The Laughing Corpse (8 page)

Dominga never moved. Her black, angry eyes stared at me until we rounded the corner. Manny pulled me into the hallway with its cement covered doors. I pulled free of him. We stared at each other for a heartbeat.

“What's behind the doors?”

“I don't know.”

Doubt must have shown on my face because he said, “God as my witness, Anita, I don't know. It wasn't like this twenty years ago.”

I just stared at him as if looking would change things. I wish Dominga Salvador had kept Manny's secret to herself. I had not wanted to know.

“Anita, we have to get out of here, now.” The light bulb over our head went out, like someone had snuffed it. We both looked up. There was nothing to see. My arms broke out in goose bumps. The bulb just ahead of us dimmed, then blinked off.

Manny was right. We needed to leave now. I broke into a half jog towards the stairs. Manny stayed with me. The door with its shiny padlock rattled and thumped as if the thing were trying to get out. Another light bulb flashed off. The darkness was snapping at our heels. We were at a full run by the time we hit the stairs. There were two bulbs left.

We were halfway up the stairs when the last light vanished. The world went black. I froze on the stairs unwilling to move without being able to see. Manny's arm brushed mine, but I couldn't see him. The darkness was complete. I could have touched my eyeballs and not seen my finger. We grabbed hands and held on. His hand wasn't much bigger than mine. It was warm and familiar, and damn comforting.

The cracking of wood was loud as a shotgun blast in the dark. The stench of rotting meat filled the stairwell. “Shit!” The word echoed and bounced in the blackness. I wished I hadn't said it. Something large pulled itself into the corridor. It couldn't be as big as it sounded. The wet, slithering sounds moved towards the stairs. Or sounded like they did.

I stumbled up two steps. Manny didn't need any urging. We stumbled through the darkness, and the sounds below hurried. The light under the door was so bright, it almost hurt. Manny flung open the door. The sunlight blazed against my eyes. We were both momentarily blinded.

Something screamed behind us, caught in the edge of daylight. The scream was almost human. I started to turn, to look. Manny slammed the door. He shook his head. “You don't want to see. I don't want to see.”

He was right. So why did I have this urge to yank the door open, to
stare down into the dark until I saw something pale and shapeless? A screaming nightmare of a sight. I stared at the closed door, and I let it go.

“Do you think it will come out after us?” I asked.

“Into the daylight?” Manny asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I don't think so. Let's leave without finding out.”

I agreed. The August sunlight streamed into the living room. Warm and real. The scream, the darkness, the zombies, all of it seemed wrong for the sunlight. Things that go bump in the morning. It didn't sound quite right.

I opened the screen door calmly, slowly. Panicked, me? But I was listening so hard I could hear blood rush in my ears. Listening for slithery sounds of pursuit. Nothing.

Antonio was still on guard outside. Should we warn him about the possibility of a Lovecraftian horror nipping at our heels?

“Did you fuck the zombie downstairs?” Antonio asked.

So much for warning old Tony.

Manny ignored him.

“Go fuck yourself,” I said.

He said, “Heh!”

I kept walking down the porch steps. Manny stayed with me. Antonio didn't draw his gun and shoot us. The day was looking up.

The little girl on the tricycle had stopped by Manny's car. She stared up at me as I got in the passenger side door. I stared back into huge brown eyes. Her face was darkly tanned. She couldn't have been more than five.

Manny got in the driver's side door. He put the car in gear, and we pulled away. The little girl and I stared at each other. Just before we turned the corner she started pedaling up and down the sidewalk again.

T
HE AIR CONDITIONER
blasted cold air into the car. Manny drove through the residential streets. Most of the driveways were empty. People off to work. Small children playing in the yards. A few moms out on the front steps. I didn't see any daddies at home with the kids. Things change, but not that much. The silence stretched out between us. It was not a comfortable silence.

Manny glanced at me furtively out of the corner of his eye.

I slumped in the passenger seat, the seat belt digging across my gun. “So,” I said, “you used to perform human sacrifice.”

I think he flinched. “Do you want me to lie?”

“No, I want to not know. I want to live in blessed ignorance.”

“It doesn't work that way, Anita,” he said.

“I guess it doesn't,” I said. I adjusted the lap strap so it didn't press over my gun. Ah, comfort. If only everything else were that easy to fix. “What are we going to do about it?”

“About you knowing?” he asked. He glanced at me as he asked. I nodded.

“You aren't going to rant and rave? Tell me what an evil bastard I am?”

“Doesn't seem much point in it,” I said.

He looked at me a little longer this time. “Thanks.”

“I didn't say it was alright, Manny. I'm just not going to yell at you. Not yet, anyway.”

He passed a large white car full of dark-skinned teenagers. Their car stereo was up so loud, my teeth rattled. The driver had one of those high-boned, flat faces, straight off an Aztec carving. Our eyes met as we moved by them. He made kissing motions with his mouth. The others laughed uproariously. I resisted the urge to flip them off. Mustn't encourage the little tykes.

They turned right. We went straight. Relief.

Manny stopped two cars back from a light. Just beyond the light was the turnoff 40 West. We'd take 270 up to Olive and then a short jaunt to my apartment. We had forty-five minutes to an hour of travel time. Not a problem normally. Today I wanted away from Manny. I wanted some time to digest. To decide how to feel.

“Talk to me, Anita, please.”

“Honest to God, Manny, I don't know what to say.” Truth, try to stick to the truth between friends. Yeah.

“I've known you for four years, Manny. You are a good man. You love your wife, your kids. You've saved my life. I've saved yours. I thought I knew you.”

“I haven't changed.”

“Yes,” I looked at him as I said it, “you have. Manny Rodriguez would never under any circumstance take part in human sacrifice.”

“It's been twenty years.”

“There's no statute of limitations on murder.”

“You going to the cops?” His voice was very quiet.

The light changed. We waited our turn and merged into the morning traffic. It was as heavy as it ever got in St. Louis. It's not the gridlock of L.A., but stop and jerk is still pretty darn annoying. Especially this morning.

“I don't have any proof. Just Dominga Salvador's word. I wouldn't exactly call her a reliable witness.”

“If you had proof?”

“Don't push me on this, Manny.” I stared out the window. There was a silver Miada with the top down. The driver was white-haired, male, and wore a jaunty little cap, plus racing gloves. Middle-age crisis.

“Does Rosita know?” I asked.

“She suspects, but she doesn't know for sure.”

“Doesn't want to know,” I said.

“Probably not.” He turned and stared at me then.

A red Ford truck was nearly in front of us. I yelled, “Manny!”

He slammed on the brakes, and only the seat belt kept me from kissing the dashboard.

“Jesus, Manny, watch your driving!”

He concentrated on traffic for a few seconds, then without looking at me this time, “Are you going to tell Rosita?”

I thought about that for about a second. I shook my head, realized he couldn't see it, and said, “I don't think so. Ignorance is bliss on this one, Manny. I don't think your wife could deal with it.”

“She'd leave me and take the kids.”

I believed she would. Rosita was a very religious person. She took all the commandments very seriously.

“She already thinks I'm risking my eternal soul by raising the dead,” Manny said.

“She didn't have a problem until the pope threatened to excommunicate all animators unless they stopped raising the dead.”

“The Church is very important to Rosita.”

“Me, too, but I'm a happy little Episcopalian now. Switch churches.”

“It's not that easy,” he said.

It wasn't. I knew that. But, hey, you do what you can, or what you have to. “Can you explain why you would do human sacrifice? I mean, something that will make sense to me?”

“No,” he said. He pulled into the far lane. It seemed to be going a little faster. It slowed down as soon as we pulled in. Murphy's law of traffic.

“You won't even try to explain?”

“It's indefensible, Anita. I live with what I did. I can't do anything else.”

He had a point. “This has to change the way I think about you, Manny.”

“In what way?”

“I don't know yet.” Honesty. If we were very careful, we could still
be honest with each other. “Is there anything else you think I should know? Anything that Dominga might spill later on?”

He shook his head. “Nothing worse.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “That's it, no interrogation?”

“Not now, maybe not ever.” I was tired all at once. It was 9:23 in the morning, and I needed a nap. Emotionally drained. “I don't know how to feel about this, Manny. I don't know how it changes our friendship, or our working relationship, or even if it does. I think it does. Oh, hell, I don't know.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Let's move on to something we aren't confused about.”

“And what would that be?” I asked.

“The Señora will send something bad to your window, just like she said she would.”

“I figured that.”

“Why did you threaten her?”

“I didn't like her.”

“Oh, great, just great,” he said. “Why didn't I think of that?”

“I am going to stop her, Manny. I figured she should know.”

“Never give the bad guys a head start, Anita. I taught you that.”

“You also taught me that human sacrifice is murder.”

“That hurt,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “it did.”

“You need to be prepared, Anita. She will send something after you. Just to scare you, I think, not to really harm.”

“Because you made me 'fess up to not killing her,” I said.

“No, because she doesn't really believe you'll kill her. She's intrigued with your powers. I think she'd rather convert you than kill you.”

“Have me as part of her zombie-making factory.”

“Yes.”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“The Señora is not used to people saying no, Anita.”

“Her problem, not mine.”

He glanced at me, then back to the traffic. “She'll make it your problem.”

“I'll deal with it.”

“You can't be that confident.”

“I'm not, but what do you want me to do, break down and cry. I'll deal with it when, and if, something noisome drags itself through my window.”

“You can't deal with the Señora, Anita. She is powerful, more powerful than you can ever imagine.”

“She scared me, Manny. I am suitably impressed. If she sends something I can't handle, I'll run. Okay?”

“Not okay. You don't know, you just don't know.”

“I heard the thing in the hallway. I smelled it. I'm scared, but she's just human, Manny. All the mumbo jumbo won't keep her safe from a bullet.”

“A bullet may take her out, but not down.”

“What does that mean?”

“If she were shot, say in the head or heart, and seemed dead, I'd treat her like a vampire. Head and heart taken out. Body burned.” He glanced at me sort of sideways.

I didn't say anything. We were talking about killing Dominga Salvador. She was capturing souls and putting them into corpses. It was an abomination. She would probably attack me first. Some supernatural goodie come creeping into my home. She was evil and would attack me first. Would it be murder to ambush her? Yeah. Would I do it anyway? I let the thought take shape in my head. Rolled it over like a piece of candy, tasting the idea. Yeah, I could do it.

I should have felt bad that I could plan a murder, for any reason, and not flinch. I didn't feel bad. It was sort of comforting to know if she pushed me, I could push back. Who was I to cast stones at Manny for twenty-year-old crimes? Yeah, who indeed.

I
T WAS EARLY
afternoon. Manny had dropped me off without a word. He hadn't asked to come up, and I hadn't offered. I still didn't know what to think about him, Dominga Salvador, and nonrotting zombies, complete with souls. I decided not to think. What I needed was good physical activity. As luck would have it, I had judo class this afternoon.

I have a black belt, which sounds a lot more impressive than it really is. In the dojo with referees and rules, I do okay. Out in the real world where most bad guys outweigh me by a hundred pounds, I trust a gun.

I was actually reaching for the doorknob when the bell chimed. I put the overstuffed gym bag by the door and used the little peephole. I always had to stand on tiptoe to see out of it.

The distorted image was blond, fair-eyed, and barely familiar. It was Tommy, Harold Gaynor's muscle-bound bodyguard. This day was just getting better and better.

I don't usually take a gun to judo class. It's in the afternoon. In the summer that means daylight. The really dangerous stuff doesn't come out until after dark. I untucked the red polo shirt I was wearing and clipped my inter-pants holster back in place. The pocket-size 9mm dug in just a little. If I had known I was going to need it, I would have worn looser jeans.

The doorbell rang again. I hadn't called out to let him know I was
in here. He didn't seem discouraged. He rang the doorbell a third time, leaning on it.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. I looked up into Tommy's pale blue eyes. They were still empty, dead. A perfect blankness. Were you born with a stare like that, or did you have to practice?

“What do you want?” I asked.

His lips twitched. “Aren't you going to invite me in?”

“I don't think so.”

He shrugged massive shoulders. I could see the straps of his shoulder holster imprinted on his suit jacket. He needed a better tailor.

A door opened to my left. A woman came out with a toddler in her arms. She locked the door before turning and seeing us. “Oh, hi.” She smiled brightly.

“Hello,” I said.

Tommy nodded.

The woman turned and walked towards the stairs. She was murmuring something nonsensical and high-pitched to the toddler.

Tommy looked back at me. “You really want to do this in the hallway?”

“What are we doing?”

“Business. Money.”

I looked at his face, and it told me nothing. The only comfort I had was that if Tommy meant to do me harm he probably wouldn't have come to my apartment to do it. Probably.

I stepped back, holding the door very wide. I stayed out of arm's reach as he walked into my apartment. He looked around. “Nice, clean.”

“Cleaning service,” I said. “Talk to me about business, Tommy. I've got an appointment.”

He glanced at the gym bag by the door. “Work or pleasure?” he asked.

“None of your business,” I said.

Again that bare twist of lips. I realized it was his version of a smile. “Down in the car I got a case full of money. A million five, half now, half after you raise the zombie.”

I shook my head. “I gave Gaynor my answer.”

“But that was in front of your boss. This is just you and me. No one'll know if you take it. No one.”

“I didn't say no because there were witnesses. I said no because I don't do human sacrifice.” I could feel myself smiling. This was ridiculous. I thought about Manny then. Alright, maybe it wasn't ridiculous. But I wasn't doing it.

“Everyone has their price, Anita. Name it. We can meet it.”

He had never once mentioned Gaynor's name. Only I had. He was being so bloody careful, too careful. “I don't have a price, Tommy-boy. Go back to Mr. Harold Gaynor and tell him that.”

His face clouded up then. A wrinkling between his eyes. “I don't know that name.”

“Oh, give me a break. I'm not wearing a wire.”

“Name your price. We can meet it,” he said.

“There is no price.”

“Two million, tax-free,” he said.

“What zombie could be worth two million dollars, Tommy?” I stared at his softly frowning face. “What could Gaynor hope to gain that would allow him to make a profit on that kind of expenditure?”

Tommy just stared at me. “You don't need to know that.”

“I thought you'd say that. Go away, Tommy. I'm not for sale.” I stepped back towards the door, planning to escort him out. He moved forward suddenly, faster than he looked. Muscled arms wide to grab me.

I pulled the Firestar and pointed it at his chest. He froze. Dead eyes, blinking at me. His large hands balled into fists. A nearly purple flush crept up his neck into his face. Rage.

“Don't do it,” I said, my voice sounded soft.

“Bitch,” he wheezed it at me.

“Now, now, Tommy, don't get nasty. Ease down, and we can all live to see another glorious day.”

His pale eyes flicked from the gun to my face, then back to the gun. “You wouldn't be so tough without that piece.”

If he wanted me to offer to arm wrestle him, he was in for a disappointment. “Back off, Tommy, or I'll drop you here and now. All the muscle in the world won't help you.”

I watched something move behind his dead eyes, then his whole body relaxed. He took a deep breath through his nose. “Okay, you got the drop on me today. But if you keep disappointing my boss, I'm gonna find you without that gun.” His lips twitched. “And we'll see how tough you really are.”

A little voice in my head said, “Shoot him now.” I knew as surely as I knew anything that dear Tommy would be at my back someday. I didn't want him there, but . . . I couldn't just kill him because I thought he might come after me someday. It wasn't a good enough reason. And how would I ever have explained it to the police?

“Get out, Tommy.” I opened the door without taking either my gaze or the gun off the man. “Get out and tell Gaynor that if he keeps annoying me, I'll start sending his bodyguards home in boxes.”

Tommy's nostrils flared just a bit at that, veins straining in his neck. He walked very stiffly past me and out into the hall. I held the gun at my side and watched him, listening to his footsteps retreat down the stairs. When I was as sure as I could be that he was gone, I put my gun back in its holster, grabbed my gym bag, and headed for judo class. Mustn't let these little interruptions spoil my exercise program. Tomorrow I would miss my workout for sure. I had a funeral to attend. Besides, if Tommy really did challenge me to arm wrestling, I was going to need all the help I could get.