Angel Trouble: A grim reaper horror comedy (24/7 Demon Mart Book 3)

by D. M. Guay

  This couldn't possibly be Bubba's Yoked & Choked Kick Ass, Take Names Training Center. Gyms had windows lined with treadmills, so all the piously fit people could show the fatties outside how hard they worked to look flawless. Gyms had juice bars, aerobicizing MILFs in spandex, and abbed-up meatheads with bleach-white smiles sizing up your love handles at check in. They certainly didn't look like this.

  There was a sign tacked to the front door. It said, “Closed every full moon.”

  “We're in the wrong place.”

  “GGEPS doesn't lie. This is it. Go knock on the door.”

  “No way. This is someone's house.” Plus, this was the Ohio equivalent of a gingerbread house in the forest. “A witch is probably in there preheating the oven. Look at me. I'm the ham!”

  “I see ham all right.” Angel huffed at me and rolled into the door.

  Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

  “What are you doing? No normal person would answer that door. No one would be out here except robbers. Or worse. Jehovah's Witnesses.”

  Angel managed to triangle eye-rolled me, despite his low water level.

  “I changed my mind. I don't need the free gym membership. You're right. I've got money now. I'll pay. Planet Pump is only a mile from here. It's only ten bucks a month! Roll on over here, let's go.”

  “Bubba is the best in the business, and you need all the help you can get. Trust me.”

  I stepped back, and I swear one of the pink flamingos' beady black eyes followed me. Yep. I'm out. Too creepy. Planet Pump, here I come. I turned to go.

  Reeeeeee.

  Uh oh. Don't tell me. That was the sound of a door opening, wasn't it? Of course. Just my luck. Almost home free, now I'm dinner.

  “Number three two seven? Lloyd Lamb Wallace?” The voice was low, gravely, a manly bass. “You out here?”

  “Um. Yes?” My heart kicked up. I was in over my head. I wanted to run. Because any gym membership included as a free benefit to Demon Mart employees couldn't be at the mall with normal people. No. It had to be in a trailer full of nightmares on an abandoned lot.

  “For real? You? You're Lloyd Lamb Wallace?”

  I turned to face my fate. An absolutely hulking man stood in the door, six foot five at least, with wide shoulders and a thick barrel chest. And boy. Let's just say this trailer didn't need a flagpole, because this guy was flying enough stars and stripes for the entire neighborhood. On an absolutely enormous pair of stretchy workout pants, one leg stars, one leg stripes. His pants were so big, they had to be made from one of those giant flags that fly over car dealerships.

  Bubba had a bald-eagle print bandana wrapped around a mullet. He had a brown Hulk Hogan mustache, and more chest and shoulder hair than I'd ever seen on one man, so thick it looked like a pelt. It poked out of a tank top with “Bubba” airbrushed in fancy cursive across the chest. Dude. This guy had worse taste in T-shirts than I did.

  I looked down. My shirt said, “Fart. Now loading.”

  Well, maybe equally bad.

  He seemed startled by the looks of me, too. “Are you cranking my shank, son? You're Lloyd Lamb Wallace?”

  “Yep. I'm Lloyd.” I should have lied and run home.

  “Really? You're the kid who saved the world twice? Well, helped save the world. I heard you weren't Number One or anything.”

  “Sidekick. Called it.” Angel triangled me. “It's gonna take more than abs to turn you into a hero.”

  Wait. What? “You were the one who kept going on about me needing abs!”

  “I said you needed them, sure. But come on. I didn't say they were gonna magically solve all your problems.” Angel said. “It's more of a can't hurt, might help thing. Besides, they might make you feel better about yourself. ”

  Well, my new leaf was not turning over the way I wanted it to. Already!

  Bubba sized me up. “I was expecting. Huh. Doesn't matter. In this business, you never can tell by looking, can you? Now get on in here, son. It's time to get pumped.”

  He clapped his giant meat mitts together and motioned for me to follow him in. I stepped up. As soon as my feet touched the welcome mat, the door morphed into a bright white glowing rectangle. It looked like one of those portals Kevin uses, only without the dickhead demon roommate hand reaching out to steal our stuff. My gut churned. “Uh, Planet Pump's still open. If we leave now, we'll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Quit stalling.” Angel rolled into my feet, and I fell straight into the light.

  “Aaaaaaaah! Oh.” Yeah. I screamed. Until I realized it felt pretty good. Warm and tingly all over, like I was wrapped head-to-toe in massage chair. Wow. This feels awesome. Why didn't Kevin tell me portals were this great?

  Then it stopped. I opened my eyes.

  Holy shit. I stood in a huge room filled with exercise machines. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high, with metal trusses and giant can lights. And the gym? It kept going and going, back as far as I could see. This was way nicer than Planet Pump.

  “Welcome to Bubba's Yoked & Choked Kick Ass, Take Names Training Center.” Bubba put his arms out and whirled around, inviting me to bask in the glory.

  Honestly, I did want to clap. I mean, what a great trick. This had to be the best double wide ever.

  “Oh, and son, from now on, use the front door.” He pointed at a huge stone half circle with symbols carved into it, standing between the locker rooms and the water fountain. The edges moved, and the center lit up bright white. It was a gate, but huge, much bigger than the beer cave.

  Something stepped out of the cloud of swirling white mist in the center.

  Oh my God, is that? Gulp. No way. I dropped my gym bag in shock. I swear as real as I am standing here, a huge wolf, seven feet tall, standing on its back legs, stepped out, grabbed a towel off a rack, put one paw out in front of him, and leaned forward, stretching his legs like he was warming up.

  Bubba didn't seem to think a werewolf stretching his hammies before hopping on the treadmill was strange at all. He waved. “How you doing, Fluffy? Don't forget: Members-only flea dip this Friday!” He turned to me. “Son, your locker isn't ready yet, but you can drop your bag and coat there. The gremlins will take care of 'em.”

  “Uh, gremlins?”

  He pointed to a reception desk. Between stacks of clean white gym towels, a bunch of hairless, naked creatures bounced around the desk, folding towels and doing data entry. One had a pair of granny glasses perched on its nose as it stared at a computer screen, click clacking away.

  “Ugly things, aren't they? I thought they were gonna be cute and furry like the ones in the movies, but I'm starting to think Steven Spielberg didn’t know what he was talking about.” Bubba shook his head. “Anyway, they're great if you get them young and train them right. No one else folds a towel as neat as they do, and their spelling is a lot better than the imps I had in here before. Now where were we? Oh, yes.”

  Bubba cleared his throat. “Lloyd Lamb Wallace, you are about to embark on a journey. Using the elite fitness and fighting skills I honed during seventeen consecutive world title victories in the Fang Dome, I will transform you from the sad potato I see before me into a majestic beast of a man. Together, we will chisel your body from misshapen hunk of flab into masterpiece. You will become rock hard, like a god. Follow me, and you will go from blimp to pimp, from fat to all that, from hippo to hip, from flub to stud. I only have one question for you: Are you ready, Lloyd? Are you ready to change your bod and your life forever?”

  He was fired up like a snake-handling tent preacher. Bubba pointed at me. “Are you with me?”

  Angel eight ball hit my foot, rattling with excitement. “I'm with you!”

  “I said are you with me?” Bubba raised his arm up in the air like he was hailing a cab. Or Jesus. Either way.

  “I'm with you!” A voice boomed behind me.

  Bubba looked up, and the color immediately drained out of his face. He tugged at his tank top, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard.
<
br />   Shit. There's a monster behind me, isn't there? Yes. There totally is. And it must be bad if Bubba's nervous.

  “This is a private training session, son,” Bubba said.

  “It's okay. I'm with him. We're together. We're best friends. And roommates.” The grim reaper floated up next to me. “Sorry I'm late. I had a hard time finding you once you stepped off the curb.”

  I looked at him. He looked at me. I didn't know what to say. Except, now I knew where that fwap fwap noise came from on the ride here. Yep. He followed me, and we were gonna have to have a serious talk about boundaries. I could tell he was shooting me puppy dog eyes, even though he didn't actually have eyes. And his cheekbones had tear streaks on them.

  “Yeah. It's fine. He's with me.” I didn't have the heart to send him away.

  “Next time, give me a heads up, son. We have a firm 'No Reapers' policy, ever since Trog dropped dead during the Thanksgiving Turkey Trot back in '07,” Bubba said. “I don't think any of us will ever forget the sight of that reaper chasing him around the track. Of course, Trog probably shouldn't have eaten three whole turkeys before he ran. Poor guy. But you know how trolls are. Very literal. What's your name, son?”

  “Zackumzaphielhermesiappotholonian.”

  “Wow. That's a mouthful. How about I call you Zack? If you're serious—really serious—about your bod, I can bend the rules. Just once.” Bubba's eyes narrowed. “But you have to promise me right now no death and absolutely no reaping in here. It's not allowed. Do you understand me?”

  “Okay. I promise I won't reeee. Eeee. Eeeeeee. Eeeeeeee.”

  Here we go again. Tear faucet, full blast.

  “Uh, is he all right?” Bubba looked at me.

  I shrugged.

  Bubba clapped Zack on the shoulder. “Buck up, son. Just stay with Lloyd. You two will be training buddies. No going off on your own, understand? At least 'til the guys warm up to you. The Trog incident is still fresh in their mind. All right, then. First thing's first, boys: Fitness assessment. Drop your gear and meet me by the scale.”

  I dropped my bag by the front desk. A gremlin hopped down on it to wrap a coat check tag around the handle. That's when I noticed the zipper rippling. Something moved inside. Whatever it was bucked. He unzipped the bag and peered down in.

  “Grrrrrrruuuuuu.” Something red snapped up and tried to bite him.

  “Oh my God!” It was my employee manual. I jumped on the bag and pushed it back down in. “I'm so sorry. I don't know how that got in there!”

  I zipped that thing shut, quick, but the book didn't like it one bit. It kicked. “Bad book. Bad! Stay in there. You hear me. STAY!”

  It whimpered but stopped fighting. For now.

  “Can you keep an eye on him, Angel? Angel?” I looked all around, but Angel had disappeared. Great. Some help he is. I had to improvise. I tied my coat around the bag, securing the zipper. “It's okay, book. Be good. I'll be back soon. If you're a good boy, I'll bring you a treat.”

  Hey. It worked for dogs, so maybe?

  The gremlin looked at me, then at the bag, then at me with a face that said, “WTF, dude.”

  “It's not my fault! I didn't know it was in there!”

  I quick stepped over to Bubba and Zack, who were standing by a row of trophy cases filled with brass cups and framed photos of Bubba and a really really good looking, impossibly buff blond guy. They both dripped with medals. A framed news story had been clipped from the Weekly Wolf News.

  Wait. Were these guys all—? You know what? Forget it. I don't want to know.

  The headline said, “Five time Mr. Fur-niverse champ (1993-1998) trains record-breaking six-time champ, Mr. Fur-niverse 2016-2021.”

  World champs. Wow. These guys had clearly cornered the market on radioactive spiders.

  Bubba patted me on the shoulder. “Hey, son. I've got some bad news. Normally, I handle all the new guys personally. I like to be there in the beginning, to shape their soft doughy bodies myself, but Spot called in sick so I have to teach obedience school tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “I hate to switcheroo on you like this last minute, but don't worry. Hunter will get you started, and I'll check back in on you at the end.”

  Bubba walked away. “Who's Hunter?”

  I was immediately sorry I asked. A man stepped out of the office. I say man, but really I mean an Adonis. Six feet two, sandy blond hair and tan, with shoulders so wide and a stomach so small the top half of his body was the shape of a V. It was the guy from all the photos. Six-time Mr. Fur-niverse himself. Super human.

  My intestines just did a somersault. Fat guys avoid the gym because we don't want to stand next to guys like Hunter. He and I looked like the before and after pics in a late night Brazilian diet pill infomercial. See? I told you. Nothing good ever happens at the gym. Ever!

  Angel eight ball rolled out from behind a Best Howl 1987 plaque. “Wow. Look at that hunka. Is it hot in here?”

  “Well, hello, fellas. Come on in and make yourselves at home. Then, get ready.” Hunter stepped right to us and growled. “I'm gonna rip you apart.”

  Chapter 5

  I quaked in my tube socks.

  Hunter's perfect pink mouth split into the biggest, most impossibly large white-teeth smile. “And rebuild you better than before. It'll be great! I'm so excited to meet you guys. Welcome to the Bubba's family. Bring it in.”

  He roped his muscle arms around us and squeezed. Tight. His rippling muscles were like vice grips. “Let's jump right in. First up. Fitness assessment. Show me what you've got.”

  I glanced down at my gut. Well, I've got that.

  His two giant hands grabbed me by the biceps—definitely don't got that—and lifted me off the floor.

  He picked me up like I was nothing, a piece of paper, and sat me on a giant metal square. Numbers blipped up on a digital pad attached to the wall. And blipped. And blipped some more, higher than I'd like them to go. Because this was a scale.

  Hunter stepped between me and that horrible number and smiled. But it was a distraction. He produced a pair of large metal calipers out of nowhere and jabbed the points into the front and back of one of my love handles. “Let's get a BMI.”

  Yep. This was my worst nightmare. But, hello. My new roommate was the grim reaper. If that wasn't an incentive to get fit, what was?

  Hunter eased up on the calipers. “Don't worry. We'll get that bod ready for swimsuit season. You're up, Bones.”

  I stepped off the scale, and Zack stepped on. Hunter slipped the calipers under Zack's robes to check his BMI, too.

  Dude. Why? He had no body fat. Like, literally zero.

  Hunter said, “Wow. Four percent. Body builder territory. Looks like you're in pretty good shape. I can't wait to see how you do on your muscle endurance tests.”

  Yep. Pinch me. I'm having a nightmare. I finally join a gym, and I'm stuck with a six-time Mr. Fur-niverse and the world's buffest skeleton.

  “Give me twenty, boys. Go!”

  Twenty what? I didn't even know what that meant. But Zack had his arms out, knees bent, pumping up and down, doing an absolutely perfect squat.

  “Excellent form! Get in on the fun, Champ. What are you waiting for?”

  Champ? Did he mean me?

  I put my arms out and bent my knees. Oof. It burned. I hadn't even squatted all the way down yet, and I was feeling it. Wow. Was my butt supposed to hurt like that?

  And down. Grrr. Up.

  And...down. Oof. Holy shit. I'm dying.

  And up. Hurrrrrrrr. Hurrrr. Who was crying now? Me.

  And down.

  And up. Eeeeer. And down. Well, almost. I wasn't gonna make it. My butt cheeks burned hot as a spicy wing under a Popeye's heat lamp. That had to be twenty already. Or four. Yeah. It was four.

  Meanwhile, Hunter counted away as Zack pumped up and down without effort. “Ninety eight. Ninety nine. One hundred. Wow. How old did you say you are? You're in excellent shape.”

  “He sure is.” Angel watched Zack pump, with
tears on his triangle. Literally. It said, “Hurrrrrrr. Hurrrrrrr. Hurrrrrr.”

  Wow. I'm being shown up by a guy with literally no muscles. This is the best day ever.

  I gave it one last try, but my thighs turned to jelly right under me, and ploop. My butt hit the mat.

  Hunter stood me up with one hand, like I was a Ken doll. “Good start, Champ. You can only go up from here!”

  This man was so cheerful and encouraging, I wanted to punch him in the face.

  “Next up. Mile run!”

  He's kidding.

  “Now this I gotta see. I need a good laugh. To keep from crying. Hurrrrrrrrr,” Angel said. Suddenly, his triangle began to spin. And spin. “Lloyd. Are you still there? I can't see you. It's awfully smoky in there.”

  Whatever. Stupid angel.

  Hunter led us to the track, and I filled with absolute dread. Still, I had to admit this really was the best double-wide trailer on the planet. On the way, we passed a big glass wall looking over an indoor pool. Heated. Olympic sized. Blue flecks of gently rippling water reflected on the wall. So calm, so relaxing. Until something green bobbed up out of the water and rose over the pool deck. It was a green fish man with ruffly gills on both sides of his face.

  Nope. I'm out.

  “Oh, hi, Glug.” Hunter waved.

  But Glug the fish guy didn't pay any attention to Hunter. He took one look at Zack, and his scales went white. Seriously. The green drained right out of him. He went belly up and floated, not moving.

  “Huh. He's usually more chatty.” Hunter shrugged, then pointed to a giant wood door cut in the wall. “This is the sauna. State of the art. Goes up to three thousand degrees, for members from the lower circles, but you can set it to earth temperature. Be sure to double check, though, or you'll burn down to ash. We don't get many humans in here. Gotta keep 'em alive!”

  He had to be kidding. I peeked in. Steam hung thick in a room filled with giant hulking dudes, some covered in fur, some with blue skin, others green. All big, all scary, none human.