by D. M. Guay
That giant pumpkin was Big Larry.
“What in the Sam Hill? Is this yours? Why am I tripping over limes?” Steve held up a discarded margarita glass. A sad, crumpled umbrella clung to the side for dear life.
It was the last reminder of Bubby's vacation. Poor Bubby had come back to this? Talk about relaxation erased! Bubby slumped, then blubbed to the beer cave to help push Big Larry through. He looked at me with eight sad white eyes.
“I feel ya, dude.”
“No commentary. This isn't a Stillers game. Get the mop!” Yep. He was yelling at me. “Geesh. I should have this whole block shut dahn!”
Steve pulled on a pair of thick yellow rubber gloves and dipped his hands into a bucket. He emerged holding two giant runny globs of what looked like Vaseline, which he then rubbed on the sides of Big Larry's head. “Your head always get this big? Gonna be a tight fit! You got moss for brains? Don't just stand dere. Get rubbing!”
Big Larry sunk his vines into the bucket and starting smearing petroleum jelly on his fat pumpkin head, and boy he did not look happy about it. Of all the things he'd eaten and excreted, apparently lube was the thing that grossed him out. Who would have guessed? Big Larry drooped.
“Dahn't give me that look,” Steve said. “Not my fault yer head's so fat!”
The line of baby Larries hadn't moved an inch. They bunched up, blocking the entrance to the beer cave. Steve stopped lubing Big Larry and stomped on over to the littles. “What's the hold up? What do ya mean the gate won't open? It's working just fine. What? Did Kevin tell you to say that? No. I ran a diagnostic. It passed inspection. The gate isn't broken. It's user error. See?”
Steve pushed that baby Larry in through the door, but there were so many other plants still in there, that he shot back out like a pinball. His pot hit the door frame with such force that a chunk of metal trim popped off. Something small and blue fell out of the wall, arced through the air and bonked Steve right on the head. “Ow!”
It plinked to the floor. Steve picked it up. It looked like a blue glass bottle. “What the hell is this?”
He opened it, and out dropped a tiny white scroll and some random sticks and flowers and other weird junk. Steve unrolled the teeny paper and huffed. “Great. Just great. Nah wonder your gate's on the fritz. You.” He pointed at me. “When your lazy butt finally gets that mop I been asking for, you better add a whole bottle of Curse Breaker Floor Wash to the water. I dahn't know who you pissed off, but someone put a hex on the store!”
Chapter 30
Well, this is awkward. I don't know if you remember, but I fed our only bottle of curse breaker floor wash to Chef. When he tried to eat us. Come on. I didn't know I was gonna need it. It didn't come with instructions!
So here I was, standing by the slushy machines next to a mop bucket of fresh hot water. Steve stared at me and shook his head whispering, “idjit” as he poured one of his own bottles of Quita Maldicion Curse Breaker Floor Wash into the bucket for me.
“Do ya have two brain cells to rub together? You shoulda mopped the floor with this as soon as Henrietta gave it to you,” he said. “If it says floor warsh on the label, that means use it to warsh the damn floor. I dahn't know how ya messed that up.”
DeeDee tromped through the muck, dropping the last of the zombie cleaning crew's boots—and yes, the feet were still inside them—into a black trash bag. All the Larries, big and small, stood impatiently in and around the beer cave, waiting for me to mop. Which would somehow break the curse and fix the gate so they could go home. Because yeah. That's the world I live in, people. Where your choice of cleaning products could open the gate to hell.
Bubby held what looked like a giant shoe horn, which Steve had given him along with instructions on how to lever Big Larry's lubed up head through the beer cave door once the babies were out. Kevin was, well, not here, and every second he was gone meant the odds that he was really, truly gone increased exponentially.
Steve shook the bottle, and the last few drops plipped into the mop water, turning it milky neon lime green. I swished the mop around, put it in the squeeze wringer, then plopped it right in the middle of an orange puddle of Big Larry afterbirth and zombie juice. I mopped in circles, cutting through the goop.
So wouldn't you know it, as soon as that mop hit linoleum, a whirling purple portal opened directly above me, and something big and black dropped straight out, right on top of me. “Aaaaaaaaaaah!” GIANT MAN-EATING SHRIMP!
I screamed. I ain't proud. And wriggled and writhed because I was about to be eaten or killed or ripped apart by nasty hell beast. I thought this stuff was supposed to break curses!
Horrible death pending. Any minute now. Wait for it. Huh.
I opened my eyes and saw a disheveled Faust stand up, smooth himself out and button his blazer, which was ripped in several places and coated with mud. “My my. I do apologize,” he said to me. “I have reason to believe that I was kidnapped and imprisoned by magic. I was sitting in my office then I'd suddenly been transported to a rather strange, unpleasant dimension filled with very angry creatures. I fear someone intends to hurt us. I do hope that I have returned in time to thwart the evildoer. Did you have any trouble while I was away?”
Dude. The store was wrecked, capital W. Was he blind?
Steve looked at his empty bottle of Curse Breaker Floor Wash, then said, “Wow. This must be an extra strong batch. Too bad you two morons didn't use it earlier.”
Faust leaned down and picked something up. It was my broken angel eight ball. His fall must have knocked it out of my pocket. “Tisk tisk. Those poor angels. So behind on their technology. It's a shame really, but we do get all the good start-ups.” He held it out to me. “Is this one yours?”
I took angel eight ball, and Faust finally noticed the toppled racks, the zombie goop and the gaggle of baby Larries spilling out of the beer cave. “Oh, my.”
I swear I saw his skin flash full devil red for a split second. “I must speak to Kevin immediately. Where is he?” Faust looked at me. His skin had returned to his normal swoon-worthy olive, but his eyes burned red.
“He's...He didn't make it.”
“Oh.” He let my meaning settle in. Then smiled and patted me on the shoulder. “Take heart. This isn't the first time.”
Wait. What?
“Ah right. We're done with the feelings circle. We need to talk. Friend of yours?” Steve held up a little wax figure. A man in a suit, carved to look exactly like Faust. “Your store is cursed, and it's personal. Listen up.”
Steve unrolled the tiny scroll from that blue bottle and read it to us:
This place I curse and all within.
May thee be devoured by the accursed,
thy heart be splintered,
thy body drowned under the tide,
Thy soul cast into the gate.
Death shall call this store its home.
By my hand, a terrible end will befall you all.
Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned.
Love, Katia
P.S. You said you'd call me. Why didn't you call me? Please call me!
“Oh, dear.” Faust swallowed hard and tugged nervously at his collar. “If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to.”
He walked through the stockroom door, eyes wide with terror, like a freaking robot. Great. If the devil—oh excuse me, “a” devil not “the” devil—is spooked...
“That can't be good.” I thought it, but DeeDee said it out loud.
“Woo. Katia. Didn't see that coming.” Steve pulled a second bottle of curse breaker out of his utility belt and poured it into my bucket. “Extra extra strength. You're gonna need it.”
“Who's Katia?”
“Faust's ex girlfriend. She doesn't play arahnd.” Steve clapped me on the shoulder. “Wouldn't wanna be you.”
Oh. Great. Just great.
I had a lot of time to think about Faust's bitter break up as I mopped. Because I mopped like I have never mopped before. Splinters? Drowning
? Terrible ends? DEATH? Hello! I had to break that curse, stat. I mopped and swabbed that floor like it was my job. Okay, technically it was my job, but this time I did it like my life depended on it. Because I had a sinking feeling that it did.
I refilled that mop bucket with clean water three times and each time Steve circled back to slip an extra bottle of curse breaker into the bucket. We were up to five extra bottles of curse breaker per bucket at this point. He didn't say anything, he just shook his head and looked at me like I was on my way to the guillotine.
I mopped my way through that goop and through the store, front to back. DeeDee and I worked as a team. She picked up and swept everything in the upturned aisles, and I mopped up behind her. While she wrestled Bubby's busted television into a big garbage can, Faust emerged from the back in a brand new suit. Hair coiffed. Okay. All of him was coiffed. No one would never guess by looking at him that he'd just been chewed up and spit out through another dimension.
“Young mister, Lloyd. It seems we have a problem.” He stepped to me in his thousand dollar shoes. He seemed to glide through the store, unsullied by the mess, like he was magically Scotchgarded head to toe.
“A problem?” Gulp. Yep. Okay. I had fucked up. Hungry grass, pumpkin spice fritter, pixies, Earl? Henrietta and the floor wash? I didn't know!
He put his hand on my shoulder and inserted himself between me and DeeDee. “I have done a thorough soul search, but it seems you have no desires that I can fulfill. I'm not sure how to reward you.”
“Reward?” Was he kidding?
“Your performance bonus?”
I blank stared at him.
“Young man, you must know you saved the world tonight for the second time. I've never had such an accomplished graveyard shift crew. Modern civilization is indebted to you. You see, the undead are wonderful, useful entities when contained, but if even one was ever let loose on the world, it would be the end. They reproduce exponentially, you know. One becomes two becomes four until there are no living left. Didn't you see that wonderful documentary? What was it called, 'Night of the Living Dead?' Thankfully, Mr. Romero and his crew were able to contain that outbreak.”
Holy shit. It was a documentary. “DeeDee wasn't kidding.”
“Yes. DeeDee. We must speak about that.” Faust glanced over at her. “You did have two desires in your file, but I cannot provide either of them. You see, I can only fulfill your tangible, material desires. My own personal rule. I'm sure you've heard the stories about devils granting wishes. Those wishes tend to go horribly awry. That's why I no longer partake in such activities.”
Uh, no longer?
“As such, I cannot grant you the love of a particular woman or the body of a Hemsworth.” Faust glanced down at my beer belly. “You must earn fitness and love through traditional means, without my intervention, I'm afraid. But a free gym membership is one benefit we provide.”
“OMG. How embarrassing. The devil thinks you're fat.” Angel eight ball rolled through aisle five. Rolling is generous. More like wobbled. Maybe I forgot to mention it, but I'd refilled him with sink water and wrapped him in duct tape when I refilled the mop bucket. Because I felt bad for him. Apparently, this was my reward for getting sentimental.
Oh, wait. Faust was still talking. Oops.
“...and maybe with time, your pure heart and bravery will win over the fair maiden.” He winked. “In the meantime, please do consider any tangible need that I could fulfill. I will write you a blank check. Use it wisely.”
Shloooooooooploop.
Yeah. That was Big Larry's head finally squeezing all the way through the beer cave door, thanks to Bubby's clever use of a giant shoe horn and Steve's swift boot kick to his pot. The frame dripped with petroleum jelly. “You're next, fatty.” Steve put his hand on Bubby's backside and ushered him through the door.
“Well, now that the way is clear, I will take over.” Faust took the mop out of my hand. “I will personally release the curse nearest the gate. It's best if we don't take chances. Why don't you take a break? This evening has been long and difficult for you, I'm sure.”
He didn't have to tell me twice. I walked outside and sat my not-Hemsworthy fat ass down on the sidewalk.
The air was thick with smoke. Heat pulsed from the glowing orange remains of Monster Burger. The parking lot was littered with bricks. The force of the explosion had shot them all the way across the intersection. One even hit the ice machine, breaking a big round hole in the glass.
DeeDee came out and sat down next to me, carrying a bottle of Wild Turkey. Not a mini, either. This one was so big it had a handle. There was a red ribbon wrapped around the stem.
We both sat there looking at Monster Burger. We didn't speak. I knew what she was thinking, because I was thinking it, too. Kevin. This victory was bittersweet. It didn't feel like a victory at all. It felt like survival. And loss.
After a while, she put her hand in mine and squeezed. She looked at me, and through a sad smile said, “Who would ever guess we'd save the world twice? I only wish Kevin were here to see it.”
A tear streaked down her cheek.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
I didn't know how it happened, but that little asshole had become my friend.
“I planned to give him this for his birthday, but...” She cracked the seal on the Wild Turkey bottle and took a swig. She handed it to me. “For Kevin.”
“For Kevin.” I took a sip, and it burned. Jesus. How did he drink this stuff? Roaches really could survive anything. “So, do you know Faust's ex-girlfriend? The one who cursed us?”
I whispered that last part, because speaking about it felt suspiciously like tempting fate.
“Nope. Never met her. But now we know who Caroline Ford Vanderbilt's mystery partner is. I mean it said HHNF right on the business card.”
“Uh, what?”
“HHNF? Hell hath no fury? Clearly, Katia is the woman scorned.”
Oh yeah. Duh.
“Poor Caroline.” DeeDee shook her head. “Uh oh. Speak of the devil.”
Sure enough, a stretch Hummer limo pulled up in front of the pile of charred bricks that was once Monster Burger. The giant chauffeur guy stepped out of the driver's seat, lurched to the passenger door, and opened it. Caroline Ford Vanderbilt clip clopped out on her designer crutches, dressed head to toe in fur. “Why are we stopping? I told you to drive me straight home after the cocktail mixer!”
It didn't take her long to figure out why. She stared at the smoking ruins in shock, jaw practically on the ground. The giant chauffeur slipped into the driver's seat, closed the door and started to drive off. She yelled after him, “Stop! What do you think you're doing? You can't leave me out here with these vagrants. This is a terrible neighborhood!”
She waved her hand in a big gesture toward Demon Mart and the pawn shop. Yep. We're the vagrants.
The Hummer stopped and backed up. “That's right. You do what I tell you. We don't pay you to think,” she barked, charming as always. “The help these days. You need to learn your place.”
The driver's side window rolled down. The chauffeur threw her purse out the window, then peeled out of there like he was stunt driving in a Fast & Furious sequel. That purse hit her right in the face, triggering a stream of expletives that shot out of her like demon barf. It didn't matter. That stretch limo sped down the street and off into the sunrise, never to return again.
“Looks like Caroline just got dumped,” DeeDee said.
Caroline, in a tizzy, turned around and caught sight of us. “What are you two low-class minimum wage losers looking at, huh? Did you do this? Did you burn down my restaurant? This is your fault, isn't it? I'll get you!”
Gee. Caroline wants revenge? Get in line, lady.
“I think I'd rather be inside than out here with her,” DeeDee said. “Come on. If we're feeling charitable, maybe we'll call her a cab.”
We both stood up and started inside.
“Uuuuuuuuuh.”
We both froze
, solid as ice.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuh.”
DeeDee and I locked eyes. You heard that, right? That sound could only mean one thing: Zombie. DeeDee slowly tightened the cap on the Wild Turkey, then turned the bottle upside down, wielding it like a club.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuh.”
I pointed to the ice machine. The sound came from inside. Weird, right? I looked at DeeDee like, “how did a zombie get in there?”
And she looked at me like, “I don't know!” as we tiptoed closer to the machine.
She motioned for me to open the door as she prepared to club whatever was in there. I opened it, slowly, so as not to alarm our soon to be skull-crushed target.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuh.”
The sound echoed around inside. It came from a dark shadow on top of all the bags. Huh. Too small to be a whole zombie. Maybe it was just the head? I mean, they could still moan and bite and stuff if they were decapitated, right?
DeeDee raised the bottle over her head and moved in.
“Uuuuuuuuuh. Uuuuuh. Oooooh. My head.”
Oh my God.
“Pour me some of that whiskey,” a tiny voice said. “I need something to take the edge off.”
DeeDee dropped the Wild Turkey. From shock. The bottle broke on the sidewalk.
“Are you a pack of dumb asses? Did you spill the booze?”
“Kevin?” Sure enough. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see Kevin on his back, legs wiggling, stuck in the crack between two bags of ice. It looked like it had melted briefly, then refrozen as a solid block around his backside.
DeeDee chipped him out with her fist. When she fished him out of the machine, he was pitch black, covered in soot, and his belt of Bic lighters had melted down to nubs.
Holy shit. That little jerk made it out alive. Guess that explosion didn't shoot a brick straight into the ice machine. It had shot a Kevin.
DeeDee burst into tears, kissed Kevin all over, and hugged him so tight I thought his legs might pop off.
“Gee, Kevin,” I said, disguising that I was totally amped to see him. “That's the most action you've had in a while.”
