Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Bobby made his eyebrows dance as if he knew a dirty little secret.

  “Miss what?” Roger needed to know even if he didn’t want to.

  “Honeymoon details bro!” Bobby cried.

  “Aw man,” Roger winced in feigned disgust. “You’re sick.”

  “Seriously dude, you guys are honeymooning on Yoba!” Bobby teased because it was easier than facing his feelings. “That’s like a million times cooler than Fiji or Bermuda, right? God’s home planet with a customized love shack! It’s definitely a first and you have the entire planet to yourselves. Can you say naked hiking, naked barbeque, naked…naked everything! I can’t wait to read your review on TripAdvisor.”

  “Seriously dude,” Roger tried not to laugh but it was useless, he opened his arms and wrapped them around the Reaper instead. “You got some serious issues ya’know.”

  Bobby felt the big man’s tears on his neck and realized he was making tears of his own. He didn’t fight them, he’d wanted to cry for a very long time. It felt so good that he didn’t want to stop. “You okay there tough guy? Spring a leak?” Roger took his turn at being the tormentor.

  “Nay, that’s just second had slobber from you,” Bobby refused to let Roger get the last shot in.

  “Kick some ass buddy,” Roger whispered.

  “Hell yeah.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid though.”

  “Too late for that ya’know.”

  Roger squeezed him harder. “Just come back Bobby, please…just come back.”

  “I’ll do my best Rog.”

  They parted, both studying their feet to hide their eyes, both more terrified of what the Reaper was getting himself into than ever before.

  “So where are you headed?” Roger walked to his husband’s side and took his hand for the comfort it always provided.

  “Back,” God replied.

  “Earth?” Lenny was surprised by the answer.

  “Earth,” God smiled but offered nothing more.

  Bobby turned to Maria, her eyes held the same fear as his own. She forced a tight lipped smile. He returned it and then they were gone.

  *

  “PS or Xbox?” Roger turned toward the picturesque cabin on top of the unusual hill.

  “He said anything,” Lenny’s wheels were turning. “There’s probably some crazy futuristic stuff like PS100Squared or Xbox99ProPlusXL or something like that.”

  “VR?”

  “Hologram 4D maybe 5D interactive!”

  “Oh hell yeah, it’s on like Donkey Kong!” Roger whooped and they started walking, hand in hand, toward their new home.

  “No Donkey Kong honey, please.”

  “Sure Len, pizza?”

  “Double pepperoni, double cheese!”

  They picked up the pace until they were nearly jogging.

  “If this is all it’s cracked up to be then I might not want to go home,” Roger confessed.

  “I call first on Ghost Recon!” Lenny yelled and ran ahead.

  Roger giggled like a schoolgirl and chased after him.

  4.

  The smell of freshly roasted coffee was as comforting as the soft leather chair Bobby found himself in. Gordon and Maria sat across from him in a matching loveseat, the same color as the beans that scented the air. The low, round, plank wood table separating them held three steaming cups with the all too familiar green logo of Bobby’s favorite franchise.

  “Starbucks?”

  “Love the hot chocolate,” Gordon replied, leaning in to claim his cup.

  “What about the beach? Orient Point?”

  “Tide’s out, no point in fishing the slack,” God replied, winked and took a tentative sip of the hot beverage.

  Bobby looked to Maria. She shrugged. The Reaper shook his head and moved on, needing to concentrate on the important stuff, not God’s seemingly whimsical rendezvous location choices. “So what now? What’s the plan God?”

  “Gordon.”

  Is this guy messing with me?

  “No, I’m not. Please call me Gordon?” God asked politely.

  “Okay. What’s the plan, Gordon?”

  “First things first Robert, let’s talk about you,” Gordon replied, sipped, nodded toward the cup closest to Bobby and waited.

  “Bobby.”

  Don’t be a dick you dick, he’s God.

  “Forgive me, Bobby?” Gordon smiled, unfazed, and nodded at the cup once again.

  “I can’t. I’m dead.”

  “You can,” Gordon said, perking his shaggy white eyebrows.

  Bobby didn’t argue. Picking up the sleeved paper cup, he immediately smelled its sweet aroma. He took a tiny sip, it was hot and rich and sweet and incredible. He drank deeper and as the decadent concoction flooded his mouth, he moaned in ecstasy. His chest warmed, the cold of death banished by the liquid delight. “Oh my God, that’s fucking amazing!”

  “Bobby!” Maria scolded.

  “Oh my Gordon, that’s fucking amazing!”

  “Bobby!” Maria cried again.

  Gordon laughed, his narrow chest heaving out a guffaw Santa Claus would be jealous of. Maria and Bobby watched while defenseless against the smiles spread across their faces. Gordon settled and returned his attention to his cup. Bobby and Maria did likewise. The three odd companions sat unseen as the frenzy of those still living bustled around them. The Reaper watched life go about its business and envied its ignorance, he wished he had nothing more to worry about than whether the barista messed up his order or if he’d make it to work on time.

  “Delicious,” Gordon smacked his lips then dabbed at the whipped cream remnants that clung to his mustache.

  “Where are we anyway?” Bobby asked.

  “Sea Cliff,” Gordon replied. “You know it?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Bobby loved it, the hippie hold-out nestled among the elite enclaves of Long Island’s Gold Coast was one of his favorite places. “Why here though?”

  “Come on Bobby,” Gordon answered with a smirk that screamed ‘duh’. “It’s a cool town.”

  Duh indeed.

  “No, like, rip in the fabric of reality or thin spot between worlds or a secret intersection where all the dimensions meet?”

  “Too sci-fi, way too sci-fi,” Gordon shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Not a sci-fi guy?” Bobby was game for a little small talk, it had been a while since he had a normal conversation.

  “No, I love the stuff. Your world has limited talent in the genre but there are worlds where the imagination of its author’s tests even my own,” Gordon whispered as he savored his memories.

  There goes normal.

  “Oh, good to know. Any available on Kindle?”

  “Bobby,” Maria shot him the stink-eye yet again.

  Gordon chuckled, “You are very funny but you cannot hide behind it forever.”

  Bobby had nothing to say.

  Gordon took the hint and moved on, “So you died and you went to hell.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Bobby had been waiting for that very opportunity, the chance to find out how he came to sit where he sat, and pounced. “I have no idea how I died, and how or why I ended up in Hell. Any chance you could shed a little light on that little mystery Gordo?”

  “Maria told me all about it,” Gordon replied, casually taking another sip. “I’m surprised you waited this long to ask.”

  Really? WTF? Why not just offer? Throw it out there! I’m suffering over here! Seriously dude?

  “Sorry, I thought maybe you had chosen to let it go,” Gordon replied to the Reaper’s internal barrage.

  “Ugh…” Bobby cringed, realizing he’d let his mind off the leash again. “Sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “So let’s have it, gimme the details Gordo, please?” Bobby asked, the anticipation of pulling the mental splinter from his festering mind called to him like a needle called to a junkie.

  Gordon sipped, smiled, winked and Bobby crumpled in his
chair. In his mind he tumbled back in time and space to the moment his memory failed him.

  *

  Amped up on a toxic blend of Adderall, high grade cocaine and vodka, Bobby was in need of a few ears to chew. After checking the cabin he left the limo to join his fellow drivers on the side of the road.

  “Nice ride,” an older, heavyset guy in a cheap, wrinkled suit commented as Bobby took his place in the six man circle as lucky number seven.

  “Yeah, thanks. Not my usual rig, filling in for a guy. How’s everyone doing this lovely evening?” Bobby was feeling great. “Everyone out from the city?”

  All were except one. A super slick, well-built, twenty something Asian guy was the standout, “Nah, Brookville.”

  “My man’s private, got himself a celebrity,” another driver, a short guy in his mid-thirties with an impressive afro and a matching set of gumball-sized diamond earrings, chirped. “See the Bentley?”

  “No shit?” Bobby hadn’t noticed the car but seeing the cut of the driver’s suit he wasn’t surprised. “How’s she ride?”

  “Like a Swiss watch with wheels,” the private driver answered proudly.

  Bobby was jealous. Going private was the holy grail of the limo business, toting around a celebrity made it even cooler.

  “Dude won’t even let us check it out,” a disheveled, lean Latino, with a mustache in need of a serious trim, grumbled.

  “Like you’d risk it,” Cheap Suit snapped and Bobby realized he’d stumbled into an argument.

  “It’s a car my friend and it’s not even his,” Mustache snapped back.

  “Ain’t happening,” Private growled, staring at Mustache with cold, threatening eyes. “Drop it already.”

  “So who is it?” Bobby wanted to change the subject and get down to some serious bullshitting before the bickering ruined his buzz.

  “Stern!” Earrings blurted out, obviously a fan.

  “Like Howard Stern?” Bobby loved the radio legend.

  Private nodded.

  “Holy shit! That’s so cool!” Bobby’s cheered.

  Another nod from Private.

  Not much of a talker. Maybe I should give him a toot, that would get him yapping for sure.

  “He says he’s super chill,” Earrings filled Bobby in enthusiastically.

  “Not chill enough to let people see his car though,” Mustache wasn’t letting it go.

  “Shut the fuck up already asshole. You don’t know shit. That’s why you’re still doing proms and weddings and wearing a ten-year-old, off the rack, three-for-one suit that doesn’t even fit,” Private seethed and two drivers who said nothing since Bobby arrived turned and walked away.

  “Yo, fuck you,” Mustache snarled. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

  Private rolled his head like Bruce Lee and unbuttoned his suit jacket. The black grip of matching pistols sprouted from holsters snuggled in his armpits. “You need to back the fuck off amigo.”

  “Fuck you! So you’re packing, so what?” Mustache wasn’t impressed.

  This guy is either dumb as dirt or suicidal. Dude’s rocking a double sling with extended mags. That shit ain’t for show, that’s serious.

  “Back off Mike,” Earrings obviously knew Mustache, and was doing his best to keep him under control. “What’s up your ass tonight?”

  “This guy’s up my ass! This fucking guy who thinks his shit don’t stink is way up there man!” Mustache Mike roared, glaring at the object of his animosity.

  “Listen, Mike right?” Private spoke with calm, measured intent. “I’m just here to talk shit and waste time just like the rest of you guys. You got a problem with me but you don’t want that, trust me, you don’t. I’m going to tell you something for your own good so listen real close.”

  Everyone did just that.

  “I don’t play games Mike. I didn’t play games in Afghanistan. I didn’t play games in Iraq. I didn’t play games in Saudi, in Somalia, in the Sudan, in Libya or in Azerbaijan. What I did do was kill a lot of people so scumbags like you don’t get blown to pieces crossing the GW or going through the Midtown Tunnel. I killed a lot of people for you Mike and for every other clueless, shitless coward who thinks freedom is nothing more than a word. I don’t need guns for you Mike, I was just hoping you’d get the hint and stop the bullshit. You have two choices here. One, you turn around, walk away and sleep in your bed tonight. Two, you keep fucking with me, they carry you away and, if you’re lucky, you wake up in the hospital tomorrow. Your choice Mike.”

  Epic bad-ass! Nice!

  Mike did a pretty good job of hiding his fear. He gave Private the stink eye, spit on the ground between them and took option one.

  “Holy shit, that was intense!” Cheap Suit cried once Mike was out of range.

  “Nah, he was never going to make a move,” Private revealed. “Nothing but fear in his eyes.”

  “So any juicy stories from the celeb world?” Bobby interrupted, all too eager to get onto the tension-free, fun-filled part of the evening.

  “Oh yeah,” Private smiled. “I got a million of them. East or west coast?”

  “Now we’re talking,” Earrings rubbed his hands together greedily.

  Bobby’s phone buzzed, raining on his parade before it even started. “Fuck.”

  *

  “Where are you?” the gumba roared before Bobby said a word.

  Not big on phone etiquette huh greaseball?

  “Who is this?” Bobby asked, deciding to fuck with him a little.

  “What? It’s Granelli…Lou, your fucking fare asshole, now get back here!”

  Bobby could feel the anger through the phone.

  Bad choice Bobby.

  “Two minutes,” Bobby replied. “Out front.”

  “Hurry up, I don’t like waiting,” Granelli said and hung up.

  Asshole.

  *

  Back in the Caddy, Bobby swung an awkward K-turn on the narrow road and hauled ass back to the Sandy Oyster. Granelli burst through the front door with the stunning brunette in tow and plowed through the crowd still waiting to be seated. Bobby opened his door to get out but never even set foot on the ground.

  “Stay!” Greaseball grunted.

  Once onboard Granelli ordered Bobby to find a quiet spot where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Bobby obeyed, it was all part of the job. A mile or so back down the road he’d noticed a freestanding building with an unlit parking lot and an overly colorful sign announcing that it was the new home of a pediatric dental office. Bobby figured no kids were getting their sugar bugs drilled so late at night and made quick time getting there. He pulled behind the building, killed the lights but kept the motor running.

  “Get out!” Granelli lowered the partition an inch to convey the order.

  “Oh, sorry Mr. Granelli but the owner’s rules…”

  “Get the fuck out now!” Granelli spiced up the command.

  “Mr. Granelli…” Bobby tried again.

  Granelli’s reddened face pressed against the glass that separated them. “Get the fuck out of the truck now or Rick’s fucking rules will be the last of your fucking problems!”

  Bobby felt the heat of the gumba’s rage, and the danger in it. He was definitely used to getting what he wanted. “Yes sir,” Bobby whispered.

  “Good boy. Go for a walk or something but don’t get lost this time. Ya hear me?”

  “I hear ya,” Bobby replied and closed the door.

  *

  Bobby wandered around the sleeping building but his mind never left the car. His ‘bad shit’ alarm was blaring so loud it drowned out the chorus of crickets and cicadas in the surrounding trees. Lou Granelli was a bad guy, that was a no brainer. The girl in the limo with him was in a bad situation, another fact that required little thought. It was none of Bobby’s business, staying out of it was his business, but he had a bad feeling deep in his guts that wasn’t easy to ignore.

  Peeping around the corner of the one story, brick building Bobby watched the limo pitch
and roll as if possessed. The blackened glass kept everything hidden but Bobby’s imagination worked in overdrive to paint a vivid picture of the loathsome scene. It made him nauseous visualizing the young girl being mauled by the fat creep. A faint cry tickled his ears, so faint he wasn’t entirely sure it was real. Bobby tensed, his eyes and ears locked on the bucking limousine.

  The rear door burst open and the girl threw herself from the purple glow of the cabin into the gravel parking lot. Her dress hung in tatters from one shoulder exposing one breast. Blood from two crescents of small punctures on either side of her nipple decorated her heaving breasts like war paint. “Help me!” she screamed.

  He’s a biter! Figures.

  Granelli crawled from the limo, shirtless and pantless, a raging erection pushing angrily against the silk of his boxers. He buried one hand in the girl’s wild hair and wrenched her onto her knees.

  Holy shit! This is bad! This is very fucking bad!

  Bobby ran toward them. Granelli heard the crunching gravel and raised his murderous eyes to meet him. “Fuck off kid, this is none of your business!”

  “Dude, she’s hurt!”

  Granelli snarled like a feral beast, the blood caked on his lips and teeth gave it that extra dash of authenticity. “You will be too if you don’t get out of my face.”

  “Fuck you asshole!” Bobby roared, he didn’t care who he was, he just wanted to save the girl. “Let her go!”

  Granelli smiled a terrible smile, tossed the sniveling girl aside and turned on Bobby.

  Fuck.

  He was big, not tall and buff big, wide and thick big. Hairy and angry, and with an obvious appetite for violence, he was a lot more than Bobby was equipped to handle. Bobby backpedaled, physically and verbally, “Mr. Granelli, I was just trying to look out for you. If someone drove by, like the cops or something, you’d be in some serious trouble.”

  Granelli stalked toward him.

  “Listen, just listen to me Mr. Granelli.”

  Granelli balled up one meaty fist and drove it into Bobby’s gut with the force of a battering ram. Bobby folded, breathless. Granelli grabbed him by the hair and lifted his face to meet his own, meaning to explain a few things Bobby just realized. “You fucked up kid. You’re in way over your head here. This, you, Rick, SuperLux, all of it, it’s mine. She’s fucking mine! You wanna keep breathing, you get the fuck outta my face and you keep that mouth of yours shut. You get me?”