Wait – plants in my lounge room?
A few dozen mature cannabis plants. In pots.
Oh, FUCK.
****
The cops booked me, of course. Best thing to
happen to them all month, I'd say, since it's generally the cops in
disgrace who pull 'noise pollution' duty. So we went down to the
station and I docilely gave my details to a fat balding cop who
looked like he hadn't stirred from behind his desk for a few years.
But I stayed polite and obedient, even when Linda appeared behind
the fat guy and stuck her tongue out at me. Even though I
desperately wanted to be childish too and stick my tongue out at
her. That's about the only revenge I can get on the stupid bitch
right now.
(Trent)
I'm starting to wonder if an
all-expenses-paid long-term hire is really worth it. Certainly, I'm
eating consistently for the first time in years. My rent is paid up
for months, my clothes are new, and I have a NICE car. But I also
have a sad, whiny female hanging around me a lot, and she's a bit
of a downer – what with the "I'm so miserable" thing 24/7. Can't
even take her to bed to give her a hormone fix. Can't kick her out,
because this woman is half pathos, half stalker queen incarnate.
And believe it or not, I'm a sucker for a woman in trouble. That's
part of the reason I'm usually broke.
Here's Linda's take on things, scribed by
yours truly. I really must teach her to use a bloody keyboard.
You know what sucks most about being dead? Hunger.
Sleep. They're all controlled by your body, right? But the cravings
didn't just
go
because I'm dead. They're just vague and
weird. Like, I find myself drifting off to sleep and the world just
fades away and I could be out for days, or only minutes. I panic
almost every time I drift off, because it feels like I'm just
floating away to another place. If I was alive, my body'd wake me
and it'd bring me back. But I can't find the bloody thing, and I
don't think it'd help me anyhow. Not with this. Cos it's dead. So I
get kinda hungry, and I can't do a fucking thing about it. No steak
for me.
I tried to eat. What a joke. I could pick it up.
I've gotten damn good at that. But I couldn't find my mouth. It
should be there in my head, right? So I headed over to a mirror for
some help, and I get a shock. I don't have a reflection. I looked
down at myself, and I was looking just fine. Trent could see me.
The bastard was hiding snickers behind his hand as he watched me
try to eat. Nothing in the mirror, though. It's like I don't have a
soul. And then I realised that even if I got the stupid burger in
my mouth, I didn't have teeth. Or anything. Fuck, what a doofus. So
I'm stuck wandering around playing halloween tricks and looking for
my body, tired and hungry and more and more grumpy.
See what I mean? Whiny. If I had any sense
I'd get the hell out of this deal and find me some sunny beach
where she couldn't find me. The moon, maybe.
I'm not completely heartless. I do feel for
her, in the midst of wishing she'd take herself off to the
afterlife. I even took her out clubbing in an attempt to cheer her
up. I was expecting drunk idiots to crack onto her, and then suffer
some Linda-esque revenge, which always seems to cheer her up. But
nope – her aura of misery kept them away in droves, while the women
flocked to me.
In case you didn't realise, I'm NOT a looker.
But that 'I want you but I can't have you' look is magnetic.
Apparently. By the end of the night I had a pocketful of phone
numbers, and Linda was droopier and more miserable than ever.
"LINDA!"
"What?"
"What the FUCK do you want?"
"My body, arsehole!"
"I don't have it!"
"Tell me where it is, shit-for-brains, and
I'll leave you alone."
"You're gonna get me killed, you crazy
bitch!"
"Self-inflicted, arsewipe - where's my
body?"
"LINDA!"
He stands in a solitary jail cell, pants
around his ankles, yelling at a besser-brick wall. The warden
watching the television screen shakes his head sadly.
"Geez, they reckon that shit's harmless, eh?
Look at the poor fucker!"
He doesn't see the KISS ME written in
beautiful cursive in red-rose lipstick on Mike's arse that Mike's
just spotted in the mirror – and which has sparked this latest
screaming match.
"Linda, for God's sake..."
She disappears.
He slumps to his knees and starts to cry, as
she reappears behind him and crumbles a biscuit into his bed.
****
(Mike)
Ten times round the hot concrete exercise
yard. What a crock. The shittiest thing is, that was the highlight
of my fucking day, after Linda's visit last night. Even with the
other cons staring at me and whispering to each other and the
resident arsehole who had to come over and grab my shoulder
right on the nerve
and 'welcome' me to his fucking dump.
Back inside I go, and I sit in the jail cell,
butt cheeks freshly scrubbed, and try to work out what the fuck I'm
going to do. With Linda dead, there's no one who gives a shit about
me. I'm broke, in the eyes of the law, and I'd have to be out of
here to get hold of some of the real cash. I can't post bail for
myself, no one else will, so I'm fucked. Stuck in prison again with
a bunch of arsehole losers and a ghost writing come-on messages on
my arse.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK!
There's no way out of this shit. If I tell
Linda the truth, the shit'll just hit the fan. Fuck. She thinks she
can just find her fucking body and float off to happyland. If she
finds out what I've done with it, there's gonna be no happyland for
nobody. She's gonna kill me.
Dear God. I'm starting to think that maybe
Linda's been going about this whole vengeance thing all wrong. All
she has to do is hang around Mike whining about how unhappy she is.
It would drive him nuts, surely. It's driving me nuts. Yeah, I'm an
arsehole, Linda. But when there's nothing I can do to cheer you up,
it's just a little bit frustrating. Like bombs exploding make a
house a little bit hot.
The keyboard clicks in front of me, without
my help.
Find my body, arsehole. That'd cheer me
up.
Mental note – never work for ghosts.
****
I know you've heard Mike's side of the story. Let me
guess – I cheated on him, and he was outraged, and we argued, and
he slapped me, and I hit my head on something and died, right?
Fucking liar.
****
(Trent)
I sit at my computer, trying to work out
where to go next in this investigation. Linda, thank God, has
wandered off to torment Mike.
Irritatingly, Linda can access Mike just
fine. Me? Limited contact only. And it's not like he's going to be
too helpful right now, is it?
Out of sheer boredom and lack of ideas, I
open a browser window and type 'find body of murdered girlfriend'
into Google. Lots of results describing gory murders of women by
jealous boyfriends. Meh.
Just wait.
Jealous boyfriend.
Maybe the gay neighbours know something?
****
(Trent)
I knock on the front door of the house next
door. It opens a crack almost immediately, and a wary bronzed face
peers over the chain.
"Hi!" I say brightly, "I'm a mate of Mike's,
I'm helping him with a little problem?"
The face disappears with a scream, the door
slams closed, and heavy footsteps recede fast.
That was
not
the reaction I
expected.
(Lazarus)
"Laz, baby, we've got
trouble!
"
Geordie stands in the doorway and pants. He
looks terrified.
"Oh Gods, Geordie, you didn't freak out on
the cops?"
He puts his hands on his hips and looks
indignant.
"Of course not! God, Laz, don't you think I
have a brain? I freaked out on a weird bloke claiming to be Mike's
'mate' and helping him out with a 'little problem'! He's sent a
hired
killer
after us, Laz! Now do you still think I'm
over-reacting??"
I sigh.
"Geordie, I never said you were
over-reacting."
"You did too! All over your face!"
I sigh. Again. I don't want to have this
argument. I'm sick of it. Then the rest of his words sink in.
"Just wait – he's sent someone after us? You
sure?"
Geordie nods, bottom lip all a-quiver in a
way that's distractingly sexy.
"Sit down. Tell me
exactly
what he
said."
Geordie sits down in the spare office chair
and starts swinging it round and round, side to side.
"He said, 'I'm a mate of Mike's – I'm here to
help him with a little problem?' And then he smiled, like he wasn't
about to shoot the crap out me!"
Fuck. Sounds as though the bastard's changed
his mind about the split-up.
****
(Linda)
Right. I think I've gotten the hang of this keyboard
now. Stupid qwerty layout – did a man come up with that? Mike
visiting the neighbours has me bloody worried. The guy's going to
get himself killed. Geordie's not the stable type, you know? He'd
pull the trigger then he'd throw the gun across the room and
collapse on the body, weeping – but Trent would still be dead. And
yeah, he's a PI and he knows the risks in this sort of case, but
I'd still feel bad. Mostly because if he knew what had gone on,
there's no way he'd have just wandered over, friendly, unarmed.
Fuck! If anything happens to him, it's definitely my fault.
****
(Linda)
I suppose you're wondering what the hell happened
that Trent won't know about, right? I bet Mike's told him some
dumbarse story about catching me in bed with them, and losing the
plot, and accidentally killing me. Funny, but I just can't get that
information out of Trent. Not sure whether it's customer
confidentiality keeping his mouth shut – what a bloody weird parody
of customer care that is! - or whether he has old-fashioned notions
about not telling a lady about rumours besmirching her reputation.
No good telling him I'm no lady. Although if Geordie loses the plot
and tells all, even some, that fact's going to be bloody obvious to
him.
OK. Bean-spilling time. I slept with Geordie and
Lazarus. Not for the sex itself, although God, the sex was
fantastic. Those two have their major faults, but in the bedroom –
together or individually – those boys are perfect. Both muscled,
strong and incredibly gentle. And surprisingly aware of female
anatomy for avowed gay guys. But anyway, I didn't sleep with them
for the sex, at least at first. I slept with them because Mike
asked me to. He wanted in on the action, but he needed a hook.
Me.
****
(Trent)
I stand at the front door, which has just
been slammed in my face with a scream. That reaction was truly odd
– unless, of course, they
did
know something. Had they seen
Mike burying Linda? That would be enough to panic almost anyone.
Especially with my dumb reference to being a mate of Mike's.
Huh.
I shrug and knock on the door again.
(Lazarus)
Geordie comes running in again, shaking.
"He's knocking on the door again!" he
whispers.
I shrug.
"Let him knock!" I say, "Just don't let the
bastard in, whatever you do. OK? I really need to get some work
done, honey."
(Trent)
My hand hurts.
"MIKE. NEEDS. HELP!" I yell at the blank
door. "I. WON'T. HURT. YOU! LOOK!" I hold up empty hands, "UN.
ARMED!"
The door re-opens a crack.
"Promise?"
"Promise!" I say, exasperated.
"Well... OK. But the first sign of
misbehaviour, I smack you over the head with a frypan,
comprende?"
Sure enough, he's wielding a mean-looking
iron skillet.
(Lazarus)
I traipse down the hall to refill my coffee
cup. Voices? Geordie's talking to someone, and I hear 'Mike' clear
as day. That's not good. I hurry down to the kitchen, and lo and
behold! Geordie's chatting away to the person who scared the crap
out of him and who I specifically told him not to let in.
"Geordie! Darling! Who's your little friend?"
I ask, oozing charm.
"Lazarus, meet Trent! He's not a hired gun
after all! Poor little Mikey! He's an exorcist, Mikey hired him to
get rid of Linda's ghost! He's trying to find out where she's
buried, so he can do a proper exorcism, but of course he can't ask
Mikey, because Mikey's in prison now, but I was about to tell him
that that's not going to help, because -"
"GEORDIE!" I interupt the flow of chatter,
"Can I talk to you in the study for a second?"
I grab his arm and frog-march him to the
study.
"Darling," I say, "did it ever occur to you
that he might be a cop?"
Geordie turns white.
I leave him standing in the study and head
back to the kitchen.
"I'm so sorry to be rude," I say, oozing
charm again, "but Geordie's a fervent Mormon, and he was about to
launch into a lecture about souls and being earthbound and – well,
you don't want to hear all that rubbish, do you? So I thought I'd
do the hospitable thing and ask him to shut the hell up. He's in
the study praying for us right now, I suspect! So – can I get you
another coffee?"
(Trent)
Another excellent cup of coffee, and a whole
new basket full of questions. These guys didn't blink an eye at the
news that Linda's dead, although it isn't common knowledge. And
while they panicked when they thought I was a hit man, they calmed
straight down when they'd decided I wasn't. So it's not Mike
himself that scares them...
These guys are in it up to their necks.
****
(Linda)
"Well duh!" I told Trent when he explained his
little theory to me.
"You knew they were involved?"