“I'll need the money up front,” I said. “You got it on you?”
“Yeah. Take this exit. There's a Denny's. You can drop me off there.”
I took the exit.
We pulled into the parking lot. It was close to empty, but I killed the lights and rolled behind the restaurant near the Dumpsters, so no one would see us together. When I hit the breaks, Thor stayed where she was.
“Second thoughts?” I asked.
“How do I know you won't take my money and run?”
“All I have left is my word,” I said.
She considered it, then fished a roll of bills from her purse. When she was counting, I put my hand on her leg.
Thor smiled at me.
“I didn't think you were into me,” she said. “Finish the job, and then I'll throw in a little bonus for you.”
“I just need to finish my other job first,” I told her.
“I understand.”
My hand moved down her knee, found the revolver, and tugged it out.
With the windows closed I doubt anyone heard the gunshots, even though they were loud enough to make my ears ring.
I took the cash, hit the button to recline Thor's seat until she was out of sight, and rolled down her window. I hated to let the heat in, but the glass was conspicuously spattered with her blood, and I didn't need to make any more mistakes. Then I pulled out of the parking lot and got back on the highway, heading south.
Jordan had told me, over the phone, that I'd find Thor working the Eau Claire off ramp. He said to dump the body somewhere up the road, then meet him in the morning. The few hours wait were so he could establish an alibi.
A few miles up the road I pulled over, yanked Thor out of the car, and got behind the wheel again before another car passed. Then I grabbed the box of baby wipes in the back seat. As I drove I cleaned up my hands, then the passenger side of the vehicle. There wasn't too much of a mess. Small gun, small holes. I was lucky Thor got in the car at all, after spying the gun I'd sloppily left in plain sight. Stupid move on my part.
Hers, too.
When I reached Eau Claire I headed to where I thought Jordan would be. He'd be angry to see me so soon, but that wouldn't last very long. Just until I shot him in the head.
I had nothing against Jordan. I had nothing against Thor, either. But a deal is a deal, and as I told the lady, all I had left was my word.
?The Necro File
A word of warning. If this isn't the most offensive thing I've ever written, it comes close. I began this as an experiment, to try and write an anti-story. Stories normally have rules that need to be followed in order for them to work. I kept all of these rules in mind while writing this, and threw each of them out the window. It was a lot of fun, and other people feel the same way. The brave folks at Dark Arts books published it in their anthology Like A Chinese Tattoo, edited by Bill Breedlove. Readers beware—this one doesn't pull any punches. It's Harry McGlade Uncensored.
Jack Daniels Stories
Chapter 1
“It's my husband, Mr. McGlade. He thinks he can raise the dead.”
The woman sitting in front of my desk was named Norma Cauldridge. She had the figure of a Barlett pear and so many freckles that she was more beige than Caucasian. She also came equipped with a severe overbite, a lazy eye, and a mole on her cheek. Not a Cindy Crawford type of mole, either. This one looked like she glued the end of a hotdog to her face. A hairy hotdog.
Plus, she smelled like sweaty feet.
Any man married to her would certainly have to raise the dead every time she wanted sex. But I didn't become a private investigator to meet femme fatales. Well, actually I did. But mostly I did it for the money. And hers was green just like anyone else's.
I took a can of Lysol aerosol deodorizer from my desk and gave the air a spritz. Now it smelled like sweaty feet and pine trees. With a hint of lavender.
“I get four hundred a day, plus expenses,” I told her.
I put away the air freshener and tried to sneak a look behind her large round Charlie Brownish head. When she walked into my office a minute ago, I'd been watching the National Cheerleading Finals on cable. The TV was still on, but I had muted the sound to be polite.
“I didn't tell you what I want you to do yet.”
She was a whiner too. Nasally and high-pitched. It's like God took a dare to make the most unattractive woman possible.
“You want me to take pictures of him acting crazy, so you can use them in the divorce.”
On television a group of nubile young twenty-somethings did synchronized cartwheels and landed in splits. I love cable.
“How did you know?” Norma asked.
I glanced at Norma. The only splits she ever did were banana.
“It's my job to know, ma'am. I'll need your address, his place of work, and the first three days' pay in advance.”
Norma's face pinched.
“I still love him, Mr. McGlade. But he's not the same man I married. He's...obsessed.”
Her shoulders slumped, and the tears came. I nudged over the box of Kleenex I kept on the desk for when I surfed certain internet sites.
“It's not your fault, Mrs. Drawbridge.”
“Cauldridge.”
“A man is talking, sweetie. Don't interrupt.”
“Sorry.”
“The fact is, Nora, some men aren't meant to marry. They feel trapped, tied down, so they seek out different venues.”
She sniffled. “Necromancy?”
“I've seen all sorts of perversions in my business. One day he's a good husband. The next day, he's a card-carrying necrosexual. Happens all the time.”
More tears. I made a mental note to look up “necromancy” in the dictionary. Then I made another mental note to buy a dictionary. Then I made a third mental note to buy a pencil, because I always forgot my mental notes. Then I watched the cheerleaders do high kicks.
When Norma finally calmed down, she asked, “Do you take Visa?”
I nodded, wondering if I could buy used cheerleading floormats on eBay. Preferably ones with stains.
Jack Daniels Stories
Chapter 2
Ebay didn't have any.
Instead I bid on a set of used pom-pons and a coach's whistle. I also bid on some old Doobie Brothers records. That led to placing a bid on a record player, since mine was busted. Then I bid on a carton of copier toner, because it was so cheap, and then I had to bid on a copier because I didn't have one. But after thinking about it a bit, I realized I didn't really need a copier, and those Doobie Brothers albums were probably available on CD for less than the cost of a record player.
I tried to cancel my bids, but those eBay jerks wouldn't let me. The jerks.
I buried my anger in online pornography. Three minutes later, I headed out the door, slightly winded and ready to get some work done.
Jack Daniels Stories
Chapter 3
This chapter is even shorter than the last one.
Chapter 4
George Drawbridge worked as a teller for Oak Tree Bank. At a branch office. It was only three o'clock, and his wife told me he normally stayed until five, so I had plenty of time to grab a few beers first. Chicago is famous for its stuffed crust pizza, and I indulged in a small pie at a nearby joint and entertained myself by asking everyone who worked there if they made a lot of dough.
An hour later, after they asked me to leave, I sat on the sidewalk across the street from the bank, hiding in plain sight by pretending I was homeless. This involved untucking my shirt and pockets, messing up my hair, and holding up a sign that said “I'm homeless” written on the back of the pizza box.
Other possibilities had been, “Will do your taxes for food” and “I'm just plain lazy” and my favorite “this is a piece of cardboard.” But I went with brevity because I still didn't have a pencil and had to write it in sauce.