Casket for Sale, Only Used Once

by Jeff Strand

  "Which one of us was responsible for me being strapped to that machine that was going to chop off my arms, legs, and head?"

  "We weren't discussing responsibility. We were discussing the need to be rescued."

  "You were trapped in that giant plastic cube with the darts," Roger pointed out.

  "You're right. That cube sucked."

  "Anyway, Samantha and I decided we weren't doing any good just sitting around, so I carried her back to the store. We saw that you were in deep ka-ka and decided to save you."

  "By crashing through the store."

  "Yep."

  "Did you consider the possibility that by doing that, you might run me over?"

  "It was an irony I was willing to accept," said Roger with a grin.

  "Well, that's soothing."

  "I thought you'd like that."

  "You know what else is ironic? The last time we were at the Java Joint, this lady offered me a hundred thousand dollars to deliver a suitcase to Arizona. I turned her down. I thought it carried the risk of causing problems in my life."

  "You turned down a hundred grand without asking me first?"

  "I was being responsible!"

  "Screw responsibility! Responsibility gets your pinky chopped off. Take the money."

  "I know that now." I nodded toward Witch. "How's she doing?"

  "Still zonked."

  I pressed the black button on the walkie-talkie. "Helen, how's it going?"

  "I think we're getting there."

  "Sounds good." I set down the walkie-talkie.

  Goblin got out of the truck and stepped over the tire shredder. "We've got ourselves a bit of a problem, gentlemen."

  "What's that?"

  "The alert signal just went off. Somebody's coming down the road."

  "How far away?"

  "About five minutes. We all need to play it cool. Whoever it is, we'll tell them everything's all right, we've already contacted the police about your accident, and we'll let them drive on through."

  "Sounds good," I said, gesturing to my blood-covered shirtless body. "They'll never suspect a thing."

  "There's some bottled water under the seat," Goblin told me. "Get yourself cleaned up as much as you can. This doesn't have to turn into a bloodbath if we all play it right."

  "What about the camper?"

  "Crap. That's right." Goblin thought for a moment. "We'll just send them back the way they came. Tell them a tree fell or something."

  Goblin turned around and motioned for Troll to get out of the truck. Together they moved the tire shredder off to the side of the road.

  "What should we do about her?" Roger asked me, gently tapping his gun against Witch's head.

  "Do we have anything to cover her with?"

  "I could keep up with the trend of the day and use my shirt."

  "You know, that's a great opening for a fat joke, but actually you've lost a bit of weight since you started dating Samantha."

  "You noticed?"

  "Yeah, but I didn't want to say anything because, you know, we're guys and stuff."

  Samantha reached out of the truck window and handed me a bottled water. "Just carry her out into the woods."

  "We can't leave her," I said. "What if she wakes up?"

  "Then don't leave her. Hide out there with her."

  I unscrewed the cap and poured the warm water over my shoulders and chest. "We can't leave you, either."

  "Then don't leave me," said Samantha, as if speaking to a remarkably stupid child. Many people have spoken to me in that tone of voice over the years. When we finally made it home I'd have to look into improving my intelligence level. "We'll all hide out there."

  "Okay," I said, emptying the rest of the bottle. There were still streaks of blood on me, but that wouldn't matter if we were hiding out in the woods. "Roger, you carry her out there, and I'll keep our friends covered with the gun. Witch should be okay for a minute while you come back and get Samantha."

  "Sounds good," said Roger, handing me the gun. Goblin and Troll had dragged Charlie's corpse out of sight and now Goblin was in their truck, driving it off to the side of the road so the approaching vehicle could get past. Troll was scattering dirt on the remnants of Charlie remaining on the road.

  Roger got out of the truck, and then reached into the back and picked up Witch, putting one arm under her knees and one behind her back.

  Had she stirred?

  Nah.

  Roger lifted her out of the truck and walked toward the woods.

  "What are you doing?" Goblin demanded.

  "We can't have her just lying in the back of the truck," I said.

  "This part of the woods is loaded with traps! If you want to march through there, be my guest, but if you try to bring her with you the deal is off. I didn't swallow my pride just to have her ripped up by three dozen rusty poison darts."

  Roger hesitated.

  Troll looked at his watch. "You'd better decide either way. We don't know how fast they're driving."

  "Let's put her inside the truck," said Roger. Samantha opened the door for him and he not-so-gently set Witch inside in an upright position. Then he and I got into the truck as well, brushing safety glass off the seat from the shattered windshield, the four of us tightly squeezed together. I looked over my shoulder and saw Troll get into his own truck with Goblin.

  "Shouldn't we have worked out a cover story first?" asked Samantha. "What if the people stop and want to know what happened?"

  "I think we're going to have to wing it," I noted, as I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching.

  Witch twitched.

  Then coughed.

  The vehicle, a dirty but impressive black limousine, came around the corner. It slowed down.

  Roger grabbed Witch by the collar and yanked her down, bashing her forehead against the dashboard. She jabbed him in the side with her elbow, and he yanked her down again, bashing her forehead once more.

  The limousine came to a stop right next to our truck. The windows were tinted, preventing us from seeing who was inside.

  "I'll kill you!" Witch screamed, lashing out at Roger and Samantha. They struggled to keep her under control.

  I reached past Roger and pushed the gun into her side. Witch seemed unaware of it and kept up her violent flailing.

  The limo's door opened.

  "Stop it or I'll shoot!" I whispered.

  She didn't seem to hear me.

  "Stop it or he'll shoot!" said Samantha, taking her own turn at bashing Witch against the dashboard.

  Witch seemed to hear that warning. She settled down just as the driver got out.

  It was a woman. Early thirties. Attractive. Wearing a red blouse and skirt. Red sensible shoes. Perfect hair and makeup. She grabbed a red leather purse as she exited the vehicle.

  Our bloodied, dismembered, mangled, bruised, sweaty, and exhausted group tried to look nonchalant.

  "Is everything ... okay?" the woman asked.

  I nodded and leaned out the window. "Everything's cool. We just had a small accident. We've called the police and they're on their way."

  "Looks like a big accident."

  "Well, yeah. But it was an old truck."

  The woman bit her lip. "Look, I don't want to intrude on anybody's business, but are you sure everything's okay? I mean, I saw what happened with ... you know, what happened to the woman."

  I forced a smile. "They were just roughhousing. It's a dysfunctional family."

  "I guess."

  "Really, we're okay. Just waiting for the cops."

  "It's kind of hot for all of you to be crunched together in the truck like that."

  "Yeah, but the bugs were eating us alive out there."

  "Oh. I have a first aid kit in my trunk. All of you look like you could use some patching up."

  "That's all right," I insisted. "Like I said, we're just waiting for the cops."

  I glanced at the other truck. Goblin and Troll were watching the scene, carefully.

&nbs
p; "You don't even want to borrow a Band-Aid?" the woman asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

  I heard a pair of doors open. I looked over and saw Goblin and Troll getting out of their truck.

  "Actually, a bandage would be great," I said, opening the door to our truck and sliding out.

  "Oh my God, what happened to your hand?" asked the woman.

  "Lost a finger."

  "Oh my God! Do you still have it? Where is it?"

  "In my pocket."

  The woman gaped at me. "You have your finger in your pocket?"

  I nodded.

  "You can't do that! You have to keep it clean! I've got a small cooler in my car with a couple of Cokes, so we'll put it in there until the police get here. What in the world were you thinking?"

  Goblin and Troll walked toward us.

  "Ma'am, I appreciate your trying to help, but we're fine. Really."

  "You're not fine! You're probably in shock. You need to lie down. I'll get my first aid kit and we'll fix you up as much as we can."

  I was feeling myself begin to panic. I gave her a cold stare. "Ma'am, please, mind your own business," I said, trying to sound threatening.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Get out of here. We don't want your help."

  The woman looked at Goblin and Troll and seemed to realize her help was, indeed, not wanted. "Okay. I understand." She unzipped her purse. "Let me at least give you a Band-Aid, for God's sake. I've got one in here."

  "I don't need one," I said.

  "Don't be rude," Goblin told me, walking up right next to the woman. "Let her give you a Band-Aid."

  Troll ran his finger along the blade of his knife.

  "Ma'am, please get back in your car before--"

  I saw the gun an instant before it went off.

  The tiny dart, a red one, protruded from my stomach. The pain was absolutely incredible, instantly searing through my entire body like a fireball. Without hesitating, the woman walked out of my line of sight.

  Some commotion, a scream from Samantha, and two more shots.

  I fell to my knees. The pain quickly gave way to numbness.

  "Nice shooting," said Troll with a grin as the woman walked back in front of me.

  "Thanks," she said, not returning his grin. She placed the dart gun into her purse and straightened her skirt.

  My arms and legs were completely stiff. I couldn't even move my fingers ... those that were left.

  The back door of the limousine opened.

  Troll's grin vanished as the occupant stepped out and walked around the front of the car. He was a tall, well-built man in his forties, wearing an immaculate grey suit.

  He did not look happy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE MAN STROKED his thin, black goatee and looked first at me, and then at the wrecked truck. "Do they have any weapons?" he asked Goblin.

  "The guy in the truck has a gun," Goblin said. "But I can explain--"

  "And you will. Surprised it was me and not a new set of victims, were you? I heard some very interesting things over your walkie-talkie chatter. Medusa, retrieve the gun."

  The woman in red nodded and walked to the truck.

  The man regarded me with distaste. "He looks pathetic."

  "Yeah," said Goblin, attempting a smile. "We took care of him pretty well."

  "You took care of nothing!" the man said, pointing an accusing finger at Goblin. "Where are Ghoul and Ogre?"

  Goblin was silent for a moment. "They're ... I mean, you've already heard, right?"

  "I want to hear it directly from your mouth."

  "They're dead."

  "And who killed them?" The man gestured to me. "Him?"

  Goblin shook his head. "His wife."

  "Oh, his wife, was it? Well, at least you took care of the problem. Please, direct me to her corpse so I can spit on it."

  "Mr. Burke--"

  "I'm 'Sir' to you right now."

  "Sir, it wasn't our fault."

  "Oh, I'm glad to hear that. I can only assume the hand of God Himself reached down and pulled her to safety."

  Medusa handed the gun she'd taken from Roger to Mr. Burke.

  "This is one of yours," he said, glancing down at the weapon.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Have we decided to start arming our victims? Is that it?"

  "No, sir."

  "Let me explain something to you, Goblin. I do not like being forced to micromanage what you are doing out here. When I am forced to leave my lab to clean up your messes, it wastes my time and causes me to become extremely annoyed. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "From what I understand of this ill-fated project, there were six people in the camper you ambushed. How many of them did you bring to me?"

  Goblin was silent.

  "How many?"

  "None."

  "How many of their corpses did you bring to me?"

  "None."

  "And how many of them were young, helpless children?"

  "Sir, I--"

  "Answer the question."

  "Two."

  "Two young children. And yet through your incompetence, your staff has now been reduced by forty percent. I don't like that kind of attrition, Goblin."

  "I'm sorry."

  "In fact, there's very little I do like at this moment. I'm terminating this branch of the project, effective immediately."

  Goblin didn't bother to protest.

  I desperately tried to make my body work ... any part of it ... but I remained a human statue.

  Mr. Burke furrowed his brow. "Is that Ghoul's body?" he asked, pointing at the corpse by the side of the road.

  "Uh, no," Goblin admitted. "It's Charlie."

  "They killed Charlie, too?"

  Goblin started to nod, but then apparently thought better of the lie. "No, sir, we did."

  "We?"

  "Troll and I."

  Troll shifted uncomfortably.

  "You murdered one of our accomplices?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Would it be terribly inconvenient if I asked you why?"

  "He wouldn't shut up."

  "I see. He did like to ramble on. So essentially, you're telling me that under your management, excessive talking is an infraction punishable by death, correct?"

  "Sir, we weren't thinking straight."

  "That doesn't matter. As a good manager, I have no doubt you accept full responsibility for your actions. And you're telling me you consider excessive talking a fatal offense, correct? One worth terminating a member of your own team?"

  "He wasn't really part of the team."

  "A vendor, then. You'd terminate a vendor for excessive talking. That does leave me to wonder about the appropriate punishment for a manager who screwed up a project so badly it left two of his associates dead and none of his goals achieved."

  Now Goblin seemed close to tears. "Sir, please, I'll go after the woman and children myself. I'll personally bring them to you, I swear."

  "And you'll bring Ghoul, Ogre, and Charlie back to life?"

  Goblin seemed unsure how to respond.

  "How about just Ogre? If you'll bring Ogre back from the dead, perhaps I'll show you some mercy."

  "Sir, I can't--"

  "I don't like to hear the word 'can't,' Goblin. You know that."

  "Just give me one more chance."

  "I don't think so. Consider yourself downsized."

  Medusa swiftly removed the dart gun from her purse and fired a shot into Goblin's neck. He dropped to the ground.

  Mr. Burke crouched down next to Goblin. "Enjoy the lack of sensation while you can. I am going to make you hurt so badly, you'll wish your mother had been skinned alive by your father before they had a chance to conceive you."

  Troll looked terrified. Mr. Burke stood up and glared at him. "I'm not going to hold you responsible for the incompetence of your supervisor," he said. "But understand me, if you screw up again, you will not find the pain pleasurable."

  "Yes,
sir," said Troll, visibly relieved.

  Witch walked into my line of sight, legs wobbling a bit. "Sir, I am so very sorry."

  "I'm not impressed by apologies," said Mr. Burke. "And I'm particularly unimpressed by employees who are kidnapped by their own prey. I'll decide your fate within the next two minutes."

  Witch lowered her eyes and nodded.

  "Now, let's see about tying up some of our loose ends, shall we?" Mr. Burke unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt, turned a dial, and then pressed the black button on the side. "Is anybody there?"

  "Who is this?" I heard Helen say.

  "This is Officer Trevor Clemens from the Georgia State Patrol. We've managed to subdue the assailants who attacked you and your family, but your husband has been very badly injured. Could you give us your location?"

  "What happened to him?" Helen sounded frantic.

  "He's been cut. He's been cut bad, ma'am. We can't move him until the ambulance gets here. Are you near the road?"

  "I'm ... I'm not sure," Helen admitted.

  "Are you lost?"

  "I think so."

  "That's not a problem, ma'am. We'll get you out of there. Do me a big favor and give us a shout, okay?"

  A moment of silence.

  I wanted to scream for her to remain quiet, but I couldn't move my lips.

  "Let me talk to him," Helen said.

  "Ma'am, he's unconscious and losing blood fast. I'm not trying to scare you, and I promise we're doing everything we can, but he may not have much time left."

  "Shout out to me," said Helen. "I'll follow your voice."

  Mr. Burke lowered the walkie-talkie. "Helloooooooooo!" he shouted. He lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth again. "Did you hear that?"

  "No. God, we must have gotten turned around somehow."

  Mr. Burke reached down and picked up Goblin's gun. He fired it into the air. "What about that?"

  "Yes, I heard it."

  "Are we close?"

  "No, but that helped. I know which direction to go at least."

  "Then hurry. Get here as quickly as you can. We'll send a search party after you if you're not here by the time reinforcements arrive."

  He released the button on the walkie-talkie, and then turned to Troll. "I assume your truck is still in working condition?"

  Troll nodded.

  "Did you suddenly turn into a mute?"

  "No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. The truck works, sir."