Black Box Inc. (Black Box Inc. Series Book 1)

by Jake Bible

  9

  STORING CRAP FOR clients in black boxes is only part of what we do. There is the entire courier portion of our business too. At times, I create boxes that I don’t return back to the Dim. As good as I am with the Dim, there are forces at work that can get in the way. Some dimensions make it hard to retrieve a box from the Dim. Some clients don’t trust the Dim and want the box present at all times. In those cases, we physically deliver the box.

  It’s a simple thing of creating a black box and then transporting that black box from Point A to Point B. Sometimes Point B is in another dimension, sometimes Reno. Doesn’t really matter. Lassa knows everyone in the transportation business. If we can’t handle the gig alone, we subcontract with the Teamsters.

  Faeries may have invented lawyers, but trolls invented the Teamsters. And I don’t mean that in a derogatory way.

  There are over two thousand species of trolls. Some are dumb as rocks while others make Stephen Hawking look like George W. Bush. Depends on the species and the individual troll.

  Regardless of variations in troll intelligence, if you need something moved across dimensions, you call a Teamster troll.

  I woke up to Lassa on the phone negotiating a deal with his guy, who was our local rep.

  “Where’d he get a phone?” I asked as I rubbed my eyes. I had no idea who I was asking, but I figured someone was in the room.

  “Teresa lifted the hex so we could get some work done,” Sharon said as she poured me a cup of coffee and set it on the table, then went back to jotting notes in her phone. “Good afternoon.”

  “How far into the afternoon?” I asked, swinging my legs off the couch and wincing as a pain shot through my lower back. “For the money we pay this firm, they should have a better sleeping couch.”

  “They do. They’re called beds,” Harper said as she came out of one of the bedrooms.

  She was only dressed in her bra and underwear, and was busy scratching her ass, as she pushed me out of the way and took my coffee. Her body was more scars and tats than bare skin.

  “Oh, dear,” Sharon said, averting her eyes from Harper’s half-nakedness. “Can we act professionally, please?”

  Harper downed the coffee and burped. “Gonna shit and shower, then head to the office to get my weapons so we can get this show on the road.”

  “Not professional,” Sharon said under her breath as Harper found the bathroom door and disappeared inside.

  “She’s in a better mood, at least,” I said and tried to stand up. That lower back pain was not letting me, and I collapsed back onto the couch. “Ow?”

  “Not like you to crick up after one night on a couch,” Sharon said. “I’ve seen you sleep in a cardboard box before.”

  “I remember that cardboard box,” I said. “That was a good box. Reminded me of mine and Harper’s street days. What a life.”

  Sharon poured me another cup of coffee, then set her phone aside.

  “Shirt off,” she said.

  “Now who’s not being professional,” I replied. “I mean, I know we’ve gotten close after all these years, but I see you more as a big sister, Shar.”

  “Shut up,” Sharon said, her gray face blushing.

  Nothing weirder than seeing a zombie blush.

  “I want to see your back,” she stated, her hands on her hips.

  I slurped some coffee, then pulled my shirt up over my head. It was agony the whole way.

  “Turn,” she said.

  I turned. Sharon gasped.

  “Holy shit!” Lassa exclaimed. “Uh, I gotta go. Call you right back.”

  “What?” I asked, twisting to get a look at my back. I couldn’t see shit. “Mirror.”

  I got up, my worry overriding the pain, and stumbled to the bathroom.

  “Hey! What the fuck, Chase?” Harper yelled as she jumped into the shower and pulled the curtain. “You got a death wish or what?”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn about your boobies, Harp,” I said and stood in front of the vanity, turning at the best angle to see my back in the mirror. “Oh.”

  “Oh, what?” Harper asked as she ducked her head out from behind the shower curtain. “Listen, you perv—Holy shit!”

  “That’s what I said,” Lassa said from the bathroom door.

  “Flip?” Sharon called, standing right behind Lassa. “Could you come here, please?”

  “Yes, how may I help?” Flip asked, appearing next to Sharon.

  “What would you call that?” Sharon asked and pointed at me.

  “Well, isn’t that something,” Flip said and wriggled between Sharon and Lassa so he could get closer to me. “It appears you have a leech.”

  “That ain’t no leech,” Lassa said. “Dude, that’s a face.”

  “Yeah. My goddamn face,” I said.

  “Yes, yes, a leech,” Flip said. “Do you have a doppler?”

  “No, I do not have a goddamn doppler,” I said, turning back and forth. I was trying not to freak out over the fact there was a warped version of my own face staring at me from my lower back. Keeping my cool was not easy.

  “No, well, have you angered a witch lately?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of,” I said.

  “You would know,” Flip said as he scratched at his bearded chin. “Killed a changeling?”

  “Bingo,” Lassa said.

  “We do not know if Chase killed the changeling,” Sharon said.

  “I woke up in twelve pints of its blood, Shar,” I replied. “Safe to assume I might have killed it.”

  “Yeah, but where’s the body?” Harper asked, having pulled the shower curtain tight again so she could get on with her shower.

  The mirror started to steam up, so I wiped it clear and continued to study my back face.

  “What do you want?” the face said. “Stop staring at me.”

  “I’m out,” Lassa said and bolted.

  “I need a drink,” Sharon said and left as well.

  That meant it was me, Flip, and a showering Harper left in the bathroom.

  “Good afternoon, may I inquire as to your name?” Flip asked the face on my back.

  “Chase,” the face said. “Chase Lawter.”

  “Yes, most definitely a changeling,” Flip said. “If you accidentally ingested some of its blood, then part of its essence would have been able to burrow into you and manifest as a face on your back. Rare, but not unheard of.”

  “I haven’t heard of it,” I said.

  “Me neither,” Back Chase said.

  “Can the face be killed?” Harper asked as she shut off the water. “Answer that when I’m done toweling off. First, get the fuck out.”

  We left the bathroom and shut the door.

  Lassa was pouring both him and Sharon very stiff drinks at the small bar in the corner of the living room.

  “You want one?” Lassa asked.

  “I’m good,” I said. “Sharon? Is drinking that a good idea?”

  “Having only the one,” Sharon said as she downed her drink and shivered. “I’m going to pay for it since it wasn’t mixed with blood, but it’s worth it.”

  She set the glass down and faced me.

  “All right, we have to solve this,” she said. “You cannot go around with a copy of your face on your back.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “At least now I’ll always have someone to talk to.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Back Chase said. “I’m you. You really feel like talking to you?”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  “Flip?” Sharon asked. “How do we fix this?”

  “I’ll consult the library,” Flip said. “Be right back.”

  He was gone through a small door in the wall before any of us cou
ld say a word.

  “Can I leave too?” Lassa asked, pouring yet another drink. “That face has me skeeved out, dude.”

  “Well?” Harper asked as she came out in only her underwear again, a towel wrapped around her head. “Can the face be killed?”

  “Flip went to find out,” Lassa said.

  “He went to see how it can be fixed,” Sharon said. “That does not mean it has to be killed.”

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t kill me,” Back Chase said.

  “I’d prefer if you get off my back, pal,” I said.

  We both chuckled.

  “There’s two of them,” Harper said and walked away to her bedroom. “I’m getting dressed. Stab it if it gets weird.”

  “Already weird,” Lassa said.

  “And no stabbing while it’s on my back,” I said.

  “I am not an it,” Back Chase responded.

  “Yeah, pal, you are,” I said. “You are very much an it. You are the definition of an it.”

  “You’re a dick,” Back Chase said.

  “You’re an ass,” I replied.

  “Not quite,” he said. “A hair north, though.”

  We chuckled again.

  “Kill it now before they think they’re funny!” Harper called from the bedroom, then came back out, pulling a T-shirt over her head, her cargo pants undone and her belt buckle clanging as it thwacked against her thigh. She straightened her shirt, zippered her pants, buckled her belt, then pulled a knife. “I can cut it right off, just say the word.”

  “No cutting into my back, goddammit,” I said, jabbing a finger at her. “Get that out of your head.”

  There was a light knock at the door, and Teresa came in with three banshees behind her and a gaggle of gnomes following in their wake.

  “Let’s see,” Teresa said, twirling her finger in the air for me to turn around. I did. “You are one of the most high-maintenance clients I have ever had in my entire career.”

  “I doubt that,” I said.

  “Don’t,” she replied. “But, billable hours are billable hours.”

  Sharon began to cough and choke. I’m sure she was also rethinking our rates at the thought of the legal bill we’d be getting.

  “Flip!” Teresa yelled.

  “Coming,” Flip said as the small door in the wall swung open and he hurried back into the suite with a book in hand almost as large as he. “I think I have something here.”

  He shut the book and looked up at me.

  “You have to burn the changeling body on a full moon while drinking your own urine,” he stated.

  The room went silent. Silence was an ominous sign when there were four banshees standing there.

  Then Lassa and Harper burst out laughing. They both stumbled to chairs and fell into them, tears streaming down their faces.

  “I hate both of you,” I said.

  “Surely he will not have to drink . . . that,” Sharon said.

  “The book is very clear,” Flip said. “It should be fresh urine, preferably warmer than ambient temperature.”

  Lassa and Harper laughed harder. Harper fell out of her chair. Lassa gripped his crotch.

  “Gonna pee!” he shouted and dashed for the bathroom. It was like hearing a firehose go off in there.

  “Yeah, so very funny,” I grumbled and fumed. “Laugh it up, guys. You’re forgetting we don’t know where the body is.”

  “I do,” Back Chase said.

  “You do?” I asked.

  “Has no one thought to question the face?” Teresa asked.

  “We were a little busy coming to terms with my face on my back,” I said.

  Teresa sighed. “Excuse me, Mr. Lawter’s face, can you tell us where your body is?”

  “Sure,” Back Chase said. “This guy stuck it in that huge box with the girl.”

  “What girl? Iris? You know where Iris is?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that Iris girl,” Back Chase said. “The one the other changeling was made for.”

  “Woman,” Sharon corrected.

  “Please, humans live such short lives that they die as boys and girls,” Back Chase said.

  “I hear that,” Lassa said as he came out of the bathroom. “Yetis live for centuries.”

  “And zombies live forever,” Sharon said. “This is not a longevity contest. What else can you tell us?”

  “Yes, please elaborate on the other changeling and what happened after you got here,” Teresa said.

  “Oh, sure, you bet,” Back Chase said. “We were summoned and sent to this dimension to replace the originals. It was an easy assignment. Everything had been laid out for us. I made my switch in the Iris woman’s restaurant bathroom when Chase came in and the other changeling was to make the switch later.”

  “We know all this,” I said. “What happened to Iris?

  “Chase? Be quiet. Please continue, Mr. Lawter’s face,” Teresa said, glaring daggers at me.

  “Do you know about the loft?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Teresa said.

  “Okay, so I’m back at the loft, waiting for the Iris changeling to show up with the real Iris so we could get on with the rest of the plan, but instead this other guy showed up with the real Iris,” Back Chase said. “He knocked me cold. Next thing I know, I’m waking up on the floor of the loft and my belly is split open. Is the Iris changeling all right?”

  “She’s dead. Tossed in a dumpster,” I said. “Who’s this other guy that showed up? What’d he look like?”

  “I don’t know. You’d call him a what? A pretentious douchebag?” Back Chase said.

  “Jesus, that doesn’t narrow it down in this town,” I snapped.

  “Belly split open . . . ?” Teresa prodded, eyeing me.

  “Yeah, so my belly is split open and Chase is standing over me working with that black smoke,” Back Chase continued.

  “Chase is? Not the other gentleman?” Teresa asked.

  “No, it was Chase. Your eyes were really weird, man. Black as the smoke you were playing with.”

  “That would be a control trance,” Flip said. “If you were under one, that can factor into the creation of a leech.”

  “Do you have to call me that?” Back Chase complained. “Rude much?”

  Teresa cleared her throat.

  “Right, so Chase here is making this huge box and I mean huge,” Back Chase said. “It was filling half the apartment. The guy that brought the real Iris was busy shoving furniture and supplies into the huge box. He was shouting something, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Things were getting hazy because of the whole belly split open and blood loss thing. I do remember a girl shouting back at the killer guy. I couldn’t see her, but it was obvious she was shouting at him and not Chase. She was pissed. Capital P, pissed. Then everything went black. I was dead.”

  “Interesting,” Teresa said.

  “Shit,” I said. “Iris. I put Iris in a box. Furniture, supplies. The loft. Travis. He killed the first changeling and then helped get the box ready so we could hide Iris.”

  “Makes sense,” Lassa said.

  “Yeah, it does,” Harper said.

  “Except for the control trance,” Lassa said.

  “No, that doesn’t make sense,” Harper agreed.

  “It makes sense as to why I can’t remember jack shit,” I said. “Travis. The guy had to be Travis.”

  “Not cool,” Lassa said.

  Lassa wasn’t all flirty sounding that time. His voice was pure business.

  “What is Travis’s involvement in this?” Sharon asked. “He certainly pretended like he didn’t know anything yesterday morning.”

  “Yeah, he did,” I said. “We have to find him.”

  “Not yet
,” Teresa said. “I’ll have the gnomes investigate further.”