Dead Things

by Stephen Blackmoore

  I think back to the years I’ve spent preferring the company of the Dead over the living, of staying on the road and always moving. Vivian’s wrong. My life isn’t wasted. Let her handle the living, heal their wounds, mend their broken bones.

  But when they’re dead and there’s no one to speak for them, no one to collect on the debt their killers owe: that’s where I come in. The Dead have already paid for their sins. The living, not so much.

  When I cut myself and use the silver cup, it’s just to act as a focus. Makes it clear to the dead that it’s that blood that’s okay to eat. And if you’re sacrificing something it doesn’t matter how it feels about it. It’s not like Odysseus asked the ram for permission.

  “He’s all yours,” I say.

  His screams echo in the empty air for a long time.

  Chapter 20

  I find a flashlight in the trunk and use it to pick my way through the trees and scrub brush with Sam’s desiccated body. Toss him down a ravine. He’ll be picked clean by coyotes inside of a week.

  I drive the cab down into the Valley, snag the plates and wipe the seats and steering wheel down. Dump it in a parking lot. Stealing another car is stupid easy, but my options are a Corolla with missing hubcaps and a Hyundai with a cracked windshield. Though I can at least see the road in the Corolla, the clutch grinds when I switch gears. Nobody takes care of anything anymore. I want my fucking Caddy back.

  I park the Corolla a couple blocks away and stagger to the hotel, dropping the cab’s plates into a dumpster. I want to take some aspirin, drink my tequila and go to bed. Waking up tomorrow is optional.

  “About time,” Alex says when I open the door.

  “You know,” I say, “if I’d been more on the ball I’d have shot you.”

  “Good thing for me that you weren’t then, huh?”

  He puts the book he’s been reading down and stands from the chair near the window. “Jesus, you took a pounding today,” he says. “Vivian let you leave the hospital like that?”

  “Not really, no.” I sit heavily on the bed, pull the bottle of tequila out of its paper bag. Pop the top. Take a deep swig. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I had come over to kick your ass, seeing as you almost got my girlfriend killed today. But seeing as somebody beat me to it, I figure I’ll give it a pass.”

  “How fucking magnanimous of you. Last time I checked I wasn’t twisting her arm to come with me.”

  “You could have asked me, you know. I’ve got people who are a little better equipped to deal.”

  “I don’t think having a bouncer on our side today would have been all that useful. Unless he’s a particular strain that’s fireproof.”

  He nods. “Point. But that’s not why you didn’t call me, is it?”

  “You talk to Vivian tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you already know the answer to that question.”

  Alex sits next to me on the bed, takes the bottle of tequila, tosses some back.

  “You’re an asshole,” he says. “You know that, right?”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “You honestly think that I’d put Vivian in harm’s way because of you? I’m not sure if you’re a narcissist or just fucking stupid.”

  “Can I be both?”

  “Sure, why not?” he says. He sucks down more tequila. “You have no idea how much you fucked things up by leaving, do you?”

  “I’m getting an idea,” I say. I haven’t thought about Lucy’s suicide attempt since I left the hospital. Haven’t let myself.

  “The fuck happened?” he says. “I don’t mean with your parents, or the shit with Boudreau, I’m talking about you. The fuck happened to you?”

  “I left because—”

  “I know why you left. I want to know why you stayed away.”

  “Because it was easier than coming back,” I say. “Boudreau was the first person I killed. You know how many I’ve killed since then?”

  “No,” he says.

  “Me neither. I lost count. Most of them weren’t human. Some of them were just this side of dead already.”

  I take the bottle from him, take another drink. Try not to wince, but this stuff is like drinking paint thinner.

  “Vivian called me a coward tonight. She’s right. I stayed away because I was afraid of what I’d come back to. I was afraid of talking to Lucy, telling her the things I’ve done.”

  “The things you’ve done, or the things you’ve done to her?”

  “That, too.” Who knew I could fuck so much up by not being around.

  “We all know this shit’s dangerous,” Alex says. “At least those of us who are paying attention. The monster under the bed’s real. She knew that. She would have understood.”

  “There’s a difference between knowing about the life and living it. Lucy wasn’t wired for it and you know it.”

  “What about the rest of us? You think we wouldn’t have understood? You’re a killer. Big fucking deal. So’s an exterminator.”

  “Your girlfriend doesn’t quite see it that way.”

  “Vivian’s tough, but yeah, she can be a little Pollyannaish sometimes. But come on. I get it.”

  “This is different. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I think I’ve earned the right to say fuck you, so fuck you. That’s so much horseshit and you know it. Like you’ve got a monopoly on nasty shit.”

  He stands, staggers a little to the table, grabs his keys. “Leave,” he says. “Take your fucking emo pity party somewhere else. Get back on the road and run. It’s what you’re best at.”

  He leaves me alone with my thoughts and most of the tequila. I drink one to drown out the other.

  —

  “Wakey-wakey,” Tabitha says and pulls the sheets off the bed. I flail upright, blinking. I have no idea what time it is. Everything hurts so much I don’t know where the hangover ends and the concussion begins.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, does everybody have a key to my room?”

  “I said I was your girlfriend and they gave me one at the desk,” she says.

  “Glad to hear security’s such a high priority here.”

  “I flashed some tit, too. I think that helped.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Dragging your ass out of your pity party.”

  “I’m not having a pity party.”

  She picks up the empty bottle of tequila from the floor. “Señor Sauza here says otherwise. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up before you throw up on the bed.”

  “But that’s so sexy,” I say and let her lead me to the shower.

  The hot water helps, but not much. A hot shower doesn’t do much for the kind of beating I’ve taken. It’s almost noon. I pull on a clean change of clothes. Last set in my bag. Everything else is in the Caddy. I’m going to have to go shopping. I fucking hate shopping.

  “All right, I’m up, I’m dressed.” The coffee’s gone cold enough for me to chug some down without burning myself. “And now I’m caffeinated. So spill. Why did you drag my ass out of bed instead of jumping into it with me?”

  “You mean besides the fact that you smell like a three-day Tijuana bender? Alex has been trying to get hold of you. Asked me to bring you over to the club.”

  Guess he didn’t chew a big enough hole in my ass last night, he wants another go at it. Telling me to get out of Dodge and I’m taking him up on it. Soon as I get another car I am the fuck out of this town. I’ll square things with Santa Muerte later. She’ll probably kill me for not taking out Griffin, or worse. But fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I struggled with that for a long time last night. I came here to find out what happened to Lucy. Who killed her. Now I know and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.

  I can’t bring her back and I don’t know how to take out Boudreau. For whatever reason he’s got a big enough hard-on for me to bait me here. That reason alone is enough to get me to leave.

  “And he thought I’d show up?”r />
  She shrugs. “I think he wasn’t sure so thought I’d be able to convince you. What happened? You two have a fight? Those look like fresh bruises,” she says, ignoring me. She traces a finger along the edge of a particularly nasty one on my cheek.

  “Something like that.” I tell her about yesterday’s fun at the warehouse. Her eyes go wide as I tell the story.

  “Jesus. Is Vivian all right?”

  “Yeah, just pissed off at me. The old guy’s in the hospital.” I show her the goose egg on the back of my head. “That’s where I got this. Got nailed last night with a sap.”

  She winces. “Who—uh, who did it?”

  “That Griffin guy who owns the warehouse. Guy’s an asshole. Should have killed him years ago.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Met him once. Wasn’t fun.” I tell her about Griffin, about Boudreau. And I can’t seem to stop. It all comes pouring out of me. About Lucy, the night fifteen years ago, Santa Muerte. I tell her everything short of the cabbie last night. That might be a bit much this early.

  She doesn’t say anything until I finally peter out. “No wonder you tried to kill yourself with cheap booze.” I almost flinch from that, remembering what Vivian told me about Lucy’s suicide attempt. Was it so bad that she couldn’t take it anymore?

  “That’s why I’m maybe not looking my best right now.”

  “It’s, uh, a lot to take in,” she says.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not the best guy. Ask anybody. You really don’t want to hang around me. Sooner or later I piss everybody off. Or get them killed.”

  “That’s not fair,” she says, her eyes going hard.

  “Sorry?”

  “You don’t get to make that decision,” she says.

  “I—”

  “No, you don’t. I get what you’re saying. And maybe I even believe it. I know there’s a lot I don’t know about. But there’s a lot you don’t know, either. You made bad choices. We all make bad choices, sometimes. But you don’t get to make mine for me.”

  That was unexpected. “Fair enough,” I say.

  “Look, you can’t change what happened, but you can maybe move forward. So come with me and see Alex. I think you have some things to fix.” She gives me a funny look that I can’t quite read. “I think I do, too.”

  “All right,” I say. “Let me get my stuff. I don’t think I’ll be coming back to this room again.” I pack up the one suitcase that wasn’t lost when I left the Caddy. Not much in there. Couple shirts, some slacks, socks and underwear.

  I pick up the bottle of Stoli from Darius’ bar.

  “Isn’t that what got you in this state?” Tabitha says.

  “Huh?”

  “Vodka? Hangover? Hello?”

  “Oh, no. Just an impromptu spirit bottle. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to drink it. There’s a ghost inside.”

  “What, really?” she says. “What happens if you drink it?”

  “It tastes nasty,” I say, tossing it into the suitcase.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” She rummages around in her purse. Starts scanning the floor. “You see my cell phone anywhere?”

  “No. You drop it?”

  “Must have just left it in the car. Wanted to call Alex, tell him we’re heading back.”

  I’m not sure why I’m doing this, going to see Alex when I should be finding a car and skipping town. I toss my bag into the trunk and get into the car with Tabitha, anyway. We spend the ride in silence. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do have some things to fix. Or maybe I’d like a do-over. I look at her. She’s thinking hard about something, though what I can’t tell. Me, maybe? Or is that just too much to hope for?

  When we get to the club I’m ready to get out of the car. My headache has gotten worse. I want to get this over with. Find out what Alex wants and, I don’t know, take off? Stay?

  The bar is almost empty. A far cry from the loud mash of people from the night before, with even fewer people than the day I first showed up. Max, the bouncer, glares at me as I walk in, but waves me to the back. Tabitha starts to follow me, but he stands in front of her and transfers his glare to her. She looks at me, surprised and, I don’t know, a little scared?

  I shrug, try my best to look unconcerned, but I’m not sure what Alex is up to. “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I knock on Alex’s door, turn the handle to a muffled “Come in.” He’s sitting at his desk like last time, but there’s a tension in him that he didn’t even have last night.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” I say, and slide into the chair in front of his desk. “But I’m here. What do you want?”

  “You look a little hungover.”

  “Only a little? That’s an improvement.”

  “How was Tabitha when she picked you up? She seem off at all?”

  “I don’t really know what off looks like with her. Why?”

  Instead of answering me he slides a cell phone in front of me. It’s small and pink with rhinestones lining the back. It’s flipped open and a phone number ready to be called is displayed on the screen.

  “The hell is this?”

  “Call the number. I think it might be enlightening.”

  I pick up the phone. I don’t know whose phone this is, but I can guess and I don’t like it. “The fuck is going on?”

  “Just make the call.”

  The phone rings a few times, somebody picks up. “Tabitha?” says a voice.

  “No shit,” I say.

  “Who is this?”

  “Mornin’ Benny. I can call you Benny now, right? Or do we have to stick with Mr. Griffin?”

  “Carter? How’d you get this number? How’d you get this phone?”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll get it back to you later. Along with your girlfriend.” I close the phone to distant protests from the speaker.

  “I got suspicious,” Alex says. “Had Max snag her phone and did some checking.”

  I don’t say anything for a long time. Keep thinking back to my conversation with her in the hotel. We all make bad choices.

  “Hey,” Alex says. “You with me?”

  “Huh? Yeah. Max stole her phone? I can’t imagine he’d be all that sneaky.”

  “You’d be surprised. Anyway, I think you know where this is going.”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Alex punches the buzzer on the intercom. “Send her in,” he says when Max answers.

  A minute later the door opens and Tabitha pokes her head in. “Hey,” she says. “What’s going on?”

  “Found your phone,” I say. “And I just talked to Griffin on it.”

  Her eyes go wide, bouncing between Alex and I. “Oh,” she says.

  “You want to tell us what the hell is going on?” Alex says.

  “I didn’t know all this was going to happen,” she says. “I didn’t even know the guy before a couple days ago.”

  “Before I showed up here?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Day before. He told me you’d be coming here. He offered me five thousand dollars if I could tell him when you showed up. Where you’d be staying. That sort of thing. I didn’t know he was the one that did that to you. Or that anything would happen at the warehouse. I didn’t know any of that until this morning.”

  “You told him we were there?”

  “Vivian called yesterday morning when you guys were leaving. I told Alex and then I called him.”

  “You almost got him killed,” Alex says, anger in his voice. “You almost got Vivian killed.”

  “I didn’t know that would happen,” she says. Her eyes are pleading.

  “Can you give us a minute?” I ask Alex.

  He looks dubious. “Okay,” he says. Tabitha shrinks back from his glare. He slams the door behind him.

  She stands against the door, not looking at me, not saying anything. I don’t know what to say myself. We stay that way a good minute.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she asks, her voic
e quiet.

  “What?” The question throws me. A second later I realize it shouldn’t surprise me. “No,” I say. “God, no. I’m not going to kill you.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  That’s a good question. I’ve been thinking about that since Alex handed me the phone. Her words from this morning come back to me. “We all make bad choices, sometimes.” We sure do. But it doesn’t mean we have to keep making them.

  Finally, I find my voice. “It’s been a long week,” I say. “And you’ve been a bright spot in it. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “I’m furious. But not at you. You didn’t know who the hell I was. Guy shows up with five K cash to tell him about somebody you’ve never met? No. I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed off at myself. For a lot of things.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea this would happen.”

  “I know.” A thought has been nagging at me this whole conversation and I don’t want to ask the question, but I have to know, even if the answer is one I don’t want to hear.

  “The other night, when you drove me back to the hotel—”

  “I wanted to do that,” she says. A hint of a smile plays across her face. “I think you’re cute.”

  I laugh. “You really need to raise your standards, then.” My face looks like it’s been used as a punching bag, I’m missing a tooth, my hand’s been barbequed and I reek of tequila. Yeah, I’m a hottie, all right.

  “When I said I had some things to fix this morning, this was what I was talking about,” she says. “I was going to call Griffin and tell him it was off. Or, I don’t know. Lie to him, maybe. Tell him you’d left town.”

  “I am leaving town,” I say.

  “Oh.”

  “It’s not a good idea for me to be here.”

  “The fuck?” Alex says, opening the door and looking in. “What? It’s my goddamn bar, I can listen at the door if I want. What do you mean you’re leaving?”

  “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole,” I say. “My being here isn’t doing anybody any favors. Things have been going to shit ever since I got here.”

  “What, that’s it? You’re just packing it in?”