‘Dammit, Flake,’ he groaned.
‘The book is ruined. Your bad driving might have cost me the reward money. And
Jessica will be annoyed.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It
looked like you were in trouble, so I didn’t have time to show any caution.’
‘It was nothing I couldn’t
handle.’
He blew hard on a few of the
pages in a vain attempt to dry them out. Flake did not respond, and after a few
seconds of flicking through pages of the book and tutting, he suddenly became
aware of the fact that he may have been a little short with her. This was
confirmed when he heard her sniffing. He glanced over at her out of the corner
of his eye. She was close to tears. She was trying to hide it, or hold it in,
but she was definitely having a bit of a sob. Sanchez sighed.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘Rick is dead. Someone killed
him to get their hands on that book.’
Sanchez was taken aback. He’d
given Rick a bottle of liquor the day before. What a waste!
And who the hell was willing to kill to
get their hands on the book? ‘Oh shit,’ he blurted. ‘Do you know who killed
him?’
Flake shook her head. ‘No, but
his neighbour Crazy Annie said she heard something last night.’
‘Annie McFanny?’
‘Yeah. I saw her this morning.
She was absolutely hysterical.’
‘Why what did she say?’
‘She said she heard Rick being tortured
all night.’
‘How’s that funny?’
‘It’s not. She said that the
killer was after a book.’
‘The Book of Death?’
‘I don’t know, but that’s the
only book Rick had so I thought they might head to the library, then you’d be
in trouble.’
‘Did Annie see the killer?’
‘I couldn’t really tell. She
said she thought it was Santa Claus and his helpers.’
‘Whoa!’ said Sanchez. ‘Santa
Claus, you say?’
‘Yeah. Well, she is crazy. Let’s
face it, half of what she says is nonsense. It’s just hard to tell which half
sometimes, you know?’
‘I think she may have been
right.’
‘About what? Santa?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Really?’
‘Uh huh. Some big fucking
vampire dressed in a Santa outfit just tried to get the book from me. He had a
hip flask of green liquid with him too. The kind that causes paralysis.’
Flake gasped. ‘Oh my God, Rick
had green lips when I found him. Where’s this Santa guy now?’
‘I gave him a taste of his own
medicine.’
‘The green stuff?’
‘Yep. Then I set fire to his
beard. He went up in flames. Pretty sure he’s dead now.’
Flake slowed the car down as
they approached a red light at a pedestrian crossing. The car slid on the ice
and cruised right through the crossing, narrowly missing a teenage boy who was
crossing the road. It eventually came to a stop on the other side of the crossing
and Flake then accelerated away again. ‘Rick would be pleased,’ she said wiping
a tear from her cheek.
‘Yeah. Those little girls
weren’t too grateful though.’
‘Oh, that’s why they were
chasing you?’
‘Yeah. Bitches.’
Flake took a right turn. ‘We make
a pretty good pair of cops, don’t we?’ she said.
‘Huh?’
‘Well, you’ve just located the
missing book.’
Sanchez nodded in agreement.
‘That’s true.’
‘And you’ve just killed the
Santa who we think was the child killer.’
‘Yeah.’ He had to congratulate himself.
He had done rather well. ‘What have
you
done though?’ he asked.
‘I just saved you from getting
your ass kicked by a Sunflower Girl.’
‘Take a left up ahead.’
‘Why? Shouldn’t we head to the
station? We should report all this to Captain Harker. He’ll be really pleased
to hear about this. Plus we’re late for work.’
‘I want to stop off at the
Tapioca to try and repair this book that you ruined.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Flake turned the
steering wheel and the car skidded around the left turn that Sanchez had
pointed out. ‘You need any help fixing the book?’
‘No thanks,’ said Sanchez
staring down at the book again. ‘You’ve done enough damage to it already.’
‘I said I was sorry.’
‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘Just drop
me off. I’ll make my own way to the station later when I’ve repaired the book.
‘Okay.’
‘Don’t tell anyone I’ve got it
though, okay?’
Flake frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ll have Santa’s angry
fucking reindeer on my tail, most likely.’
‘Huh?’
‘People are obviously willing to
kill to get their hands on this book.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Flake.
‘After all, that book is very dangerous. Don’t go writing any names in it!’
‘I don’t think I’d be able to
even if I wanted to. The pages are soaking wet. This is going on the radiator
when I get home. I can’t return it to Jessica like this.’
Flake took an unusually long
breath. ‘How well do you know Jessica?’ she asked.
‘Pretty well,’ said Sanchez. ‘I
nursed her back to health after the Bourbon Kid tried to kill her. Twice!’
‘Yes, but what do you know about
her?’
‘Why do you care?’
‘Well, have you considered the
possibility that she might be one of the people who’re willing to kill to get
their hands on that book? I didn’t really take to her when she showed up at the
station. There’s something about her I don’t like.’
Sanchez couldn’t believe what he
was hearing. ‘How can you not like Jessica?’
‘She just seemed like a bit of a
bitch, that’s all.’
‘Hey, watch who you’re calling a
bitch! You hardly know her.’
‘Sorry, Sanchez. I just don’t
trust her. You should be careful. I mean, she lives in a place called the Casa
De Ville. It sounds like an evil place, doesn’t it?’
Sanchez shook his head. ‘So you
don’t like her because she lives in a place with an evil name? That’s
ridiculous.’ He turned away and stared out of the window for the rest of the
journey, to ensure that Flake could see how annoyed he was.
When they reached the Tapioca,
Sanchez climbed out of the car and begrudgingly thanked Flake for the ride. His
top priority now was fixing up The Book of Death and delivering it to Jessica
at the evil sounding Casa De Ville.
“Evil sounding,” he laughed to
himself. Flake was so stupid. The Casa De Ville would no doubt be a very
welcoming place when he turned up there with the book.
Thirty-Two
The floor of the barroom in
Purgatory was strewn with the smoking corpses of more than a hundred people.
After one sip of bourbon, JD had vanished, replaced by his alter ego, the
Bourbon Kid. Slaying everyone in the barroom had been exhilarating and easy. He
was back, and ready to return to Santa Mondega to finish off the undead for
good. No more loose ends. This time no one would be left alive.
Berkley the bartender was the
only person left standing. He poured the Kid another glass of bourbon, filling
the glass to the top without waiting to be told. The Kid sat back down on his
barstool and dusted himself off, reflecting on how good it felt to be back to
his old self. As the corpses on the floor began to smoulder and vanish into
puffs of smoke, he heard the saloon doors behind him being pushed open. The
doors rattled as they flapped to a close. What followed was the sound of a pair
of boots crunching on the barroom floor, making their way up to the bar.
A deep male voice boomed out.
‘Bartender, get me a bottle of Shitting Monkey.’
The Kid recognised the voice.
This wasn’t a man who was likely to be pleased to see him. They had only met
once before and it hadn’t gone well.
Berkley flipped the lid off a
bottle of Shitting Monkey and placed it down on the bartop. The man who had
entered the bar sat himself down on a stool to the left of the Bourbon Kid. He
picked up the bottle of Shitting Monkey and took a large swig from it. Then he
let out a satisfied
“
Aaaah
”
to indicate that the taste pleased
him immensely. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he spoke to the
Kid.
‘Finally, we meet again.’
The Kid looked over at his new
drinking partner. The most notable feature was his right hand. It was made from
solid steel. Only one man in the world had a hand like that.
Rodeo Rex.
Rex was a bounty hunter who
claimed he worked for God. He was a big fucker too. He had shoulder length
brown hair, mostly concealed underneath a large white Stetson. His biceps
bulged out of a sleeveless blue denim jacket, showing off an array of tattoos
featuring words like DEATH and CHOSEN. He also wore a pair of very tight blue
jeans. They wouldn’t be tight on many men, but when you had legs the size of
tree trunks, like Rex did, anything was going to be tight fitting.
‘You’re looking a lot better,’
said the Kid, referring to the last time he had seen the bounty hunter. On the
previous occasion Rex had been little more than a bloodied corpse rotating
round and round on a large ceiling fan in the Nightjar.
‘Did me a deal with the man in
red,’ said Rex. He took another pull at his beer. ‘I loved my work hunting down
the undead so much that when he offered me the chance to carry on under his
employment, I couldn’t say no.’
‘He keepin’ you busy?’
‘There’s a never endin’ supply of
hell dodgers to be taken down. Fuckers keep on multiplying. And right now
there’s a revolution goin’ on in your home town.’
‘No shit.’
‘So the man sent me to show you
the way.’ Rex took another sip of his beer, then he held the bottle up towards
the Kid, gesturing for him to chink glasses. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To killing
vampires!’
The Kid picked up his own glass
and duly chinked it against Rex’s. ‘To killing everything,’ he replied. Then he
poured the contents down his throat and slammed the empty glass back down on
the bar again, ready for Berkley to top it up once more.
As Berkley was refilling the
glass, Rex turned on his stool and looked back to the entrance. He put his
non-metallic hand to his mouth, stuck his index finger and thumb in and
whistled loudly. A moment later a tall dark figure appeared at the entrance, a
man with a large quiff of black hair atop his head. He pushed the saloon doors
open and walked slowly through them. The Kid recognised him too. They’d met
before, albeit only briefly a few times. It was Santa Mondega’s most well known
muscle for hire.
The King. The man they called
Elvis.
He wore a white suit with gold
trims and a pair of large gold-rimmed sunglasses. In his right hand he was
carrying a large guitar case. He sauntered up to the bar as if he was gliding
across a stage in front of an audience of imaginary female fans. When he
reached the bar he laid the case down on the bartop.
‘Afternoon, fellas,’ he said flicking
the guitar case open. He reached inside and pulled out a sheet of white paper.
He placed it down on the bar in front of the Kid. ‘There’s your contract,’ he
said. ‘Read it and sign on the dotted line.’
The Bourbon Kid picked up the
sheet of paper. It detailed all of the formalities of his deal with the Devil.
Everything he required from the Devil was listed at the top followed by all of
his obligations. Rodeo Rex held out a pen. The Kid signed his name on the
dotted line and then handed the pen back to Rex.
‘Got yourself a good deal,’ he
said as he picked up the contract and slipped it inside his sleeveless jacket.
‘So where’s my stuff?’ the Kid
asked.
Elvis patted him on the
shoulder. ‘Take your pick from this lot,’ he said.
He turned the open guitar case
around on the bar so the Kid could get a look inside. It was full of weapons
and ammunition. ‘We got everything here you could possibly need, and then
some,’ he said.
Rex pointed at a small silver
crossbow in the neck of the case. ‘Try some of the quieter weapons,’ he
suggested. ‘They’ll be most effective for what you need.’
The Kid glanced up at him. ‘I
don’t need any tips from you.’
‘You fuckin’ do. You might be a
real badass, but if you go back to Santa Mondega and face up to those vampires
and werewolves in your usual fashion, you’re gonna get your ass kicked.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘If they get their hands on The
Book of Death, it’ll be beyond your control. They know your real name now. If
Gaius retrieves the book, you’re outta the game, son.’
‘The Book of Death, huh. Where
is it now? D’ya know?’
‘Last I heard it was back at the
city library in the Reference section, but that book don’t tend to stay in one
place for long. Make it a priority to find it and destroy it if you can.’