Tim Marquitz - Resurrection

“As mud.”

Baalth leaned forward. “Don’t test me, Frank.” The seriousness of his etched face gave me pause. I could see fire whirling in his eyes.

I raised my hands, not wanting to set him off. “I’ll leave it be, for now.”

Baalth sank back into his seat, apparently willing to let it go at that. “Good. Now I want you to go to Rest Land and see what you can find. I want the bastard who attacked my men gone, however you take that to mean.” He gestured to The Gray. “You’ll take McConnell with you.”

“You have got to be kidding,” I complained. “Don’t worry Jesus, Judas has your back.” I glared at McConnell. “Made any silver lately?”

Baalth jumped to his feet, his fists slamming into the desk, splinters of wood exploding from its shattered top. “If I wanted you dead, I’d kill you myself. I wouldn’t send some lackey and derive myself of the pleasure of choking the life out of you with my own two hands.” I could have sworn I saw a hint of drool glistening on his lips. He looked far too pleased as he rattled on about killing me. It was time to cut my losses.

“Fine, I’ll take the redneck, but if he so much as farts in my general direction, I’m sending him back in a box.”

Baalth dropped back into his chair. “Take care of this and your debt is cleared.”

I liked the sound of that. With nothing left to say that wouldn’t get me in trouble, I nodded to Baalth, then Poe, followed up by a sexy wink at Marcus, and headed for the door.

“Let’s go, cowboy.”

Not bothering to see if McConnell was behind me, I made my way through the empty club and out to my car. While I’d been distracted by my animosity of the wizard, it hadn’t entirely slipped past that Baalth sent me to do his dirty work when he had the firepower to handle it himself. There was something going on, and as usual, I was probably the only one who didn’t know what.

Not that it ever stopped me before. At least if Baalth was setting me up, I was gonna take his pet hillbilly down with me.

On the way to the cemetery I blasted the stereo, for no reason other than spite. With Slayer’s “Raining Blood” oozing from the crackling speakers, I watched in giddy pleasure as McConnell cringed every time the discordant squeal of a King/Hanneman guitar solo erupted. It was petty, but oh so satisfying.

At Rest Land, I turned the music down out of respect. Not so much for the dead, they’d proven way too often respect was a notion that didn’t carry over, but rather for the mourners who tended their graves. However callous I may be about the concept of death, you had to admire the dedication of a person who takes time out of their hectic life to remember and care for a loved one who’s passed on. While there was nothing I could do for them that would make their loss any easier, the least I could do was not add to their grief.

I parked the car near the maintenance area and looked out over the green fields to see where my buddies were working. After spotting the guys several gardens over through the misty haze of the sprinklers, I turned to McConnell.

“Sorry about the rough ride.” I patted the Impala’s dashboard. “I know it’s probably not quite as much fun as riding bareback like you’re used to, but you took it like a champ.”

Yeah, I went there.

McConnell shook his head. “Look, Trigg. I’m not interested in being here anymore than you are, but it’s just business, hear? The boss says we gotta do this, so that’s what needs to be done. T’ain’t no two ways about it.”

“That may be so, Yes Man, but that doesn’t absolve you from trying to kick my head in, or for blowing my damn house up. You can say you were just following orders all you want, but it was you who pulled the trigger; personal responsibility and all that crap. So, at some point, I’m gonna take it out of your hide.”

He shrugged. “Be careful what you wish for, mutt. I don’t see any magic-dampening manacles lying around.” He gestured to the car, a cocksure smile springing up behind his snow-white beard. “Lady Luck ain’t always gonna play your side.”

I grinned back at him, but to be honest, I wasn’t feeling as confident as I came off. He was right, as much as it sucked to admit it. I’d gotten lucky stumbling across the manacles that shut his magic down. If I hadn’t, things would have played out very differently. Round two would probably be a slaughter, my ass on a hook. It was a sobering thought.

“Just don’t add me to the naughty list, Santa.” Not in the mood to talk my way into an ass-beating, I veered off. “Let’s get this over with.”

Nodding his agreement and smiling from ear to ear, McConnell hopped out of the car. As I climbed out, I fought the urge to shoot him in the back and shoved my hands deep into my pockets just to be safe. Once the feeling passed, I took off down the road to where my buddies were digging a hole. The wizard stayed a few steps behind. Not interested in letting him see how much our talk rattled me, I let it ride, striding boldly in front. By the time I reached my friends, my jaw hurt from all the teeth clenching.

The rumbling sound of the backhoe echoed through the quiet cemetery, the screeching grackles doing their best to compete. The birds were winning, much to the regret of my ears.

I made my way across the grass, dodging the headstones and raised memorials, making sure to avoid the clusters of plastic flowers and religious figurines piled en masse around the graves. Near the center of the garden, I sidled up alongside a dusty little guy who stood leaning against a parked red tractor. To its right was an orange dirt-mover, its bucket noisily biting into the ground with a rumble.

“How’s it going, Javier?”

He glanced at me, giving a crooked smile before turning back to shout up at the backhoe, “Hey, Carlos. Look who’s here. I told you we’d be seeing this vato soon, esse.” Javier stuck his hand out.

Wondering what he meant by that, I shook it, trying not to think about how many dead people he’d touched with it today.

Javier was not a bather.

As I wiped my hand off on my pants, as subtly as I could, Carlos shut down the backhoe and climbed out slow and deliberate, as though it were a trial to do so.

“Hey, Frank. Who’s this chango?” He gestured to McConnell as he strolled over to us.

“He’s with me. It’s cool.”

Both men looked The Gray over like they were sizing him up for a casket. I couldn’t blame them, but I wasn’t gonna get any answers if they were suspicious of him.

“He’s one of Baalth’s boys. A couple of his guys got jumped here the other night and he wants me to straighten it all out.”

They looked McConnell over for another few seconds, then Carlos turned to me and nodded. “Yeah, we heard something about that.” He motioned to Javier.

“We could probably tell you something, if we weren’t so busy, you know?” He kinda shrugged, little brown poofs of dust rising up off his shoulders.

Like almost every other person I dealt with on a daily basis, they all wanted something. The dictionary people should retire the word “free” as nothing truly ever is. “So, what can we do to help alleviate your workload?” It was wheelin’ and dealin’ time.

Carlos smiled wide, his wiry mustache sticking out like cat whiskers. “Seems some of our customers are getting up and walking away. That’s cool and all, shit, we could use the extra spaces, but it’s turning out to be a lot of work filling in all the new holes.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. Not that I was surprised the zombies Marcus and Poe tracked here were actually from this cemetery, but it came across as a comforting sense of serendipity. Not to mention, it got me off the hook without having to do another favor for someone. The dirt boys and I wanted the same thing, even if they didn’t know it. It let me look magnanimous without putting out any effort.