Christopher Moore - A Dirty Job

Minty Fresh nodded, lowering his gaze to the floor. “You’ll take my Desert Eagles, then, for luck?” He looked up and was grinning.

“I’ll take one of them,” Charlie said.

Minty Fresh slipped out of his shoulder-holster rig and adjusted the straps until they fit Charlie, then helped him into the harness.

“There are two extra clips in here, under your right arm,” Minty said. “I hope you don’t have to fire it that many times down there or you will be one deaf motherfucker.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said.

Minty helped him get his tweed jacket on over the shoulder holster.

“You know, you might be heavily armed, but you still look like an English professor—don’t you have some clothes more appropriate for fighting?”

“James Bond always wears a tux,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, I understand the line between reality and fiction seems a little blurred here lately—”

“I’m kidding,” Charlie said. “There are some motocross leathers and pads in the shop that will fit me if I can find them.”

“Good.” Minty patted Charlie’s shoulders, like he was trying to make them bigger. “You see that bitch with the poison claws, you light her up for me, okay?”

“I’ll buss a cap in da hoe’s ass,” Charlie said.

“Don’t do that.”

“Sorry.”

The hardest part came a few minutes later.

“Honey, Daddy has to go do something.”

“Are you going to get Mommy?”

Charlie was crouched in front of his daughter, and he nearly rolled over backward at the question. She hadn’t mentioned her mommy a dozen times in the last two years.

“Why would you say that, honey?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking about her.”

“Well, you know that she loved you very much.”

“Yeah.”

“And you know that no matter what, I love you very much.”

“Yeah, you said that yesterday.”

“And I meant it yesterday. But this time, I really do have to go. I have to fight some bad guys, and I might not win.”

Sophie’s lower lip pushed out like a big wet shelf.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, Charlie chanted in his head. I can’t handle it if you cry .

“Don’t cry, honey. Everything will be okay.”

“Nooooooooooo,” Sophie wailed. “I want to go with you. I want to go with you. Don’t go, Daddy, I want to go with you.”

Charlie held her and looked across the room to his sister, pleading. She came and took Sophie from his arms. “Noooooo. I want to go with you.”

“You can’t go with me, honey.” And Charlie ducked out of the apartment before his heart broke again.

Audrey was waiting in the hall with fifty-three squirrel people. “I’m driving you to the entrance,” she said. “Don’t argue.”

“No,” Charlie said. “I’m not losing you after just finding you. You stay here.”

“You creep! What gives you the right to be that way. I just found you, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m not much of a find.”

“You’re an ass,” she said, and she walked into his arms and kissed him. After a long time, Charlie looked around. The squirrel people were all looking up at them.

“What are they doing here?”

“They’re going with you.”

“No. It’s too risky.”

“Then it’s too risky for you, too. You don’t even know what could be down there—this thing that broke into your store wasn’t one of the Morrigan.”

“I’m not going to be afraid, Audrey. There might be a hundred different demons, but The Book of the Dead is right, they are only keeping us from our path. I think these things exist for the same reason I was chosen to do this, because of fear. I was afraid to live, so I became Death. Their power is our fear of death. I’m not afraid. And I’m not taking the squirrel people.”

“They know the way. And besides, they’re fourteen inches tall, what do they have to live for?”

“Hey,” said a Beefeater guard whose head was the skull of a bobcat.

“Did he say something?” Charlie asked.

“One of my experimental voice boxes.”

“It’s a little squeaky.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, uh, Beef,” Charlie said. The creatures seemed resolute. “Onward, then!”

Charlie ran down the hall so he wouldn’t have to say good-bye again. Ten yards behind him marched a small army of nightmare creatures, put together from the parts of a hundred different animals. It just so happened that at the time they were reaching the staircase, Mrs. Ling came downstairs to see what all the commotion had been about, and the entire army stopped in the stairway and looked up at her.

Mrs. Ling was, and had always been, a Buddhist, and so she was a firm believer in the concept of karma, and that those lessons you did not learn would continually be presented to you until you learned them, or your soul could never evolve to the next level. That afternoon, as the Forces of Light were about to engage the Forces of Darkness for dominion over the world, Mrs. Ling, staring into the blank eyes of the squirrel people, had her own epiphany, and she never again ate meat, of any kind. Her first act of atonement was an offering to those she felt she had wronged.

“You want snack?” she said.

But the squirrel people marched on.

The Emperor saw the van pull up near the creek and a man in bright yellow motorcycle leathers climb out. The man reached back into the van and grabbed what looked like a shoulder holster with a sledgehammer in it, and slipped into the harness. If the context hadn’t been so bizarre, the Emperor could have sworn it was his friend Charlie Asher, from the secondhand shop in North Beach, but Charlie? Here? With a gun? No.

Lazarus, who was not so dependent on his eyes for recognition, barked a greeting.

The man turned to them and waved. It was Charlie. He walked down to the creekbank across from them.

“Your Majesty,” Charlie said.

“You seem upset, Charlie. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, I’m okay, I just had to take directions from a mute beaver in a fez to get here, it’s unsettling.”

“Well, I can see how it would be,” said the Emperor. “Nice ensemble, though, the leathers and the pistol. Not your usual sartorial splendor.”

“Well, no. I’m on a bit of a mission. Going to go into that culvert, find my way into the Underworld, and do battle with the Forces of Darkness.”

“Good for you. Good for you. Forces of Darkness seem to be on the rise in my city lately.”

“You noticed, then?”

The Emperor hung his head. “Yes, I’m afraid we’ve lost one of our troops to the fiends.”

“Bummer?”

“He went into a storm sewer days ago, and hasn’t come out.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Would you look for him, Charlie? Please. Bring him out.”

“Your Majesty, I’m not sure that I’m coming back myself, but I promise, if I find him, I’ll try to bring him out. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to open this van and I don’t want you to be alarmed by what you see, but I want to get into the pipe while there’s still some light from the grates. What you see coming out of the van—they’re friends.”

“Carry on,” said the Emperor.

Charlie slid the door open and the squirrel people hopped, scampered, and scooted down the bank of the creek toward the culvert. Charlie reached into the van, took out his sword-cane and flashlight, and butt-bumped the door shut. Lazarus whimpered and looked at the Emperor as if someone who was able to talk should say something.

“Good luck, then, valiant Charlie,” said the Emperor. “You go forth with all of us in your heart, and you in ours.”