Chapter Fourteen

Nobody would know unless they had to know.

That’s what I decided after days of contemplation. There was no good reason to share. This was the way Mammaw and Pops would have wanted it.

Out of respect, the funeral was closed-casket. There were no pictures in the paper. No obituary. O’Brien dropped me off at the cemetery where Mammaw and Pops had reserved plots years earlier. When I reached the site, I had my pick of any of the twenty-four empty folding chairs arranged in front of the twin coffins. Still, I preferred to stand.

The grave diggers were watching from a distance. They were here on standby, ready to lower my former employers into their final resting place. They’d been paid in advance and told what time to be here, but none of them knew exactly who set this up. And none of them knew who was being buried. Even the tombstones, purchased long ago, had only the names “Mammaw” and “Pops” etched into them. Their anonymity sure to be protected, now and forever.

I don’t know why I was surprised that the owners left behind a dead man’s switch to put their affairs in order after they’d passed. An estate planner set everything into motion the very morning after the accident, when the owners missed their daily check-in. Money was moved around in accordance with their wishes. People were hired. Documents were signed. I assumed a warehouse full of weird artifacts was probably burning to the ground somewhere. Meanwhile, the only preparations I’d made for my own inevitable and impending demise was the purchase of the suit I was currently wearing. 

I really should get my death in order someday.

I leaned against my crutch, standing just beyond the last row of empty seats, waiting for a priest I’d never seen before to finish a lengthy eulogy in a language that might have been Latin. The owners had never struck me as particularly religious, but the priest they hired didn’t strike me as particularly priestly either. He had a gold nose ring and jet-black mutton chops, a goat tattoo on his bald scalp, and robes of crimson red.

A shadow gave away the presence of another visitor a few seconds before he reached my side. At first, I felt a sense of relief that I wouldn’t be suffering this funeral alone. But that relief vanished as soon as I met my company.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said in that thick southern accent. He wore a respectful black suit and trilby hat. When he spoke, he looked straight ahead at the priest.

I tried to hit him with a good comeback, but all I could muster was, “Yeah.”

“The owners were good people.” Doctor Frances M. Howard crossed his arms and kept his eyes on the man on the other side of the vacant seating. Despite the lack of audience, the priest showed no signs of half-hamming his responsibilities. While still speaking in long-winded Latin pronouncements, he retrieved a bottle of Dom Pérignon from the inside of his priestly robes and opened it with a ceremonial jewel-encrusted dagger. He then drank a mouthful and poured the rest over the two coffins. Howard snorted, “The owners sure were into some weird stuff, huh?”

“What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be hunting humans for sport on a private island somewhere? How did you even find out about this? There wasn’t exactly an announcement.”

He finally looked at me. “I try to keep abreast of all important things going on in my town.” There wasn’t a snide smile or evil glint. Just a reasonable, human expression and tone to match, almost like he thought of me as an equal.

“Excuse me? ‘Your’ town?”

“I’ve got big plans for this place. And you’re part of them.”

“What?”

“I think you’ve been given a terrific, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This kind of responsibility, though, it’s not to be taken lightly, and I want to make sure that you aren’t being given the wrong kind of advice. I’m a businessman, after all, and I’ve seen plenty of people in your position lose everything just because they didn’t know who they could trust.”

I uttered a simple, “Thanks.”

“I mean, what did your friends say when you told them the good news?” He read my silence and inferred the implication. He let out a good, deep chuckle and guessed, “You haven’t told them, have you?”

“I was waiting for the right time.” Why was I even answering this guy? I didn’t owe him anything.

“You haven’t told your friends that the owners left you the gas station in their will?”

“No.”

Nobody would know unless they had to know. That was the plan, and I was sticking to it.

He said the words slowly and carefully, “How... interesting...”

“What’s it to you?”

“I hope that’s an indicator that you’re at least considering my offer.” He handed me another business card. On the back was a different phone number. One with a lot of zeroes. And a dollar sign. I soon realized that this wasn’t a phone number.

“Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot… er... Sorry. I mean—”

“It’s fine.”

“What I meant to say is that we don’t have to be adversaries, you and I. I think your former employers would have wanted us to get along.”

“Mammaw wanted me to punch you in the balls. It was pretty much the last thing she ever said to me. In a way, it was her dying wish.”

“You don’t want to go to war with me, Jack.” His tone stayed calm and even. It wasn’t a threat. He was just stating facts. “I know you’re upset now, but if you insist on going down this road, you’ll need to pace yourself. Today may seem hard, but it’s only going to get worse from here. I’ve done this a hundred times. I know how it ends. Either you adapt, or you die, and you don’t strike me as the type to adapt. No offense.”

“Do you mind?” I said, turning my attention forward. “I can’t hear the priest.”

The eulogy had somehow evolved into an interpretive dance complete with twirling sparklers. As much as it pained me to admit it, the doctor was right about one thing—the owners were into some weird stuff.

“I’ll leave you to it then. When you’re ready to talk, you have my number. Take all the time you need. Although I would advise you not to take more than you can handle.”

He turned and left the way he came. I looked over my shoulder as he walked away and tried again to think of a good comeback. Something fitting to bookend this conversation. Some way of showing that I was not to be underestimated…

Maybe I could insult his clothes or—no, that would righteously backfire. I could call out his age—no, that’s just petty. Maybe I should insinuate he’s a bad manager? Nah. I should probably call out his obvious lack of empathy. Yeah, like, “I would advise you not to take more children’s candy than you can handle.” No, that’s stupid. Think, Jack, think. Oh, wait, never mind, he’s already gone. I knew I’d come up with something absolutely genius later on in the shower.

Stupid brain.

I turned back to the priest and, for a split second, I saw something I couldn’t explain. The seats weren’t empty anymore. Every chair was taken. There were spillover mourners in suits and dresses and exotic attire. The ones who couldn’t find seats were standing past the edges, all watching the priest. All of them grieving. Not all of them human.

I blinked, and whatever I thought I saw disappeared.

 

***

 

We met up together before the sun went down. Rosa was the first to arrive. 

I was still counting down my till when she walked in, wearing a knee-length yellow dress and light blue-jean jacket. She had freshly painted dark pink fingernails and, for some reason, her hair was curlier than normal. I’ll admit, she looked nice, but the forecast called for wind and cold. Once we got outside, she was going to be freezing. I meant to suggest she grab some extra layers out of the Jerry-box before we left, but I completely forgot.

Our new part-timer, a guy named Guillermo, was the one unlucky enough to take my night shift. I spent an inordinate amount of effort making sure he was ready for any eventuality. I left a list of rules, hints, and emergency contact numbers in case something were to happen. Guillermo just laughed it all off and assured me that all he needed to get through the night was his Nintendo Switch and a six pack of Monster energy drinks. I already felt guilty for whatever was going to happen.

When Guillermo noticed Rosa, he rubbed his hands together, made a face like a hungry man at Thanksgiving dinner, and said, “Damn girl. You lookin’ good tonight. You got a hot date or something?” (Suddenly, I didn’t feel so guilty.)

Rosa smiled wide and said with a laugh, “No, just going to the carnival.”

“Really?” he said doubtfully. “Well, whoever he is, he’s a very lucky guy. That’s a really nice dress.”

“Thanks,” she beamed. “It has pockets!”

I handed Guillermo my countdown sheet and walked around to the other side of the counter. Rosa looked like she had spent all day getting ready to take school pictures. I, on the other hand, had come straight to work after the funeral and didn’t think to bring any going-out clothes. I was still wearing my dress shoes, suit pants, a plain white undershirt, and my baggy blue jacket.

“I feel underdressed.”

She walked up to me, took the name tag off my shirt and stuffed it into my jacket pocket, then said cheerfully, “There. Now you’re perfect.”

I could feel Guillermo’s eyes on us. I knew he wanted to say something, which is why I walked away from the counter. I took a seat at the booth table, Rosa took her spot across from me, and we made small talk until O’Brien walked in. It took me a moment to recognize her out of uniform. She wore jeans and a navy sweater, an obvious choice for a “let’s keep things professional” kind of night out.

She scanned the store, looked over at us, and asked, “We still waiting on Goofy?”

“Yeah.”

“Great.”

As soon as O’Brien took her seat next to me, Rosa said, “Thanks for agreeing to drive us, Deputy O’Brien. I’ve never been to the carnival before. I’m excited.”

O’Brien responded, “I’m off duty for the night, so you can call me Amy.”

“Thanks, Amy!”

“You’ve never been to the carnival?” I asked.

“No. My mom was really superstitious.”

O’Brien and I shared a brief look and matching thought. She asked, “What’s that got to do with the carnival?”

“Oh,” Rosa laughed. “Well, you know what people like to say about the carnival here.”

“No,” O’Brien said. “I don’t. What do people say?”

Jerry swaggered in before Rosa could elaborate. As soon as he saw us, he said, “Sorry I’m late, you guys. I saw a cat on the way here and had to stop and pet him.”

“I like your new shirt,” said Rosa. This newest creation of his was a short-sleeve that read “My name is Leroy! (Fight me!)” with small googly eyes added to the a, e’s, o, and g to turn them into little faces.

“Thanks,” he responded. “I added the eyes myself. I like your dress.”

“Thanks! It has pockets!”

With the whole gang finally together, we loaded up into the cruiser and made our way to the fairgrounds for the worst Valentine's Day ever.