Deadsville

by C. L. Bevill

  “That’s the whole point, folks,” Enoch said, pointing at the body. “Ain’t no one seen that before.”

  “And what’s with the words?” Lillian snapped. “Lex talons. Lex tallish. Lex too poo poo. Whatever. Who uses Latin anymore?”

  Someone uses Latin around here, Tavie thought. A lawyer? A professor? A linguistics major? She thought about it. There was the message that someone wanted to share. The concept of lex talionis held for exacting reckoning. If a person lost an eye, then an eye would be taken. The legal system could not be that exacting in the living world, because sooner or later all the people would be blind or dead. But the dead in Deadsville weren’t bound by legal precedents.

  Furthermore, something that had been said before about psychopaths twisted in Tavie’s imagination. It took her a moment to remember, but it was Sternstein who’d said, “If a person doesn’t know they’re actually doing something wrong, then it’s hard for them to be judged and taken away.” How could an individual be judged on something if he didn’t think he was doing something wrong?

  “Can I speak with a reaper?” Tavie asked.

  Instantly everyone went silent.

  “Ain’t no one speaks with them,” Enoch said. “Lessin’ you’re on the way out of Deadsville.”

  Tavie frowned. “Anyone else I can speak with? Someone who might be in charge of all of this?”

  “Who, Him?” Sternstein nearly laughed. “He doesn’t speak with us. Not that anyone is speaking about anyway. It’s us, baby cakes.” He waved at the group. “We’re it. If we don’t know about it, it’s something mega strangioso.”

  Tavie’s eyes were drawn to the body. She tilted her head. Darren seemed a little peculiar, as if he had shrunk. “What the hey-ell?”

  Sternstein went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “I mean, I get that you’re new. The newly dead are always asking the same, stupid questions, making the same senseless observations. You just don’t get it. Not yet. We’re in Deadsville. We don’t know what we’re waiting for. We have the same questions and we just got tired of asking them. The living don’t go around asking what’s going to happen to them.”

  “Yes, they do,” Enoch interjected. “Just got other things to do, too.”

  “Lex talionis means the law of retribution,” Tavie said without looking away from Darren. “It means someone thought enough about it in order to paint it, no, carve it, into the back of that man over there. He died because someone else died. That’s the proof I have and the whole situation is odd enough that you’re paying attention. In fact, you’re all freaky deaky do dah day about it.”

  “But we don’t die here,” Lillian protested. It was almost a wail. “No one dies here.”

  “Darren did,” Tavie said quietly. “I get it more than you think. You’ve made yourselves a life here, while you’re waiting. Most people are good and they don’t want to be hurt. You want a system here, an order, something that is like what you had on the other side. You did it. You made a group, you made rules, and you’ve got your order. But here’s a little monkey wrench in the works. Something new and unusual sucks. It’s scary and you don’t want any more scary around here than you’ve already got.”

  The elders grumbled. The reaction wasn’t unexpected. Tavie had heard it before. In some communities having someone murdered wasn’t something to be solved and justice to be served. Instead, there was a sense of shame and an imbalance that threatened the society. Murder poo here? Not in my backyard! We don’t need no stinkin’ murder!

  “I can’t tell you what this means,” Tavie said. “I may not be able to find all the answers, but I’ll try, and I’ll do what I can for this population while I’m doing it.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t throw around the M word,” Sternstein suggested. “A phrase on someone’s back doesn’t constitute the M word.”

  Tavie had to struggle not to chant “Murder!” over and over like a little child. The M word. Pu-lease. “If you want a lackey, I’m not your girl,” she said affably. Charlie had tried to teach her the difference between brown-nosing and sucking-ass, and she had never gotten it. It was hardly astonishing that she still didn’t get it after she had died.

  Maximillian laughed. “Anything but that.”

  Darren definitely was shrinking. The head lolled over and the chest sank into the rest of him. The flesh withered and contracted, even the clothing pulled inward. The whole process reminded Tavie of what had happened to the Wicked Witch of the East in The Wizard of Oz, except Darren was barefoot.

  “Has that ever happened before?” Tavie asked and nodded toward the body.

  The elders turned as a group and watched as Darren’s body disintegrated into the ground. After about thirty seconds, there was nothing left.

  Tavie took the abject, shocked silence as a no.

  * * *

  Despite Tavie’s insistence of the M word, the elders still wanted her to take the sheriff’s position. Regardless of a slight reservation that ate at her insides, Tavie agreed. She didn’t even have to sign her name in blood or swear an oath of allegiance. The actual event was anticlimactic. They gave her a badge that had been made out of some kind of stainless steel. It had been cut into a star the size of her fist and the words “Deadsville Sheriff” roughly etched on the front. It wasn’t as pretty as her Phoenix badge but she was able to attach it on her belt, next to the other one.

  “I’ll show you the problem areas,” Enoch said when they reached the Deadsville Jail once again. The elders had vanished back where they had come. “Patrolling at odd times seems to keep the problems away. Occasionally you have to drag a problem back here. But hey, you’ve got cuffs, too.”

  Tavie did have her police cuffs. She also had a Leatherman, a fistful of tactical disposable handcuffs, or zip ties, for the unruly, and she perked up as she remembered the OC spray. Oleoresin capsicum spray was the standard issue and was also commonly called pepper spray. She was loaded for bear, and if the OC spray worked the way the bullets in her Glock worked, then Tavie was golden.

  “And what would you have done about Darren?” Tavie asked. She perched on the edge of Fritzi’s desk while Fritzi wrote laboriously in a logbook.

  “How do you spell disintegrated?” Fritzi asked. Enoch spelled it for her. Then he said to Tavie, “Same as you, I reckon. Don’t seem like murder, but that message and the way his body just went…poof, well, that ain’t right.”

  “Okay, we talk to Walleyed Tony first,” Tavie said. “Then we talk to the neighbors. Then we talk to the witnesses. Then we go to Darren’s place of business.”

  Fritzi stopped writing and stared at Tavie.

  “What?” Tavie said.

  “It’s probably not Darren’s place of business anymore,” Fritzi said. “People come and go quickly around here. His stuff probably got snapped up so quickly that his butt is spinning in hell.” She considered. “Or wherever he went.”

  Enoch nodded. “That’s how it is around here.”

  “His stuff,” Tavie said. “Does it stay? After a reaper comes, for example.”

  “Generally if it’s on you and you ain’t given it away, then it goes with you,” Enoch said. “Best not to make trades here until you know a thing or two.”

  “I’ve heard that,” Tavie said.

  “Reckon you wouldn’t trade that gun,” Enoch said, “nor the cuffs.”

  “Or even my badges,” Tavie said. “I kind of like having those around.” She looked around the office. “Anything else weird happen lately?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like anything weird,” Tavie said impatiently.

  Enoch scratched the side of his nose. “Well, the reapers bin about a little more than before. Some fella blew up a still down at Eastland, I’ll show you where that’s at, later. Blew himself and two others up. Took them hours before their body recombobulated. That’s what we call that when a deadie comes back together.”

  “Recombobulate, as in the opposite of discombobulate?”

  �
�Kinda. It’s not like the grammar po-lice are goin’ to come get us here. Except mebe that author who lives down the street. He wrote horror novels.” Enoch paused to shudder. “I read one someone brought through. Gave me nightmares and I couldn’t sleep for a solid month. Or thereabouts.”

  “Okay. More reapers. Blown up still. What else?”

  “Them peoples down at the crick think the gods of death are out to get us,” Enoch said. “They even say that deadies can challenge them beings like in the old stories.”

  “Deadsville has a creek,” Tavie said.

  “Personally I think it’s part of the river Styx,” Fritzi interrupted.

  “Is there a river man, name of Charon, asks for money to cross?”

  “No, it’s a crick,” Enoch said patiently, with a brief look at Fritzi. “It’s about three inches of black water. It’s weird, like everything else around here. Ya’ll goin’ to get used to it.”

  “And there’s a group of people down there who think the gods of death are out to get us,” Tavie repeated. “What about this group?”

  “Them’s people who think if they worship the odd gods instead of the one god, they might cover all their bases. You know, just in case.” Enoch shrugged. “Folks lose some of their marbles in Deadsville. Ain’t no one was expecting to come here when they died. At least I ain’t never talked to a soul who did.”

  “I thought I would go to a place where there were cats,” Fritzi said wistfully.

  “I need to know all there is to know about Darren,” Tavie said.

  “Well, that’s to be done by talking to folks,” Enoch said, “and ain’t no fancy dancy computer system around here that will let you know everything said and done by a soul.”

  “It’s called the Internet,” Fritzi said. “I miss Facebook. I would give my left boob for Microsoft Word in this place.”

  Tavie sighed. “Okay, first things first. Let’s go talk to Mistress Nightshade.”

  “Oh-kay,” Enoch said, clearly not expecting that.

  They went into the back. Tavie could tell that Fritzi wanted to follow but she had no reason to do so. The four occupants of the cells started talking as soon as they entered the block. Mr. Holey Head, Mr. Bullet Holes, and Mr. Slit Throat had all recovered and were glaring between the bars at Tavie while protesting their innocence. One even demanded a lawyer. Simultaneously, Mistress Nightshade pleaded with Enoch to please let her out for a few minutes.

  “Shush!” Tavie said. Amazingly they shushed. She stopped in front of Nightshade’s cell. “Open this, Enoch,” she directed.

  Enoch went back for the keys which hung in the other room. He took a moment to open up the massive iron lock and Nightshade clapped her hands together.

  “Sister,” Nightshade said, “I knew you were simpatico.”

  “I’m not your sister,” Tavie said amicably. “But let’s have a conversation. Maybe out back?”

  Enoch shut the cell and returned the keys.

  Nightshade followed Tavie to where the generator was located. Nightshade took a deep sniff of air and looked up at the grayish black skies. “Ah, freedom, as it is,” she sighed.

  “You strike me as a woman who knows a lot of things, “Tavie said. “So, tell me about Darren the freelance barter guy.”

  “Darren?” Nightshade didn’t look particularly shocked. “I’ve hooked up with him a time or two. He got me the best set of chains. I’ve often wondered how they got in here, all things considered. Did you know that there’s a boatload of handcuffs in the storeroom? Some of those kind that go around the waist, too.”

  “Darren,” Tavie prompted.

  “Oh all right,” Nightshade said. “He connects people with other people who want to trade. He’s like the personal ads in a newspaper. He figures out who needs what and gets them talking to some other person who’s got something they want. Then they get together and Darren gets a cut. Not money, of course, but sometimes ecto juice or a favor or something owed him. It’s a lucrative business. He’s pretty well off, for a guy in Deadsville.”

  “Talk about his life,” Tavie directed.

  “His life?” Nightshade repeated. She pursed her fire engine red lips. “I think he died of old age or pneumonia or something. Had a family. Had a wife he talked about. I don’t remember if she was dead or not. At least, I don’t think she came through Deadsville. That doesn’t happen all that much, you know.”

  That was a whole lot of nothing. Tavie frowned. “What about enemies here?”

  “Any of the other traders would be happy to do Darren in,” Nightshade said. “There’s Trader Jack, who’s over on the west side. There’s Hungry Hippo Herman down Granger Street. Then there’s Mad Marge on Parker Lane. Pretty sure they would all slip a blade in Darren’s back if they thought it would do any good. But hey, you can’t kill anyone here, so it doesn’t make a difference. They usually try to steal people away from each other. Like one might offer someone’s assistant a bigger cut of the deals. That is so they can learn what’s up in the other one’s business. But they usually get snatched back or move on. It’s all acceptable in their business.” She sighed and plumped up her breasts so that the upper halves were nearly spilling out. “I would never do business that way.”

  Because Nightshade had been in the cell, she didn’t know about Darren. Tavie wasn’t sure if she should tell the dominatrix or not. “Did you have something special going with Darren?”

  “No, it’s all business, and I— did I? Past tense. Did the reapers come for Darren?” Nightshade asked.

  “No.” Tavie looked Nightshade up and down. “Where do you keep the razor?”

  “Girl’s got to have some secrets, right?” Nightshade said mysteriously.

  “Swear to me that you won’t use it unless you’re protecting yourself,” Tavie said.

  Nightshade looked at Tavie and her lovely face became utterly solemn. “I swear I won’t use it unless I’m protecting myself.”

  “Do you know what I can do?”

  “The fellas inside were talking about it,” Nightshade admitted. “You’re going to scare people. I kind of like that. I have nothing but admiration for a strong female.”

  “So you know what will happen if you don’t keep your word?” Tavie asked.

  Nightshade nodded.

  “You owe me then,” Tavie said. “Information at times and nothing that can be traced back to you. We’ll work it out. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Nightshade said. “Come see me at the big blue house on Poof Strasse. I have the red room, or at least I did. I might have to kick some Johnny-come-lately out of it but I’ll have it again.”

  Tavie watched the woman saunter down the alley, swinging her hips provocatively all the way. Those hips could have been a ship sailing on a turbulent sea. She turned down the first street without looking back or even hurrying up. Tavie wouldn’t have been surprised to hear traffic screeching to a halt to watch the woman in the black vinyl cat suit walk by, except there weren’t any operational vehicles about to screech.

  Enoch said, “The elders ain’t goin’ to like that much. They wanted her to give up the blade.”

  “Better this way,” Tavie said. “I’m right about her. She isn’t a menace, is she?”

  “No, Nightshade ain’t goin’ to hurt no one what doesn’t hurt her,” Enoch said. “I don’t know what the fella did that she cut his balls off twice, but I reckon it was something bad. And he probably did it to someone else, someone Nightshade considers a friend.”

  “All righty then,” Tavie said. “Let’s see Walleyed Tony.”

  * * *

  Walleyed Tony spent his time down on the streets by where the body of Darren had been discovered. He was walleyed, just as Tavie had seen before, but his cover obscured a brutal death where he had likely been strangled, shot, and stabbed. He wasn’t exactly happy to see Enoch, but he perked up at the sight of Tavie.

  Enoch motioned at Tony and he came away from the game of poker. “Don’t you look at my cards,” he told th
e other four people sitting in a rough circle. The pot sat in the middle of the group and consisted of sunglasses, a Bic pen, a Rubik’s Cube, a half empty bottle (half-full?) of Tabasco, and a Phillip’s head screwdriver.

  Walleyed Tony hurried over to where Enoch and Tavie waited while she observed him, as she observed everyone she would speak with. He was a tall man with black hair and one eye that reminded Tavie of Columbo. Her grandmother had the entire series on DVD and made everyone watch them whenever she could get away with it. Nana had even told Tavie she would be a better detective if she listened to the wisdom of Lieutenant Columbo. Tavie had protested that everyone knew from the beginning of each Columbo show who had done it, but Nana couldn’t be dissuaded.

  Regardless of the Columbo issue, Tony wore a plain white t-shirt that could have been from any of the last decades of the 20th century and Lee jeans that looked more comfortable in the 60s or 70s. He wore a dilapidated pair of Justin cowboy boots that clipped and clopped on the cobble stones as he walked. Tavie probably wouldn’t have given him a second look if she had seen him on a street in Phoenix.

  “You’re her,” Tony said with admiration, his eye on Tavie. “The one with the gun.”

  Tavie glanced at Enoch. Enoch shrugged. “Deadies are bored. New and unusual is big news around here.”

  “I’ve got a few questions for you, Tony,” Tavie said.

  Tony grinned broadly. “I don’t have a phone number but I can be found right around here most times. And I would love to take you out for a drink of ecto juice sometime.”

  Tavie bared her teeth in a way that allowed some dimmer people think that she was actually smiling. “Tell us about finding the body.”

  “Oh,” Tony said and sighed. “I was looking for a few people to play a game. I found Darren instead. Then I went to the jail, to tell Enoch. After all, that guy didn’t have a pulse. I waited a long time and he didn’t even twitch.”

  “Did you see anyone around there at the time?”

  Tony thought about it. “Sure. People all over the place. Not so much in that alley, though. It’s one of the dark places. Everyone knows about that.”