Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  “What? No! The Laws!”

  “Don’t break any, just watch him.”

  “Ugh!” Maria stomped one foot and stormed after Roger.

  Ron checked his Timex then let his dark eyes roam in search of the mysterious voice that had pulled him from the brink of a huge mistake. There was nobody around, nobody he could see anyway. “Thank you,” Ron whispered just loud enough for him and his invisible savior to hear.

  *

  Vinyl squealed as a window slid open on the second floor. Roger poked his head and shoulders through, his hands suspiciously hidden. “I got something for you Jamaal!”

  Ron got ready, to dive or shoot or both if he had to. “Please, just pay me man.”

  Roger studied the little man below him for a few seconds. His recent bout of bad luck wasn’t the cabbie’s fault, if anything Roger’s stupidity was only prolonging it. His anger gave way to shame, his face softened, his shoulders dropped, he nodded his big scruffy head and forced a guilty smile.

  Extending one arm from the window, Roger opened his meaty fist and dropped a crumbled-up bill into parking lot. Ron walked to it, his eyes locked on Roger’s, snatched it and checked if it would cover the fare. It was a hundred.

  “Thank you very much and I am sorry for…for the…” Ron struggled for a word to describe the bizarre events of the last five minutes.

  “Drama bro,” Roger helped him out. “My drama, not yours, sorry. Here, maybe this will make up for it.”

  Roger showed the cabbie his other fist then opened it. Another crumbled ball tumbled toward the lot but Ron managed to snag it before it reached the asphalt. It was another hundred. Ron’s eyes darted from the Benjamin Franklin to Roger to Ben and back again.

  Roger cleared his throat and then his conscience, “Sorry Ron Akash. I was a dick, plain and simple. I’m not myself today Ron. The whole hospital thing and the dying thing, it really messed me up. I hope the money covers the round-trip. You okay?”

  Ron didn’t know what the fat guy’s problem was but he was glad it wasn’t his anymore. He made a mental note to never do hospital pickups again, waved at the weirdo in the window, jumped in his cab and hauled ass out of Glen Cove as fast as the beat-up Crown Vic could.

  5.

  Inhaling deeply, taking the strong, bitter smoke lovingly into his lungs, Roger winced as it expanded in his chest. The EMT that saved his life had hammered it into a purple shade of extreme discomfort. The potent sativa that filled it did what it was grown to do, and his mind slid smoothly into random thoughts and fractured daydreams, the pain forgotten, for the moment. That’s what he wanted, to forget. There was a shit storm coming and he didn’t have an umbrella.

  His mind wandered.

  The whole cabbie thing was weird, he thought. Not like dying and coming back to life weird but weird in a different way. Not apples and oranges but like apples and tacos or apples and shoelaces. Was Ron Akash wearing shoes? What did a guy like Ron Akash have for dinner? Curry right? Racist. Was he even Indian? Indian food is awesome. Spicy food rules. Who invented spice? Marco Polo right? Nah, he was Italian. Italian food isn’t really spicy. Buffalo pizza though, that’s all sorts of spicy and yummy. Buffalo pizza isn’t Italian either though, it’s a hybrid. Why is everything a hybrid these days? What did they call stuff before that word was so overused? A mix-up? A blend? Hybrid pizza, that was taking it to the next level. What level is it on now? I could eat some pizza. Maybe peppers and onions. Yeah, sounds good. No. No pizza. Pizza meant having to answer Sal’s questions. But pizza though…pizza dough. That’s funny.

  He reached for the end table beside the couch, the usual home of his iPhone but it wasn’t there. “Oh, right,” he groaned. “It’s probably eighty feet deep in the sound, at least it’s not alone.”

  He considered getting up to find the house phone but didn’t bother, his feet were too heavy and his legs were too sore. Channel surfing seemed like a good idea, mind-numbing TV in short bursts until boredom and hunger teamed up to defeat his laziness and fear. It wouldn’t take long, not with the munchies on the way.

  *

  “This place is not very clean,” Maria stood beside the kitchen doorway, she looked terrified to be even touching the floor.

  “Really, that’s all you got?” Bobby couldn’t believe she was being polite about Roger’s apartment. “This place is literally a shit hole. I mean look at the kitchen, and the furniture. What color is this carpet even supposed to be anyway?”

  “Brown I think.”

  “Now, yeah but I doubt it started out that way,” Bobby replied as he looked around.

  A green tattered armchair and a wannabe nautically themed blue and red striped couch looked like secondhand store rejects. Saggy and stained, generously decorated with dirty napkins and suspicious tissues, they looked as inviting as syphilis, a lot less comfortable and a lot more contagious. The coffee table and the end tables matched but their blue flake board surfaces had seen better days, better decades. Their sides bulged, their tops marred by the tumors of a thousand forgotten spills. A weak bulb struggled to cast its light through the thick layer of dust on the shade that surrounded it. The oversized Jack Daniel’s bottle replica lamp that supported it was coated in the same filth.

  The TV was spotless, and the only thing in the room that didn’t look like it came from late night dumpster mining expedition and bad decision making. A PlayStation, Xbox and a mound of games littered the floor in front of the 56 inch Toshiba.

  “Dude’s a gamer,” Bobby chirped, he considered himself a force to be reckoned with in any first-person shooter.

  Bobby wondered is Roger played Ghost Recon or if they ever exchanged gunfire within the cyber warfare he loved.

  Best game ever!

  “Video games?” Maria asked.

  Bobby felt the need to defend his hobby, and his generation. “Yeah but not like back in the day, not like Pong or Pitfall or Donkey Kong. These games are more for adults.”

  “So kids don’t play them?” Maria, trying to understand the world she was now stuck in, asked.

  “No…well they do but…” Bobby felt like a fool explaining his affinity for gaming to a chick, a hot one. “Kids, teenagers, grown-ups, everybody plays. It’s like a hobby and its big business.”

  “So you can make money playing games?”

  “Well no…yes, some people do. They play and figure out how to win then share it online, like on YouTube and stuff.”

  That sounds pathetic.

  “Like video game teachers?” Maria asked after a moment’s thought.

  “Yeah, teachers.”

  It’s not untrue.

  “Do you think that’s what Roger is?”

  “Nah, not the type. It’s typically like really super high energy teenagers or guys that look like teenagers. Most of them are all pale and pimply from sitting in front of a screen 24/7. They gel their hair to look like cartoon characters and of course, and this is a must, they all have really annoying, high-pitched voices that’ll make you want to stab yourself in the eardrums with a rusty icepick after two minutes of listening to their nonsense.”

  Maria frowned, “But people listen anyway?”

  “They watch, on their phones or their computers. The tubers make a bundle. The more people watch them the more money they make.”

  “Very interesting but he’s not one of these tubers?”

  “Nope. No webcam, no microphone, no stupid chair. He’s a couch jockey, see, he fits in that thing like a glove.”

  “A couch jockey and a fisherman,” Maria pointed out.

  “Huh?”

  Fisherman? How’d I miss that?

  “Are you okay? What is it? You look scared,” Maria’s face darkened, if the Reaper was scared then she needed to be as well.

  “No, not scared. You just made me realize something,” Bobby was onto a scent. “Look around, try to find anything fishy,”

  “Fishy?” Maria replied with a brow crinkle.

  Could you get any cuter?


  “Fish stuff. Poles, tackle boxes, magazines, anything.”

  “Okay,” Maria replied and headed down the short, dark corridor to where the only bedroom and the only bathroom waited.

  *

  Bobby checked the shadowed corners, under the couch and everywhere else that didn’t need opening. In the filthy galley kitchen takeout cartons, pizza boxes, chip bags and empty beer bottles covered every inch of counter space. Plastic cups and containers from every fast-food chain within range climbed high above the rim of the small stainless steel sink.

  Healthy and handsome. Double threat.

  Nothing caught his eye but he knew one thing every fisherman always had on hand. He needed to get in the freezer.

  Bobby peeked around the grimy doorjamb at Roger. A Spanish infomercial had him under its spell, and rightly so. Lathered with make-up, in a dress a few sizes too small and in heels a few inches too high, a curvy young woman heralded whatever she was selling with speed, excitement and an overabundance of unnecessary bending and bouncing. Bobby doubted Roger understood a word she said but was satisfied he wouldn’t be disturbed.

  He reached for the freezer door and almost shrieked when his hand glided through it.

  Idiot. You gotta make yourself real first. The hood.

  If what Jones told him was true, when he pulled it off he’d become visible to the living. It was very possible that the bastard was just playing games, it wouldn’t be the first time. Jones had warned them to never remove it while in the living world but then again Bobby wasn’t exactly batting a thousand as far as the rules were concerned.

  What do I have to lose? In for a penny, in for a pound.

  Bobby slid both hands alongside his face and pushed the heavy, prickly hood off his head. It was at least fifty degrees cooler without the thick covering. His face tingled in the faint breeze churned by the slowly rotating ceiling fan above Roger in the other room. Bobby felt lighter and cooler, and sort of good for a change.

  You don’t have time for this bro.

  He reached for the freezer again and as his fingers wrapped around the food smeared handle he felt its cold, its stickiness and its shape. He almost cried. The simple touch of something real was so utterly fantastic and so unexpectedly overwhelming he could barely control himself.

  Reel it in Bobby. It’s just a fridge handle you dope.

  He pulled and the freezer door popped open with the crunch of ice and the squeak of old plastic. The swirling vapor cleared to reveal an economy-size jug of cheap vodka, a sizeable bag of weed, three large gallon-sized Ziplocs stuffed with tightly bound stacks of cash and three lemon Italian ices.

  This isn’t good. Impressive? Yes. Good? No.

  “Maria!” he yelled and instantly knew he messed up big-time.

  *

  Roger heard someone call a name. Even from the depths of his weed invoked oblivion, he knew it had come from inside his apartment. Pulling himself back up into the real world he slid his had under the cushion beside him and felt for the familiar shape of his Taurus Judge 5 shot revolver. Aptly named Linus, it was his version of a security blanket. Loaded with two .410 shotgun shells and three .45 slugs, it could take down Arnold, Sly, The Rock and a rabid grizzly if ever the odd foursome made the mistake of invading his private space. No ratty old blanket could do that.

  “Who’s there?” Roger called out, trying his best to sound tough while pinching his thighs tight to keep from pissing himself.

  Bobby ducked behind and the counter, slipping his hood over his head and scolding himself for his stupidity.

  The freezer door hung open. Frigid air vaporized as it poured from inside. Maria walked casually into Roger’s line of fire and into the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed as they dropped from the open freezer door to where Bobby crouched. “What did you do?”

  “I had to look inside.”

  “How? How did you do that? You touched it? You can touch stuff?”

  Bobby realized she knew as little about his powers as he did about hers. “When I take my hood down I’m here, I mean, I’m in their world.”

  “Really?” Maria’s eyes went wide, Bobby’s heart would’ve skipped a beat if it could. “How did it feel? Can you do anything else?”

  “Easy girl. All I did was open the freezer door and spook Roger. Check out Sergant Stupid over there.”

  The big man had himself pinned against the kitchen’s outer wall, his pistol cocked and ready. Sweating and mumbling, he eased toward the doorway and readied to breach. Maria watched him, puzzled and curious, but returned her attention to Bobby and his tricks.

  “It felt amazing though,” Bobby said realizing she wanted more. “Really, really good. This robe, this nasty, itchy piece of crap is part of our punishment. It’s so heavy and so hot, just being able to let my head breath, to let it feel, it…it was so awesome.”

  “Will you show me?”

  “Are you trying to get me killed?” Bobby nodded toward Roger just as he made his move.

  Roger spun around the doorway, crouching as low as his knees would allow, and swept the narrow kitchen with the wide barrel of his powerful gun. “Clear!”

  Bobby burst into a fit of laughter so loud he was sure Roger would hear him but even that couldn’t stop it. He’d never seen something as absurd as Roger’s tactical masterpiece. Everything about it was wrong and everything about it was perfect.

  Maria smiled, genuine and bright. Seeing the Reaper lost in a moment of happiness, free of all that tormented him, was like looking at someone new. There was a real person beneath the hood, a young man who’d done nothing but suffer since his death. Maybe he deserved it but Maria had her doubts. Whatever the case may be, Bobby was all she had for the time being and she was fine with that.

  After clearing the kitchen Roger moved down the hallway and did the same to the two remaining rooms. Bobby was still giggling like a sinner in church. Maria stood, arms folded, waiting for him to finish.

  “Sorry,” Bobby sputtered.

  “No, please,” Maria’s voice had softened. “I wish I knew what made Roger’s fear so amusing.”

  “No, not his fear, his tactics,” Bobby tried to explain. “He was playing soldier, the way he came around the corner, the ‘clear’ thing, it’s all from video games.”

  Maria shrugged.

  “You’ll get it one day. It’s funny, trust me.”

  A narrow eyed scowl of suspicion met his unintentional request.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Bobby huffed. “It’s a saying, like, ‘Have a nice day’ or ‘What’s up’. Don’t trust me, do us both a favor, you’ll be better off.”

  Roger walked right through Maria. She screamed as if someone doused her with ice water. Roger paused, shivered, then moved to investigate the open freezer.

  “You okay?” Bobby asked.

  “That was the weirdest thing ever,” Maria replied while shaking her hands as if they were covered in something nasty. “Ewww!”

  With her guard down, Bobby saw her for what she really was.

  She’s just a girl. A beautiful, sweet, trusting, kind young woman. She’s someone’s daughter and someone’s sister, someone’s best friend and a whole lot of people’s secret crush, I’d bet the farm on that. She’s alone and scared and in a completely fubar situation, and all because of me. An innocent bystander dragged into my selfish bullshit, I’m such an asshole. Don’t you dare fuck her over Bobby! Don’t you even think about it!

  *

  Roger peered into the icebox, probing the frosted interior with the barrel of his pistol as if expecting a gremlin to spring out from behind the cash at any moment. Satisfied Stripe wasn’t going to attack him and everything was where it was supposed to be, he closed the freezer, opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of beer, swiped the portable phone from the counter and headed back to the couch. His uninvited guests watched as he settled back into the well-formed rut his weight had created over time. He called and ordered a pizza. He knew the person on the other end of t
he line and, despite his best effort to hide it behind a few bad jokes, he was scared.

  “He’s scared,” Bobby shared.

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know, maybe he’s run up a tab or something.” It wasn’t right but it was all he could think of. “Did you find anything back there?”

  “Oh…yes, I found some stuff…” Maria reddened as she tried to find the words to describe the discovery.

  Porn hound, gotta be. Roger, you dirty bird.

  “Any fishing stuff?” he asked, letting Maria off the hook.

  “No,” Maria still hadn’t caught on. “Why?”

  “No bait in the freezer, no fillets. This guy’s no fisherman. There’s cash in there, gotta be like three hundred grand.”

  “Maybe all his fishing equipment was on the boat?” Maria proposed.

  “There’d be more, fishing guys love their gear. They have rods for every species and every season. There would be more here somewhere. Magazines too and t-shirts, definitely t-shirts. Every fisherman wants everyone to know he’s a fisherman, it’s like their thing. They wear hats with fish on them, shirts with fish on them, shoes, socks, even underwear. It’s not just a hobby for these guys, it’s a lifestyle.”

  “Maybe he’s the casual kind,” Maria played the good cop.

  “Out in a Nor’easter, at night, alone and with no life jacket? No experienced angler with half a brain would do that, it’s just stupid, not even a weekend warrior, a stupid one. No bait and no fish is a big red flag though. If he fishes he needs bait and every fisherman keeps bait in the freezer for emergencies.”

  Maria shrugged. If it wasn’t so cute it would have annoyed him. But it was, everything she did tickled Bobby in the right spot.

  “Let’s say you can’t sleep and the tide is on the move but all the bait shops are closed. You grab your frozen bait and you go. Frozen sucks but it’s better than nothing. And fish, there should be fish. The more you fish the more fish you catch, right? The more fish you catch the more fish you eat. What you can’t eat you bag up and freeze, that’s what we used to do anyway. This guy has not one fillet in there, not one.”