Bones and Bagger (Waldlust Series Book 1)

by Ted Minkinow

  “And,” she added, “You’re still a pig.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you for that. But why don’t you go ahead and stop now.”

  “Stop what?”

  Right. I’d show her what.

  I stared into green eyes and found I could block out the cigarette smoke between us if I just concentrated on her face. I began undressing her. In my mind, of course. I got rid of the sweater. Perfect complexion underneath. She wore a lacy…

  If I took this fantasy any further I end up embarrassing myself. No reaction from Sarah Arias. I couldn’t be sure she’d stopped with the Houdini stuff but I thought she might have. Didn’t matter, because she’d need to pretend she wasn’t reading my mind. So I could think anything I wanted and she’d need to act like she didn’t hear. The results were the same as if she’d turned the magic off.

  “Good,” I said. “What’s your part in this?”

  “I have no part,” Sarah Arias answered. “I observe.”

  “Observe what?” I said, “The progress of your demon buddies?”

  Another smile from Sarah Arias. It wasn’t the kind of sheepish smile you get when you’ve caught someone in the act, but rather the kind of smile I get when I’ve said something foolish. I see it all the time from chicks.

  I caught the waitress’s eye. “Zweimal, Pils, bitte.”

  I hoped I’d just ordered two Pilsner beers. The waitress nodded and turned for the bar. I’d forgotten she spoke English like an American. Getting a move on things was my top priority. Problem was I didn’t know which way to go. Sarah Arias played a big part in this, and I was certain she played for team demon. Didn’t mean I couldn’t use what she knew.

  The beers wouldn’t cost me anything—well, about eight Euros—in terms of time and the forced conversation while drinking might turn up something useful. As far as I could see no other options existed. And as the wise man on television once said, “Beer is always the answer.”

  Sarah Arias didn’t protest. Well, not the beer order. She did kind of protest when she said, “I have no part with the evil ones.”

  I didn’t think she was talking about losing a role in a Vegas act.

  “Do you mean No Face and his ugly sisters?” I said.

  Sarah Arias smiled.

  “So what is your part?” I said.

  “I’ve told you,” she said. “I observe.”

  Sarah Arias did not come off of information easily. Checked with the way she treated us at the commissary. Quiet. Observant. Stand-offish. Sexy without trying. She needed to change all that—except the sexy part—if I was going to make any progress finding the thing the demons wanted in exchange for my friends.

  “That’s nice.” I said.

  The waitress delivered the beers. I waited until she walked away.

  “You observe. You observe what?”

  “You,” she said.

  Sarah Arias picked up her own glass and emptied the top quarter. Girl must have been thirsty. Think of the beers as hourglasses. I was going to give Sarah Arias about that long to come up with something that would shed some light. If it didn’t happen, back to plan one. I’d kill her. Maybe just a little. I think she sensed my frustration—because we all know she promised she wasn’t reading my mind—and she began to open up.

  “I have always observed you,” she said.

  Well that explained everything.

  “Come again,” I said. I took another sip. Crazy situations bring with them crazy chicks. “Care to define always?”

  The two beautiful eyes rolled like she had just heard from an idiot instead of me. She grabbed her purse and drew out her cigarettes. I put my hand over hers.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Why don’t you try actually telling me something.”

  My hand spasmed. My buddy Willy Shacksmith could describe that feeling. You know him as the Bard of Avon, but he’s one of us and lives in Louisiana. I don’t possess Willy’s skills with language, but I’ll try. Pleasure pulsing with a warning that said I’d lose my hand if I kept it there much longer. And it wouldn’t grow back. I released her and she lit the cigarette.

  “Always,” she repeated. “We knew you before you were born.”

  Well, so did the Internal Revenue Service, but I didn’t think buying them beer would help.

  “Keep going,” I said, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest of it.

  “We’ve always known you,” Sarah Arias said. “You have always been special.”

  “To you?”

  Sarah Arias took another sip of beer before she responded.

  “To me,” she said, “You’ve always been a pig.”

  How reassuring.

  “But to my master,” she said, “You are special.”

  She paused with a couple of puffs and looked in deep thought, as if trying to figure out whether her master was just joking. She continued.

  “I’ve watched you since the beginning, Gaius Teutoberg. I watched as you grew, as you became a warrior in your tribe.”

  A couple more puffs. I’d forgotten about my beer for the moment.

  “I watched as you and your comrades defeated the Roman vampire, and I tried to prevent you from taking the communion.”

  I thought I ate part of a heart.

  “And so I’ve seen the waste of opportunity you’ve become since that day. Every step of the way.”

  Was I at a German restaurant or an AA meeting? And wait a minute. Had she said she watched me EVERY step of the way?

  “Every step?” I asked.

  She blew the smoke in my direction.

  “Every,” Sarah Arias confirmed.

  Awkward. I vowed right then to cut back on doing some of the things I used to do WHEN I THINK NOBODY’S WATCHING. The key synapse must have finally fired because I caught on to what she was claiming.

  “So you’re telling me that you’re my guardian angel.”

  Sarah Arias did not reply. Reminded me a bit of the recent conversation with No Face. He didn’t reply to the crucial questions either. Demon. Angel. Two cheeks on the same bottom or two sides of the same coin. But I’d let Sarah Arias be heads. And the way she fills out a pair of jeans? She could also be tails. No Face would need to get over it.

  It looked a lot like a three-handed card game. Four, if you counted me. The demons and their master, Sarah Arias and whoever she worked for, and Soyla and her handlers. Neither No Face nor Sarah Arias mentioned old Sparcius. That tended to point to his involvement. Strong odds existed that Sparky kicked this whole thing off and then it blossomed beyond his abilities. Vintage Sparky.

  The Seven? No thoughts as to where they stood or whether some fifth principal existed. I didn’t think so because I didn’t feel it. Feelings. That’s all I had to go on as far as The Seven.

  But the years taught me that feelings is another word for experience. This situation could change. Both Soyla and The Seven were dangerous—deadly to the point the difference between them was in degrees. Dead is dead, after all. For the moment, I’d leave Soyla and The Seven orbiting on the periphery, ready to re-enter at any moment to make my life miserable. Or just over.

  I’d think about all that later. Because Sarah Arias was finally coming off some useable information. Unless you counted No Face’s claim that his butt-whipping felt like tickling. I’d milk Sarah Arias for a few more minutes. That sounds so wrong. Better to say I needed something to do while I addressed the last few sips in the glass. So I kept the conversation moving.

  “You’re saying you work for the guy to whom a thousand years seems like a single day?”

  Sarah Arias smiled and stamped out her cigarette in the half-full ashtray.

  “Impressive,” she said. “When did you read that line?”

  “Missed it, did you?” I said. “Actually I’d heard it from a street preacher in Pascagoula.”

  It was my turn to smile.

  “My guardian angel doesn’t pay attention,” I said. “That explains a lot about my life.”

  S
arah Arias lit another. I don’t know what kind of salary guardian angels draw, but in Germany the cigs cost more than eight bucks a pack. Perhaps she engaged in gray market use of her angel influencing skill as far as bagging tips. Or maybe her master let her charge it all back as per diem.

  “We aren’t perfect,” she said.

  The old we. So the not accepting personal responsibility shtick found its way to heaven. Bound to happen. Do everything right and I succeeded. Make a mistake and we aren’t perfect. Capture the credit, spread the blame.

  “Do guardian angels work in shifts?” I said.

  Sarah Arias got the drift because she shot back an immediate answer.

  “Watching you,” she said, “Makes a single day seem like a thousand years.”

  Cute. So my angel can turn my own quotes against me. I picked up on another vibe coming of the beautiful girl/thing sitting opposite me. Sarah Arias didn’t like me. So what? I’d had a butt full of our witty conversation. My evening was sinking like a Malaysian ferry. I got to the point.

  “What do I do?”

  Sarah Arias drained her beer.

  “I can’t determine for you,” she said. “Free will.”

  Free will? Seems my guardian angel attended the same school as my demon buddy No Face. The sum of knowledge gained from two supernatural beings playing on opposite sides? “Bring us what they want,” No Face had said. And now, “Free will.” Hardly enough information to pass a urine test.

  “Free will?” I said. “Free will to do what? I mean, I’m drowning here and you could throw me a hint.”

  “What did Mestephos say?” Sarah Arias asked.

  “Who?”

  “The dark angel.”

  She meant No Face. No wonder he kept his name under wraps.

  “He said he wanted me to bring him what they wanted,” I said. “So what do they want and what do I do?”

  Sarah Arias’s smiles were starting to look like smirks. Not so sexy when death’s involved.

  “As to what they want, the knowledge is dangerous. As to bringing it to them,” she paused to stamp out her latest cig. She put the pack and lighter back in her purse. A not-so-subtle meeting terminator. “I recommend not doing it.”

  Not doing it? Not bringing them the thing I couldn’t know about so that a horde of demons would release my friends from some form of other-worldly limbo? Great advice. They’d assigned me a guardian angel from the lower quadrant of the job performance ratings.

  “Thanks for nothing,” I said as Sarah Arias stood to leave.

  I thought angels flew places. Even No Face had the ability to fade away. My guardian angel had to hoof it. The story of my life. Feed me catfish eggs and call it caviar.

  “I gave you more than I’m allowed,” she said.

  What a rebel. Flowing with information. She walked a few paces and turned for what looked like a final comment.

  “How about you throw me one more bone,” I said.

  Sarah Arias paused and I swore I saw surprise on her face.

  “A bone?” she said. “Ezekiel 37.”

  Was that a rock band or something? Ezekiel 37. Sounded familiar, but then I could say the same thing for just about anything she could say. Hang out for more than two thousand years nothing feels like the first time around the track anymore. But Ezekiel 37 was all the additional help I’d get because Sarah Arias walked to the restaurant door.

  She stopped with the door half open, did her half turn thing again to face me.

  Uh-oh.

  “The coin with my butt on it,” she said. “Pig.”

  I was speaking to her back when I got in the last word.

  “You said you couldn’t read my mind.”

  The universe hovered just above chaos when you couldn’t accept the word of your guardian angel. I looked down at the table to see if I’d left anything. Just a white piece of paper. I picked it up, read it, and realized something else about Sarah Arias.

  She’d stuck me with the bill. No matter what the culture, chicks always ended up treating me like that. Another thought came to me as I paid for the drinks. If Sarah Arias really was my guardian angel, or even my watcher as she’d sort of called herself, then where in the heck did she just go? I mean, there I stood unguarded. And that previous night had to be the thing of guardian angel dreams.

  I left the old Aachen town square and made for the train station. I didn’t use my full vampire speed and I didn’t exactly shuffle my feet, either. I hopped the first train for Frankfurt and within two hours I found myself jogging the short distance between the Bad Homburg station and my apartment.

  Herr Doktor and Frau Maybe-His-Wife sat on the front porch of their first floor flat. Smoking. Of course. Sarah Arias should get to know them better. Maybe they could have an all-day smoke-a-thon and laugh about the way I don’t know how things are done…about how I don’t even know what it is they want.

  If I were a betting man I’d say somebody upstairs did know. Sparky. I tossed exuberant hello noises toward Herr Doktor and Frau and they kindly returned my greeting with expressionless stares. I ran up the stairs. Lately everyone seemed to have the key to my flat so I hadn’t bothered locking it when we left for Aachen. I opened the door. I really didn’t want to see what I saw inside. I can’t say I didn’t expect it.

  Chapter 27

  Two piles of steaming ghost-dog poop artfully arranged to appear random and I looked forward to what my life would be like AFTER the twenty minutes it would take for Karl’s floor sculptures to fade away. Something else wouldn’t need nearly as much time to fade away. Sparky. Why? Because he was already gone. I wasn’t surprised. Mostly because I had a hint. I’d noticed the dented jag wasn’t parked in the little lot behind the house.

  I made my way to the computer. Helmet had a cold beer waiting for me beside the keyboard and he’d placed a fluffy pillow in the chair. And if you believe that, you’ve been skimming, not reading. Helmet did do his normal hop to attention thing as I approached. No beer, no pillow.

  “At ease, soldier,” I said as I pulled out the desk chair. Helmet’s response reminded me that I still needed to check on when in history giving the finger became a common greeting. I looked up at the monitor. Somebody had been doing a lot of research. More Charlemagne stuff.

  Sparky gone would make my job easier. True, he could tell me what was going on. If he ever decided to. Short of that, he’d take his half-truths and intentional wrong turns with him. And if Helmet had anything to do with Sparky’s departure? He deserved a medal. If everyone came out the other side of this nightmare I’d buy him one on eBay. I didn’t know what the Nazi award looked like for informing on your grandparents at the local Gestapo HQ, but I’d search it out. Millions must have been awarded. Perhaps Herr Doktor would help me out and show me his.

  Karl jumped in my lap as I began clicking all those Charlemagne windows closed. The dog let loose an excited squirt…at least it wasn’t the usual three-alarm fire dousing. He twirled around a couple of times and then settled down for a nap. It’s nice to know who rules my house.

  All those browser windows. Must have been one heck of a Chucky fantasy going on. Give a German a legendary king and tell him stories of German conquest and you better be ready to take out a restraining order because he’ll keep coming back for more.

  I almost gave up on closing down the windows. Why worry about a clean monitor when I haven’t seen the top of my desk since I moved in? I hit the home button on one of open windows. It took me to the Bing search page. As I considered the proper spelling of Ezekiel I noticed an online photo situated on the lower right side of the monitor. An ornate gold box.

  I lived through the middle ages and I knew a fancy coffin when I saw one. I brought the window holding the photo forward and enlarged it. There was a caption. “Frederick II reinterred Charlemagne’s bones in this gold and silver casket.” That convinced me. I looked over my shoulder and there stood Helmet.

  “Dude,” I said, “this man crush you have on Chucky is
getting out of hand.”

  I did the theatric pointing-with-both-of-my-hands at all the Charlemagne stuff and combined it with the eyebrows-raised accusatory look at Helmet. The ghost scowled at me.

  “I met him,” I said. “He could be a cool guy but I don’t think he’d been “All That” if he weren’t already born into it.”

  Helmet closed his eyes and shook his head. I’d seen Herr Doktor do the same thing when he caught me putting a beer bottle in the cardboard recycle container. The look said idiot even if the mouth didn’t.

  “To each his own,” I said and I turned back to the monitor.

  The brief exchange didn’t wake Karl. The dog probably slept through World War I. Right up until the shell got him. The photo of the golden casket. Impressive workmanship for a guy too dead to appreciate it. Some people have all the luck in life AND death. I closed the window and returned to the Bing search page.

  I typed in Ezekiel—correct spelling on the first try—and it returned nearly eight million hits. Mostly Bible references. No good. I decided to narrow the search by adding thirty seven at the end.

  Three million hits didn’t narrow things as much I expected. I scanned the first page of results. Jackpot. “The Valley of Dry Bones.” That’s what each of links said. The thirty-seventh chapter of the book of Ezekiel as it turned out.

  Dry bones. How could I not associate that with the photo of the gold and silver casket? A thousand years dead? I couldn’t see how bones could get much drier than that. A solid lead. Finally.

  My mind raced as I glanced out of my third story window at the street below. This is where you’d expect the single clue to unlock the entire mystery. Didn’t happen. My mind sped along all right. But in no cogent pattern. Thoughts ran like headless vectors. All velocity, no direction.

  Still, I didn’t want to lose the high associated with that first baby step. Tradition says small victories are celebrated with large beers. At least my traditions do. I handed Karl to Helmet and stood. The crazy thing was running in his sleep. I’d only taken a step toward the kitchen when my smartphone started beeping. I retrieved it from the desk and recognized the caller ID.