Hauling Ash

by Tonia Brown

  “It’s real walnut,” the man said.

  “Fitting. My boss man likes walnuts.”

  “Are you shopping for him?” A broad and greedy smile rose to the man’s crooked mouth.

  “Just browsing.”

  “Browsing?” The smile faltered. “In a mortuary?”

  “Sure. You never know when you’ll be in the market for a coffin.”

  “Very true. One of our mottos, in fact.” The man extended a hand. “My name is Gregory Gerald.”

  Banjo took a long look at the fellow. “As in owner of Gerald Funerary services?”

  “Yes, I am. And you are?”

  “A friend of Mr. Waldorf. Octavious Waldorf. I believe he works here?”

  Mr. Gerald’s smile evaporated at the name. “He isn’t here. He is out for the rest of the week.”

  “Is that so?” Banjo took a few steps toward Gerald, closing the friendly customer to salesman gap. “Then can you tell me where to find him?”

  Gerald sneered. “If you are his friend, then you should know he has left town on personal business.”

  “I know he left. He just didn’t say where he went.”

  In truth, the moron at the bus station didn’t know diddlysquat about this Waldorf guy. He barely remembered the kid’s name. It may have been the head wound that kept Randolph from recollecting such fine details. Banjo often found folks remembered a lot less with no head wound at all. No sir, if it wasn’t for the business card in Randolph’s pocket, Banjo wouldn’t know a damn thing. And what about that? Imagine stealing a wad of cash from the likes of Maloney, and leaving your calling card behind. Either Octavious Waldorf had balls as big as church bells, or he was the stupidest man alive.

  Soon to be the stupidest man dead, no matter the size of his balls.

  “If you’re finished browsing,” Gerald said, “I have real customers to attend to.”

  Mr. Banjo gave a disappointed sigh. He hoped that this wouldn’t get messy. He’d hoped he could ask a few questions and be on his merry way. He’d hoped to get out of this whole thing with a clean suit, for once. Alas, violence was yet again required. Banjo cracked his knuckles and took a few steps closer to Gerald, backing the man against a beautiful dark casket. Mahogany? Perhaps. It always struck Banjo as odd, these little details you noticed before the beatings began.

  “Mr. Gerald,” Banjo said, “I don’t think you quite understand me. You see, I’m looking for some property, and I was hoping you could help me locate it without too much fuss.”

  The mortician gave a soft gasp of surprise. “How do you know about that?”

  Now this Banjo hadn’t expected. Did the man come a braggin’ to his pals about his big find before he skipped town? It wasn’t an unusual move, just an amateur one. Banjo was hoping Waldorf had more class than that. He was tired of dealing with low to no class thugs.

  “It’s my business to know,” Banjo said. “Now, I can either get what I came for the easy way, or the hard way. Do you know the difference between the easy way and the hard way?”

  Gerald shook his head.

  Banjo pulled a pair of black gloves from his jacket and slipped them on, tucking the skintight leather between his beefy fingers as he explained. “The easy way means you cooperate of your own free will. The hard way involves a lot more screaming and bleeding on your part, but a lot more fun on mine. Understand?” He flexed his hands, reveling in the sound of twisting leather.

  The mortician’s eyes went wide as he set to trembling from head to toe. “Jimmy!”

  At Banjo’s left, a pasty teen poked his head into the room. He did a comical double take at the sight of Banjo standing atop of his boss.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Gerald said, “Please fetch number fifty-seven for this gentleman.”

  There came a pause, while the lad merely stared at the pair backed against the coffin. It seemed Banjo wasn’t the only one confused. What in the hell was a number fifty-seven?

  “Jimmy?” Gerald said. “Please fetch number fifty-seven.”

  “That’s Otto’s—” the assistant started.

  “Now!” Gerald shouted.

  The assistant scurried away.

  Gerald laughed nervously. “He’ll only be a moment. Is there anything else I can get you while you wait?”

  “You can tell me where Waldorf is,” Banjo said.

  “Ah, yes. He said something about taking that dog of his on a cruise to the Bahamas.”

  Banjo grinned. Coincidences abounded today. “No joke?”

  Gerald gave another nervous titter. “That’s what I said. A dog on a cruise? What a silly notion.”

  “Yeah. Hilarious.”

  “Jimmy,” Gerald said, visibly relaxing at the sight of his assistant returning through the back room. “Bring it here. No need to keep our guest waiting.”

  The assistant bumbled across the room, stopping short of Gerald. He held aloft a sky blue vase.

  “Here,” Gerald said, and snatched the vase from his assistant’s arms and handed it out to Banjo.

  “What is that?” Banjo said.

  “The property that you came here for.”

  Banjo cut his eyes at the vase. There was no way a quarter of a million was stuffed in that thing. “Where’s the money?”

  “What money? I thought you came for Otto’s uncle?”

  “Uncle?”

  “Walter Waldorf.” Gerald pushed the vase at Banjo again.

  “He’s in the vase?”

  “It’s not a vase. It’s an urn.”

  “An urn?” All at once, Banjo understood. “As in a funerary urn?”

  “What else?”

  “As in vase full of ashes?”

  “Yes, and now that you mention it...” Gerald popped the top on the vase and withdrew a velvet sack. He held it out to Banjo, waggling it like a prize.

  “What is that?”

  “I told you. It’s Otto’s uncle.”

  “You have got to be shitting me.”

  “I most certainly am not. You can strong arm me into relinquishing the ashes, but the urn is mine.”

  Banjo snatched up the velvet sack and opened it to find a thick, oversized zip top plastic baggie filled with a dull gray powder. It looked like a bag of dust, or gray cocaine. “This is Otto’s uncle?”

  “What is left of him, yes.”

  “In a plastic bag?”

  Gerald gave a disgusted gasp. “What are you implying? I assure you it is standard procedure. Do I question your job of bullying folks?”

  Mr. Banjo tucked the velvet sack into his jacket and resided himself to the fact that the money wasn’t here. “I’ll make sure he gets this.”

  “Yes, well you can deliver a message while you’re at it.”

  Rolling his eyes, Banjo turned his back on the man and stalked out of the place.

  This did nothing to discourage the funeral home owner. He continued his rant as he followed Banjo all the way to the door. “You let that good for nothing Octavious know he is no longer welcome here. I explained his terms of payment very clearly, and I don’t appreciate being harassed into turning over what is rightfully mine. Do you hear me?”

  Banjo stopped outside the door, pausing long enough to grin at Gerald. “I wouldn’t worry about Mr. Waldorf. I doubt you will ever see him again.”

  “Good riddance,” Mr. Gerald said, and slammed the door in Banjo’s face.

  If Banjo hadn’t been in such a good mood, he would’ve gone back inside and taught the little weasel a lesson. As it was, however, things were staring to look up, and he didn’t want to spoil the moment. He made his way to his car and settled in before he popped his cell phone from its clip and called the boss.

  “Speak,” that familiar, grating voice demanded.

  “Hey boss,” Banjo said. “I have good news.”

  “You have my money.”

  Closing his eyes, Banjo drew a deep breath. “Not quite, I—”

  “Unless your next words are ‘I am only fucking jokin
g, because I have your fucking money, sir,’ then you can hang up and go find my fucking money and don’t fucking call me until you fucking do have my money. Do you fucking understand me?”

  Banjo’s jaw clenched at the tirade. He didn’t mind working for Maloney, but he sure hated talking to the man. Maloney was the kind of asshole that made criminals look bad, and sound worse. “Actually, your fucking money is on its way to you.”

  The boss gave a soft grunt as he considered this. “Explain.”

  “This Otto guy already spent part of it on a vacation.”

  “That was fucking fast.”

  “Yeah. You ready for the kicker?”

  “What?”

  “He’s taking his dog along for the cruise.”

  “I’ll be a fucking monkey’s uncle.” Maloney’s ensuing laughter produced a sound even more grating than the man’s fuck-based Tourette's.

  Banjo imagined that laugh sounded much like someone beating a donkey to death with a handful of hyenas. Not that he had ever heard such a thing. Well, not lately. He held the phone away from his ear until the terrible sound passed.

  “So he’s gonna be on my boat, eh?” Maloney said.

  “Seems that way,” Banjo said. “Unless you know of another pet friendly cruise catering to singles pulling out today?”

  “Trust me, if there was another one I would be on it instead of this piece of shit ship. I hate this cruise line. Their toilets are all too small for a grown man’s ass and they can never manage a Tom Collins the way I like it. And the lobster is always dry. How do you overcook a lobster?”

  Banjo smirked. Oh the troubles of first world woes. “You want me to have Christopher intercept him? We can keep him here until you get back and have time to deal with him.”

  There came a distinct crunch across the phone. Maloney and his walnuts. Did the guy ever give them a rest? Banjo didn’t even like walnuts.

  “No,” Maloney said. “No, I have a much better idea. Let this Otto idiot board the ship.”

  Banjo didn’t expect that. “Okay.”

  “That way we can kill two birds with one stone. I get to ask him what in the hell he thinks he is doing with my fucking money, and when we’re finished him, we can drop the body overboard. Easy fucking peasy.”

  “Ah, yes. I get you now. Good idea.”

  “Damn right it’s a fucking good idea. Now, get your ass down here, pronto.”

  “You want me along?”

  “Yes, you dipshit. This is your fucking mess. You need to be here to clean it up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get Chris and Marv to meet us at the docks.”

  Banjo cringed. Spending a week with Maloney’s idiot minions was not Banjo’s idea of a good time. “Yes, sir.”

  “And Banjo?”

  “Yes?”

  “Round up Penny. Bring her with you. She is more than equipped to help you handle our new friend.”

  Banjo tried not to bristle at the jab, and failed. “I assure you, sir, I can take care of Waldorf on my own.”

  “You misunderstand me. This cruise is six days, Banjo. Six long fucking days. And while I enjoy the company of my Dachshunds on the beach, the three days there and back gets pretty fucking boring, pretty fucking quickly.”

  “I thought the point of this cruise was to meet available women?” Banjo knew better than to question the boss man, but sometimes he couldn’t help point out how stupid the man sounded.

  “No, smart ass, the point is to get some pussy. Regardless of the advertisement, these things are always full of the same ugly, boring women looking to take a rich man to the cleaners. While I don’t mind fucking a few of them, that’s all I plan on doing with them. Having Penny screw around with this guy should lighten the trip a bit. And if the pickings are slim, I can screw her instead.”

  “Whatever you want, sir.”

  “That’s fucking right. Whatever I want.”

  The line went dead in Banjo’s ear. He gave another deep sigh and started the car.

  This was going to be a long six days.

  Chapter Six

  Fools for Scandal

  Several hours and a potty break later

  “Something isn’t right,” Otto said. He snatched aside the curtains and peered out onto the water.

  “Calm down,” Walter said from the bed. “You have a gorgeous view of the water. A beautiful room. A private balcony. Your mutt is in a respectable kennel. The boat is full of single ladies. You have a bag full of money. What more could you ask for?”

  “We should have set sail an hour ago.”

  “These things run late all of the time.”

  “I wish we were on the other side of the ship.”

  “Tired of the water already?”

  “No. That way I could watch the docks.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “So we can see who boards.”

  “You mean so you can see if Maloney boards. Trust me, there is no way he is going to get on this boat.”

  “Why not? If this Maloney is as powerful as you say he is, than he must have eyes everywhere.”

  “You’re being paranoid.”

  “It’s better than being dead.”

  Walter huffed, sending his neck gash flapping with his disgruntled wheeze. “That was low.”

  “But true.” Otto left the window and began pacing the small room. “You’re already dead. It’s easy for you not to be paranoid. I still have a lot of life in me, and I’d rather not spend any amount of it with a handful of walnuts shoved down my windpipe, among other things, thank you very much.”

  “Sit down, Eightball.”

  Otto sat on the edge of the bed.

  “You’re flustered over nothing,” Walter said.

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. If Maloney knew were you where, he would’ve nabbed you the minute you pulled into town. There is no way he would’ve let you board a cruise ship with a duffle bag full of his cash. Trust me.” Walter unzipped the duffle in question and took out a stack of fifties. He ran his thumb across the edge of the stack, letting the cash flutter next to his ear, closing his eyes in ecstasy as he did.

  Perhaps Uncle Walter was right. Everything had gone really well so far. The check in process ran so smoothly—almost too smoothly, which immediately left Otto suspicious. Then Walter explained that everything tended to go smoother when you had money to grease the wheels. That was after he berated Otto for tipping the bellhop with a twenty.

  Still, if this was the life of a rich man, Otto wasn’t sure he wanted it.

  “I’m sorry,” Otto said. “I must seem stupid, but I’ve never been so anxious in my life.”

  “It’s understandable,” Walter said, tossing the stack back into the bag. “All things considered.” Walter reached out and gave Otto’s shoulder a little reassuring squeeze. “You should know well enough that you aren’t going to spend any amount of your life with a handful of anything in your throat.”

  Otto covered Walter’s hand with his own. “Thanks for that.”

  “Besides, Maloney cuts your balls off while you’re alive. He doesn’t poke them in your throat until you’re good and dead.” Walter patted Otto’s back like he had handed down some wise piece of advice, and not a reminder of the dangerous man they were dealing with.

  “Why would you say that?” Leaping from the bed, Otto returned to his nervous pacing. “Maybe there is something wrong with the ship? Maybe it’s technical.”

  “There you go. Must be something simple as that.”

  “Could you go check?”

  “I’m busy.” Walter leaned over the open duffle bag again. “You go check.”

  “Oh, no, no, no. No sir. No way. No how. I’m not leaving this cabin until we get to the islands.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I’m perfectly serious. I plan on staying right here until we dock.”

  “What about your precious pup?”

  “I have been assured he will be
seen to. And you can check on him for me.”

  “Uh huh. Go check on the ship. Go check on your dog. So, now I’m your slave?”

  “Darn tooting you are. You got me into this.”

  “What about food?”

  “What about it?”

  “You’ll get hungry. I can’t bring you food.”

  “I’ll call room service.”

  Walter turned on his trademark scowl. “No way. I read the brochure. Room service is not inclusive on this trip. There is a huge buffet around the clock downstairs. A huge, free buffet. You will go eat that.”

  “I will not.”

  “You will, and you’ll like it!”

  A soft knock rose from the door. “Housekeeping.”

  Otto stared in surprise at his dead uncle. “Housekeeping?”

  “We haven’t even left the dock,” Walter said.

  The knock came again. “Housekeeping. I have fresh towels.”

  Walter jumped up and pushed Otto toward the closet. “Hide. I’ll deal with it.”

  Otto started to protest while Walter shoved against him, knocking him past the bamboo shutters.

  “Don’t argue,” Walter said. “Just stay put and be quiet.”

  “Uncle Walter—” Otto tried to say.

  Walter picked up the duffle and tossed it at Otto. “I said be quiet.”

  Walter slammed shut the shutters on Otto’s protests and went to deal with whoever was knocking.

  Otto whispered to the empty closet, “You’re a ghost, Uncle Walter. How can you deal with it?” He sat the duffle on the floor and pressed himself against the door slats to witness just that very thing.

  “Housekeeping?” the voice outside the door said with a sharp knock.

  “Give me a moment.” Walter unlocked the door and scrambled into the opposite corner of the room. There, the corpse switched off the lamp, plunging the corner into shadows. He settled into a chair and said, “Enter.”

  There came a jostle of at the door handle, followed by the door opening slowly. “Housekeeping. Is anyone here?” The maid stood in the doorway, looking about. “Huh, I thought I heard someone.”