Hauling Ash

by Tonia Brown

  “Like what?”

  “Fair But Improving. Fake Bond Investors. Funky Brothers Incorporated. Walter, I think that little murder has made you paranoid. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a sexy blonde waiting for me.” Otto stood from the bed and began searching for something to wear on his date.

  “Paranoid? Huh. I never thought of myself as paranoid. Sensible, yes. Cautious, perhaps. But paranoid? Unless you know of another anagram that allows men to carry fully loaded weapons and badges that say FBI on them onto a cruise ship, then maybe you are right. Maybe I am just being paranoid.”

  At his uncle’s words, Otto plunked down into the nearest chair. He swallowed his rising fear. Or was that bile? “Guns?”

  “Yup.”

  “Badges?”

  “Yup.”

  “You saw them?”

  “Yes, sir. I wandered into their room after they headed out for breakfast and helped myself through some of their things. You won’t believe the sweet weapons the feds are allowed to carry these days.” Walter whistled in appreciation.

  “So, they are the actual proper FBI?”

  “I’m afraid so, son.”

  Otto leaned over the table and lowered his chin into his hands with a protracted groan. He peered through his fingers at his uncle. “Do you think they are after me?”

  “Nah. My guess is they’re tracking Maloney. Though it’s a pretty ballsy move to take first class rooms like that and announce they’re here.”

  “Maybe they’re on vacation?”

  Walter snorted. “Yeah, a couple of agents on a cruise looking to hook up with hot ladies. I’ve got a mountain of manure for sale if you’re looking to buy some more bullshit.”

  “Do you think they could protect me if I went to them with the money and the truth?”

  Walter shot Otto a sideways glance that suggested the answer was no. “Are you sure you don’t want to buy my manure? It’s fresh and probably won’t shoot you to death.”

  Otto groaned again and dropped his forehead onto the desk. “What am I going to do, Walter?”

  “Don’t ask me. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Great. Just great. I’m the only one who laid you to rest without expecting anything in return, and this is what I get. The mafia on one side and the long arm of the law on the other and not so much as a sliver of advice from the man who led me here. I’m doomed. Doomed.” He lolled his head to one side, his cheek pressed against the cool wooden surface, and frowned at Walter. “So much for being a good nephew.”

  Walter sat on the bed opposite Otto’s chair and scratched his five o’clock shadow. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”

  “About what?”

  “If there was nothing in it for you, why did you stick around and deal with what was left of me?”

  Otto furrowed his brow in confusion. He understood the words of the question. He also supposed he understood why a man like Uncle Walter would ask such a thing. Though in Otto’s mind there was only one, obvious answer.

  “I had to,” Otto said as he sat up again.

  “Why?” Walter said.

  “I took care of you because you took care of me.”

  It was the corpse’s turn to groan. Walter let loose with the kind of sound only the truly dead can make. His sallow eyes lolled around in their sockets, all post mortem loosey goosey. “Pahlease. Don’t torture me with your sentimental crap.”

  “I’m not being sentimental. It’s true.” Otto spied his pants hanging from the back of the lounge chair where Penny had tossed them in her excitement to get them off. He snapped up the trousers and slid them past his feet, then wiggled them over his hips. “When my parents died, you were the only one who stepped up and took me in.”

  “You know, maybe this is hell after all.”

  “I know I was a burden to you and—”

  “I never said you were a burden, boy. I said I hated to spend money on you. It was the reason I never had a brat of my own. Geesh, so expensive.”

  “See?” Otto found a fresh shirt and pulled it over his head. “You were an economically minded man and I was a financial burden.”

  The corpse scowled. “Don’t you go calling me economical. I was no such thing.”

  “You have to admit, you were frugal.”

  “No. I was cheap. Plain and simple. No need to waste syllables on it.”

  “Okay then, you were cheap and I was trouble.”

  “I never said that neither. You were a good kid. You weren’t trouble or a burden or anyth—”

  “Walter!” Otto snapped. “You didn’t want or need a seven year old boy living with you. I was trouble for you. I wasn’t wanted, by you or anyone else in our family. I knew then, and it’s still true now. I’ve always known.”

  Walter looked to the floor, yet didn’t deny it.

  “I don’t even know why you took me in,” Otto said. “I wasn’t even your real kin.”

  “What nonsense are you spouting now?” Walter said.

  “I am talking about the truth. I know my dad wasn’t my biological father. My mother was already pregnant when they met.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Aunt Betty.”

  Walter grunted. “I see the mouth of the south has been at it again.”

  “That isn’t the point. The point is—”

  “The point is you’re my brother’s son,” Walter said in the kind of authoritative voice that Otto hadn’t heard since he was a kid. “It don’t matter who knocked up your ma. Your father loved her enough to take you in and raise you as his own. And your mother was a hell of a woman. She not only loved Bob, she kept my brother on the straight and narrow, which is more than anyone else in the family ever did for him. Including me. When they passed on, it was my duty to take care of you. I owed both of them that much.”

  Otto smiled softly and sat beside his uncle. “That’s the same reason I claimed your corpse. I couldn’t abandon you like that. You’re family. I owed you more than an anonymous funeral. I owed you respect.” He drew a deep breath before he confessed, “And, because, well, because I loved you.”

  The pair of them sat like in silence for a long time, each basking in the wake of the other’s confession. At least, Otto basked. He had no idea what kept the corpse silent. For years Otto had supposed his uncle only tolerated him. It was an easy thing to assume, considering the man said as much on a regular basis. To learn that the man actually hadn’t minded young Otto’s presence, well, that was worth more than all the duffle bags in the world, no matter how much money was stuffed inside.

  The thought of the duffle bag sent Otto crashing back to reality.

  “What am I going to do?” Otto finally said at length.

  “I think you should enjoy yourself,” Walter said.

  “Walter, I’m being serious.”

  “So am I. Enjoy yourself while you still can.”

  “How can I enjoy myself when I am either going to go to prison or die at the hands of Maloney? Probably both?”

  “Son, if I knew I was going to end up with my throat cut when I walked into that back alley that morning, I would’ve spent my last night a whole world of different. If I had it to do again, I would rent a few dirty movies, grab a bucket of chicken, buy the biggest bottle of top shelf scotch I could find and a few hours with the prettiest hooker I could afford and I would go out in style.” Walter looked off into the distance for a wistful moment before his face fell into his trademark scowl. “As it is, I spent my last night on Earth tending to my hemorrhoids and falling asleep watching a Rawhide marathon. You want advice from a talking corpse? If you know you’re a dead man walking, at least enjoy what time you have left.” The corpse passed Otto a pair of clean socks. “Go. Meet your girly. Have a good time. It could be your last.”

  Otto took the socks as well as the advice. “I will. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. You still have an hour or so. You should use it to move the cash.”

  “I�
�ll move it in good time. I don’t see what the rush is. Maloney seems to know I have it, and if the feds want it, all they have to do is ask.” Otto slipped on his socks, then slid his feet into his loafers. “I think I need to go and check on Finster.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure he’s about ready to pee himself from separation anxiety.”

  “Now, now, Finster isn’t that bad.”

  “Are you kidding? He almost has a heart attack if you leave him for more than an hour.”

  “He’s just overly affectionate.”

  “You mean overly dependent.”

  An urgent knock came from the door, cutting Otto’s next retort short. “Mr. Waldorf? Are you in there?” The visitor knocked again.

  “Just a minute,” Otto called. “I wonder who it is,” he whispered to Walter.

  Walter shrugged.

  Otto stepped to the door and opened it, half expecting another maid with fresh towels. To his surprise, both the cruise director, Mr. Robinson, and the ship’s captain, Captain Johnson, stood outside the door.

  Both men looked odd. Strained? Weary? No, they looked distressed. As if they knew something they’d rather not share, though here they were to do just that.

  “Why, hello there,” Otto said cheerfully, hoping against hope the distress wasn’t meant for him.

  “Do you mind if we come in?” the captain asked.

  Otto stood aside and allowed the men to enter. “Now, what can I do for the two of you on this fine morning?”

  The men looked to one another. Mr. Robinson whimpered audibly. Captain Johnson tipped his head toward Otto in an insistent manner, as if saying you tell him. Robinson whimpered again and turned to face Otto.

  “Mr. Waldorf,” Robinson started, “I would like to begin by saying that nothing like this has ever happened in the entire history of Sunny Days Cruise Lines.”

  Otto felt his cheer slipping away. “Nothing like what?”

  “In fact, for the record, we have had a one hundred percent retention rate when it comes to these matters.”

  “What matters?”

  “In all of my years with Sunny Days I never would have dreamed that something like this could even be remotely possible.”

  “What something?”

  Captain Johnson pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, then said, “We lost your dog, Mr. Waldorf.”

  The blood fled from Otto’s face. His stomach fluttered about like a wild butterfly trapped in an entomologist’s net. “What do you mean, you lost my dog?”

  Mr. Robinson whimpered again. “Please be aware that we at Sunny Days are as stunned as you are. We have never, ever, in the history of—”

  “What do you mean you lost my dog?” Otto asked again, in a much stronger voice.

  “At approximately seven am,” the captain said, “when the kennel hands made their morning rounds, they discovered your dog wasn’t in his pen.”

  “Seven?” Otto said. “You lost my dog hours ago and you’re just now getting around to telling me?”

  Mr. Robinson patted his hands together nervously. “Please understand, we tore the kennel apart looking for him. All we found was this.” The cruise director pulled a red collar from his pocket and passed it to Otto.

  Otto recognized it from a simple glance. “He liked his collar. Why would he take … it off …” Otto’s words faded as he considered the probability of Finster physically removing his own collar. Impossible. Someone else must’ve taken it off before they took Finster from his cage.

  “They are either confused or lying,” Walter said. “Finster is still on board.”

  “How do you know that?” Otto asked.

  Robinson and Johnson looked at each other again.

  “I can sense him,” Walter said.

  Otto cut his eyes at Walter.

  “Don’t ask,” Walter said. “Just trust me. Your dog is here. Somewhere.”

  “We don’t know how he got it off,” Mr. Robinson.

  “Unless he was stolen,” the captain said.

  Mr. Robinson shushed the captain into silence. “I thought we agreed that didn’t happen.”

  “I’m just saying it’s kind of odd the dog is gone yet his collar was hanging from another pen, that’s all.”

  “Hanging from another pen?” Otto asked.

  Robinson patted his hands together again. “Yes. We found it looped around the door handle of another passenger’s kennel. Like, um, like someone left it there?”

  “Who owns the dog?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said the collar was wrapped around another pen. Who owns that dog?”

  Robinson chewed his lower lip in thought. “By law, I can’t really—”

  “Who owns that goddamned dog!”

  “A man by the name of Maloney,” the captain said.

  Otto’s skin crawled at the sound of the man’s name. He clenched his fists as he looked to the captain. “You think someone took Finster?”

  The captain shrugged. “I really don’t know. I only know your dog isn’t in his pen anymore. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to the helm. I am very sorry for your loss.”

  “I can guess who has him,” Walter said.

  “Thank you,” Otto said as calmly as he could. Inside, he screamed and thrashed and wailed, all for the chance to get his hands around Maloney’s neck.

  The captain tipped his fingers to his forehead before he slipped out of the door, leaving the cruise director to deal with the aftermath.

  Robinson smiled weakly.

  Otto recognized that smile. It was the same way he smiled at the families of the recently deceased. It was a condolence smile. A sympathy smile. A sorry it’s you and glad it isn’t me kind of smile.

  “We are very, very sorry for this, Mr. Waldorf,” Robinson said. “I swear we have never lost an animal in the five years I have worked for this cruise line. Not even before that.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sure you didn’t mean to lose him.” Otto motioned the man toward the door. “If you don’t mind, I would like to be alone.”

  “Ah, right.” Mr. Robinson opened the door, then stopped in the doorway. He turned about and smiled again. “If there is anything we can get you, anything we can do, don’t hesitate to call me. Day or night.”

  Otto winced at the familiar words. He always meant well when he said them, yet it sounded so different when you were on the receiving end. “Thanks.”

  “Meanwhile, we will tear this ship apart until we find him. Don’t you worry.”

  “Thanks.” Otto appreciated the sentiment, even though it was tainted by the directors gushing sympathy. Robinson obviously thought the worst. “Please let me know the minute you find out anything.”

  “We will. Have a good day, Mr. Waldorf.”

  Once he was certain the director was gone, Otto whipped about to question his uncle. “What do you mean he’s still here?”

  “I can’t explain it,” Walter said. “I can feel that damned mutt of yours. He’s alive and he’s still on the ship.”

  “Maybe there is still a chance.” Otto crossed the room, threw open the closet, grabbed the duffel and stormed toward the door.

  “Whoa!” Walter shouted. He raced across the room and wedged himself between the door and Otto. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” Otto said. “I’m giving that madman his money so he will give me my dog back.”

  “No way. That is the last thing you want to do.”

  Otto tried to push the dead man aside. “Get out of my way.”

  “Don’t do it, Otto.” Walter held his ground, surprisingly strong for a corpse. “They want you to show your hand. Don’t fall for it. If you give them the money, then you have nothing to bargain with.”

  “I don’t want to bargain anymore. I just want my dog back.”

  “You can buy a thousand dogs with that much money. A better dog. One that doesn’t piss himself every time someone sneezes.”

  “Un
cle Walter! Listen to yourself!” Otto let the bag fall to the floor and backed away from his uncle. “It’s always about money with you, isn’t it? Well this is more important than that, you fat, selfish, money grubbing troll! They have Finster, Walter. They are holding my best friend hostage.” Otto’s knees buckled and he collapsed onto the side of the bed. “He might be a nervous little mutt to you, but he’s all the family I have left. Now that you’re gone, I don’t think I can go on without him.” Otto felt the weight of Walter settling in next to him as a cold arm hugged his shoulder, pulling Otto closer to the corpse.

  “I know you love that dog more than you love yourself,” Walter said. “Hell, more than you ever loved me, that’s for sure. I promise you he is still alive somewhere on this boat. You have to trust me when I say don’t give in to Maloney’s strong arming. That money is the only reason you are still alive. If he gets his hands on it, you’re done for, as well as your dog.”

  “I can’t just leave him with those ruffians.”

  “We don’t know they have him. Not for sure. For all we know, you didn’t close his pen all of the way and he wiggled out and tried looking for you and got lost somewhere below deck.”

  “What about his collar?”

  “Again we don’t know for sure. Maybe he slipped out of it when he got free and some other owner found it and left it by the nearest pen.” Walter squeezed Otto tight, like he used to do when they were both much, much younger. “I tell you what. You go and meet your girly and let me have a look around. I’ll find Finster.”

  Otto raised his face to his uncle. “You will?”

  “Sure. I’ll find him and bring him back here for you.”

  “You think you can?”

  “I know I can. You have to promise me you won’t let those assholes see you cry about this. You go enjoy your date and let me worry about Finster.”

  “They won’t kill him, will they?”

  “They’ll have to kill me again first.”

  Otto grinned. “Okay. I’ll go. Promise you’ll come and get me if you find him.”

  “When I find him, son. When I find him.” Walter gave Otto one last squeeze, patted Otto on the shoulder, then let him go.

  “I didn’t mean to call you a fat, selfish, money grubbing troll.”