Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  “Leon,” he replied weakly, he was fading.

  “Listen Leon, the Laws, the rules, they’re out the window. The Reapers are cheating. Satan is making an army of those freaks, it’s like a Ford assembly line down there. You guys are losing all the time because there are a lot more of them than there’s supposed to be. Your one thousand swords are outnumbered by like a hundred to one.”

  “Why are you telling me this? How do you know all this? Who are you?” Leon asked, confounded and rightly so.

  Bobby spoke like an auctioneer on speed, desperate to get everything out before Leon ran out of time, “Bobby…Robert Grant. I’m tethered to him, Roger, the big guy. So was an Angel, Maria Sinclair. She…we discovered what was going on and she went back to tell your boss”

  “Back? You killed her then?” Leon asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  “She asked me too. It was our only move, our only way to get this to God or Esha or whoever.”

  “Esha?”

  “Yeah, did I get it right? It’s hard to keep up with all the weird names.”

  “You know his name.”

  “Yeah, Maria told me. She told me everything. She was my friend...is my friend,” Bobby smiled as he said it.

  “And she went back…Maria?”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “Bring the girl to me…please?” Leon asked and watched Bobby closely for any sign of hesitation.

  “Go to him sweetie, he’ll take you to Jesus,” Bobby whispered to Wendy who had tiptoed to his side once she was sure that Rachkovsky was out for the count.

  “You’re not coming?” she asked and the fear in her small voice made Bobby cringe.

  “No, but I promise to be there as soon as I can.”

  “Promise?” She cocked a curved pinky and held it out toward Bobby, a binding contract to anyone her age.

  “I can’t but I can promise to try my best,” he replied, unable to lie, knowing she’d somehow know if he did.

  “Ok, fair deal,” she whispered and hooked Bobby’s long, thin, cold pinky with her short, dark, chubby one. “Be careful Bobby,” she said with a wink and a smile.

  Bobby smiled right back.

  Wendy walked to stand beside Leon who’d propped himself up against the wall with his remaining arm. “Get my sword please young lady?”

  “Ew gross, no way, it’s all blood and stuff,” Wendy cried, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

  Bobby walked to the golden blade and used the butt of his scythe to slide it to the nervously waiting Angel. He studied the Reaper as he crouched awkwardly to grab it. “You’re telling the truth,” he said as if trying to convince himself.

  It wasn’t a question but Bobby answered it anyway, “I am.”

  “Is it as bad as you say it is?”

  “Probably a lot worse by now Leon. I’ve been here for a few years so I’m not exactly up to date on what’s going on in Hell but I’ve seen enough to know the pact is definitely broken.”

  Leon nodded then looked at Rachkovsky. “What will happen to her?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care. As soon as you go, I’m outta here.”

  And the sooner the better.

  “Maria Sinclair,” Leon repeated Bobby’s favorite name.

  Bobby nodded.

  “I will find her if I can, and I will bring this to my Lord. You saved me and you saved this girl, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, now get out of here before any more surprises pop up,” Bobby said and stepped back.

  Leon smiled and nodded, closed his eyes and flashed out of the living world with the usual Angelic flare. Rachkovsky moaned.

  *

  Bobby ran to Roger and roared in his ear, “Go! Now!”

  “Meet me in the wagon,” Roger snapped, grabbing his gear and heading for the stairs without waiting for his stunned partner to respond. When your undead guardian tells you to move you move. “What about Lenny?”

  “He’ll be okay!” Bobby bellowed from beside him.

  “Okay,” Roger replied to the faint whisper, trusting the unseen source.

  Just as they turned into the stairwell Bobby felt the air tingle and heard the telltale sizzle of a portal opening. He hoped it was the bitch heading back to where she belonged but it didn’t add up. She’d been out cold not ten seconds earlier. Bobby swiped his hood from his head, he needed to talk to Roger and he didn’t have time to care about being seen.

  “Rog, we gotta go back!” he shouted as Roger spun on the landing below.

  “Whoa! What?” he cried, as startled to see the Reaper as he was by the fear in his face. “Dude, what the fuck is going on?”

  “We gotta go back! I heard another portal opening, something’s up.”

  Roger’s face went ghost white. “Lenny!” he shouted, spun and bounded up the steps, two and three at a time, blowing passed Bobby and into the third-floor hallway.

  Shit shit shit shit shit.

  Bobby followed him, pulling on his hood as he went.

  *

  Roger darted past the robed party of three standing in the hallway and into the apartment, ignorant of the shit storm he left behind.

  “Didn’t reckon I’d see you again mate,” Indiwongga cried as Bobby walked toward the three Reapers gathered outside Wendy’s apartment. “What’s going on here, eh?”

  Rachkovsky took the liberty of explaining, “The little shit hit me from behind to save Angel and girl. He took from me my claim. He has betrayed us. I will hurt him badly for this.”

  Bobby believed her but didn’t flinch. It was game on, he needed to be smart to get himself out of the shit he was now eyeball deep in. “Stop the bullshit! You got your ass kicked by a fat, middle-aged, soccer dad. He tossed you a beating, you lost your scythe and now you want to blame that shit on me. Fuck that! No way! You should be thanking me! If I hadn’t stepped in, he’d have taken it and then the shit would’ve really hit the fan you stupid bitch.”

  Bobby shook his head in disgust while holding Indiwongga’s eyes with his own to show he had nothing to hide.

  “She said she was ambushed mate, says you sided with the enemy?” Indiwongga’s time in the afterlife had done nothing to soften his Aussie accent.

  “Seriously? What’s wrong with you?” Bobby turned on the Russian. “You’re one twisted bitch.”

  “You lie like dog!” Rachkovsky screamed, stepping toward Bobby with her scythe at the ready.

  “Fuck you, you vodka soaked, bear fucking cunt!”

  “When I cut off the little cock, I will enjoy it,” she seethed.

  “Come get it.”

  She did, fueled by rage, she attacked. Indiwongga and Ortero watched with eager anticipation. Born of hate rather than skill, her attack was furious but careless, and Bobby easily fended off the first barrage of blows.

  “Dog!” Rachkovsky screamed in frustration, faked an overhead strike and drove one bony foot into Bobby’s crotch.

  Oh you dirty bitch!

  Bobby folded over knowing what was coming next. She was going to drive the blade down into his back like she did when she fought to earn her scythe in what Bobby thought of as Reaper School’s final exam.

  Fuck that.

  He charged as she pulled her scythe down toward where his spine was supposed to be. His quick reaction saved him from impalement but as he drove his shoulder into Rachkovsky’s gut her blade buried itself in his calf. “Fuck!” he roared as they crashed to the floor together.

  Rachkovsky was cursing in Russian, spewing a litany of unknown insults while lashing out from beneath him. Bobby’s leg was on fire. The blade pushed through the muscle, all the way to the bone, wagging like a stiff tail, tearing the flesh that held it. Rachkovsky reached for the dancing handle.

  “Fuck you,” Bobby growled and slid the staff of his own scythe under her chin.

  “Traitor,” Rachkovsky managed to croak before Bobby cut off the accusation, leaning onto the staff with all his weight, crushing her throat.

  Rachkov
sky immediately forgot her scythe, putting all her effort into escaping his. She pushed against the staff with all she had but Bobby was too strong, too determined and too pissed off. Her eyes bulged as her face twisted in agony. Bobby kept the pressure on. He knew all too well the depths of the former mob queen’s evil, if anyone deserved a slow, painful death she did. She bucked and writhed as whatever lived in her merciless eyes faded. Bobby pushed harder, compressing her neck until his knuckles were not even a half inch above the dirty, pea green floor.

  “Job done mate, she’s a goner,” Indiwongga said without a drop of sympathy for either of the fighters. “Tough bitch for sure, eh? I wouldn’t have wanted a tangle with her myself. Good on ya Yank.”

  Bobby pushed himself up and howled as the staff of the scythe stuck in his leg bounced off the wall and sent a vibrating jolt of misery up his leg.

  “Hold on mate, you’ve a bit of a splinter there,” Indiwongga chuckled and reached out before Bobby could protest, grabbed the scythe and yanked it roughly from its roost.

  “Shit! Fuck! Shit!” Bobby screamed.

  “Right as rain, ya?” Indiwongga’s smile was ear to ear.

  “Yeah, terrific,” Bobby winced.

  “Still quite the joker, eh?”

  “Spice of life my man, the spice of life”

  “What?” Indiwongga frowned.

  Save the jokes for someone who understands them, dumbass.

  “Nothing dude, this is a fucking mess right? What are you guys doing here anyway?” Bobby asked, using his scythe to push himself up onto his feet.

  “Here for you mate.”

  No. Please no. Not now. I’m so close.

  “What? Me?”

  “Yeah mate, you been a bad boy I reckon.”

  You’re kidding me right?”

  Please be kidding! Please be kidding!

  “No jokes, ask Ort here, he’s not much of a talker but he’ll give it to you straight. Go on Ort, tell him,” Indiwongga urged, holding Bobby with his dark eyes while addressing partner.

  “Here for you gringo,” Ortero said, smiling to reveal three lonely teeth.

  Bobby turned toward the Argentinian cannibal and wished he hadn’t. The man’s eyes were cold and merciless and hungry for suffering. “You guys are dicks. What’s up, really?” Bobby asked again, hoping the answer would change.

  “Can’t pull one over on him, eh Ort? Not this fella.” Indiwongga laughed and clapped Bobby hard on the shoulder. “Too sharp for that, eh Grant?”

  “Yeah,” Bobby chirped, wanting to cheer.

  “This mongrel here, she’s been playing games mate, fucking with her claims before bringing them back. Bossman’s not too keen when someone plays with his toys before he does I reckon. Jones wants her back real bad, means to have another go at her.”

  Jones? Fuck! What does he have to do with this?

  “Wacky bitch.” Bobby nudged her with his foot and immediately regretted it, the pain from the wound she’d inflicted howled in protest.

  “Wacky is being polite mate. She as mad as a dingo caught in a snare! We didn’t realize what was happening when we got here but her story was right bizarre mate. A Reap helping the enemy, madness I reckon.”

  He could be fucking with me. This could be some kind of sick game or a test or something.

  Bobby shook his head then spit on the bitch who caused all the drama.

  “Go on mate, finish her off.” Indiwongga motioned to the Russian.

  “She’s done.”

  “Yeah but you gotta top her mate, jobs not done until she’s headless.”

  Just when you think shit can’t get any more fucked up.

  “Right, no problem, my pleasure,” Bobby replied and turned toward the Russian.

  “Enjoy it mate, there’s a promo in this for you I reckon, right Ort?”

  Ortero grunted. Bobby hoisted the scythe and hacked Rachkovsky’s head from he neck with one swipe.

  “Good on ya mate!” Indiwongga cheered. “Might even get to run with us big dogs when the Bossman hears about this.”

  Oh goodie.

  “Yeah, you think?”

  “Sure, right Ort?”

  Ortero grunted again.

  Still quite the wordsmith.

  “So you’re tethered eh?” Indiwongga was quite the chatterbox but Bobby preferred the silent brooding version from their Reaper school days.

  “Yeah, to that fat guy that ran by before,” Bobby replied absently, trying to think of an escape plan.

  “Long time?” Indiwongga put an arm around Bobby and guided him back toward the apartment and the living.

  “Yeah but I’m like this close to ending it.” Bobby replied, pinching his finger together.

  “Me and Ort, we got time, I reckon we can give you a hand.”

  Shit! This is bad. Think Bobby! Think!

  “No worries,” Bobby said, knowing he’d be triple fucked if he couldn’t put them on a new scent, a fresher, bloodier one. “I’m sure you boys are like super busy with all the new Angels around lately.”

  “You daft mate, there are no new ones, it’s impossible.”

  “Really? I heard a few of them talking about it a few weeks ago in the hospital,” Bobby weaved his lie as he went. “There was a bus crash, lots of dead little kids, and my tether was working it. A bunch of Angels showed up but not a single Reaper, present company excluded of course. It was like the old ones were teaching the new ones, on-the-job training kinda thing ya’know.”

  “The fuck you say?” Indiwongga spun to face him.

  “I shit you not bro. One guy said that they were expecting a shit load of new recruits and not replacements either, brand spanking new ones, still with that new sword smell.”

  Pretty good so far. Don’t oversell it though.

  “Fuck me right off! That’s not good, not good at all. The Bossman is going to want to hear about this right away.”

  Hook, line and sinker. Shit, he swallowed the whole rod.

  “Right Grant, you’re on your own mate, we gotta split,” Indiwongga said, stepping away to give himself enough room to swipe open a portal. “Good luck with that tether of yours. I reckon we’ll see each other again soon enough mate.”

  Not if I can help it you dumb fuck. Don’t forget your creepy little sidekick.

  “Bobby? Where are you dude?” Roger called, stepping into the hallway and royally screwing him in the process.

  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

  “Oy, what have we got here then?” Indiwongga asked, watching as Roger spun frantically in a blind search for his invisible friend. “This one yours?”

  “Yeah, he’s crazy, I’ve been working on him.” Bobby replied, smiling proudly, as if Roger’s antics were a new trick his dog performed flawlessly.

  Please Roger, please shut up and go away before you say get us all killed.

  “Bobby, come on dude? We need your help in there, the mom is losing it,” Roger begged, driving the last few nails into Bobby’s coffin. “Maybe you can let her see you and tell her that her daughter’s gone to Heaven and stuff.”

  Roger, you big dumb blabbermouth!

  “I reckon you’ve been a bad boy after all mate.” Indiwongga slowly slid to Bobby’s side. “Tell me what you’re playing at and don’t skimp out on the juicy parts, eh?”

  “Easy big guy, it’s all part of the plan.”

  “New plan bro,” Indiwongga badly mimicked Bobby’s New York accent. “We go in there, we have a bit of fun and we sort this mess out.”

  Shit! I’m super-duper fucked. We’re all super-duper quadruple fucked with a cherry on top! Thanks Rog.

  “I like fun,” Bobby tried to sound unperturbed.

  Indiwongga stepped aside to let Roger back into the apartment as his search for Bobby continued. “After you mate,” he grinned and waved Bobby inside.

  *

  Jackie Simmons had just watched her daughter die in the filthy hallway of the building she lived in for her entire life. It was her prison and her curse
. The medics had tried their best. The cops, usually cold and robotic, looked at her with pity. She didn’t want it. She just wanted it all to go away.

  Her ex-husband, a useless piece of shit she hadn’t seen or heard from in over four years, left her only one thing and in her grief induced frenzy she ripped open the kitchen junk drawer and pulled the .22 Springfield XD from beneath the stack of takeout menus and coupons.

  “Gun!” one cop yelled.

  “Gun!” the other echoed the alarm from the living room of the neat two-bedroom apartment.

  “Ms. Simmons, please put the gun down,” the skinny, zitty EMT begged, his eyes mirrored the panic in her own.

  “Go away,” she hissed through her tears, pressing the barrel into the soft skin beneath her chin. “It’s not for y’all. Just get out!”

  “Can’t do that mam,” the cop in the doorway informed her calmly from behind his Gloch.

  “So shoot me.” Jackie locked eyes with the young Latino, he couldn’t have been more than twenty, his face smooth, clear and unmarred by the weight of serving a dying city for very long.

  “Last thing I want to do lady,” he replied honestly.

  “Can I just have one minute with Ms. Simmons?” the EMT asked politely.

  The cop looked at him. Lenny nodded confidently. The cop returned the gesture then backed out of the doorway and into the living room.

  “Your son, what’s his name again?” Lenny asked, he knew it but he wanted her to say it.

  “Jordan,” Jackie whispered shamefully having forgotten him in her sorrow.

  “He didn’t see this and he doesn’t have to.” Lenny had seen this kind of situation go wrong before and knew he had to tread lightly.

  “My Wendy is gone.” Jackie’s face twisted into a gaping mask of agony.

  “Yes she is and I’m sorry, but Jordan is still here and he’s going to need you now more than ever. How old is he?”

  “Ten, he’s only ten,” Jackie cried.

  “Big boy for ten.”

  “…and smart,” she added.

  “I bet he is. You don’t want him to see this, to see you like this,” Lenny coaxed.

  “No,” Jackie sobbed, dropping the gun to her side as realization replaced insanity.

  Lenny didn’t budge, he wasn’t out of the woods yet, “Do me a big favor Ms. Simmons…?”