“Yeah, well, I’m all-around useful,” I said, biting back a more inappropriate response.
“Job security for now, I suppose.” He closed the bag and turned to the one behind him, the maggoty and somewhat decomposed suicide from earlier today. I watched, on edge. The autopsied one—the movie extra from yesterday, whose brain I’d already harvested—was on the shelf to his right.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. “What are you doing?” I asked, frowning.
“When things don’t end up where they’re supposed to be, it’s my job to make sure it’s not a recurring problem.” He unzipped the bag and began to check the dead guy’s hands and wrists, ignoring the maggots. “Yesterday there was an issue over a wedding ring that wasn’t included in the property of a decedent and had somehow been left loose in the body bag. The family was not amused.”
My frown deepened. “I always inventory the property.” Hell, it had been my meticulous property inventory procedure that helped me figure out that Dr. Charish was up to some hinky shit late last year.
“This was on Jerry’s shift,” Allen explained, checking the neck and ears of the maggot-covered body. “Haven’t caught you yet with any faults in that area.” There was no mistaking the emphasis on yet.
“And you won’t,” I replied stubbornly. “I have a system I use to make sure I catch all the valuables.”
Allen looked over at me, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not asking you for your system or your proclamation of perfection.” He returned his attention to the bag, continuing to check the decomposing body for valuables that I’d already removed. “I’ll be doing spot checks, and if everything is where it’s supposed to be, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Right,” I said. “I got nothing to worry about.” Probably good that he didn’t ask me what my system was, since it was a slightly altered version of the children’s song “Head, shoulders, knees and toes” that I hummed to myself while going over bodies.
My heart continued to thump as I watched him search the bag. I knew that if I continued to stand here it would look weird and suspicious. And what if he decided he wanted to check the non-existent wound on my hand? I still had a gauze bandage over the spot, but there was nothing but smooth skin beneath it. I forced myself to casually turn around and return to the cutting room. My palms were sweating within the gloves, but I didn’t change them, simply returned to scrubbing the baseboards, and didn’t dare to relax until I finally heard the cooler door close and Allen’s footsteps heading toward the main building.
He hadn’t found anything out of place, at least I assumed not. He wasn’t the sort to put off chewing me out if he caught me screwing up. But what the hell would I say if he ever did find out I was stealing brains from the bags? It wouldn’t end well. I knew that in my zombified bones. And I had a sick feeling it was only a matter of time before Allen or someone else discovered my horrific larceny.
I gave the sponge a savage twist, wringing it nearly dry, and resumed my scrubbing. If only my unease and worry could be cleaned away as easily as the grime.
Chapter 10
The minute my shift ended I got the hell out of there. I wasn’t in an “I need pie” mood, and I sure as hell didn’t want to go home yet, so instead I drove somewhat aimlessly for about an hour and scowled at people who didn’t know how to drive in the rain. I thought about trying to call Marcus again, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell him about Allen and his bullshit insinuations that I was a fuckup waiting to happen. Not to mention my fears that Allen would find out about the missing brains, and I’d not only get fired but be without my food source. Marcus would get mad on my behalf—which was all right, but then he’d start giving me suggestions of how to handle it and what to do. And I didn’t want any of that. Sometimes all a person needed was to vent and bitch, without having to endure advice which would only serve to drive home the fact that it was a horrible situation. I already knew what I was “supposed” to do. Keep my nose clean. Cover my tracks. Don’t give Allen any reason to write me up. Be positive and all that crap.
Problem was, I’d been doing that. I actually liked my job and had no issue going the extra mile and so on. I showed up early and left late—most of the time at least. But all of that wouldn’t save me if Allen found out about the brains. And it wasn’t as if I could simply stop taking them from the bags—not without dipping heavily into my stash.
Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I’d charged two gunmen to help save Heather’s life. And now a stupid encounter at work had me worried I might lose my source of brains at any time. Fuck my life.
I finally drove out to the Tucker Point public boat launch and parked, dismayed to see that the water was well over the dock. Another foot and the whole parking lot would be flooded. Which means they’ll almost certainly open the spillway soon. I was seven years old the last time the spillway was opened. Mom and Dad and I had gone down to the edge of the bayou that ran behind our house and watched in awe as the normally placid Cole Bayou became a churning rush of mud-brown water. But then the water levels had crept up until the road to our house had several inches of overflowing bayou on it, and I got to listen to my dad bitch and moan about people driving too fast through the water and sending waves lapping over our bottom step. Fond childhood memories, to be sure.
However, right now the high water on the Kreeger River ensured that no one was using the boat launch, which meant it was a perfect place for me to chill and get my head back on straight. Or at least get to the point where I wasn’t about to throw something.
Exhaling a gusty sigh, I leaned my seat back and gazed up at the worn headliner of my car. Too damn much going on. Three more days until the damn GED. A pain in the ass boss. The usual angst and uncertainty about Marcus. My dad being his typical ornery self. The bizarre situation with Heather, Saberton’s connection with both Philip and Dr. Charish, as well as their disturbing interest in Pietro and others associated with him, including me.
It was a lot to think about and process, but it was that last item that had me frowning the most. Heather had known Kang—been good friends with him even. And Kang and Sofia had been up to something with her fake brains research that caught Saberton’s interest. Sofia was dead and gone. But Kang…
Kang might have some answers. Pietro had Kang’s head, and was supposedly trying to regrow it. Or rather, he had “his people” trying to regrow it. Did he really, or was that just a line of bullshit to string me along? I wouldn’t put it past him.
I glanced at my watch. Five thirty-two. Still early enough to make a civilized phone call to Pietro.
Rain began to patter my windshield again as I brought the back of my seat upright and reached for my purse to get my phone. Movement flickered to my left, followed by a startling crash and a shower of broken glass as my side window shattered. I let out a scream and instinctively threw up my arms up to shield my face, even as a hand reached through the busted window to hit the unlock button.
Before I could react, my attacker yanked the door open, fisted his hand in my hair close to my scalp, and dragged me from the seat and onto the wet gravel of the parking lot. I screamed again, this time in pain, and clutched at the hand in my hair. “Let me go!”
“Been through this before,” my attacker said. Philip! My blood ran cold, and I jerked my gaze up to his face. “But Archer’s not here to save you this time, darlin’,” he continued, voice slightly raspy but with a harsh, uncompromising undertone.