I climbed up to my seat, pausing in my ascent long enough to say to Mercedes, “We won’t be able to talk on the ride back,” not over the roar of the engine and the rush of wind, “but we’ll have plenty to discuss back at my office.”
“OK,” she said. “Can I at least know your name now?”
“I’m Manny Calavera. And he’s Glottis.”
“Hi, Glottis!” Mercedes waved down to him.
He turned toward us with his big, swallow-you-whole grin and hollered, “You ready back there, Miss Colomar?!”
“And waiting to see what this machine can do!” Mercedes called back. Glottis’ smile got even bigger as he turned back, gunned the engined, and we tore away from the hospital at top speed. There was no sign of Domino on the trip back to El Marrow.
Coaxing Meche
When we pulled into the garage Mercedes jumped down and moved to make an inspection of the Bone Wagon, but I gently ushered her to the elevator. I directed her to my office and then said quietly to Eva, “Domino back yet?”
“Uh, no.”
“OK,” I said. “Keep him away from my office if he does get back.”
“Sure, Cal,” she said, giving me a questioning look.
I went quickly to my office. I was sure I didn’t have much time and I had to explain the situation to Mercedes first. “OK,” I said when I had got her seated by my desk, “I ought to start by telling you that things aren’t exactly on the level here. What I mean is,” I said when I saw that my opening was making her a little agitated, “I’m not really supposed to be handling your case. But it’s very important that I handle it anyway.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Calavera,” she said.
“Well, you see,” I said uncomfortably, “I’m doing this job because I messed up my life. I’ve got a moral debt to work off. Putting it simply, my job is to help souls get across the Land of the Dead—where we are right now—to the Land of Eternal Rest. How I do that is by selling souls the best travel packages they deserve. The better a person lived their life, the easier their passage will be.”
“For example?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “it’s kind of complicated. But at one extreme is the worse sort of person who is left on their own, who has to cross the Land of the Dead on foot, facing all the dangers on their own. At the other is the saint, who gets a ticket on the Number Nine train. That person just skips right over the dangers.”
“I see,” she said. “So why did you steal my case?” That was good, I thought. A genuine saint was never really conscious of what they were (something old Yehuda said he always wished he had understood when he was alive).
“I can’t leave the Land of the Dead until I work off that moral debt I mentioned, and I can only do that by earning commissions on premium sales to good souls. But I haven’t sold a single premium package for nearly a year. Maybe it’s just a granddaddy of a slump, but I found out that Domino Hurley—the guy who really was assigned to your case—stole a case from me. Maybe more than one. I can’t let him get away with it. Too much is at stake.”
“How will stealing my case help you?” Mercedes asked. “Isn’t that wrong in the Land of the Dead?”
“Of course it’s wrong. I’ll be disciplined for this, but once I authorize the transfer of a ticket to you, it’s on my record for good. I know, I know,” I said to the disapproval I was sensing from her, “what Hurley did doesn’t really justifying what I’m doing now, but one Double-N ticket can wipe months off my time.”
“I guess you’re getting kind of desperate, huh?” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I was doing premium sales all the time before Hurley turned up. Then he appears, and blip! Look, if you’re uncomfortable with this, you can walk out that door and wait for Hurley. But you can help me, if you want. If you let me handle your case I can make up a lot of what this past year has cost me.”
Mercedes thought about it for a while, then said, “You’re putting a lot of responsibility on me, Mr. Calavera. What makes you think I’ve been all that good?”
“Miss Colomar—” I began.
“Meche,” she said. “Please.”
“Meche. I can see it in your face.” Which was true. There’s just something about a saint. I turned to my computer. “And in your file,” I said as I pulled it up, “where it says you’re entitled a first-class ticket to…” My voice trailed off as I leaned closer to the screen. “…nowhere?” I finished limply.
“Did I do something wrong?” Meche asked anxiously.
“Not according to your bio. It was spotless.” Then, half to myself, “At least, the part I read was.”
“I’m not sure I like the implication, Mr. Calavera,” she said, a little coldly this time.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I break every rule in the book to steal the case of a saint who turns out to be anything but. “The only implication here is that I’m fired,” I sighed.
“Is it something I did?” I completely missed the panic in her voice.
Maybe I picked up the wrong person. “Are you sure you’re Mercedes Colomar?” I asked hopefully.
“Yes!” she declared. “Or is your organization that inefficient?”
I sighed. The company never made a mistake on a work order. And I knew that I went to the right place. I must have missed something.
“Is there anything about your past you haven’t told me about?” I asked.
“Quite a bit, considering I’ve told you nothing.”
What was I overlooking? “Did you kill much when you were alive?”
“Very little,” she said dryly.
“Never killed anybody?”
She hung her head and twisted her hands in her lap. “I have to confess…” she began quietly, then looked up and said firmly, “I never killed anybody!”
“Did you ever cheat on your taxes?”
She sighed. “I’ve never paid taxes in my life,” she admitted. But before I could say anything to that she continued with, “I’ve never made enough money to be taxed. You know, it’s mostly been all volunteer work.”
“Uh-huh,” I groused and Meche looked away. “Were you mean to animals?” I then asked.
“Oh, no!” she protested earnestly. “I love animals! Once, when I was volunteering at an animal shelter, I—”
“Just stop right there!” I said. “I give up.”
She leaned forward, grabbed hold of my sleeve, and pleaded, “Don’t say that, Manny!”
I pulled away and stood up. “You know what I have to do? I just have to go and straighten this whole mess out.”
I only half-noticed that Meche pulled her legs under her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Sorry to be so much trouble, Mr. Calavera,” she said softly, not looking at me.
“It’s no trouble,” I said as I left the office, “but please, call me Manny.”
I closed the door and walked quickly over to Eva. “I need help,” I said.
“With that woman you brought in?”
“Yeah. From the work order she’s supposed to be a saint, but you wouldn’t know it from her file.”
“That’s pretty strange, Cal.”
“Tell me about it. Look, maybe Records fouled up somewhere. I can’t—” I heard a sound and turned to see Copal’s door flying open. The first time I ever saw him coming.
“Hey, Funny Bones,” he shouted, “in my office! Now!!”
I went with a glance back toward Eva. She was picking up her phone.
Hurley was standing in front of Copal’s desk. A smirk radiated out from his face.