ORGAN DONORS
Sirens blared and lights flickered like a psychedelic Christmas tree. Commuters parked in an ever growing snake of SUV’s, minivans and various other means of transportation that was backed up for a half mile. The collective sigh might have caused a storm on the other side of the world.
Two police cars, an ambulance and a handful of volunteers stood in their places and examined the carnage. When a full size truck hits a small hybrid at highway speed, it makes quite a mess. If the automakers saw what EMT Hayward Dupree was staring at, they might reconsider those monster batteries that are saving the environment.
“Freakin’ splatterfest, huh?” Hayward said and ribbed his buddy, Lonzo.
“Yup, it’s a good one,” Lonzo said although he didn’t look quite as happy.
Cars honked in the distance and the occasional obscenity wafted into the stratosphere, where it disappeared forever. Cell phones flickered on and texts flew home and elsewhere complaining about the delay.
Hayward stared out at the flashing lights and let his eyes glaze over. “Reminds me of last Christmas,” he said, rubbing his stubble.
Lonzo shot him a glare and pushed the button on his shoulder mic to call back to dispatch. Hayward shrugged. Once dispatch responded, he spoke as if he was ordering a #3 at the fast food drive-thru.
“Two victims, high speed motor vehicle crash, likely deceased. Need a destination.”
Dispatch buzzed back something static-ridden and full of acronyms.
“Roger,” said Lonzo and let go of the button.
Hayward looked at his friend and partner with a smirk. “Not Christmas morning, ass. That wreck downtown? Four dead drunk teens. You remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. One of my son’s friends died in that shit-storm. Thanks for bringin’ that up.”
Alonzo Rogers shook his head at the situation and proceeded to get to work. There was no issue finding the bodies as there was only one passenger in each vehicle. No saws or hydraulic jaws were needed, just some adsorbent and a broom, maybe a couple hours. The police set down flares and directed traffic. The wrecking crew would be called and in no time it would all be a series of reports. Someone else would deal with the families.
“How’s that one?” Hayward shouted.
“DOA. Yours?”
Hayward looked at the man on the ground, his eyes wide and wary as if trying to get his bearings. The pain hadn’t hit him yet, but he couldn’t speak. Something was constricting his breathing. Hayward could fix him, at least stabilize him, but he didn’t.
“Not lookin’ too good.”
When the man on the ground heard the unfortunate news, his eyes bulged. The poor guy looked out of the corner of his eye, afraid to turn his head for fear of injury, and saw the wreckage of his truck. He attempted to prop up on his elbows and speak. The EMT placed a hand over his mouth and shoved him back to the ground. Then he looked around for witnesses. Truth was, that truck driver wasn’t too badly damaged, just dazed, in shock—maybe a broken arm. He could probably have been treated and released with some Tylenol and a horrendous bill.
Hayward fished a wallet from the man on the ground’s pocket using gloved hands and extracted the driver’s license. He flipped it one way, then the other and smiled.
“Donor, eh? That’s all I needed to know,” he said.
Never taking his eyes from the accident victim’s, he picked up a broken piece of metal from the ground and jabbed it into the man’s neck. Thick spurts of life’s juice spattered the pavement. The man on the ground choked and sputtered, clutching at the wound, but faded quickly. Within moments, he’d orphaned a very nice, although dented, Dodge Ram Quad Cab.
Hayward placed the license back in its wallet, and put it carefully back in the man’s pocket. Then he tossed the bloody utensil up under the truck. It would look like a freak accident; like some piece of his shattered opponent’s car had ended his life.
“No good. This one’s a goner too,” Hayward said, taking off his latex gloves and shoving them into his pocket.
Lonzo wandered around the corner as his partner was standing up. He looked down at the freshly dispatched body and winced. “Such a shame. Hate it for their families,” he said.
“Yup,” said Hayward, privately rolling his eyes. “I guess it’s time we turned meat wagon and get these stiffs out to processing.”
“You really are a heartless bastard, you know that Dupree?”
“I am. I really am,” he said followed by, “Hey, that’s shift buddy. You drop me off tonight?”
Lonzo stared in disbelief for a moment and said, “Sure.”
“I know, I’m a tactless bag of shit. Go ahead and say it,” Hayward said.
“You are. Why can’t we just call the M.E.’s office to pick these up again?”
“Procedure, Lonzo. We follow procedure.”
With the state troopers’ blessing, the pair loaded each body onto their own gurney and rolled them into the ambulance. They escorted the dearly departed back to the hospital and cleaned and parked their truck for the evening. Next shift’s turn. Then Hayward and Lonzo rolled from the parking lot. The short trip was silent, no radio and not a word spoken.
Within ten minutes, they were stopped in front of a rundown apartment building and Hayward hopped out.
“Thanks,” he said.
Lonzo leaned over to look out the passenger side window. “Not a problem. Where’s that lady of yours anyway?”
“Oh, her? She’s long gone buddy. Long gone.”
“You should think about finding a better place. Then those ladies wouldn’t be walkin’ out on you so much,” Lonzo said with a chuckle.
Hayward smiled, “Maybe so, old man. Maybe so.”
That ended the conversation and Lonzo drove off to get home to his wife and kids who would probably just be waking up. Hayward keyed the lock to his apartment door and grabbed the phone on the way in. He pushed seven digits and threw his wallet and keys on the coffee table while it rang. Then he stretched the cord to its limit grabbing a beer from the fridge.
After several rings, a voice on the other end said, “Hello.”
“Got another delivery, Reg. It’s at County. Two-fer-one deal.”
“Excellent.”
Then the line went dead. Hayward popped the top on his beer and settled into an old recliner for some sleep.
-~^~--~@
An elderly man in a black suit hung his phone up and in seconds it rang again. He smoothed the wispy white hair that was left on his head and picked it back up.
“Hello,” he said.
“Mr. Langford?”
“Yes, how may I help you?”
“Sir, we have two deceased at County. The families have requested your services. Can you pick them up this morning?”
“I can. Expect me within the hour,” he said in a taut southern drawl.
“Fine. Thank you, sir.”
“No. Thank you.”
Reginald Langford placed the handset in the cradle and drummed long thin fingers across its spine. He pulled a notebook and a gold pen from his breast pocket and began to write notes on the first blank page he found. Then he stood, smoothing the wrinkles from his pants and his suit jacket and walked down the elegant hallway to the staircase where he palmed the wooden finial on the railing for stability. Lifting one frail leg, then the other, he climbed the steps slowly with the determination of a gentleman who would never give up.
At the top of the stairs he turned silently on a Persian carpet runner and walked to the end of the hall. From the watch pocket on his vest, he pulled a brass key and unlocked the door. Inside the office, a grand antique writing desk and dark brown, high-back leather chair waited. The room smelled of pipe smoke, dust and ancient tomes which lined the shelves beyond the desk.
The old man appeared skeletal in the dim lighting, shadows exaggerating his sunken eyes and cheeks. He lit a sole candle and placed it on the desk along with his notebook. Then he sat down behind the desk and packed tobacco int
o a carved bone pipe shaped like a human skull. He produced an expensive silver lighter from the center desk drawer and lit the pipe taking several puffs to achieve the wonderful smolder that filled the room with its scent. Satisfied, he placed the pipe in its holder.
Reginald stared at the candle’s flame for a moment before placing his hands, palm down, on the desk blotter and closing his eyes. His lower jaw quivered for a moment before he raised his chin toward the ceiling and spoke.
“Lord, I have two offerings for you. Their lives should be worthy of your growing need. Please, grant me the time to gather the next round.”
The candle flickered several times and as the flame strengthened, it turned blood red. Reginald smiled widely showing crooked, yellowed teeth. His elegance was replaced with a predatory look. Wild filled his eyes. He glanced left and right with a knowing smirk. Something was with him.
“Welcome, Master,” he said.
“You treat me well,” a booming, raspy voice replied. A misty apparition floated around the desk and peered over the old man's shoulder at the notes he'd written on the paper. Two names of no consequence other than their deaths. In this case, that was all that mattered.
“The least I can do, Master,” Reginald said.
“Indeed it is.” Its voice was calm in demeanor but rattled the old construction.
“Worth another year, Master?”
“Hardly. You share this burden with Mr. Dupree and therefore you will share its royalties.”
The old man showed agitation and braced his legs to stand. The mist turned sharply and the red hollows in its head burned brightly and Reginald heeded their warning. He humbled himself and settled back into the chair.
“We have provided two bodies, sir,” Reginald said.
“One each. The deal was two. This meager offering will not sustain me and so I cannot sustain you. These rules are beyond even my considerable power.”
The old man cut his eyes away in disgust and folded bony fingers together. “What is the price?” he asked.
“Six months,” the voice hissed. “Two more in six months.”
“It’s too soon. Circumstances must be right or we could be caught.”
“A small price to pay for one-hundred-twenty-seven years, no?” it said.
Reginald Langford gritted his tobacco stained dentures together to keep his tongue silent. The mist swirled back into the candle flame which resumed its yellow-orange color. He watched it dance for a moment before pounding his frail fist on the desktop.
“Damn!”
With that he gripped the wick between forefinger and thumb and then watched the smoke curl up from the remaining red hot ember. Then he took his notebook back down the stairs to the telephone and dialed a number from memory. On the fourth ring, someone answered.
“Dupree.”
“We have business.”
“Is the boss getting greedy again?”
“We. Have. Business.”
“I’m spent, Reg. Give me a few hours?”
Reginald gave a sigh, then a sneer.
“Done. Will two PM give you enough time?”
“Sure, sure. Where?”
“Meet me at the coffee shop by your hovel.”
Hayward smiled and asked, “Does hovel mean classy place of residence?”
The line went dead before he finished the question. He glanced at the handset with slight amusement.
“Guess not,” he said.
Hayward pulled the last of his gear off while he walked into the bathroom and checked his skin in the mirror. The apartment smelled like a high school locker room and looked like a condemned building. The reflection in the mirror showed a man who was an alcoholic shade of grey with broken vessels in his cheeks that matched the red in his eyes. He pulled down one eyelid, then the other, and finished the routine by checking on his teeth. In the medicine cabinet he found a pint bottle of whiskey and spun the cap off for a swig which he swished in his mouth.
“Here’s to immortality on layaway,” he said with a sickening grin.
Then he took one more drink for the nap and headed to the bedroom.
-~^~--~@
At 2:30 pm the coffee shop door jingled open. Reginald Langford looked up from his newspaper knowing who it was. He nodded at the waitress who reported promptly and filled a second mug with black coffee. Hayward rubbed greasy hair back from his forehead and adjusted his sunglasses with a yawn.
“You’re late,” the old man growled.
“Ya know, it’s like time doesn’t really matter so much anymore.”
“It will.”
Reginald nodded warmly at the waitress who walked away without any fanfare. Then he leaned into his words. “Six months.”
“What the fuck do you mean?” Hayward laughed.
“You watch your vile tongue,” Reginald warned.
Hayward held up his hand in concession.
“We have six months,” Reginald repeated.
“We provided two bodies. You tell the boss he’s nuts.”
“Perhaps you would deliver that message yourself?” the old man said.
They looked at each other and smiles stretched across each face. “No,” Hayward said.
“I thought not.”
“I gave Sharon less than eight months ago. I should give some special discount for a loved one,” Hayward said.
“I’d hardly call what you two shared, love.”
“True, but I loved it when she did it.”
Reginald frowned and sipped his coffee. “What about your partner?”
Hayward sniffed, “Lonzo? He’s clueless.”
“Don’t be so certain. He was at the hospital when I picked up the bodies earlier. Watching me. It was…uncomfortable.”
“You’ve been around over a century. I didn’t think anything made you uncomfortable.”
Reginald tipped his coffee with a raised eyebrow. “True. But I would enjoy continuing my journey. Immortality in prison is not quite as appealing. I gather pancreatic cancer is not quite so appealing either?”
Hayward shifted in his seat and looked out the window as the afternoon passed them by. “I’ll take care of it. Perhaps Lonzo could be the next.”
Reginald Langford’s face changed, welled with anger, his gaunt cheeks filling with rouge. “We have an agreement. No murder. You clean up the messes and I negotiate.”
Hayward stared him down, “Your negotiating skills suck. That thing keeps getting more and more greedy and I have to provide the meals.”
“I won’t abide by killing. This is not about the easy way out.”
“Easy he says. Death gets his, no matter what we do.”
Reginald nodded at the statement. Then the old man dropped a few paper bills on the table and stood slowly to walk out. “Keep your eyes open and follow the rule.”
Hayward waved at the waitress and spoke to his elderly companion, “Yeah, yeah.”
-~^~--~@
Lonzo inventoried the cabinets in the ambulance while he waited for his partner. Hayward made a habit of being late. Lonzo was used to it. His list complete, he wandered back into the hospital to gather a few supplies. Hayward wandered in with a take-out coffee cup in his hand.
“What’s up?” he said.
Lonzo ignored the gesture and headed back to the ambulance.
“You don’t wanna talk? No problem. I dig silence.”
Lonzo ignored that too.
“I do something wrong?” Hayward asked.
“Who’s the ancient dude that always comes to get our stiffs?”
“Huh?”
Lonzo stopped what he was doing and looked at his partner, “The old guy. The same horrifying old guy always picks up our bodies. I watch what goes on around here. I rode with four other EMT’s before I got partnered with you. There’s about twenty-five different morticians around here but the same guy picks up every body you bring in. I find that strange.”
“You think too much,” Hayward replied and sipped his coffee.
r /> Lonzo continued to pack the cabinets and then filled out the paperwork on the vehicle for the evening’s rounds, every so often glaring at his irresponsible partner.
At the end of the shift, Lonzo had had enough. “You gotta go, Dup,” he said.
“Yep, I do. Can you drop me off?”
Lonzo rolled his eyes and then glared at him.
“What?” said Hayward.
“I mean, you gotta go. Get on down the road. Why don’t you quit this job?”
“I enjoy the hours and the witty banter. I need the check. Why don’t you quit?”
“Yeah, I do to, but your lazy ass is beginning to interfere with my ability to do a good job,” Lonzo said.
“Come on, man. You don’t mean that. We’ve been partners for two years.”
“Two long years I’d like to redo.”
The two stared at each other in silence.
“What do you want, Lonzo? I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me you’re going to go ask for a new partner, or a new route. Or I will.”
“Fuck you,” Hayward snarled.
“Exactly. Fuck me. I’m tired Dupree. I just want to do my thing, and go home to my family.”
“At least give me a ride.”
“Tell you what,” he said, fishing in his wallet and counting the paper money.
“Here’s fifteen, twenty-five, six, seven. Twenty-seven dollars, all I’ve got left from my check. Call it a going away present. Take a cab, have a few beers, on me.”
Hayward stared at the money for a moment, long enough for his eyes to glaze over. Then he blinked and snatched it from Lonzo’s hand. He stood up and walked away without another word.
There was a cab coming to the stop light right at the corner across from the ambulance entrance. He hailed it and climbed in, pointing the driver to the only bar in his neighborhood. In minutes he was there, and gave the cabbie the twenty and waited for his change, no tip. The driver flipped him off as he peeled away.
Hayward entered the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey and a beer. Both were gone within five minutes. The conversation with Reginald was on the forefront of his mind. Without the ambulance gig, he wouldn’t have access to food for the boss.
Two shots and two beers later, she walked in. It was a girl he’d seen there before. He watched her wander around, flaunting herself. She was hunting. It was then he realized he was doing the same. He watched as she leaned against a round man at the end of the bar. She kissed the man deeply and pressed her hand against his crotch. Then the pair disappeared into the men’s room.
A few minutes later, the man left the bathroom and the bar, apparently satisfied. The girl walked out next, wiping her nose and straightening her skirt. Hayward ordered two shots and followed her to a seat in the corner.
It didn’t take long before he had convinced her to give him a quick line of coke. After that, it was just a few minutes before he had convinced her to leave with him.
-~^~--~@
The old garage was grungy. A friend of his Hayward’s owned the place, and gave Hayward a key so he could work on his own stuff, although he hadn’t had a car of his own for over a year. He’d used it before to take his women someplace quiet. Some of them found it sexy in a dirty way and had given him just what he wanted. A couple had complained and refused to enter at all. Those ended up paying for their own cab rides home and Hayward wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
Tools and oil covered work benches that lined the walls. An old Buick sat in one of the two bays. It was in for some transmission work. A single overhead light revealed the hunter and his prey. She had entered willingly and had given him just what he needed, a drunken blow job with no expectation of payback. She grunted while she performed the deed. Eager, he thought. The little noises turned him on and he considered letting her go in hopes of future encounters, but the boss was such a demanding evil bastard.
Hayward stared at the young girl. She was a long way from childhood, but had to be ten years his junior. Her tight t-shirt was grimy and soaked with sweat—some of it hers, some of it his. Her short skirt was hiked up around her waist showing her red lace panties. She’d given up any remaining modesty to exhaustion. Years of alcohol and drug abuse had ruined her skin and runny mascara and heavy makeup did a poor job obscuring it. Underneath it all, he thought she might have been attractive once.
He looked at her, working on the plan in his mind. A quick turnaround might buy him some leeway with the boss. Either way, things had gone too far and it was too late to let her go.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked.
She whimpered through the rag that was duct-taped in her mouth. Then the tears flowed again. His words slurred.
“Nobody cares. That’s what your problem is. I’ve seen you in that bar a million times. You get handed off like a football in a pickup game. If you had as many pricks stickin’ outta you that you had stuck in you, you’d look like a fuckin’ porcupine.”
He laughed at his analogy and then knelt down close to her face, placing his knuckles on her cheek in a way that might have seemed caring in any other situation. Then he checked the duct tape that bound her wrists together, holding onto them with one hand, while he drew a six inch boning knife from its leather sheath. “I’m doin’ you a favor, sweet thing,” he said.
His eyes grew wide as he wiped the sweat that had beaded up on his brow. He gritted his teeth and then stuck the blade in between two of her ribs, just behind her left arm. Blood poured from the wound, and the sickly sucking sound of a lung collapsing kept him company between her gasps and struggling. “You see, your life will mean something after all. In just a moment, you’ll become the property of my friend, Reginald. He does amazing shit with the dead.”
Hayward left the girl, knowing in moments she would suffocate or choke on the blood. He pulled a beer from a refrigerator in the back and downed it.
-~^~--~@
When Reginald saw the corpse, he fumed.
“One rule, Mr. Dupree, and you’ve broken it.”
“I found her like that,” he responded.
“Do not lie to me, sir. It would be bad for your future. Not that you have much of one anyway.”
“Fine. She’s a hooker, drug addict. A loner. Trust me, no one will miss her.”
“Obviously.”
“You can cremate the body.”
“Yes, yes I can. But I swear this to you: I will turn you in if anyone comes poking around about a dead prostitute.”
“Right. And who will bring you the food?”
“You, sir, are nothing special. Utterly replaceable.”
Hayward shrugged off the threat, then sucked his teeth with his tongue, starting to feel the cotton mouth set in. “You hate me so much, why not replace me?”
Reginald raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at the dead girl on his stainless steel gurney again and chuckled.
Hayward nodded. “What’s so funny?”
“Predictability, Mr. Dupree. I could’ve sketched a picture of this woman thirty minutes ago. All of your companions appear to draw from the same well.”
“Food. It’s just food. If you want it washed and organic, then there’s gonna be strings attached. Families and police.”
The old man nodded, frowning.
“Yes. Yes you are right. Now go bathe. Sleep it off. Let me do my work.”
“Yeah. Thanks Hayward. I appreciate you prolonging my life Hayward. Glad you do all the heavy lifting Hayward.”
The old man smiled, revealing his unholy teeth, stained from smoke and a century of drinking red wine and coffee. “Sarcasm,” he said, “may be your best attribute. Thank you, Mr. Dupree.”
Hayward looked at the girl once more, remembering how she’d serviced him only a few hours before and his curiosity was piqued. “So how’s it work?” he asked.
Reginald shot him a dirty scowl. “That is not your concern.”
“Take it easy, Reg. Just curious.”
&n
bsp; “Well, be curious elsewhere. Move along.”
The wiry old man followed Hayward to the door, closing and locking it behind him.
-~^~--~@
Hayward staggered into his unkempt apartment and pulled a half empty bottle of liquor out of the otherwise empty refrigerator. He smacked his hand down on a cluster of ants which were busy devouring a neglected bit of food on his counter. Then he drank a mouthful.
“Ahhh,” he said. “Sweet nectar.”
He lit a cigarette and took another drink. Then he sat back on his threadbare couch and kicked off his boots. There was a bloodstain from the latest dead girl on his pants, and he giggled when he saw it. Then he laid his head back and took a long drag from the cigarette. It was the last thing he remembered that night.
At ten in the morning, his phone rang, ripping him from a troubled sleep. He opened red burning eyes and grabbed the phone, looking at his watch at the same time.
“Shit,” he said into the receiver.
“Shit is right,” Lonzo replied.
“I’m late.”
“Look, don’t bother. I talked to the boss, you may as well not even show up. I thought you were asking for a transfer?”
Hayward rolled his eyes, then shrugged and popped the top off the liquor bottle.
“I forgot, busy night last night.”
He took another drink, coughing as it burned his throat.
“Well, stay busy. Just stay away from me. This isn’t the job for you, man. People need our help.”
There was a pause while Hayward waited for the throbbing in his head to subside. Lonzo didn’t let him rest, “You hear me?”
“Look, Lonzo… Fuck off will ya?” Hayward laughed as his ex partner hung up the phone. His laughter was stifled by a second phone call.
“Jesus, like a telethon around here.” He snatched the handset back off the base. “What is it?”
Reginald Langford’s voice answered in his deep, thespian voice. “It is done. I thought you should know,” he said.
“The girl, right. So you fed the snake, now we’re cool? I could use a nap.”
“We are not cool, Mr. Dupree. We have simply added to our clocks, something we shall have to do again soon. I want to speak to you. This morning if possible.”
Hayward smashed his fist on the table. “Really? How’s about I stop by tonight, around eight?”
“Now, Mr. Dupree. Shower first.”
The line clicked, and Hayward frowned, mocking the man. “Shower first.” Then he showered as instructed and caught a cab to the funeral home.
-~^~--~@
Reginald waited for him, sitting on an antique chair in the entrance hall. His appearance was none too happy. “Are you sober?”
“Unfortunately. What’s up Reg?”
“I wanted to reiterate my disappointment with your decision making. With your complete lack of respect for myself and for the rules.”
“Rules? We feed a demon in exchange for what is really a pretty shitty existence. Rules, he says.”
Reginald stood abruptly, and his voice reverberated like thunder in the old building. “Yes rules, you ignorant jackass. Rules that keep me alive. Remember that you are in my employ and I am very capable of changing that fact.”
“Don’t get uppity with me, gramps. You need someone to feed your pet, fine, I don’t mind. Hell, I like doing it. It’s the only thing that keeps me going. But if you think I’d rather live as your bitch than die of cancer, well, then you’re as stupid as you are ugly.”
The old man’s eyes blazed, his crooked, stained teeth clenched behind thin lips. He raised one eyebrow and a black mist swirled about, leaking from the walls around him and forming the vague hint of a figure that hovered just in front of Hayward.
Hayward backed up, his confidence suddenly missing, and stumbled into the entrance door which had closed and latched, preventing his escape.
“He no longer suits my purposes, Lord,” Reginald said.
“Take it easy old man. That was just the hangover speaking.”
The misty devil crowded him, lowering its shrouded eyes to meet Hayward’s.
“More,” it said.
“More what? What does it mean more?” he asked.
The being put a skeletal finger over Hayward’s lips, quieting him. “One was easy enough, so bring me more.”
Reginald protested. “Master, murder will land us in prison.”
It spun to face him, and he cowered in its presence.
“There are others, many others who would kill for your position.” It looked back at Hayward momentarily and vanished.
The old man scowled at his wayward partner. “Well done. When is your next shift?” Reginald asked.
Hayward stuttered, trying to answer, but still shaken by the appearance of the demon. He never had gotten used to being in such close proximity to it.
“I don’t have one.”
“Say again?”
“I was fired, this morning. My partner turned me in for…various issues.”
Reginald stepped uncomfortably close to Hayward and slapped him, hard across the face. “Find a way. Do you hear me you worthless mongrel? Find a way or the sickness, the pain you have been spared will show up all at once. I will see to that.” To punctuate his anger, Reginald turned and left Hayward there in the hallway. His expensive leather shoes popped on the marble tile flooring as he left.
-~^~--~@
Hayward walked. The cab home hadn’t given him enough time to think. He was hungry and needed smokes. He walked from his apartment to the corner to grab a lonely plate of food before stopping at the convenience store for two packs of cigarettes. That would last him a day.
Several potential victims occurred to him, but then his sober conscience got the best of him. It was all so much easier when he was drunk. The liquor-colored haze made the outside factors of family, friends, even feelings go away and there was only survival.
He watched a mother and daughter walk along the guardrail next to the river. She smiled at the child, who asked dozens of questions and showed excitement at every step. Hayward questioned his right to live in that same world.
“I need a drink,” he said.
As darkness fell, he found himself outside the same bar he was in the night before. An uneasy feeling crawled all over him while he ordered his first shot. He could see that girl in every corner and when he closed his eyes, he saw those red panties and he saw her noisily performing oral sex on him against the tool bench. Eager, was the word he remembered thinking.
He relived Reginald’s statement about the pain and sickness coming all at once. It scared him. He remembered the cancer at its onset, the pain was excruciating. By the time it reached those final stages, he couldn’t bear it. Reginald saved him from suicide, something he now regretted.
Reginald had offered him a deal in that hospital room. “I can help you live,” he had said. A deal that was so absurd, Hayward shook the man’ s hand as a joke just to get the creepy old geezer out of his room. Then the symptoms slowly went into remission and he started getting phone calls from the old man. Mr. Langford was how he introduced himself. Hayward called him Reg just to piss him off and at first it had worked, but the old man learned to put up with it. Hayward thought Reg was crazy, but he was reminded of the pain of cancer each time a payment came due and relieved each time a body went to the Langford funeral home for disposal. Little reminders to keep him honest, and let him know he couldn’t default on the deal.
The second and third drinks put the uneasy feeling to bed. The bar was empty of any patrons that might have struck up a conversation with a man like him. He didn’t give the impression of being friendly.
The situation angered him, and he set out walking again, less philosophical and more of a hunt the second time around. He walked along the river to the first bridge and wandered across to the other side. He passed another bar that he’d frequented, then a strip club, then a dead section of town, blocks away from anything that wo
uld be considered civilization even in its most lenient definition. He took note of the homeless and the drug addicts, but kept walking, then he saw the flashing lights. An ambulance cruised up the road with the lights on, but no siren. A familiar face was behind the wheel.
“Fucking Lonzo,” he said.
It turned on the block just past him and he hurried to follow it. When he rounded the corner, he was out of breath and happy to see it parked only yards away next to a police cruiser. A handful of forensics goons were finished geeking around and were busy packing their gear into a van. That meant it was a shooting victim, or maybe a stabbing, and Hayward approached slowly. Lonzo exited the truck and spoke to the two policemen. Hayward did his best to control his labored breathing and listen in.
“Just the one?” Lonzo said.
“Yep,” said one cop.
A new ambulance partner, young, with blonde hair and rookie eyes, stepped out of the passenger seat. The forensics team left.
The cop continued. “There’s not much to go on here. This kid’s been dead a while. Hey, we’ve got all we need, you guys are free to clean it up.”
Lonzo looked upset at the statement.
“That’s somebody’s kid, there. Give him some respect,” he said.
The cops shrugged. “Yeah. You’re right, I guess.”
Then they got in their car and drove off. Hayward finished his approach to Lonzo’s dismay.
“You’re really here?” he said.
“Nice Rookie,” Hayward said.
Lonzo sighed.
“Leave, Dupree. This ain’t your thing anymore.”
Hayward looked down at the body, a young man with two large, bloody holes in his chest. He frowned. “Shame. Shotgun, you think?”
The rookie intervened. “Sir, can I ask you to back away from the body?”
Hayward turned to the young, blond-haired man. “No, kid. You can’t.”
Lonzo stepped in between them. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just go somewhere. Drink until your liver falls out if that’s what you need to do.”
“I’m not making this hard, Lonzo. We had a good thing going and you fucked it up for everyone.”
Lonzo shook his head.
“I fucked it up? I do my job, asshole, and I’m trying to do it now, so back off.”
Hayward pushed Lonzo. Then the kid made a mistake. He pushed back. The motion was quick and fluid. Hayward sidestepped and his fist hit the blond kid hard enough to knock him down. Then his head smacked the concrete hard enough to render him unconscious.
“Jesus, man!” Lonzo shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”
Hayward zoned in on his former partner, watching like a predator.
“I need this job, Lonzo. I need the work. I need the bodies.”
“You are a fucking lunatic,” he said and then Lonzo rushed the ambulance, grabbing the microphone off of the CB.
“Don’t do that,” Hayward said.
Lonzo pushed the button and Hayward was on him in a pounce. Lonzo was pinned, and after Hayward wrenched the mic from his hand, he wrapped the curly cord around Lonzo’s neck. Lonzo struggled to get free, to release the tension of the cord from his neck, but he was facedown, the weight of the larger man on top of him. It wasn’t long before the oxygen ran short and he went limp. Hayward kept the cord tight for several minutes after that, making sure the deal was done.
He propped Lonzo in the passenger seat, buckled him in and shut the door. Hayward dragged the gurney out of the ambulance and put the gunshot victim on top of it. He checked the coast for clarity. Not a soul to be found.
He rolled the unconscious kid onto the same gurney and strapped him and the gunshot victim together, and then shoved it into the back of the vehicle. He climbed into the ambulance with them and just to be certain, he cut the blond kid’s throat.
“Three for one,” he said. “I’m a fucking rockstar.”
Hayward hopped into the cab of the truck and drove, patting dead Lonzo on the leg.
“Just like old times, ain’t it?” he said, laughing like a hyena.
Lonzo slumped over, hanging only by the seatbelt. Hayward fished in the pocket inside his dead partner’s jacket and pulled out a cell phone. He pushed buttons on it to call Langford. Reginald answered the phone.
“I’m coming to you. I have a delivery.”
“This is not your phone number.”
“No, sadly, this belongs to the food.”
“That isn’t the way, Mr. Dupree. We talked about the rules.”
“Relax, old man. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
He hung up and drove, stomping the gas and crossing the same bridge he’d walked over earlier that night. When he reached the funeral home, he pulled into the back where the bodies are brought in for preparation and parked. Then he pushed through the door into the building.
“Reggie!” he called. “Where you at? I’ve got some food for you!”
He continued through to the lobby, and then up the stairs toward the office.
“Reggie! I’ve got three bodies this time. Out in the truck. Should feed that greedy fucker for a year,” he said and cackled.
He threw the office door open to see Reginald Langford sitting behind his desk, tapping his fingers together like an art critic.
“Hello, Mr. Dupree,” he said.
Hayward was grabbed by the arm, and handcuffs were slapped on his wrists by an unseen person.
“You’re right, Mr. Langford. This guy is crazier than a Hollywood celebrity. If there are three bodies in that ambulance, he’s going to jail for a long ass time,” the detective said.
“He has been harassing me for weeks, detective, but I never thought he would go through with murder.”
The detective tightened up his grip and then grabbed Hayward under his shoulder.
“We get all kinds. Thanks for the tip.”
Then he clicked a push-to-talk radio on his belt, “Whaddya got boys?”
There was a blast of fuzz, then a beep from the little speaker, followed by, “Three, boss. All dead, sick motherfu…”
The detective shoved Hayward through the large wooden door and then helped him down the steps as he recited the Miranda Rights. Hayward couldn’t hide the shock and anger he felt. He screamed at the old man. Reginald followed as far as the top of the stairs and watched as the detective escorted Hayward out.
“You’re a lying bastard! Lying bastard! Ask about the demon!”
Hayward felt crazy. He thought it might help his case, but not his cancer.
“I’ll kill you, you sick, lying bastard.”
Then the door shut separating Reginald from his former employee.
“Good riddance,” Reginald said.
-~^~--~@
Hayward sat in his jail cell awaiting death. He knew he wouldn’t make it to any sort of hearing. He knew the pain was coming and he was just waiting for it, but it didn’t come. Hours passed and it didn’t come. What came instead was worse.
The black swirling mist dripped from the ceiling and peeled from the walls, ending up inside the cell, surrounding Hayward. He tried to scream, but the mist filled his lungs. The demon’s eyes glowed as it hissed. “Shhh.”
Hayward’s eyes rolled back, and he turned gray. His skin sunk inward clinging only to the skeleton beneath as his body was drained of anything resembling life. He was reduced to the desiccated corpse he would’ve been had the cancer taken him a year previous.
In the front of the building, a phone rang. The detective answered it. On the phone, Reginald Langford spoke.
“Detective, I know about your condition…”
The detective’s smile disappeared and he looked at the email from his wife.
David my love,
Be strong, honey. We’ll find the best doctors and we’ll get through this with God’s help. Just remember that I love you more than anything, and I’ll be with you through this. Anything you need. I will find a way. For better or worse.
r /> Forever. Karen.
“Who is this?” the detective said.
There was a pause before Reginald replied, “I’d like to offer you a deal.”