The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark)

by VanKirk, R. Scott

  Aghast, Max held up his hands, “I'm sorry, Mikey! I didn't mean to do it! You told me it couldn't go off if it wasn't pressed against the surface of something.”

  “It shouldn't!” said Mike in a frustrated and stressed voice. He lifted up his boot and tried to pull the nail out of the thick rubber sole of his boot. “Damn, that would have hurt if it hit.” He gave up trying to pull the nail out and stomped over to the gun. He picked it up and examined it, carefully not pointing it at himself. He pulled the trigger experimentally a couple times and when nothing happened he said, “Stupid house.”

  Max looked up to the ceiling and yelled. “Belle! Stop it! If you hurt Mike or drive him off, I'm going to burn you down myself! I need him in one piece to fix you up!”

  Mike looked at him in surprise. He said, “Do you really think that will work?”

  Max looked a little sheepish. “It couldn't hurt, could it?”

  Mike shook his head and went to look for some pliers to pull out the nail.

  After a while, the two hit their stride again and made some progress before they stopped for lunch. They went to the main hall and sat in the sunshine coming in through the newly clean window.

  Over a ham sandwich, Mike said, “So what are you going to do with it?”

  “What?”

  “Your money when you pull it out of these corporations?”

  “I think I'm going to donate it to charity.”

  “You could give it to me.”

  “Don't be greedy, Mike. You’re already going to get paid millions. This is the last house you will ever have to fix up.”

  “What charity?”

  “I don't know,” said Max around a mouthful of ham. “I may have to set up a foundation to give it away.”

  “Now that would be an interesting job.”

  Max disagreed. There were so many people in need out there. He didn't think he could choose who the money was going to go to without feeling guilty about leaving someone else out.

  After lunch, Mike told Max that he was going to take a nap.

  Max grinned at him. “What's a matter Mike, she keep you up late?”

  Mike looked at him with a grin. “A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, but one thing I can say is, long live Dixie!”

  Max laughed and went back to the music room. Mike and Josh had shown him how to put up the wooden panels that formed the basis for the walls and he started doing it. He used the nail gun, but was careful not to point it at anything breakable—like himself. phut! phut! phut! phut! He worked for about an hour and fell into “the zone.” He found it surprisingly pleasant to work with his hands and effective at tuning out the rest of the world. For the first time in a long time, he felt relaxed and almost content. He should have known better.

  “Mr. Faust! Can I get a picture for your fans?” At the same time the shout came from the window, a bright flash went off. Max jerked back from the window and nearly fell over. In his hand, the nail gun went phut! phut! Max watched in horror as the reporter's head snapped back, then forward, and his torso fell into the room. The man's arms and body twitched for a moment and then he was still. A pool of blood started spreading on the floor under his head.

  Max screamed and rushed to the man. Unsure what to do, he pulled the man the rest of the way inside the room and laid him down on the floor. In response to his scream, Mike came charging in, surprisingly followed by Old Josh.

  Max turned the limp man over on his back. The two nails had hit the reporter squarely in the eyes, which were now crying tears of blood and eyeball juice. Max was suddenly and violently sick. He barely managed to turn around before his lunch came back out.

  From the doorway, Josh summed it up perfectly. He said, “Oh, wow dude! That's harsh, man!”

  In the next few minutes, Max proceeded to fall apart. He had just killed a man. He was going to jail, and he was never going to get out. He wondered if they still had hangings down south. He just stood there shaking, wondering what to do.

  Mike was also shaken but less so than Max. He was pretty sure the guy was dead, but he had the presence of mind to check the reporter for a pulse and had found a confirming stillness in the man's still-warm wrists.

  When Max came up for air, he looked at Mike. “We've got to call the police.”

  Josh was surprisingly lucid when he piped up. “No way, dude! Never bring in The Man. He'll bring nothing but grief and trouble and take your stash!”

  Max snapped at Josh, “Oh, great advice, dude. What would you suggest we do with the body?”

  Josh swayed in place for a moment, reached in his pocket and dry swallowed some sort of pill. Only then, he said, “Hey man, just leave it to the Josh-meister. I'll take care of it for you.”

  Both of the sober men in the room looked at him skeptically, and Mike said, “What are you going to do? Smoke him?”

  Josh appeared to consider this seriously for a moment and then shook his head. “No man, I don't think that’d work. No, I got a better idea. You dudes make like popcorn and get out of here. Let Old Josh handle it.”

  It appeared that even in his current state, through the layers of chemical padding, Josh could sense the skepticism radiating toward him. “Seriously, dudes! I've done this hundreds of times, man! I know what I'm doin' here. Now, go on and get popping! Go make a scene in town for a, ya know, uh, plausibleness and stuff.”

  “No freaking way we're doing that!” yelled Max.

  Mike looked at him and shrugged. “Look Max, the guy's dead, nothing we do is going to bring him back, right?” Max nodded reluctantly. “It was an accident, right?” Another miserable nod. “Do you really want to explain to Sheriff Scary how you managed to,” Mike crooked his fingers in air quotes. “'Accidentally' shoot him dead center in each eye with a gun that won't fire without you taking extra steps?” Max put his head down and shook it. “And do you want to spend any time getting rid of a dead body?” Max sighed and shook his head again. Mike looked to Josh. “You need to tell us what your plan is.” He wagged his finger when Josh took a breath to object. “And I don't care about plausibility and stuff. What is your big plan?”

  Josh stood swaying for a moment. “Well, you don't want to bury it in the backyard because I'm sure the Man has dogs and anyhow, bodies in Mississippi have a tendency to float to the surface, ya know? I could cut it up and find some crocs, but I think there aren't a lot of gators round here. I think the best thing would be to dig out the nails and then take him out deep into one of the swamps, tie him down with rocks and dump him. It'd be easier than cutting him up and less cleaning too. The little fishy and crawdaddy dudes'll eat all the soft bits, and The Man won't be able to tell that he got shot in the eyes ya know? By the time they find him, he'll look like that dude from that horror movie, you know, and they won't be... a... won't be... uh, hey, could you tell me what I was just talking about? The film just broke, if ya know what I mean.”

  Mike and Max were just looking at Josh in astonishment. Mike said, “The body?”

  “Oh yeah! I think the swamp is the only way to be sure, man.”

  “There is no way in hell we are going to let you drive anything. If we leave, how are you going to get him to a swamp with no car?” asked Max in morbid fascination.

  Josh's face squinched as his pickled neurons tried to process Max's remark. He brightened and then said, “No problem, dude, I don't like those newfing... newfernal... infang... don't like 'em. Never did... I miss Mr. Nickers...” Josh's face fell. He looked ready to cry when he said, “Had to eat him trying to get out o'California in oh-five...”

  This sort of rambling was not uncommon with Josh. At least this time his detour was in English, so when Josh trailed off, Max prompted, “How are you going to get this body to a swamp?”

  Josh sniffed, then came back from where-ever he had gone. “Dude, I'll just carry him.”

  Mike said, “Josh, you can barely carry yourself!”

  Josh just headed over to the body. He leaned down, stuck his fingers in the ru
ins of the man's eyes, pulled out the two nails, stuck them in his pocket, and threw the corpse over his shoulder with a grunt. “This ain't nothing. I once worked in a diamond mine for about fifty years, ya know? Before all them machines made it easy. That takes some real muscle fer shur, ya know?” He thought about it a second and said, “Dang, that sucked.”

  This was, hands down, the longest conversation either of them had had with Josh since they had met him, even if it was a bit twisted. It left them both bemused. Mike met Max's eyes, shrugged, and held his hands up. “Hey, why not? It's not like he'll remember anything that happened if they catch him with the body.”

  Max had a bad feeling about this idea, but his brain wasn't coming up with many, actually any, helpful alternatives. On top of that, he would go to a lot of lengths not to touch that body.

  Josh said, “One o'you dudes gotta clean up the blood. Ya gotta pull up that wood, burn it and put down some new stuff.”

  Max looked at the new section of flooring which now had a bright red stain on it. He hated the idea of redoing that work. Then his mind kicked in for a short time. He said, “I've got something better.” He went over to Old Bone and gently pulled out the vacuum hose that was still attached to his neck. He walked over to the bloodstain. “Watch this.” He placed Old Bone on the bloodstain. A rare look of contentment crossed Old Bone's face, and as before, Old Bone sucked up the blood like a thirsty sponge.

  Max laughed a bit maniacally. “Tough blood stains are no match for the cleaning power of our patented zombie head.”

  In moments, the bloodstain was gone. Josh blinked and swayed a bit. “Oh wow. That is so cool! That would have come in so handy back in Chicago!” He showed no evidence that he was in the least bit put out by the display. He said, “Okay, chill dudes,” and walked past them with the body over his shoulder. As he headed out the door, he was whistling the tune sung by all working dwarfs since Disney first penned them.

  The two remaining men looked at each other. Max had seen the blood demo before, but he still didn't handle it as well as Josh or Mike. In fact, Max felt sick to his stomach. He picked up Old Bone gently. The head looked noticeably better. His cheeks and hair had filled out a bit more. Max put him back on the table and then he said pathetically to Mike, “I can't be here right now. I need to go home.”

  Mike could see the truth in Max's eyes. “Me too. I need a stiff drink. Just think though, we could get a lot of money selling a blood removal service for the mob. He eyed the nasty mess Max's breakfast had made on the floor. “Too bad Old Bone doesn't do vomit as well.” Max didn't respond. He just walked past Mike. Mike gave an uneasy look toward the head, which was back watching television again, then turned and followed.

  In short order, the two turned onto the main drag and left the house behind, taking their queasiness with them.

  Neither of them saw Josh come whistling back with the body still draped nonchalantly over one shoulder. He went through the front door with his craggy, haggard face full of excitement and yelled out, “Dudes! I just had the most awesome idea!” He went to the music room, and when he didn't find them, he stood there bemusedly scratching his scraggly beard. He dropped the body on the floor and scratched his crotch. “Now, what was I gonna do?... Oh yeah, Gondwanaland here I come!” He staggered off to find his backpack full of better living through chemicals.

  ***

  That evening, Max laid alone in his room while his thoughts traveled down the dark alleyways of Bad City. Images of blood, death, and burst eyeballs repeatedly mugged him. If he were caught, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd be hung and his body left for the crows.

  There was no question about it. He had to get out of this town. Unfortunately, the thought didn't provide the relief he was hoping it would. Maybe I should just kill myself, get it all over with. Max hadn't felt this way in over a year. He spent some time trying out the idea, contemplating oblivion. Try as he might, he couldn't imagine not existing, just like he couldn't imagine things getting better.

  He lay alone in his room for a while before he just couldn't take it anymore. He needed to get out of here. He jumped out of bed, threw all his things into a suitcase, and prepared to leave. He didn't care where he would end up, he just knew that he was beaten.

  He threw his belongings into the car and headed out. He believed that he was leaving town until he pulled into the darkened hospital parking lot. He turned off the car and listened to its engine tinking as it cooled while he eyed the brightly lit emergency entrance. He sat for a few minutes before prodding himself out of the car. He couldn't leave until he knew she was still gone

  Making Up is Hard to Do

  He walked to the emergency entrance of the hospital and stopped. She was there working at the check-in desk, looking as though nothing was wrong. A flood of feelings swept through him. The more buoyant and most easily identified were relief and joy, but lurking in the muddy bottoms was anger. He opened the door and walked in, and the anger surfaced within him.

  He was about halfway to her counter when she looked up. She paled when she saw him, but except for a narrowing of her eyes, her face was set in a mask of bland. Max had imagined this moment many times in the last week. What he planned to say was, “Alice! Thank God, you are alright! What happened to you? How did Lucian hurt you? How can I help make things right?” What came out was, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Alice reflected the anger perfectly. “Me? What the fuck is wrong with me? What's wrong with you? Yaw the one associatin' with that... that scum-sucking pile of catfish dung!”

  Max yelled back, “Oh yeah? If I'm the only one associating with him, why did you nearly rip my arm off when you saw him? What did you ask him for?... Your perfect curly hair?”

  Alice's rage swelled within her, and her body swelled with it. Suddenly her eyes blazed green, and she started to grow. Her clothes held on valiantly against the pressure, but suddenly the buttons started flying off the white uniform. When Max finally recognized that something was really wrong, his hot anger froze immediately and tinkled into his gut as heavy cold fear. He stood rooted in horrified fascination, unable to move as Alice grew a foot and her arms started bulging with muscles.

  Suddenly, Alice's eyes rolled back into her head and then closed, shutting off the green glow. She slowly and literally deflated back to her normal size as she collapsed behind the desk, revealing Doc Bob standing behind her. One of his arms was holding an empty syringe, and the other was catching Alice and easing her to the floor.

  Suddenly in a panic for Alice, Max ran to the counter and vaulted it. Well, actually he tried to. His feet caught the top lip and Max crashed to the floor beside the Doc and Alice. Max managed to get his hands out in front of him enough to cushion the blow to his head when he slid and hit the wall, but the impact still knocked him even more senseless than he had been when he tried to vault the counter.

  When he came to moments later, the Doc was gently checking him for head and back injuries. When his eyes started focusing again, the Doc said, “Don't move.” He finished his inspection and asked, “Can you feel your toes?” When Max nodded faintly, the Doc said, “Can you move them? Good. Anything feel like it's broken?” Max tried to focus on his body.

  After a short introspection, Max said, “No, just my head.”

  Doc Bob snorted. “Then yaw probably just fine. That skull of yours gotta be thick as a brick.” The doctor spent the next few moments putting Max through his paces, and when he was satisfied, he told Max, “What kind of stupid ass kids are those Yanks raising these days? You have to be dumber than a post!”

  “Hey, I tripped! I was just worried for Alice.”

  “That's who I am referring to. I ain't talking about yer acrobatics tricks, boy. What kind of stupid are you, goin’ and getting her all riled up? That is twelve kinds o' dumb. If you'd kept it up, I'd be picking bits and pieces of you off the walls for days.”

  When Doc Bob saw the confusion in Max's face, his demeanor gentled down a bit.
“Oh, you didn't know about our Alice's delicate condition.”

  Max remembered her glowing eyes and sudden growth spurt. “What happened to her?”

  The old doctor went back to Alice. “That ain't my story to tell, boy.” He crouched beside her on the floor and gently stroked the tangled hair from her sleeping face. “Now, you grab her shoulders, and I'll grab her legs, and you can help me get her into a bed.”

  Max did as he was directed. He was surprised at how heavy Alice was. She apparently was backed with a lot of muscle. Either that or she ate too much iron. After they had fumbled and grunted her into a bed, Max took in how pretty and vulnerable she looked just lying there. Another surge of anger filled Max. “What did that bastard Lucian do to her?”

  The Doc, standing at the foot of the bed gave Max a speculative look. “Well, like I said, the details are hers to tell, but let's just say you shouldn't get her angry or scared.” A moment later he added, “Sounds like yer keeping some bad company, son. Did you get in over your head?”

  Max looked at him and his kind gray eyes. His grandfatherly concern made Max want to talk, so Max told him. Everything.

  While his story was pouring out of his mouth, a part of Max was wondering what he was doing. He had never told anybody about his deal with Lucian, but, once he started, he couldn't stop talking. He stood there for a half hour and told the Doc about meeting Lucian, the deal he made and the trap Lucian had sprung on Max. When he was done, he felt drained and hollow. Compared to what he had been feeling lately, it was a blessing to be empty.

  Doc didn't say anything when Max ran down. He just looked kindly at Alice lying on the bed. “What do you think, Alice? Sound familiar?”

  Max turned and saw with shock that Alice was lying on the bed awake. He said, “Oh God, please no.” This was like his worst nightmare. He had just revealed the depths of his weakness and his sin in front of her. The disgust on her face... wasn't disgust... it was sadness—sadness mixed with understanding.