Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  “I’m sorry.” Maria meant it.

  “Don’t be.”

  I’d wear a thong made of the stuff to hang out with her.

  “It’s mine and I can deal with it but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take the hood down when I can. It helps plus I can do stuff, like change the channels or open a window and let some fresh air into this petri dish. Little things like that will make our time together… with Roger a little easier.”

  Maria nodded without hesitation. “I didn’t realize.”

  “How could you? How about you, any tricks? Any secrets?”

  Maria shook her head.

  “Really? Nothing? No invisible wings hiding under that outfit?” He’d been dying to get to the bottom of that little mystery.

  Maria just shook her head again.

  “Bummer.”

  There’s something thought. It’s as obvious as that pretty little nose on your pretty little face. You’re holding something back. Time will tell, it always does.

  *

  “So Netflix and chill then?” Bobby changed the subject.

  “What?” the 70s girl knew as much about internet television as Bobby did about disco.

  “Netflix, it’s like TV but you pick what you want to watch and when, and there’s no commercials or anything like that.”

  “Oh, ok, that sounds nice but I was never that into television. I mean I watched Chips and Kojak and a little Magnum but he was too smarmy for me.”

  Did she say smarmy?

  “The classics, I feel ya.”

  Maria shrugged, unsure of what he meant.

  “So, we have a lot to cover young lady. You are about to experience the Golden Age of Television. We’ll start with the best show of all time, a little story called ‘Breaking Bad’. It seems appropriate for some reason. After that we’ll go light, ‘Friends’ or maybe ‘Seinfeld’, they’ll have you laughing, I guarantee it. Once you’re all warmed up, we’ll get down with the dead. Zombies, guns, rednecks, its American television at its finest even though most of the actors are Brits but that’s a sore we’ll pick at later.”

  Maria’s eyes went wide with excitement, she looked like a newly engaged bride-to-be staring at her diamond. “Netflix and chill,” she whispered.

  “Netflix and chill,” Bobby agreed, scooped up the remote and began to navigate the on-screen interface with the ease of an expert.

  He froze, the hand holding the remote began to tremble.

  Maria sensed the change. “What is it?”

  “It’s a smart TV.”

  Duh! Of course it is! Why didn’t I think of it before?

  “What? I don’t understand?”

  “It can access the web…the internet.”

  Maria wasn’t catching on. “And?”

  “I can use it to find out how I died,” Bobby revealed the enormity of the discovery.

  “Oh wow, that’s great…right?” Maria asked.

  “Yeah. I mean I hope so.”

  As much as Bobby wanted to find out how he ended up in Hell, now that the opportunity was right there at his fingertips, he hesitated.

  “What is it Bobby? What’s the matter?” Maria asked gently.

  “I’m scared, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “What if it’s bad? What if I earned this fucking thing?” Bobby asked and pulled at his robe.

  Maria shrugged but said nothing.

  “Maybe I should do this alone.” Bobby, terrified that if he was worthy of his fate, he’d lose her.

  “Alone, why?”

  “What if…I don’t want…you might not like what you see.”

  “Oh.” His honesty and concern surprised her more than it should.

  They sat in an awkward silence, eager to uncover the truth but afraid of what it might be. Maria finally spoke up and told Bobby exactly what he needed to hear. “Just do it Bobby. It’s the past and whatever you did I think it’s safe to say you’ve been punished enough.”

  Wow! Just when I think you can’t get any more perfect, you go and prove just how stupid I am.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Maria smiled. “Come on, the suspense is killing me.”

  “Too late for that.”

  Maria shook her head in feigned disapproval and waited.

  *

  Bobby took to the web like a fish to water. It wasn’t easy with only the remote as his guide, but he quickly got the hang of it. The big screen loaded and reloaded as he searched, and a long list of news reports tethered to his name finally appeared. Google offered up what he’d been looking for. None of them made him feel any better.

  ‘Mobster, Prostitute and Driver Killed In East End Limo Crash’- Newsday.

  What?

  ‘Mob Driver High and Drunk in Hamptons Crash’ - The Post.

  Really?

  ‘Female Victim In Hamptons Crash A Sex Slave’- The Daily News.

  Bullshit!

  “Mob driver? I wasn’t in the mob! No way!” He needed her to believe him.

  “It says you killed two people and yourself in a car accident,” Maria replied without accusation.

  Bobby turned from the screen to look at her. She was staring right back at him but there was none of what he expected in her eyes, none of the disappointment and none of the judgement.

  Thanks.

  “I might have…I mean I could have,” Bobby admitted thoughtfully. “I remember the job, I remember being a driver but there is no way I was in the mob, I’m not even Italian. My last name is Grant for Christ’s sake.”

  “Bobby!”

  Seriously?

  “Sorry.”

  “Can you find any more?” Maria asked, returning her attention to the looming screen.

  “Yeah…um, let’s see.”

  Bobby clicked on a link for a live on-scene broadcast dated a few days after the accident, figuring they’d have dug up more reliable facts by then. The icon swirled as the clip loaded. Bobby would have held his breath if he could have, but settled for plucking nervously at the hem of one oversized sleeve instead.

  A talking head, complete with hair helmet and a thick slathering of make-up, filled the screen and began her report. “Lou Granelli, a high-ranking member of the Capullo Crime Family, was one of three people killed in a fiery crash here in the East Hampton last Sunday night. Granelli along with his driver, twenty-three-year-old, Glen Head native Robert Grant, and sex slave victim, Carli Liverpool of New Bloomfield, Pennsylvania, died when their speeding SUV style limousine struck the tree behind me. What was first thought to be a DUI related accident because of the narcotics and alcohol found in Grant’s blood, is now being investigated as a possible double homicide.

  “Granelli’s postmortem examination revealed two gunshot wounds as the cause of his death, both at close range and both from a gun found at the scene. Ms. Liverpool was badly beaten and viciously raped prior to the accident that tragically took her life. The NYPD, along with Suffolk County Police Department and the FBI’s organized crime unit, are looking into whether Robert Grant was more than a simple limo driver but a contract killer hired by a rival crime family to eliminate Granelli who was believed to be next in line to take over for ailing, seventy-six-year-old, long time crime boss, Vito Pollona.”

  A picture of Bobby's face, lifted from his college ID, popped up in the right-hand corner of the screen.

  “This man is now suspected of torturing, then attempting to kill both Granelli and Ms. Liverpool before transporting them out east to Montauk where the Italian mob frequently use privately owned boats to dump the bodies of its victims offshore. Officials believe that Ms. Liverpool recovered from her injuries during the trip and assaulted Grant in an attempt to escape, causing him to lose control of the vehicle and crash. Many details have yet to be disclosed but it appears that the brave actions of this poor young woman may have uncovered a deadly assassin living right here on Long Island. We will bring you up-to-date information on this incredible story as it unfolds here on News 12
Long Island. Irene Eddington, reporting live from East Hampton.”

  *

  “What a crock of shit!”

  “It’s not true?”

  What?

  “No, of course it’s not true. I’m not a hitman!” Bobby cried, ashamed and more than a little hurt that she would even consider it.

  “What about the girl?”

  Morsels of memory surfaced as they spoke. “She was a hooker. She was with them, there was a few of them, I think. I don’t know remember anything about her. A sex slave…that’s…that’s crazy.”

  “The Granelli guy? You don’t know how he got shot?”

  The man’s face appeared in Bobby’s head. He was pissed and he was going to hurt someone.

  “No, not really. He was bad news but I didn’t know him, like his name or nothing. They got it all wrong, I…I was just a driver.”

  “It looks bad Bobby.”

  “No shit. Oh God, my parents, my mom and dad!” Bobby couldn’t even imagine what they’d been through.

  Maria watched as the Reaper sunk into despair. She could see the pain etched clearly on his face and yearned to comfort him. “They know you Bobby.”

  “What?”

  “Your parents, they know you. They know you’re not that person.”

  “How? How will they know Maria? Look at all that crap, look at it! If every reporter is telling the same story why would they believe any different?” Bobby was venting his rage in the wrong direction but was powerless to control it.

  Maria didn’t back down. “They’re your parents. They know you better than you do, all parents do. If you were a killer, they would know it before anyone else. Parents have a knack for that stuff. My mom could smell a lie and she could sense when something was wrong. I bet you your mom and dad could too. It won’t matter to them what strangers say about you, they’ll know the truth Bobby. They’ll know you couldn’t do stuff like that.”

  She was right, parents had a sixth sense when it came to their kids, why would his be any different. He might have drifted away from them but he knew they loved him, and that they always would. “I hope you’re right,” he mumbled.

  Maria relaxed as the anger behind the Reaper’s eyes faded. “I think I am.”

  “Thanks…you know, for making me feel better.” Bobby studied his fingers while he spoke, too embarrassed to look the Angel in the face.

  Maria saw a scared boy and knew, just like Mr. and Mrs. Grant knew, that he couldn’t be what everyone else believed he was. “You’re very welcome.”

  Bobby stewed a little longer as the Angel sat silently watching and waiting with sympathetic patience. There were a ton of questions that still needed answering but he wasn’t going to find the answers on the web. Not truthful ones, not the ones he needed. Whatever happened out there in the Hamptons, whatever mess he got himself into had killed him, it hadn’t finished him. Bobby wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He still had time to figure it all out, and there was a slim chance he could find a way to fix it.

  When he finally swiped the bad news from the big screen with a few taps on the huge remote’s colorful buttons, they both eased back into their seats like boxers after a grueling bout. Bobby smiled a loving smile at Maria when she wasn’t looking.

  You, my beautiful Angel, are probably the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  “Where were we?”

  “The Golden Age of Television,” Maria announced mockingly.

  “Hey, are you teasing me?”

  Maria giggled, half hiding it in her hands.

  Adorable and sweet and absolutely perfect.

  “Breaking Bad, right?”

  “Is it funny, I could use a little funny?”

  “Not funny funny, but I know what you mean. Wanna do something lighter?”

  “Light and funny?”

  “Coming up.”

  Bobby dialed in ‘Friends’, selected episode one of season one, and hit play. The familiar opening tune played as the stars pranced and danced.

  ‘So no one told you life was going to be this wayyyyy

  ‘Your job’s a joke, you’re broke

  ‘Your love life’s D.O.AAAAA”

  You ain’t kidding!

  Bobby laughed, it was impossible not to. The coincidental absurdity of the lyrics tickled despite their cruel truth. The show started. Central Perk’s orange couch and its usual occupants entered the world of the dead. After a few minutes of comic banter from the masters of the craft, Bobby snuck a peek at the Angel to see if it translated backward through time. She was smiling from ear to ear.

  Perfect.

  8.

  Roger dragged himself out of bed a little before the crack of noon. After showering, he ate a giant bowl of Rice Krispies while waiting for a cab. The dead followed him out into the cold, clear, late autumn afternoon and into a waiting minivan.

  “Tappen,” Roger grunted.

  The driver nodded and headed out of the lot without a word. The short ride took them along the water, up into Sea Cliff, then down again and along the east side of Hempstead Harbor. Harry Tappen Beach Park was nestled deep in the harbor. The cabbie entered the parking lot and headed toward the lone occupant at the far end.

  “Ten bucks,” he said, pulling to a halt.

  Roger fished out a twenty, took five in change and climbed out. The dead scrambled after him. Roger thumbed his key fob and the powerful motor of the black Ram 1500 four-door pickup roared to life, coughing gray smoke into the briny breeze from its dual exhausts. He opened the driver door, stepped onto the matching running board, ducked into the cabin and slammed the door behind him.

  “What now?” Bobby felt panic rise as Roger revved the engine to warm it quicker.

  “It’s ok, we can push through,” Maria replied calmly. “Watch.”

  She stepped up then through the back door and onto the seat behind Roger as if it were a hologram, or she was, Bobby couldn’t decide.

  Holy shit.

  Through the heavily tinted window, Maria beckoned him to follow with a frantic wave. He would have followed her anywhere. Stepping onto the running board, he pushed through the metal and glass. He felt its cold and its lifelessness as he penetrated its surface. It went against everything his mind thought of as right, but there was nothing right about anything anymore. Fumbling to find his balance, half in and half out of the truck, he lost his nerve. Roger made it a whole lot worse by popping the Ram into gear and taking off with a burst of power and the squeal of rubber.

  Oh shit!

  “Oh shit!”

  “Bobby!” Maria grabbed his hand, meaning to save him.

  Warmth, light and goodness surged through him like a tsunami at her touch. The door didn’t matter, the truck, Hell, Roger, nothing mattered. In that brief moment, nothing existed but her touch. His heart soared high in a clear blue sky where pain and fear could not find it. His mind swam in a calm, golden sea of all-encompassing tranquility.

  This must be what Heaven feels like. Holy shit, it’s amazing!

  Maria wailed from somewhere far away, dragging him back and dashing his happiness off the unforgiving rocks of his reality.

  “What is it? Are you okay?” he asked, clambering onto the seat beside her.

  “It was so cold, so dark, so…so…lonely,” she whispered, her voice unsteady, her face drawn into a mask of disgust.

  Bobby realized the touch had not only given him a glimpse of what it was to be an Angel, but given her a taste of his Hell as well. “Sorry.”

  “Oh Bobby,” she sighed with unchecked compassion. “You…you…how can you stand it?”

  I can’t.

  “It is what it is I guess. It’s…I…it’s not like I have a choice.”

  Maria wanted to cry but didn’t. If he was brave enough not to, she had to be as well.

  *

  Roger stopped to pick up beer and assorted junk food from the Stop-n-Shop. He smiled at everyone, made polite conversation with the cashier and sang along to the music
as he drove.

  “This guy’s no Dahmer and definitely no Gotti,” Bobby said as they pulled into the spot marked 6D outside his apartment building.

  Maria frowned.

  “No serial killer or career criminal.”

  Maria nodded thoughtfully but remained silent. She had said nothing since their touch and still didn’t trust herself to speak. The Reaper clearly wanted to forget it, she never would. She pitied him even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to. She pitied him even though it scared her. She pitied him even if it was against the Laws.

  *

  Beer in hand, Roger settled onto the couch and powered up the PS4. After hitting the pipe a few times he entered the world of Mordor in search of orc blood and hard fought glory. The dead watched without seeing, their minds busy trying to figure out the others, and their own.

  *

  Geno arrived, sans muscle, a little after four. Roger had counted out his share of the money and nuked the bundle to rid it of its freezer burn well before he arrived.

  “All good?” Roger asked.

  “Yeah, all good,” Geno gave him a thumbs up and settled on the couch. “Fetti was pissed but more at Vinny and the New Roc guys for not calling it off than us.”

  Roger plopped beside him, took a deep breath and let it whistle out between his teeth. “Thank fucking God dude. I was stressing hard.”

  “No shit, me too and get this, Fetti said you’re supposed to keep twenty of your end but you gotta use it to upgrade the boat. He said to get something that can handle bad weather, something that won’t stand out when you’re making a run in the winter,” Geno relayed the boss’s message with pride.

  “So we’re still in business?” Roger didn’t sound thrilled.

  Geno was. “Yeah boy, good to go. Better get boat shopping.”

  “Yeah,” Roger tried to sound enthused.

  A long comfortable silence followed as Roger absentmindedly ran around Mordor, slicing and dicing orcs and trolls as Geno watched. “You ever want to be done?” he asked without stopping.