Magic Dude

by Lee Hayton

  Gary laughed in the back seat, something hitting his funny bone hard. “I look like something that rolls in shit,” he said between giggles. “And you smell like it.”

  If Tyler had been in a cartoon, stinky lines would have been emanating out from him in all directions. In the close confines of the vehicle, even with all the windows rolled down, it made his eyes water.

  “I’m amazed they all fit in the boot,” he remarked. “I thought for sure we’d have to make two trips.”

  “Good god,” Wilma said. She’d held her nose for so hard so long that red marks stained out onto her cheeks. “I don’t think I’d survive that torture.”

  “They fit okay,” Gary said, not letting himself be drawn on any details.

  When Tyler parked the car right beside the hose outside the office, he understood why.

  If the people had been alive, well, and conscious, there’s no way that Gary could have done with them what he had. They were stuffed nose to asshole, limbs bent at impossible angles. The last one had been turned double, then had his legs smooshed up against the roof of the trunk. When Tyler pressed the button to pop it open, they came out like a jumping jack, giving him such a fright that he stepped back, hand to his pounding chest.

  “Gary, you hose them down,” Wilma commanded, opening the passenger side door. “Tyler, go have a shower and burn your clothes. If I smell anything like that again, you’re getting kicked out.”

  She pulled up the car seat cover that Tyler had now infested with stink and looked forlornly at the leopard skin print.

  “These were my favorites.”

  Tyler opened his mouth to say he’d buy her a new pair, then closed it again. Unless he got the chance to try out the trick with the ATM again, that was a debt he couldn’t pay.

  Regrouping later inside Wilma’s office, the three of them stared at the five gunmen, laid out on the floor. The room was snug to begin with, a partition of the house where she lived. With all of them crammed inside, claustrophobia crawled up Tyler’s insides from his stomach, tightening the muscles of his chest.

  “We need to wake them up, but they’ll likely go nutso if we do.” Tyler ran his hand through his hair, looking to Wilma and Gary for help.

  “They don’t have their guns on them, anymore,” Gary pointed out. “So, I reckon we can keep them under control.”

  “How?” Wilma said, then cackled. “You planning on subduing five grown men with your awesome powers of piggery?”

  “We could tie them up,” Tyler suggested. “That could keep them still long enough. Do you have any rope?”

  “Why would I need rope?” Wilma shook her head. “There’s a hose out back that runs close on ten yards. You could try that.”

  Gary shot down that suggestion. “Nah. You wouldn’t be able to tie it off. We need something nimble and flexible.”

  “Do you have any box ties?” Tyler asked. When Wilma shook her head, he tried, “Masking tape?” Another shake. “Clingfilm?” When she shook her head again, his frustration bubbled up. “How do you not have Clingfilm?”

  “I’m not one to leave leftovers, okay? So, sue me. What have you two got, since you’re so appalled at my lack of tying up equipment?”

  Gary stared at the men on the floor, then at his distorted hands. “I’ve got a coffin that might work.”

  “What?” Tyler and Wilma burst out in unison.

  “It was on special,” Gary said, as though that explained everything. He shrugged. “I thought, I’m gonna need it someday, so may as well get it for a good price.”

  “That’s great if we want to bury one of them,” Wilma said. “But not much use here.”

  “It could be,” Gary insisted. “It’s one of them fancy caskets, with the top that flips up for viewing. We could stick one of them in there, and question him. No chance for escape.”

  Although his brain was still reeling at the object, Tyler nodded. “That could work. Whereabouts is it?”

  “In my trailer.” Gary stood up and opened up the door. “I use it as the base for my bed.”

  “Sicko.” Wilma stared after him, shaking her head. “Remind me to check people out more thoroughly before I rent to them.”

  “Yeah.” Tyler snorted. “Like you care. I’ll go give him a hand.”

  “Sure, leave me alone with five gunmen,” Wilma called after him. Tyler wasn’t entirely sure what her point was—of all of them, he’d back her to win that fight.

  Picking the leader for the honor, they packed away the others into the boot of Wilma’s car again—a more comfortable fit with one missing.

  “Are you sure about this?” Tyler asked as they manhandled the leader into the coffin. “After all, nobody wants to be buried in a used casket, do they?”

  “Don’t want to be buried at all,” Gary said. “Besides, at least this way I get the use out of it on this side of the grave. It would be a pity if I shelled out that money just to have it sit, gathering dust, till after I was dead.”

  Three people and a coffin wasn’t a much better fit for Wilma’s office, but when Tyler cast his glance at the door to her neighboring house, he got such a glare that he didn’t bother to ask. With the side panel screws holding the bottom half of the lid down firmly, Tyler opened the top and stood up. The leader would have looked at peace and ready for a funeral if it wasn’t for the determined expression of anger on his face.

  “Ready?”

  “Just get on with it,” Wilma said. “I’m bored already.”

  “Why don’t you go and watch the cartoons then, love?” Gary said. “Leave the questioning to the grownups.”

  “I am a grownup, you warthog piece of trash,” Wilma said, stamping her feet. Even Tyler had to smile at the incongruity of the statement. She looked like any other child, throwing a tantrum because her parents didn’t want to let her play.

  “Here goes,” Tyler said. He held the magic stone hand over the top of the coffin. “Start.”

  The man in the coffin gave a roar, then fell silent as his expression transformed into one of puzzled horror.

  “What the fuck have you done to me?” he demanded. “Where are my friends?”

  “They’re in the boot of my car,” Tyler said. “Waiting to go to the dump. If you want to save their lives, I’ll need you to answer a few questions.”

  “I don’t give a shit about their lives. Let me out of here.”

  His eyes absorbed the full distress of the cage he was held in. The man began to thump and twist, yelling in fear and anger.

  “Keep the noise down,” Wilma snapped at him. She looked at Tyler. “Can you get him to shut up?”

  “That would shorten the questioning, wouldn’t it?” Gary interjected, rolling his eyes. “A bit stupid to demand he tell us everything if you’ve already made it so he can’t talk.”

  Wilma leaned over and flipped the top of the coffin lid shut. The muffled roars continued unabated. She leaned over, lifted the cover, and shouted inside, “If you don’t quiet down, we’re pissing off down to the pub for a few hours.” It only took a few moments after she dropped the lid back down for the screams to lower into whimpers.

  Still, Wilma counted down a full five minutes on her watch before she reopened the coffin lid. “Going to behave?”

  “Fuck you, kid. You’ll rot in hell for this.”

  She closed the lid again.

  Tyler looked at his two friends, feeling a jump of anxiety in his stomach. “Do you think maybe we shouldn’t do this? It feels pretty close to some kind of torture to me.”

  Wilma nodded at his hand. It took a second for Tyler to realize she was gesturing at the gunshot wound he’d endured the day before rather than the stone now embedded there.

  “Who started torturing whom first?” she asked and Tyler’s shoulders slumped as he agreed.

  It didn’t take another round of punishment to have a pliable gunman on their hands. Tyler took the lead, sitting right by the man and staring him in the eyes.

  “Who sent you after
me?”

  “Nobody sent me,” the man said. “I’m the rightful owner of that stone. I came to claim what was mine, that’s all.”

  “Who the hell are you anyway?” Gary interjected. “And who are all your goon mates?”

  “We’re the keepers of the realm. Those goon mates as you call them are knights of the realm. We’ve taken this role, passed down from father to son, for one reason only. To protect the stone.”

  “Doing a bang-up job there, mate,” Gary said before settling back down into his seat. “Still didn’t catch a name in amongst that twaddle.”

  “My name is Julius Moby. My father was the protector of the magic stone for forty years. On his deathbed, he was about to pass it to me when a thieving fiend stole it away. Since then, I’ve been trying to claim it back.”

  “You’re a relative of mine?” Tyler asked, frowning.

  “Of course. Only those from the magical lineage of Moby can ever hold the stone.”

  “Wait up.” Wilma held up her hand. “That means the douchebag who first chucked it at you was also a relative.” She glared at Tyler as though he’d done something wrong. “How many relatives do you have?”

  After a moment, Tyler realized the reason behind the disgusted look. There’d been a few occasions lately when he’d had to trot out the hard-done-by story to cover up the lateness of his rent. Chief among the story elements were him being alone and orphaned in a cruel world that didn’t appreciate his specialized talents. Drinking beer and talking bullshit being chief among them.

  “I don’t have any close relatives,” he said. “Not that I know of, anyway.”

  Julius snorted, and Tyler gave him the evil eye. For a man trapped in a coffin, he laid on the judgment a bit thick.

  “I’m your cousin, once removed. You’re from the Attica line, aren’t you?”

  “The what?” Tyler frowned down at the man who sighed.

  “The Attica line. Grab a family tree one day, why don’t you? Your daddy would have been Attica Moby, brother to Wallace, Alejandro, and Toby.”

  “Toby Moby,” Gary snickered. Wilma joined in with glee.

  “I don’t know who any of those people are.” Tyler tucked his fringe back in behind his ear as he leaned forward over the coffin. “My dad was called Phil, and he left us when I was eight. My mom never told me about any other family.”

  “That’s your daddy’s middle name. No surprise there that he didn’t want to use the one he was christened with. Anyway, congratulations.” Julius blew him a kiss. “Pleased to meet you, cousin.”

  “Who was the jackass who chucked the stone at Tyler, then?” Wilma nodded over to Gary. “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “That was Billy. He’s a bit like the black sheep of the family. There’s no way he should ever have come into possession of the magic stone. He’s a liar and a thief.” Julius paused for a second. “Still, he’s better than our cousin in the military, Eli. Whatever you do, never let the stone fall into his hands.”

  “Why? What’s so much worse about Eli?”

  “Apart from the name, obviously,” Wilma added, having far too much fun.

  “He thought that if he started off as a Private in the army, he’d soon be eligible to be placed in command of nuclear weapons. As a kid, he blew up every damn thing he came across with fireworks or improvised explosives. I don’t know how he managed to weasel out of a record, but no charges ever stuck.”

  “Another loser then.” Tyler shrugged. “Good to know.”

  “He likes to make things go boom! God help us all if he ever got his hands on the stone. You don’t need a presidential order when you’re controlling magic.”

  “Sounds like your lot are all operating on the same level,” Gary said, crossing his arms. “What’s so great about you, then?”

  “I’m trained in handling the stone,” Julius said. He sniffed and tipped up his chin. If standing, it might have indicated a certain degree of pompousness. All that happened when he was lying flat was the roomful of people could now look straight up his nose.

  “You tried to kill me,” Tyler said. “You shot straight through the middle of my hand.”

  “Just a flesh wound. It would take a hell of a lot more than that to kill you.”

  Wilma got a startled look on her face and fished out her mobile phone. She took a quick snap of Julius, then settled back, looking intently at the small screen.

  “If you’re meant to have the stone,” Tyler said, “why don’t you? What are you doing running through the middle of a trailer park in chase of someone you’ve never met?”

  “Because I was born into a family of nincompoops. Not a single strand of our DNA has a modicum of sense in it, except the stuff that landed up in me.” Julius shook his head, his face downcast. “For years before I was due to inherit, I tried to instruct the other members of our family to keep their place. They were too thick to even know what to do with the stone once they got hold of it. That thing contains all the magic in the known universe, and they were using it to win at cards!”

  “Ooh, gambling,” Wilma said, cocking an eyebrow in interest as she looked at Tyler. “Shall we hit up a club when we’re done here?”

  “I’m up for it,” Gary said.

  Wilma narrowed her eyes at him. “Pity I didn’t invite you then.”

  Tyler ignored the both of them. “That guy Billy who gave the stone to me, he didn’t show any interest in holding onto it. Why would he gift it to a stranger if you’re the one who should inherit the damn thing?”

  “Here’s why.” Wilma turned her phone around. “Julius has been a very naughty boy.”

  “Those are all lies,” Julius protested. “Evil rubbish spread by all the lesser idiots in the family. Don’t be fooled!”

  Tyler peered closer at the screen. “Stealing. Robbery. Murder.” He looked back at Julius. “Looks like you’ve got a warrant out on you for a few things.”

  “They’re just fake news and damned lies.”

  “What?” Wilma leaned over the casket. “All of them?”

  While Julius was emphatically shouting yes, she reached over and pulled a chain from around his neck.

  “The Osiris Diamond,” she said. “Stolen from the National History Museum four years ago. A guard was killed in the shootout when the thieves were caught, trying to leave.”

  Julius pouted in response, shooting Wilma a look that promised misery and death. “Well, okay. I did get caught up with a bad crowd for a few years. They’re long gone.”

  “Yeah,” Wilma said. “According to the article, there are pieces of them spread all over the state.”

  “Now, I understand this could look bad—”

  Julius stopped talking as Wilma leaned across him again to roughly pull open his shirt. A button popped free, catching Tyler on the corner of his eyebrow as he leaned forward to look at the tattoo that she’d exposed.

  “Nah. That’s just not on, mate.”

  Even Gary, who held a high tolerance for wrongdoing, shook his head. “Fucking Nazis.”

  The swastika tattooed on Julius's chest stretched from one nipple to the other. From the slight pinkish cast to the bottom of the design, it had been performed recently.

  “Okay. I went off the rails a bit when the stone got passed down to the wrong son.” Julius shrugged as much as he could in the confined space. “I admit, I took a few bad turns along the way, but if you just return the stone to me, I promise that I’ll straighten up and fly right.”

  “Close the lid,” Gary said, and Wilma eagerly leaped forward to do his bidding. When Julius began to holler, she muffled his screams further by sitting on top.

  Chapter Seven

  Tyler turned the music up to block out the sounds of Julius yelling. A great plan, but one that left them shouting at each other to be heard. They could have walked outside, but it didn’t seem safe to have the gunman alone inside the office. Given what they’d learned about him, even trapped inside the casket, it seemed too much of a risk.
>
  “Well, first up. We need to find out how to turn Gary back into a human and you into your old self.”

  Tyler had decided that a list would be beneficial. Aside from surprising and upsetting, most of the information they’d gleaned from Julius so far had been of little use.

  “You need to know how the flamey bit works,” Wilma suggested. At the blank looks that followed she snarled, “You know! When he does the”—she threw her hand out as though casting a fishing line far out into the ocean—“and then… boom! The light all goes everywhere.”

  “Yeah,” Gary said, frowning. “What she said.”

  “I need to know where it’s meant to go and who it’s meant to belong to more,” Tyler said. “I don’t plan on holding onto this thing”—he shook his hand—“any longer than necessary.”

  “But don’t get rid of it until after we go gambling,” Wilma said.

  “Or until we’ve hit the ATM again. Or perhaps struck at the pokies—they have a neat set in that little bar down on fifteenth street.”

  “I can’t drink!” Tyler stared at the two of them as though they’d grown new heads. In Gary’s case, it wasn’t far from the truth. “I need to get this thing out of my hands and into the palms of whoever’s meant to control it. My only pleasures in life are sitting down and having a beer. Reducing that to just sitting down isn’t the path to happiness.”

  “You can hold off a few days, though, can’t you?” Gary stared. Tyler couldn’t read his expression, perhaps it was intensity or sadness. All it looked like was little piggy eyes above a big piggy snout. To look at that for too long would turn him mad, so he turned away.

  “Gambling would only take a few hours if you can rake it in,” Wilma pointed out. “The casino probably wouldn’t allow you any more than that once they figured out something was up.”

  “I’m not going gambling! I’m going to return the stone and then get back to my life as normal. If you want to return to your normal selves, I suggest you get on board.”

  “Whatever,” Wilma muttered.

  “So, after getting you two back to normal, the most important thing is to find out where this thing belongs. Once we work out a plan to return it, then we can move onto anything else you like.”