Af’s arm for a second. “Jus’ let me wash my face.” He let go and stumbled toward the men’s bathroom.

  Af and Kelly waited until Raum reappeared a minute later.

  “See? Much better. But I should change into something more appropriate.” Raum’s voice still slurred, but he strode to the elevators like nothing had happened. “Af?” His voice came from inside.

  “I’ll be back soon.” Af left in the high-rise elevator with his fellow board member.

  She thought about Raum’s predicament. The fallens would never stop trying to go home.

  The next morning, a Claw & Crutty executive interviewed certain key participants from the unit owner party. The property management company deemed it necessary to send one of their executives from corporate.

  Kelly was first. The executive gestured into a windowless meeting room.

  “You took the position of interim manager after Roger Balbi’s promotion, is that correct?”

  Are you human, or―”

  “That’s not your concern,” he said. “Your concern is the overtime cost of the maintenance and cleaning required to make the second floor usable again. Your concern is the association reserves, which will be depleted to approximately five dollars after we pay for the damaged furniture, the damaged pool and hot tub, the cleaning of the hot tub, the damaged patio, the cleaning of the windows and barbecue, replacement of the trees in the patio, deep cleaning of the elevator doors/frames, the air vents, and the walls. And the replacement of the lobby ficus tree.”

  The room was too bright. She put on her sunglasses, not caring what he thought about it. “Look, it wasn’t―”

  “Not to mention the tab for the fire department, the medics, and the Cockatrice Catering Company.”

  “You sent Gil here to be manager.” She leaned forward and propped her elbows on her knees. “Why aren’t you dumping all this on him?”

  “We will be speaking with him as well, I assure you.”

  “This building is majority monster, with fallen angels comprising the remainder of residents.” She didn’t have the vials anymore―they had been Don’s thing, to suck up any supernatural entity, whether angel, monster, or demon, into a glass vial the size of a blood sample.

  Sure, having a vial came in handy when someone in the service industry turned full demon on you, but her guilt over vialing anything supernatural without all the information, just because she was getting paid, made her start the repatriation support effort in the building. Besides, Don and Murray were at the top of her enemies list.

  “So?” the executive said, waiting for her answer.

  “So, I have very limited capabilities as interim manager―I guess assistant manager now―to stop monster vs. monster class warfare.”

  “What do you mean by this, Ms. Driscoll?” He cocked his head and squinted.

  “The apocalypse displaced the creatures living in the stairwell. They resent the unit owners and vice versa, because the tenants have restricted amenity access, don’t have their own bathrooms or kitchens, and can’t keep death worms, which are all the rage, evidently.”

  “Really?” He sounded intrigued.

  “I don’t have superpowers,” she said. “Roger did. His superpower was diplomacy. Playing the game. I can’t do that, not like him, and a lot of resentment has built up in Amenity Tower since your company started leasing the stairwell space.”

  “Resentment over what?”

  “Are you even listening to me?” She whipped off her sunglasses, instantly regretted it, and put them back on. “The unit owners are upset over the new tenants using the amenities, and the new tenants feel like second-class citizens.”

  “Why would they need bathrooms or kitchens?” The executive looked genuinely confused.

  “Could you turn the lights off?” She shaded her eyes from the fluorescent light overhead.

  “Ms. Driscoll, I must tell you that nothing is going to happen between us.”

  Af got his turn with the Claw & Crutty executive after Kelly emerged from the small room, jaw set and sunglasses on, which made him wary.

  The toad-like executive interlaced his hands on the table. “I just spoke to the manager.”

  “Which one?” Af said.

  “I’m sorry?” The executive steepled his fingers.

  “Which manager?” Af could see why Kelly had sunglasses. The lighting made his head throb. Had they done something to it?

  “Kelly Driscoll.”

  “She’s the real manager,” Af said. “You should give her more money so she wants to stay, because otherwise she’ll leave. Throw money at her.”

  Af wondered if he and Kelly had any kind of future together. That’s what he wanted. He wanted to be with her all the time, but would she leave if she didn’t have this job?

  The SPs would just go wherever she went―nothing was holding them in Pothole City, only their attachment to her. He needed to be able to leave, but what if she didn’t feel the same way about him?

  He needed to somehow persuade her to stay…

  “You want us to give more money to the person who allowed the destruction of everything in or near the second floor?” The executive furrowed his brow.

  “There was nothing she could do.” Af shrugged. “This building is all angels and monsters. She’s a person.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened from the time you entered the club room yesterday evening up until this morning,” the executive said.

  Af hesitated. “Did Kelly say anything about me?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Did she mention me?”

  “No.”

  “I see.”

  The executive cleared his throat. “Tell me exactly what―”

  “Did she say anything about our date?”

  “No. She did not.”

  “We went on a date, you know.”

  “Congratulations,” the exective said in a bone-dry tone. “Now, tell me―”

  “Tell you what happened on the date?”

  “I don’t want to hear about your date. You are free to leave.”

  “But I haven’t told you about the date yet.”

  “Please send in your neighbor on your way out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Raum took his seat at the table, wincing at the lights, and put down a fruit infuser water bottle, a takeaway container from the automat, and a paperback of From the Earth to the Moon. He put his feet up on the desk and leaned back in the chair.

  “We have witnesses who tell me that you were involved in the melee at the unit owner party. Mr. Raum? Mr. Raum! Please remove your feet from the desk.”

  “These socks were hand-woven by a giant water scorpion, I’ll have you know.” Raum pulled up his pant leg to reveal his sock and part of his calf. At the executive’s withering stare, Raum rolled his eyes and took his feet off the desk.

  “Please describe your involvement in the unit owner
party melee that resulted in wide-scale damage,” the executive said.

  “There was another apocalypse?” Raum said, eyes brightening.

  “Very nearly. Please describe your involvement with the melee.”

  Raum tapped the pads of his fingers on the edge of the desk and looked at a terrible piece of corporate ‘art’ on the wall. “Have you ever sought forgiveness?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Say you disappointed someone,” Raum said.

  “I have never disappointed anyone,” the executive said.

  “How nice for you. Let’s just say that you disappointed someone, over and over and over, because you were in two very different places and couldn’t meet in the middle. Or maybe you were too much alike.”

  “This has never happened.”

  “Say it did. And eventually, there was so much distance that you felt very strongly that they were completely done with you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

  “You were angry!” Raum slammed his fist on the desk and the executive blinked. “You thought they already cast you out. So you cast yourself out. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  “That sounds stupid.” The executive crossed his arms.

  “It is,” Raum said “I assure you it is. You aren’t strong enough to make your peace, especially when you think you aren’t wanted, and think that maybe someone whose name rhymes with ‘Fichael’ has it covered. Then it’s too late.” Raum started to eat his sandwich.

  “Even if a so-called authority or representative deemed you forgiven, you wouldn’t believe him and it wouldn’t matter, because it would have to come from the source. Which isn’t possible. And therefore, neither is forgiveness.”

  “Sucks,” the executive said.

  Raum fell back into the chair, deflated.

  “Yeah. Pickle?”

  “No thank you.”

  “You are the current manager of Amenity Tower, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Gil said, rolling slightly back and forth. “But no one likes me. They don’t listen to me.”

  “Kelly Driscoll stayed on as the interim manager until you get settled in.”

  “That is correct,” Gil said.