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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
"The Demented Non-Life of Jefferson Davis"
By L.L. Heberlein
(copyright 2015, all rights reserved)
CHAPTER SIX:
It slowly began to sink in. I was screwed.
I thought about calling my employer and accusing her of setting me up, but a fat lot of good that would do. If she had set me up, it would do no good accusing her. And, if she hadn’t, I’d only be in more trouble.
I thought about that package, and about my options. And I thought about it a bit too long, because before I could figure out what to do next, dawn began to stretch across the sky. It was too late now to do anything for the day. I was dead, maybe in more ways than one.
I didn’t even have time to find a nice hotel and check in before the light stopped me. I didn’t want to die on someone as I signed the hotel register. I couldn’t stay in the car; if anyone found me, I’d be a dead guy in an expensive car. I’d be on the news.
My only hope, and I was pretty sure I was right, was the Dumpster. It hadn’t been full, which meant that tomorrow couldn’t be recycling day. It just couldn’t be. If I was wrong, I’d be that dead body found in the back of the recycling truck.
You know, I’ve been around for a long time, doing this non-living thing. And in all that time I have never had to sleep in a Dumpster. Oh, sure, lots of other nasty places. Holes in the ground, usually. Graveyards, old crypts. I even slept shoved inside a tree once. But tonight I was out of time, and out of options, and the Dumpster was my only choice as the sun came up. I had enough time to lock the car, climb in, and pull some cardboard over me before I went out. The last thing I saw in my mind was India’s face, laughing at me.
I awoke with a bang. Something hit the side of the Dumpster. I heard a loud truck rumble next to me. I heard it move forward, then the beep beep beep of it backing up.
Maybe it was recycling day after all.
I jumped out of the Dumpster to the blissful darkness of early evening. It had rained that day, but I’d stayed dry in the recycling bin under my pile of cardboard. And the truck wasn’t a recycling truck. It was a tow truck. I was about to lose my car.
“WAIT!” I shouted at the driver. He was positioning the truck in front of the BMW. There were three tickets on the window. I’d been in a loading zone, all day. Shit.
Well, I thought. Wasn’t my car. I threw the tickets to the ground, jumped in the car, and tore out of there before the driver could stop me. I felt pretty proud of myself for the quick escape, all hyped up on moxie and adrenaline. Yeah, I thought I was big stuff, until I got about to the Sea-Tac Airport, and realized I didn’t have the package.
Shit. Fuck. Shit. I hit the steering wheel and nearly drove off the road. Horns blared at me as I righted myself in my lane. Didn’t want to wreck the car and get in trouble.
Well, fuck. I was already in trouble. I couldn’t get the package, didn’t deliver it on time, and I’d probably been set up, which meant no paycheck anyway. But I did have a car, which was worth more than the money owed me, so I had that going for me. I knew of a chop shop or two that would pay cash on the spot for a sweet ride like this. Was I above grand theft auto? No, I was not. Not if I’d been set up.
Then again, maybe I was just a failure at the job, and after word got out, I’d never work in this town again.
Chicago, I thought. I’ve never lived there. Maybe I could give Chicago a try.
I thought about India, and how I’d miss just living in the same town, even if I never saw her. Then I remembered what she said, the package would find me. I’d have it today. If I did get the package today, and delivered it with all apologies, there was a chance I’d get paid my regular fee. I’d have to kiss that bonus goodbye, but I could still get paid. I’d still be in a good spot with that. I could pay Horseface the money, and he’d pay Barry, and we’d be back to square one, but at least we’d be safe. And we’d have electricity.
Maybe things weren’t so bad. I let the hope fill my chest as I pulled into the tiny driveway next to the house. We usually left it empty for clients, and I figured since I had a client, I might as well enjoy the privilege of the parking spot. Horseface’s car was parked out front – a good sign he was there. Bad sign was the lights were all out. I walked up the front steps with a strange feeling… a knowing feeling. Like I was about to encounter something bad. I hit the top step when I smelled the blood. I yanked at the door. Locked. I rustled in my pocket for the keys and dropped them twice before I could get the door open.
 |
| A package covered in newsprint and bound in twine... |
There was nothing to be done. His stomach had been ripped open. It looked like something had clawed him to bits. I thought about what had happened to me the night before, and I knew that this is what I would have looked like if I’d been alive. No human could survive that. At least my stomach had remained intact. I looked at his guts on the floor, and lost it. Black coffee poured out of my mouth, thick like bile. I can’t remember throwing up, not ever. It was strange to see all that black liquid and feel the sensation of my stomach clenching and something forcing its way up. I wiped my lips, and everything around me grew more and more disgusting. The blood, the bile. Dead John Horesman. All of life, and everything around me, disgusting.
It had all been pointless. The job, the money, seeing India again. Everything. There was no point to it. Nothing mattered.
I turned to walk away. I planned to just keep walking.
Then I saw the pictures. The stupid art on the walls, untouched by the blood bath. Lucy’s art. And I thought of sweet little Lucy, that wonderful girl who knew more of the underworld than a human should. Tough as she was, she was still a human. Still quite the innocent. Something like this would break her. Someone had to keep her from dealing with this. I would deal with it for her. I had to. For Lucy.
I turned back, and walked slowly toward the desk. I focused on the phone and tried not to look at John as I dialed. And it was in trying not to look that I looked even harder, and saw the thing clutched in John’s hands. A package, about eight by eight inches square, covered in newsprint and bound in twine. It sat in his lap, soaking up the blood on bottom.
It was the package. I’m not sure how I knew it, but I was certain that this was the thing I was supposed to pick up last night, the thing I had to deliver to the vampire-dame Clara. Whatever it was, this was it.
I’d have it today, India had said. And here it was. And John was dead.
The cabinet door of John’s desk was open. He always kept it closed, and locked. While everything else was torn apart, that door was still on its hinges, the key still in the lock.
The phone picked up. India’s voice again. After hearing my hello, she said, “This had better be good.”
I could hardly speak. “John Horesman’s dead,” I said. “Big bloodbath. Call the authorities.” And I hung up before I could answer any questions. They’d be here soon enough, and I had one thought. I needed that package. I had to hide it, quick. I grabbed the package and shoved it into the hole in the wall that worked like a mail slot. John used it to shove notes and bills down into my place when I was sleeping. It came with the house, and might have been used as something else at one time -- a call tube between floors, maybe. It was just big enough for the package to slide down and land with a thud at the bottom.
I looked around at the room, and then at myself covered in blood and bile, still wearing that stinky, discarded sweatshirt. I was desperate for a shower, but cleaning up now would only seem guilty. So I sat on the less-blood-covered seat in the little sitting area, and waited for the authorities to arrive.
They arrived looking as they always did. Tall, leather clad beings with serious faces. Among them was at least one vampire, the only one I ever trusted even a little. His name was Schwartz, but everyone just called him “Sir”. He was in charge of the operation; in charge of most everything, actually. He was the head of the council, the top guy in underworld law enforcement. He was brutal, but fair. I never saw him get angry, or smile. I never heard him raise his voice. I’d seen him kill, and that was enough. Everyone respected him. Most of the smart ones feared him.
The team of leather-clad enforcers scoured the room for clues. They looked over everything, making notes, saying almost nothing. They concentrated mostly on the body. The guy in charge concentrated on me.
“You found him this way.” It wasn’t really a question. He would know a lie, so he knew I wasn’t lying. “Do you know who did this?”
“I know that he owed Barry some money.”
He looked around the blood-soaked room. “This isn’t Barry’s work. Not his M.O.”
I agreed. It wasn’t. Barry wouldn’t have left anything edible lying around.
Schwartz looked me in the eyes. His were brown and deep, almost totally dark, like staring down into two black pits. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I swallowed. “I threw up.”
“Yes. I smelled that. Coffee,” he said. “What else aren’t you telling me?”
I shrugged. “That’s it.”
Schwartz took a step closer. If my blood were warm, it would have turned cold. “I’ve never trusted you, Davis.”
I stared him down. It was the bravest thing I’d ever done.
His jaw clenched. He kept staring at me as he spoke. “Okay, everyone. Let’s clean it up.”
The job was done with magic. The body was wrapped and removed, taken away for evidence. The room was cleaned, all the blood removed with some spell cast by a buxom brunette in tight leather pants and very high heels. A purple swirling light flowed through the room, and the blood was gone. Things were set back to right, cushions mended, books back on shelves, but not in the right spot. The whole thing wasn’t right. Clean and tidy, but just not right, like the room remembered what had happened and refused to return to normal so easily.
One by one, his people left, but Schwartz stayed. He just kept looking at me.
“You’re hiding something,” he said. “There’s something to this that you’re not telling me.”
“Well, you know, it’s kind of embarrassing, but John did owe a lot of people a lot of money.”
“So you’re not surprised to see this?” Schwartz asked.
“Well, yeah. I mean, who wouldn’t be surprised by all this?” I gestured, like the blood was still there, forgetting for a moment that it had been cleaned up.
He took another walk around the room, examining it like he could still see all the blood evidence lying around. Then he headed for the door. “I have my eye on you,” he said, then shut the door behind him.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
What. The. Fuck.
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