8

 

After lunch I decided to go back to the office. I opened the door and there was a guy sitting behind my desk. It wasn’t McKelvey. I didn’t know who it was. People liked to sit behind my desk. And, besides the guy sitting, there was a guy standing. They looked mean, calm but mean.

“My name’s Dante,” said the guy behind the desk.

“And my name’s Fante,” said the guy standing.

I didn’t say anything. I was fumbling in the dark. A chill ran up my back and right on through the ceiling.

“Tony sent us,” said the guy sitting.

“Don’t know a Tony. You gentlemen have the right address?”

“Oh yeah,” said the standing guy.

Then Dante said, “Burnt Butterfly ran out.”

“Tossed the jock coming out of the gate,” said Fante.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding. Ask the dust.”

“As a handicapper you are handicapped,” said Dante.

“And Tony says you owe us half-a-string,” said Fante.

“Oh that,” I said, “I’ve got it right here…”

I moved toward my desk.

“Forget it, sucker,” Dante laughed. “We’ve confiscated your water pistol.”

I stepped back.

“Now,” said Fante, “you realize that we can’t let you walk around blissfully sucking air while you owe Tony half-a-string?”

“Give me 3 days…”

“You got 3 minutes,” said Dante.

“Why is it?” I asked, “that you guys take turns talking? First Dante, then Fante, on and on, don’t you ever break your rhythm?”

“We’re here to break something else,” they both spoke together. “You.”

“That was good,” I said. “I liked that. A duet.”

“Shut up,” said Dante. He pulled out a smoke and stuck it in his lips. “Hmm,” he went on, “seems like I forgot my lighter. Come here, asshole, light my cigarette.”

“‘Asshole’? You talking to yourself?”

“No, you, asshole, come here. Light my smoke! Now!”

I found my lighter, walked forward, stopped in front of one of the ugliest faces I had ever seen, flicked my lighter, put the flame to his fag.

“Good boy,” said Dante, “now take this cigarette out of my mouth and stick it into yours, burning-end first and keep it there until I tell you to take it out.”

“Uh-uh,” I said.

“Either that,” said Fante, “or we blow a hole in you big enough for the little people at Disneyland to dance through.”

“Wait a minute…”

“You got 15 seconds,” said Dante, taking out his stopwatch, setting it, then he said, “Now, you’re on. 14, 13, 12, 11…”

“You don’t mean it?”

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3…”

I heard the click of a safety catch being taken off.

I snatched the cigarette out of Dante’s mouth and stuck it into mine, burning-end first. I tried to engender a mass of saliva and to keep my tongue out of the way, but no luck, I got it, I got it good, it HURT!!!! It was vile and painful! I began to gag and had to spit the thing out.

“Bad boy!” said Dante. “I told you to keep it in until I told you to take it out! Now we are going to have to start all over again!”

“Fuck you,” I said, “kill me!”

“O.k.,” said Dante.

Just then the door opened and Lady Death walked in. She was really dolled up. I almost forgot about my mouth.

“Hey,” said Dante, “what a babe! You know her, Belane?”

“We’ve met.”

She walked over to a chair, sat down, crossed her legs, her skirt riding high. None of us could believe those legs. Even I couldn’t and I had seen them before.

“Who are these clowns?” she asked me.

“They’re emissaries from a guy called Tony.”

“Get ’em out of here, I’m your client.”

“All right, fellows,” I said, “it’s time to leave.”

“Oh yeah?” said Dante.

“Oh yeah?” said Fante.

Then they started laughing. Then, all at once, they stopped.

“This guy’s real funny,” said Fante.

“Yeah,” said Dante.

“I’ll get rid of them,” said Lady Death.

Then she started staring at Dante. At once, he began to lean forward in his chair. He began to look pale.

“Jesus,” he said, “I don’t feel so good…”

He turned white, then he turned yellow.

“I feel sick,” he said, “I feel awful sick…”

“Maybe it was those fishsticks you ate,” said Fante.

“Fishsticks, smishsticks, I gotta get out a here! I need a doctor or something…”

Then I saw her staring at Fante. Then Fante said, “I’m getting dizzy…What is this?…Flashes of light…Rocket flares…Where am I?”

He moved toward the door, Dante followed him. They opened the door and walked slowly toward the elevator. I walked out and watched them get in. I saw them just before the door closed. They looked horrible. Horrible.

I walked back into the room.

“Thanks,” I said, “you saved my ass…”

I looked around. She was gone. I looked under the desk. Nobody. I looked in the bathroom. Nobody. I opened the window and looked down in the street. Nobody. Well, I mean, there were plenty of people but not her. She could at least have said goodbye. Still, it had been a nice visitation.

I went back and sat behind my desk. Then I picked up the phone and touched in Tony’s number.

“Yeah?” he answered, “this is…”

“Tony, this is Mr. Slow Death.”

“What? You still able to talk?”

“I talk real good, Tony. I’ve never felt better.”

“I don’t understand this…”

“Your boys were by, Tony…”

“Yeah? Yeah?”

“I let them off easy this time. You send them again and I’m going to take them all the way out.”

I heard Tony breathing into the phone. It was a very confused breathing. Then he hung up.

I took a pint of scotch out of the lower left hand drawer, uncapped it and had a good hit.

You messed with Belane, you were in trouble. It was as simple as that.

I capped the bottle, put it back in the drawer and wondered what I was going to do next. A good dick always has things to do. You’ve seen it in the movies.