Kill the Dead (Sandman Slim 2)

He stage-whispers, “Put me down! Take me back!”

I carry Kasabian straight out the back door to the alley. If any customers caught a glimpse of a head on a deck, they would just think I was throwing away a mannequin or an old movie promotion.

Kasabian is pretty discreet considering his situation. He doesn’t start screaming until I close the back door.

“What the fuck are you doing, man? Take me back inside.”

“It’s time for you to leave the nest, Tweety Bird. The world is your oyster. I saw a ‘Help Wanted’ sign at Donut Universe. With your managerial skills, you’ll be running the place by the end of the week. Vaya con Dios, Alfredo Garcia.”

“Are you out of your mind? What if someone sees us?”

“People will pay big bucks to see you. Maybe you should go to Griffith Park and sign up at the petting zoo. Hell, you’ll be their star attraction.”

“Is this about the money? I wasn’t embezzling. I was investing it for us. The store is on its last legs, man. We’re going to need a stake when it goes under.”

“It’s not the money or the attitude or you shitting beer out your neck hole. You’ve outgrown the place. You’re a lone wolf, not a team player, and I don’t want to hold you back.”

I reach into my pocket, wad up one of Lucifer’s hundreds, and toss it at him.

“Go buy yourself some platform shoes. Tall people always get the best job offers.”

When I go back inside, he’s still sitting there with his mouth open, the hundred lying at his metal feet.

I pull the door closed and wait. Right away I hear scratching, like a stray cat trying to get in after it got locked out of the house at night. Kasabian is cursing me through the door, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear. He doesn’t want that. The kicking and cursing goes on for thirty or forty seconds, getting louder the whole time. Then it stops. I listen. Nothing.

Okay. That’s something I didn’t count on. That moneygrubbing jack-o’-lantern isn’t crazy enough to go around to the front, is he?

I run up the stairs far enough that the customers can’t see me, and step through a shadow into the alley.

At first, I don’t see him. Then I hear a scrabbling from overhead. Fuck me. The little centipede is halfway up the wall, climbing for the bathroom window on his prehensile legs. He’s slow, but he’s moving steadily. I had no idea he could do that. Something else he’s been hiding along with all the other information he’s locked away?

I start to say something. When he looks down his eyes go wide. He screams and starts to fall. I throw up the shield I used earlier in the room. Kasabian is right over the Dumpster, so I vault the side and catch him when he bounces off the shield.

He yells, “Get out! Get out now!”

“Calm down. You’ve been in plenty of dirtier places than this.”

“Look down, asshole.”

I move Kasabian’s deck to the side and look at my feet. At the bottom of the Dumpster, on a pile of JD bottles, boxes, and worn-out DVD cases is a man’s hand. There’s a few inches of bone sticking out past the torn and ragged wrist. It looks like rats have been having a Sunday buffet.

“Please take me back inside.”

“What are you so upset about? It’s not yours.”

I get out of the Dumpster and set him on the ground.

“Sorry. I can’t go carrying you through there naked again. You’re wearing a disguise this time.”

There’s a Disney box lying on top of the Dumpster junk. I grab it, drop it on top of Kasabian, and carry him inside and up to the room. I punch the power on his monitor and set him down in front of it. Black Sunday is still playing. He stares at it for a moment like he’s never seen a movie before, and then turns it off.

“Is there any beer left?” he asks.

“I think so.”

I take one from the minifridge, pop the top, and slide his bucket under him. Kasabian is still staring at the blank monitor screen.

“Did you see that fucking thing?”