Kiss & Hell (The Last Casket Book 2)

by Wallen, Jack

  Billy nodded and, without warning, punched Todd in the shoulder.

  “What the fuck, Billy?” Todd said, his voice above and beyond a whisper.

  Toque shot a glare Todd’s way.

  “Sorry,” Todd whispered.

  Toque unclipped a flashlight from his belt and shot its beam into the darkness ahead. The blueish-white light caught a wall of dust to bring life to the blackened depths of the unknown. “Watch your step, boys.”

  As one, the three men entered the building, the fall of each boot dampened by a carpeted floor. Toque’s light sliced through the room to reveal a hoarder’s paradise.

  “Son of a bitch,” Billy whispered. “It’s like Fred Sanford’s junk yard in here.”

  “You big dummy.” Todd suppressed a giggle.

  “Focus,” Toque hissed. “The longer we’re stuck in here, the more dangerous it’ll be. We need to get in and out like ninjas.”

  “Dude, you should have told us to bring lights. It’d have made this dumpster dive a hell of a lot easier.”

  “Always prepared,” Todd whispered as he brought to life an LED beam of his own. He sent the light cutting through the shimmering, dusty darkness.

  “Good,” Toque said curtly. “You two head off and find us some copper tubing. I’ll dig up a barrel. If you happen to see anything else that might do us some good, grab it.” Before Toque headed off on his own, he turned to Billy and Todd. “Be discriminating. We cannot drag every useful scrap of junk we see out of here.”

  Billy and Todd nodded in agreement before disappearing into the void.

  “Sometimes Toque creeps me out more than the damn zombies,” Todd whispered.

  “He’s harmless, dude. Besides, without him, we’d be out on the streets,” Billy replied. “Hey, shine the light over there.”

  “Over where, douche? I can’t see where you’re pointing.”

  Billy grabbed Todd’s arm and aimed it at two o’clock. “There.”

  “What is it?” asked Todd.

  Together, they inched their way toward the target.

  Todd moaned. “An old pressboard guitar case? We’re trying to find shit we can use, Billy.”

  “You never know what could be in that thing,” replied Billy.

  “Probably an old, crusty, dime-store six-string with a single pickup and plastic tuning knobs.”

  Billy snapped his fingers for Todd to shine the light square on the case. He unclipped the latches and, after drawing in a deep breath, flipped the lid open.

  The light bounced off the satin cherry sunburst finish within. Etched on the headstock, in an all-too-familiar font, was the word Gibson. Between the tuning pegs read Les Paul.

  “T-todd,” Billy stumbled over the name. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Todd leaned in to inspect the instrument…afraid to touch it. “Goddamn it, Billy…it is.”

  “Nineteen fifty-nine Gibson Les Paul. Solid Indian rosewood fingerboard, custom Bucker pickups, maple and mahogany body and neck…this thing is worth, what, twelve grand?”

  With shaky hands, Billy reached out toward the guitar. When his fingers touched the neck, a stuttered breath slipped past his lips. “I can’t believe I’m about to hold one of the most coveted guitars in history.” Billy lifted the instrument from the case and ceremoniously held the guitar before him. “Excalibur! She is mine. I’ve had wet dreams about this baby, and it took the damned apocalypse for it to come true.” Cautiously, Billy returned the guitar to its case, snapped it shut, and snatched it from its resting place. “I can die a happy man.”

  “You suck, Bat,” Todd hissed.

  “I saw it first, brother. Rules of the road.”

  “You still suck.”

  “Although that may be true, I’ll do so while playing a vintage, no…the vintage…Les Paul.”

  “Dibs on next,” Todd said succinctly, and continued on, shining his beam across the spans of the room. “What are we supposed to be looking for?”

  “Copper tubing,” replied Billy.

  “And where are we supposed to find…” Todd’s LED beam swept the walls and then glanced off the ceiling. “Hello nurse,” Todd chimed. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Todd’s light shone on a long run of copper-colored tubing.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why would there be a sprinkler system in this trash dump?” asked Billy.

  “Because at one time…” Toque’s voice rose out of nowhere. Todd squealed in horror and swung his free hand out in a right hook. His meaty fist careened just shy of Toque’s jaw.

  “Shit. Sorry,” Todd said, nervously. “You were saying?”

  Toque shook his head. “You can’t let your nerves get the best of you, young man. Had that flashlight been a gun, I’d probably be bleeding out about now.” Toque turned his beam up to the pipes running along the ceiling. “At one time, this was a recording studio. You’ll probably find…” Toque caught sight of case in Billy’s hand. “I see you already have.”

  Billy grinned and nodded.

  “I knew the previous owner of that guitar. He passed out a few times at the Casket. Always tipped well, but never said a whole hell of a lot. When you’re as skilled an artist as he was, words are practically irrelevant.” Toque fell silent, as if lost in a memory. With a shake of his head, he returned from his reverie. “As I was saying…this building housed a lot of expensive equipment, so it needed sprinklers. Understand, that was way before the days of halon gas systems that could extinguish flames without dousing electronics with water.” Toque reached up and tugged at one of the lines. “Good catch. I’ve got just the tool to break enough of this pipe free. I’ll be right back.”

  Toque turned to leave.

  “Where you going?” demanded Todd, his voice quivering with nerves.

  “To the truck,” Toque called out over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a second…don’t soil your panties, Mr. Flash.”

  Billy patted Todd on the back. “You’ve gotta stop setting yourself up like that, man. He’ll burn you every time.”

  “Dammit. I thought Canadians were polite to a fault.” Todd pouted.

  “Shine your light over…” Billy stopped himself short, grabbed Todd’s arm, and pointed it to the wall on the other side of the room, “…there.”

  The beam bounced off a large window.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Todd asked.

  Billy shoved his way past Todd and practically threw himself up against the glass wall. “Holy shit, Flash. Toque was right, this was a studio…and a damn fine one at that.”

  Todd made his way to Billy’s side and shined the light into the control room. “Jesus jams,” Todd hissed. “That’s a fucking Solid State Logic XL. Old-school sound with modern-day logic. Why is that baby wasting away in here?”

  “Right, then,” Toque’s voice interrupted the moment. “Could one of you help me over here?”

  The two men glared at one another until Billy sucked it up and turned from the control room window with a pout and sulk.

  “Whatcha need, T-man?”

  “First, I need you to never call me that again. I find it disrespectful to my name and an overstatement of the obvious.”

  Billy nodded.

  “Second, I need you to stand here and grab hold of this pipe. When I cut the other end, I don’t want it clattering to the ground and calling the undead scourge our way.”

  Billy reached above his head and managed to comfortably wrap his fingers around the pipe Toque was about to cut.

  “Here we go,” Toque warned Billy.

  The jaws of the tool bit through the copper pipe. Billy misjudged the weight of the pipe, and the free end dropped like a fifty-pound kettle-bell. The crash-down echoed through the building with angry intent.

  “Son of a bitch,” Toque hissed. “That’s going to set us back a bit.”

  “What do we do?” Billy asked.

  Todd’s light bounced through the darkness until he was standing next to Toque. “You idiots jus
t rang the damn dinner bell. We better haul ass.”

  “No,” Toque insisted. “We have to get everything we came for.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Billy asked.

  Toque’s light was angled perfectly so that both Billy and Todd could see the shake of his head.

  “Flash.” Toque pointed behind him. “Go stand watch by the door. You see any Moaners or Screamers heading our way, let us know. At first sign of trouble, we’ll leave. Until then…we finish the job.”

  Without a word, Todd ran out of the main room to stand sentinel against the undead unknown.

  “Are you sure this is worth it, Toque?” Billy asked.

  “Not really…no. At some point, we both know the numbers are going to fall out of our favor. When that happens, our only hope to prevent the Casket from drying up will be this hand-crafted still. We accomplish this, and we’ll be set for life. Of course, the law of averages could very easily catch up to us at this very moment and drop Occam’s Razor on our necks.”

  Billy stepped in close to Toque. “If our focus becomes too narrow, we won’t need anyone’s help lopping our heads off, and we’ll never get to enjoy the fruits of this labor.”

  Toque nodded. “Understood, Mr. Bat. We are, however, going to complete this mission…even if only because I need the grace such fulfillment can bring. Now, grab that pipe…only this time, maybe in the middle.”

  In the dark, Toque was unable to see Billy mock his demand.

  m/

  Twenty minutes later, Toque and Billy hit the exit with their arms full of goods. Todd held the door as they passed through. Toque glanced over his shoulder and said, “Head on back to the main room. You’ll find a fifty-five gallon drum. Roll it out here so we can load up and haul ass.”

  Todd gave a curt nod and chased the beam of his light into the darkness beyond. While he retrieved the barrel, Toque and Billy loaded up the bed of the truck with the copper pipe and a precious guitar. Shortly after, Todd appeared. Within minutes, they had the barrel in the bed of the truck and strapped down tight.

  The men climbed into the cab and sped off toward the sunset.

  “How did we get so lucky as to not attract a few undead creepers?” Billy asked.

  “That is the question of the day,” Toque responded. “I have a feeling we won’t like the answer to that ponderance.”

  “Why? Do you know something we don’t, Toque?” Todd asked nervously.

  Again, Toque simply shook his head.

  “What about the radiator?” asked Todd.

  Toque tilted his head forward. “Cars and trucks line the roadside like dead dinosaurs…a tribute to what might well become a forgotten era. We can pull off the road and strip a grill in no time.”

  The truck wound its way through the dry, dusty roads as the moon tapped the sun out for the day. The thrum of the wheels lulled the excitement from the mood.

  Billy yawned wide. “When we get to wherever the hell it is we’re going, do you expect us to stay in the truck?”

  “Yep,” Toque said flatly.

  Billy continued his line of questioning. “Don’t you think it would be smart to have us by your side for backup?”

  “Nope.”

  “What happens if your little pick-up goes sideways?” Todd interjected.

  “It won’t. Trust me on this. I’m their best buyer.”

  “You make it sound like you’re scoring meth from Heisenberg, Toque.”

  “Something like that, Mr. Bat.”

  The moment turned awkward for all involved. Billy reached for the radio, but was stopped short by Toque’s surprisingly powerful grip.

  “Radio silence for the moment, Mr. Bat.”

  “You’re the driver, Toque.”

  They continued on; the only sound to scare away the lingering nervousness was the music of rubber and pavement. It was a cold, cold comfort. At the apex of a hill, the headlight beams illuminated what was once a McDonald’s. The golden arches had been cut away into the shape of a “V”.

  “What the fuck?” asked Billy.

  “The owner of this establishment is named Victor. He’s a rather nasty fellow…which is one of the reasons why I want the two of you remaining in the truck.”

  Toque slowed the vehicle, turned into the parking lot, and pulled into the farthest space from the door. He reached across Billy and Todd to the glove box.

  “I don’t know how you feel about these,” Toque started, “but in case anything goes down…” Toque offered a menacing black pistol to Billy. “Aim to kill.”

  Billy cautiously accepted the proffered weapon. “If this shit goes south, Toque, we’ve got your back.”

  Toque released a single, breathy laugh and tapped the side of his head. “It’s not my back that’ll need having, my friends.”

  Without another word, Toque exited the truck, closed the door, and slowly made his way to the entrance of McVictor’s.

  When the door opened, the tinkling of a bell announced Toque’s entrance. Inside, it was as dark as the moonlit desert horizon. With his hearing amplified by the shadowy surroundings, Toque heard the distinct click of a gun. He raised his hands and said easily, “I’m here for business, Victor.”

  A deep, Vader-esque voice replied, “What’s your name?”

  “It’s Toque, from The Last Casket.”

  After a brief pause, Toque could hear the release of the hammer. He expelled the stale air from his lungs and drew in a deep gulp of fresh life.

  The white glow of a Coleman gas lamp hissed to life. Behind the light, cast in eerie shadows, stood Victor. Upon recognizing Toque, he smiled. “The infamous Canadian finally shows his face. Let me guess, the customers of–what do you call your establishment?”

  “The Last Casket,” Toque answered.

  “Yes, The Last Casket. Have your customers grown overly fond of your cuisine?”

  Toque nodded.

  “And you’ve run out of stock?”

  Again, Toque silently answered yes.

  “And you’ve come to dear ol’ Victor to solve your problem.”

  “Against my better judgment, yes.”

  An explosion of Victor’s laughter rocked the room. “Toque, Toque, Toque…where are your manners? You’re Canadian, aren’t you?”

  “That’s a stereotype I’d prefer you not…”

  The hammer clicked again, only this time Toque could see the pistol in Victor’s hand.

  “And I’d prefer you not to tell me what to say or think. You need my product more than I need your currency. Speaking of which…what is your currency du jour?”

  Toque withdrew a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to Victor, who calmly opened the note, gave it a quick read, and glanced back to Toque with a wide grin spread across his lips.

  “Very nice, Mr. Canada. That little bounty will gain you one hundred pounds of my freshest zombeef. Wait here, and I’ll retrieve the product.”

  Toque swallowed hard against a growing lump in his throat and nodded. Victor vanished into the deep darkness beyond the shallow glow of light. Toque stood his ground, unflinching. His breath came in long, slow pulls…the breath of controlled unease..

  A metallic clatter sounded off. Before Toque had a chance to discern from where the noise originated, Victor returned, pushing a dolly containing three styrofoam boxes.

  “I’m fairly certain this will get you and yours through the next couple of weeks?”

  Toque nodded.

  “You need some help getting this out to your truck? If so, you’re out o’ fucking luck, because I don’t leave the safety of this holdover to the days of gluttony and corporate greed. I don’t mind. In fact, one might say I’m lovin’ it.”

  “I’ll bring your dolly back,” Toque said as he took control of his goods.

  Victor nodded once and motioned for Toque to make his exit. Toque Elvis’d his upper lip and wheeled the zombeef out the exit and to his truck. As he approached, Todd opened the door with a too-cavalier attitude.
Toque vigorously shook his head, hoping his message would immediately register with the overly anxious Todd.

  The door silently shut.

  Message received, thought Toque.

  He wheeled the dolly behind the truck and heaved each precious box over the tailgate and into the bed. With all three containers tucked safely away, he wheeled the cart to the entrance of Victor’s, opened the door, shoved the dolly back inside, and let the door swing shut of its own accord.

  Swing, bastard, swing. Toque sang to himself…a melody of his own creation. A little bit of Kitty had rubbed off on the Canadian.

  He laughed softly.

  Without so much as a clichéd mafioso kiss goodbye, Toque moseyed back to the truck; his pace held no concern for his life. He knew Vic needed the customers. Vic knew Toque would always buy. It was a post-apocalyptic relationship of a symbiotic nature. What could go wrong?

  Toque hopped into the driver’s seat, fired up the truck, and sped off into the night.

  Todd turned to face the truck bed and shined his light through the window. “That can’t be enough meat to last long, Toque.”

  “And where in the hell are they getting the goods? Unless I’m mistaken, there seems to be a severe shortage of cows in this area.”

  Todd chimed in. “And that sure as shit ain’t turkey meat you’ve been feeding us. Believe me, I know my turkey.”

  Billy slugged Todd, for no apparent reason, and then pierced the darkness with a nervous laugh. “What are you doin’, Toque, feeding us zombies?”

  Toque stared forward, not saying a word.

  “Toque?” Billy prodded. “Now’s not the best time to give us the silent treatment. Please tell us that meat back there is on the up and up.”

  Silence.

  Billy punched the ceiling of the truck cab. “Oh, fuck me square in the face.”

  “Did I miss something, Billy?” Todd asked.

  Billy turned to Todd. “Where is your brain, Flash? This is basic two and two kinda math. Ask him what kind of meat’s in those containers. Go on, ask him.”

  Hesitantly, Todd looked over at Toque. “You heard the Bat—what’s in the boxes, Toque?”

  Toque swallowed, his mouth and throat dry from the heated desert air. “I’m doing what has to be done. People need to eat, and our natural resources have vanished.”