Curses!

by J. A. Kazimer

  My tone had the intended effect. My assailant stopped her pummeling, handed the woman from the window a twenty, and smiled down at me, her slight chest heaving with exhaustion. The chick from the window snatched the money and disappeared behind a large wooden door. My assailant and I watched as she sauntered away.

  “Been a while, Miss Muffet.” I nodded to my assailant, the small, fragile-looking woman wearing saddle shoes and a bonnet. “How’s tricks?”

  “Don’t ‘how’s tricks’ me, RJ,” she screeched in an annoying tone. No mortal, villain or not, could stand to converse with Miss Muffet for long. She sounded like an angry elf after a hit of helium.

  Muffet frowned, raising her fists. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s not what I heard.” She shook her head. Golden threads of bleached hair danced around, nearly blinding me in the dim light of the brothel. “The union’s not happy, and neither am I.”

  “Too bad,” I said. “I’m on leave, remember? I don’t have to answer to you, or anyone.” It felt good to say, but as soon as the words left my mouth I wanted to gobble them back. Miss Muffet wasn’t the kind of villainous boss to be messed with. Termination, to her, usually included painful and permanent scarring.

  Her dark eyes narrowed.

  I swallowed hard but refused to back down. After all, my impotent state was her fault, and following that logic, whatever happened after was her problem as well.

  Finally, she shook her head and sighed. She strolled across the room and sat on a tuffet. “I always liked you, RJ. You do good work, usually without any problems.”

  “Thanks. I—”

  She cut me off. “But when you screw up, you screw up big.”

  “I—”

  “Remember the three bears incident a couple of days after Natasha left?” Her finger wagged back and forth. “We never did find that porridge.”

  “I—”

  “With the way things are right now, we can’t afford a loose cannon. Too much is at stake.”

  Loose cannon? Who talked like that? If anyone was loose, it was the chick sitting on the tuffet. She was a legend among villains, but not for the reasons one might suspect. In her day, Miss Muffet lured many a hero to his death while innocently eating her curds and whey.

  “How’d you find me?” I finally asked when I could get a word in. Then I remembered my desperate phone call to her mere days ago. Had she tracked my vPhone?

  “Like it was hard.” She snorted. “I know you. I know how you think. What you think. It was simple logic.” The edges of her lips lifted, flashing whey-stained teeth. “Impotent or not, a Stiltskin cannot resist boobs. I knew that eventually you’d find your way here. It was only a matter of time.”

  For the record, the boobs thing wasn’t completely true. Man-boobs did nothing for me. But that wasn’t the point. If Miss Muffet was here, in Maledetto, I was in deep trouble. She rarely left union headquarters, not since Flaming Friday, which I still insist wasn’t my fault.

  Who knew lemon juice was flammable?

  “What do you want?” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited. It wasn’t long in coming. Miss Muffet jumped from her tuffet as if a spider sat down beside her. I grinned, which in hindsight was a mistake. Her fist connected with my stomach, and I dropped to my knees. Stomach bile along with my liver crawled into my esophagus.

  “I came here to offer my condolences on Natasha’s untimely demise, you twit.” Her foot connected with my thigh.

  “And?” I wheezed. After all, we both knew why she was really in Maledetto. The union wanted me, either a) back on villainous duty or b) dead. While the first option held some appeal I suspected the latter to be true. The chokehold Miss Muffet currently held me in was a pretty good clue.

  Her forearm tightened. “We’d like you to return to active duty. Now. Today.”

  “No,” I choked out.

  “Wrong answer.” She jabbed her index finger into my eye socket and dug around. As much as that hurt, I wasn’t giving in, not without a raise at the very least. They ruined the past three weeks of my life, and I wanted payback.

  When Miss Muffet loosened her grip, I yanked free. “If you want me back so bad, what’s with the butt-kicking?”

  “Suck it up, you big baby.” Miss Muffet chuckled. “That was a love tap. Besides, you liked it.” She winked at me, which scared me more than her tiny flying fists had.

  I shivered, but still held firm. “Listen, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your coming all the way out here. I do. It’s just ...”

  “All right.” She tapped her foot. “How much?”

  “Fifteen percent.”

  Smack. Her right fist caught me off guard, but I stayed on my feet. Once the blinding pain faded from my head, I said, “Fine. Twelve percent.”

  She raised her fist.

  “Ten. Ten percent,” I said. “And full medical.”

  Her hand jutted toward me again. I jumped back, and she grinned. “Nice doing business with you,” Miss Muffet said, shaking my hand. “Now, go grab your stuff and meet me back here in an hour. The bus to New Never City leaves at midnight.”

  That was too easy.

  I was missing something, but I wasn’t sure what. Miss Muffet and the union must’ve needed my expertise pretty bad. But there was one problem. A red-haired problem.

  “I can’t leave,” I said with a sigh. Don’t get me wrong, I really, really wanted to. It wasn’t like I had much going on for me in Maledetto. Asia wanted me dead. Dru wanted me to find her a prince. And Charming, well, he just wanted me, which in itself was enough reason to hightail it out of the kingdom. But I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  “What?” Her eyes flashed.

  I swallowed, hard. “I can’t leave right now.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Like I said a few seconds ago, the bus leaves in an hour. Not right now.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “But it is what you said.” Her eyes filled with disappointment. “That’s your problem, RJ. You’re never clear. Communication is very important. Without it, mistakes are made. Remember that time—”

  “I have to stay in Maledetto,” I said, cutting off her lecture. “At least for a few more days.”

  “Why?”

  “I promised to find a killer.”

  She glowered. “So? I promised to love, honor, and cherish my last three husbands. Instead, I bludgeoned, beat, and crushed each. Grow up. Promises are made to be murdered.”

  While Muffet had a point, I couldn’t stop picturing Asia’s face as she stared down at the chalk outline of her pancaked stepsister. Besides, if I left now, I would never avenge Natasha. More importantly, I would never see my princess naked again.

  I cupped my testicles to protect them. “Be that as it may, I can’t leave. Not yet.”

  Miss Muffet took a step forward. “Don’t mess with me, RJ. I’m not in the mood. The union needs you. I need you.”

  Had any other cute blonde in distress said those words I might’ve reconsidered. But not her, and not today. The union had fucked up my life too much already for bygones to be bygones. They’d robbed me of my villainy, forced me to be “nice.” and now wanted me to hop on a bus to New Never City, leaving behind my princess? Wasn’t going to happen. I’d made a vow to Asia, and I would keep it.

  Just this once.

  I told Miss Muffet as much. She reacted as expected, lots of threats, sucker punches, and shots to the bollocks. I’m proud to say I took it like a man, by which I mean I whimpered and tried to hide under a tuffet.

  After a while, Miss Muffet either tired of smacking me around or proudly accepted my stubborn determination. She stopped pummeling me and yawned. “All right, RJ. You win, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I—”

  “The union frowns on any employee with a will of his own. That and Sundays off.” She strolled to the door and opened it.
A cold breeze, like a bad omen, blew in. “Find your killer, and find him quick, and then return to active duty. Otherwise, the next time we see each other,” she grinned, “you won’t like it.”

  I can’t say I was too pleased with this visit. My head, side, and balls ached in parts I didn’t know existed. Plus, due to our dalliance, I was no closer to solving the rash of murders than I was a couple of hours ago. I doubted the next few hours would hold the final clue either. On the bright side, the union was off my back for now and I still had the bluebird receipt.

  I patted my pocket, smiled, and then frowned.

  “No.” I shoved my hand into my empty pocket. “Arachnophobic witch!” I shouted to no one. Little Miss Muffet was gone, as was her tuffet, and my one chance at catching a killer.

  Chapter 28

  I wandered the streets of the marketplace replaying the last hour in my head. Why would Miss Muffet steal the bluebird receipt? It didn’t make sense. Was the union in on Cinderella’s murder? I doubted it. For one thing, what was their motive? The union gained nothing from her death. That’s not to say villains didn’t kill on a whim. In fact, most of our dastardly deeds lacked any planning at all.

  And that was the problem.

  Whoever killed Cinderella did so with absolute calculation and cunning, which meant the killer must’ve gained something from her death. Money? Fame? Revenge? Who knew, but one thing was certain. I was clueless.

  A gaggle of Snow White’s drunken dwarfs staggered by me. The tallest one, his face red from booze, pointed at me. “Hi hoe,” he said with a slur. His shorter friends laughed, slapping him on the back. I rolled my eyes.

  “RJ, son, is that you?” the king’s voice boomed from behind me. “Just the man I need.”

  That didn’t bode well for either of us, but I turned around anyway. “Sir?”

  “Help me with these bags.” The king tossed two paper sacks with wide green lettering on the front at me. I caught them, grunting under the weight. Each sack weighed at least fifty pounds and smelled like old shoes. Unless the king had started collecting feet, I deduced the bags contained fifty-pound blocks of cheese. That, honestly, didn’t make much more sense. Who eats that much cheese?

  “Rats,” the king said as if I’d voiced my question aloud. “The castle is full of them.”

  Didn’t I know it.

  “I’ve devised a trap.” He pulled a jumbo-sized mousetrap from another sack. A lighter sack, I had no doubt. “I load a piece of cheese here. The quee—I mean the rat steps here.” The king’s finger pressed the lever. “And snap. Off goes her head.”

  I glanced from the trap to the deluded king and shook my head. This would not end well. No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than a loud snap rang from the trap.

  The trap had sprung, crushing the king’s porky finger beneath hundreds of pounds of pressure. His scream of pain nearly burst my eardrums.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow.” He danced around, trap and finger mercifully intact. I stepped back to avoid his flailing arms, a smile hovering on my lips.

  When the king paused in his litany of acrobatic tricks, I reached for the trap and yanked his hand free. The villainous part of me enjoyed it more than a man should. As did the other less desirable part, the same stupid part who agreed to find Cindi’s killer and break my damsel’s curse.

  “Thank you, son,” the king said, rubbing his mangled fingers.

  “You’re welcome, sir.” I paused. “But in the future, you might wanna rethink your ‘rat’ traps.”

  “It wasn’t rats I was after.”

  “Really? I would’ve never guessed.”

  “Let me tell you a story, son.” His bruised and bloody hand reached around my shoulder, leaving streaks of red on my shirt, and pulled me close. “When I was a wee lad, my father pulled me onto his lap and offered me a bit of advice. And this advice I will give to you.”

  “How nice,” I said with a smirk.

  “He said, ‘son, nobody likes a smart-ass.’ ” The king’s unmangled hand smacked the back of my head. “Now, do you want to win back Asia or not?”

  “I do.”

  “Good.” The king smiled, showing off stained teeth and swollen gums. Apparently, the king of all the land never heard of dental floss. The king added, “Go back to Charming’s and wait for my signal.”

  “Signal? What kind of signal?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it. Have faith.”

  I snorted. Villains believed in faith as much as we believed in truth, justice, and the Neverlandian way. The king frowned. When I didn’t respond, the old guy frowned even harder, so hard I worried his bottom lip would disappear forever.

  Finally, I rolled my eyes and nodded. “All right. I’ll wait for your ‘signal.’ ” I added finger quotes for effect. “But tell me this, why the sudden change of heart? Yesterday you threatened to boil my bollocks in oil.”

  “People change, son.”

  That was it? Somehow I doubted the king’s sudden epiphany on the merits of villainy. More likely, he found a way to use my villainous skills against the missus. The joke was on him, though. Until Miss Muffet reinstated me to full villainy, I couldn’t use my villainous skills to boil an egg.

  I followed the daft king to a bright blue moped with training wheels. He climbed aboard, strapping on a matching blue helmet. His beard tangled in the strap, causing his face to resemble a troll doll. “Listen, son,” he said. “One day you will look back on this moment.”

  “And?”

  He kick-started the moped’s engine. It buzzed to life like an angry fairy. “How should I know? I’m the king, not psychic.”

  I shook my head. If anything, I hoped that one day this damn conversation would make a lick of sense. The king revved his engine. “Hey,” I said. “Did your father really sit you on his lap like that?” If so, it might explain a few things, especially if the child-king had fallen off and landed on his noggin.

  A frown creased the king’s mouth. “I don’t think so. My biological father died when I was a wee lad. But I was lucky, son.”

  “How so?”

  “The king took me in.” The current king smiled. “Raised me as his own son.”

  “That was nice,” I said, nearly choking on the most hated word in the villainous language. That and “G-spot.”

  The king nodded. “King de Wolfe was a good man.” With that, the king hit the gas and took off into the late-night traffic at a top speed of fifteen miles per hour.

  For the next six hours of my life, I sat in the most dreaded institution in all the land. A place whose very name caused lesser villains to beg for mercy. A place that catered to the most depraved of degenerates.

  The Maledetto Public Library.

  The library was open twenty-four hours a day. Unlike 7-Eleven, it served a greater purpose, enlightenment rather than just overcooked hot dogs. Of course, like 7-Eleven, it did offer a fine selection of beers and slushies. Unfortunately, the enlightenment as well as the beer was watered down.

  I walked into the library at a little after one in the morning. A cold wind swept inside after me. I shivered, glancing around the dark wood-paneled room that smelled like dust and decaying bookworms.

  My face ached from Miss Muffet’s tiny fists, but not nearly as bad as my side hurt. Getting shot sucked. But getting shot by the woman you ... lusted after really blew. Not only did my side burn, but the spot just left of the center of my chest did as well. I let out a loud burp that my cursed self quickly apologized for, even though the library appeared empty.

  A muskrat-faced librarian wearing hair rollers and granny glasses shot me a dirty look and raised her hairy finger to her hairy lips. “Shhhh!” she shouted in an earsplitting screech.

  I looked around the room and laughed. Who was I disturbing? The book fairy? Not a soul stood inside the library, or near the library, or even in a mile radius of said library.

  “Quiet!” The librarian pounded her fists on the countertop until my chuckles subsided.

 
“Sorry,” I whispered, which seemed to mollify her, or at least it stopped her from chewing on my limbs. “Can you help me find a book?” I asked with my most charming smile. A smile I’d stolen from the dim-witted prince himself.

  “No.” Muskrat-face pointed her finger at her chest. “Do I look like the reference librarian to you?”

  “Ummm ... no?”

  She nodded. “Reference section’s in the back, past the self-help section. If you get to the self-mutilation section, you’ve gone too far.”

  Tell me about it.

  I nodded my thanks and walked through racks of books, all neatly arranged by Dewey himself. I passed the nonfiction section, pausing for a second in front of Grimms’ Fairytales. I picked up the weighty tome. The cover showed the dark (incredibly handsome) outline of a terrifying villain towering over a distressed damsel.

  Those damn Brothers Grimm. For years, I did the dirty deeds and they reaped the rewards. Maidens swooned at their overly large feet. Size fifteen in socks! What kind of abomination wore boots that big? It just wasn’t natural.

  I glanced down at my own size twelves and smiled.

  With a shake of my head, I returned the book to the shelf and continued on my quest for information about the Maledetto lineage. The name de Wolfe kept repeating in my brain, sort of like the soundtrack of a bad three little pig-on-pig porno.

  Someone had used the name Nigel de Wolfe to purchase Gretel, the killer bluebird. It was time to find out who and why.

  My journey took me through the cookbooks and into the fiction section. Rows and rows of books offered faraway adventures, romance, and the occasional STD. I lifted a book titled My Life As a Slipper Addict from the shelf at random. Cinderella’s face stared back at me, her eyes and teeth as sharp as I remembered from the picture in Charming’s living room. Was it censure or warning in her pale gaze? Was I finally on the right path? A path led me to a killer and eventually back into Asia’s panties.

  After a sojourn through the gay and lesbian ogre section, I arrived at my destination. The reference section. Thick books, maybe three feet in size, sat on a bowing bookcase. The titles ranged from Maledetto: The Early Years to The End of an Earl. Damn. Without knowing where to look, my search would take an era.