Buddy Gregson, now free of his tiny winged puppeteer, did not shut up. He rambled on and on and on about anything and everything, reveling in his newfound freedom.
“Fucking ramp was never right,” he growled as he rolled down to the driveway. “Grade’s too steep, and the thing’s listing to the side. Wasn’t attached to the house the way it should’ve been. Got maybe two more years before I gotta replace it. Shit ain’t cheap.”
Kevin replied with polite assent wherever necessary, just to let the old man know he was still listening. He supposed Buddy was simply overjoyed to finally be back in control of his own voice. After years spent under Thisolanipusintarex’s control, Kevin couldn’t blame him. He was painfully aware of how close he’d come to the same fate.
“…and that little bastard never washed the damn van right. For all his fuckin’ magic, he never could figure out how to work a hose an’ a sponge properly. Look at the rust along the bottom! Shoddy work right there, let me tell ya.”
They found a couple of planks in the garage and used them to create a makeshift ramp into the back of Buddy’s van. The old wood creaked and bounced as Kevin pushed the wheelchair across them, but they held. They stashed the planks in the back beside Buddy for use getting the man back out at Lordly Estates.
“An elevator. One more thing I gotta buy,” Buddy moaned. “This reaper shit better pay well.”
Realizing he still hadn’t used his Tallisker paycheck, Kevin offered his assistance. “Kill that reaper and I’ll buy you the nicest elevator I can find.”
“I want one with diamond buttons!” Buddy declared happily. “And railings made o’ pure ivory taken off some endangered elephants!”
Kevin couldn’t help laughing. The man’s enthusiasm was infectious. He reminded Kevin of Fran Kesky, sans the manipulative undercurrent. He’d never thought he’d see the day when Mr. Gregson turned out to be a legitimately nice, fun guy. The thought made him wonder how badly Buddy had suffered under the control of an evil, heartless bastard like Rex. Watching his body do things it never would’ve done under its own power must’ve been excruciating.
With Buddy secured in the back of the van, Kevin climbed up into the cab, positioned the half-gallon plastic jug of chloroform securely between his thighs, and stuck the key into the ignition. A quick twist of his wrist brought the engine chugging to life.
“Roll on out!” Buddy hollered.
Kevin carefully backed the van down the driveway and out into the street. He didn’t like how far he had to push the loose accelerator to give the engine gas. A typical Harksburg weeknight meant he’d have little traffic to worry about, but he’d always been antsy behind the wheel of unfamiliar vehicles. The combined nerve-racking powers of his unease with Buddy’s van and the anticipation of the looming showdown with Billy turned Kevin into a jittery ball of stress. He gripped the wheel with white knuckles, his arms shaking like a middle school boy asking a girl to dance for the first time. The world around him became a blur of dull color, his field of vision a tight tunnel between the driver’s seat and the asphalt directly in front of him.
Buddy’s deep baritone battered its way into Kevin’s consciousness like an uppercut to the jaw. “That broad of yours is hot stuff. Where’d you meet her?”
“She lives in the Works at Fornication Point.” Kevin smiled at the memory. “I stopped a bunch of scumbags from shitting in her lagoon.”
“Ahh, the hero type! An’ the pretty princess, safe from the rectums of evil, rewarded her white knight with a passionate kiss, huh?”
Kevin blushed. “To start with, yeah.”
“Ain’t love grand? She’s got the Buddy Gregson seal o’ approval, for whatever that’s worth to ya. Nella never gave ol’ Rexy the time o’ day, no sir. Tried chattin’ her up in Donovan’s one night. She straight up told the little sumbitch to kiss her smooth blue ass!”
Laughing now, Kevin’s vision cleared and he relaxed his grip on the wheel. He wasn’t blind to what Buddy was trying to do for him, and he certainly appreciated the way he was going about it. Sometimes just being fun to talk to was the best assistance someone could offer.
“Nella’s a major upgrade over that last one,” Buddy continued. “What the hell was her name?”
“Kylie.”
He’d brought her home for Thanksgiving a few years ago. In hindsight, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Kylie and Abelia got along about as well as Godzilla and Mothra. Dinner was a tense, terse, uncomfortable affair during which the two headstrong women traded passive aggressive salvos like two battleships taking potshots at each other. According to Kylie, Mrs. Felton had no ambition, no vision, and no worth to civilized society on the whole. Abelia countered with punches at Kylie’s greed, her complete lack of substance, and her future career as a very successful dirty whore. Kylie barely touched her meal and was back on the road to Chicago about an hour after arriving. At the time, Kevin chalked the drama up to a clash of two individuals with wildly different experiences, priorities, and philosophies. It was natural, he thought, an insignificant con made moot by the numerous pros of dating a woman like Kylie. One side of the fight let him play with her boobs, the other side was just his mother. Now he knew better. Like so many things about his youth, he couldn’t figure out what the hell had kept him from properly understanding the situation sooner.
“Saw her walking to the car that Thanksgiving,” Buddy said. “Wanted to ask her if she needed a hand pullin’ that stick out of her ass.”
Kevin laughed maniacally, almost swerving into the other lane. They still hadn’t seen another driver. “That wasn’t a stick. That was a great big wad of money.”
“Hmmph. Well, to each his own, I guess. Sometimes I swear none of us can think straight when it comes to women on account of our dicks stealin’ all the blood from our brains when they come ’round.”
“Sounds like Rotreego had a similar problem.”
“Pretty sure that jerk’s a few bricks short of a load anyway. Strange business, that. Rex didn’t bring me to the transfer. No clue where he came from.”
“Think he’ll give you any trouble?” They’d left the elf in the upstairs bathroom, primarily because Kevin was sick of dealing with his crap. There was a chance he’d still be in the house when Buddy returned, and interrogating Thisolanipusintarex’s former skin might be his logical next move.
“If he does, I’m goin’ straight for the fucker’s nose!”
Buddy’s joke about how he might use his new reaper powers brought Kevin back to the issue at hand. Sure, Mr. Gregson had offered to do the deed, but their unexpectedly positive interactions since forced Kevin to reevaluate whether he could actually allow his neighbor to take the fall for him. “Buddy…are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Mr. Gregson didn’t hesitate. “I most certainly do, Felton, and don’t you dare question it! I did a lot of bad things under Rex’s control. I know it wasn’t really me, but I still feel responsible. I made the decision to let him use me as a skin in the first place, ya know? So, everything that happened after because of that is on me. Think of it as a community service term.” He paused, as if considering whether to continue. “Plus, those reapers live forever ’less someone kills ’em. I’d be lyin’ if I said addin’ a few healthy years to what I got left isn’t attractive. I lost a lotta time to that fuckin’ pixie. I want it back.”
Kevin couldn’t argue with that logic. With his sunny disposition, there was a chance Buddy Gregson wouldn’t immediately spiral into a Billy-esque depression. “How’d Rex talk you into…all that…in the first place?”
Buddy’s cadence slowed and became more precise. “I came back from Vietnam in a wheelchair. The bullets and bombs didn’t get me, but the shrapnel did. My girl left me, I couldn’t get my old factory job back on account of my condition, I ran out of money quick…and then here’s this little magic asshole says he’ll fix my legs in exchange for five years of my life. Seemed like a fair trade at the time.”
Vietnam. That meant Buddy had been in thrall to Rex for decades. What must that sort of life have been like? How many times had he been forced to watch, helpless, as his body did things his mind didn’t condone? How was it possible he hadn’t turned into a raving lunatic? Kevin asked him as much.
“You know what kept me goin’ all those years? Two things. First was the fuckin’ absurdity of it all. There was a tiny Charles Manson with wings livin’ in a fishbowl in my chest. How fuckin’ stupid is that? Number two: I wanted a shot at redemption. I seen and done some bad things under Rex’s control. Participated in the kidnapping and murder of at least a dozen people, most of ’em kids. Paid down-on-their luck women to do disgusting things. Ate all kinds of shit I don’t wanna think about. Still, I always knew someday I’d get a chance to make good. I can’t undo any o’ what I done, but I can be better the rest of the way. Ain’t no one movin’ on to the great unknown without a great big smile on their face, I promise ya that!”
“You,” Kevin declared, “are going to make one hell of a reaper.” He unequivocally believed it.
“Yer damn skippy I am!”
They arrived at Lordly Estates a few moments later, the time and distance having been absorbed by their conversation. The development’s gate stood wide open, inviting them to rush inside and confront the reaper. Kevin drove past and pulled over a few hundred yards down the road where a stand of thick trees blocked the view of anyone watching from the hill.
Killing the engine, Kevin leaned around the side of the driver’s seat to face Buddy. “Ready?”
“One last thing. I always liked you an’ your mother, Felton. You’re good people. Or good enough, at least, given the general state of things. I know it ain’t much, but I apologize for the hardships I caused you an’ yours over the years.”
Kevin’s insides twisted into the shape of a pretzel. He turned his attention back to the windshield so Buddy couldn’t see the stricken look on his face. “That means a lot, actually,” he muttered softly.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Buddy slammed his fist down into the arm rest of his chair. “Enough with the mushy stuff, Felton! Get me out o’ this piece o’ crap so I can go give that reaper his pink slip!”