Casket for Sale, Only Used Once Page 6

  "What, you're not donating your jeans, too?"

  "You're lucky you got the smelly shirt."

  "Thanks, Andrew," said Samantha. "You'll find Helen and the kids, I promise."

  "Be careful out there," said Roger. "I've heard rumors that there are spiked pits in these woods."

  I nodded and turned, running in the direction of the store.

  Chapter Eight

  I WATCHED THE GROUND carefully as I ran, which caused me to smack into no fewer than three different branches. Fortunately, though, I didn't fall into any spiked pits, get caught in any bear traps, get struck by any poisoned darts, or bash into the gates of Hell.

  Finally, the woods thinned and I emerged next to the store. There were still no cars in the parking lot.

  I cracked my knuckles nervously. Hopefully Helen and the kids were inside. And hopefully the old guy in there wasn't involved with this whole mess. I had several dozen other "hopefully"s I could think of, including one about machine guns and expensive armor dropping from the sky, but I decided to stick with the first two for right now.

  I considered going around back to find a way to sneak in, but I'd already wasted too much time at the pit-o-spikes. I'd just have to be really, really careful.

  I walked to the front door, took a deep breath, then opened it and stepped inside.

  No hailstorm of bullets ripped my chest apart, which was a promising beginning. The old man still sat behind the counter, reading his magazine. He looked startled to see me.

  "Forget something?" he asked. "Like maybe your shirt?"

  "Do you have a phone?"

  He shook his head. "No need for one."

  "No need for one? How can you run a place of business without a phone?"

  "Got a wireless modem on my PC in the back room. I can use the Internet to place all of my orders quickly and efficiently."

  "Ah. Has anybody else been here since me?"

  "Since now or since the first time you were here?"

  "The first time."

  "Nope."

  "Can I borrow your computer for a minute? It's an emergency."

  "Nope. It's a fancy piece of equipment and it's not for customer use. You'll be downloading that damn pornography and getting my machine all filled with viruses and I'm not gonna let it happen."

  "No, I just need to contact the police."

  The old man chuckled. "You went to Wreitzer Park anyway, didn't you? I told you--"

  "No, we were taking your advice but we got ambushed. These people in trucks blocked our way and the camper tipped over and I got separated from my wife and kids and I desperately need to use your computer."

  The old man stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You sure are anxious to look at pornography."

  "I'm not interested in pornography! My family is in danger!"

  "Now, I'm not saying I don't enjoy a good nudie magazine every now and then, if the breasts are natural," the old man informed me. "I just don't want any of that stuff on my computer."

  I gaped at him. He was definitely part of this whole mess. That was their modus operandi, to be as annoying as humanly possible.

  I wasn't in the habit of beating information out of old men (I usually just tied them up and threatened them with broken plates), but perhaps I could give it a shot just this once.

  A vehicle pulled up outside.

  The old man looked me in the eye. "I'm not the kind of fellow to tell somebody their business, but you may want to hide."

  I moved away from the counter and ducked into the aisle at the far end of the store. I pushed a box of cereal out of the way, allowing me to peek through the shelf and watch the front counter.

  Now I was confused. So, was the old man aware of what was going on, but he was actually a good guy? Or maybe he genuinely was concerned I might use his computer to access pornographic images or videos.

  I looked around for something to use as a weapon. As in the camper, my options were limited, although the cat food, hurled in sufficient quantities, looked like it could do some damage.

  The door opened.

  "Hey, Charlie, how's it going?" asked a voice I was pretty sure belonged to Troll. As he walked to the front counter I saw it was indeed Troll, he of the scarred legs.

  "It's going fine. How've you been?" asked the old man. "I haven't seen you around here since you shoplifted this morning."

  Troll sighed. "It's going like complete shit, Charlie. We lost Ghoul."

  "Better get out there and find him."

  "We didn't lose him lose him, dumb-ass. He's dead."

  "Are you kidding?"

  I considered moving down to the other end of the aisle so I could make a break for it, but if I was lucky, Troll and Charlie wouldn't waste too much time talking and I'd get my chance to contact the police.

  Troll shook his head. "Completely serious. He could be a pain sometimes, but I really liked that kid, and it's never good to lose a member of your team, y'know?"

  "It certainly isn't."

  Troll withdrew his hunting knife from its leather sheath. "And to top it all off, every one of 'em got away. I mean, even the frickin' dog. I'll tell you something, Charlie, I think this team is falling apart."

  Troll scraped the knife against his leg. It appeared to be an absent-minded action, but I couldn't be sure.

  "Well, you'll get them," said Charlie. "You always do. That's what the traps are for, right?"

  "No, the traps are to give me something fun to do in between hunting sessions so I don't get bored out of my mind sitting around this dump. The specimens aren't even supposed to make it out of the car until we're ready. But yeah, they're probably dead. Hopefully chopped in half. I think maybe we need new management, if you know what I mean."

  "Yep, I know what you mean."

  "Have you seen anybody in here since you reported the family?"

  "Not a soul."

  "If you do, let us know ASAP."

  "Will do."

  Troll slid the blade of the knife against the back of his leg. The cut wasn't deep, but a trickle of blood ran down his skin. He let out a soft moan of pleasure.

  "What was that for?" asked Charlie.

  "What?"

  "That sound you made."

  "It was nothing."

  "Aw, jeez, Troll, are you cutting yourself again? Don't do that in my place. I'm not saying this is a respectable establishment, but I don't want that masochistic crap going on here. Cut yourself someplace else."

  "Lighten up. I'm not gonna get any blood on your precious floor."

  "I can mop the floor. I just don't want your nasty self-mutilation bullshit happening in my place of business. Knock it off."

  Troll defiantly held up his left arm and slowly slid the blade across it. He chuckled as Charlie grimaced.

  "Get the hell out of my store," Charlie said, waving him away. "Come back when you learn to stop acting like a messed-up freak of nature."

  "Got a Band-Aid?"

  "Go on, get out of here, you whack-job. Go mourn your buddy."

  I pulled back quickly as Troll looked over his shoulder in my direction. "Can I kill your guest first?"

  "Aw, no, no, no!" Charlie protested. "Don't mess up my place!"

  I stood up. My instinct was to run, but I'd be much better off if I stood and fought this particular whack-job, especially since Helen and the kids were probably headed this way. If I could get rid of Troll now, we'd be much more likely to ride off into the sunset for our happy ending.

  I walked backwards as Troll joined me in the narrow aisle, grinning and holding the knife out in front of him. "Hey there. How've you been?"

  "No, Troll, no! I mean it!" Charlie shouted. "No splatter on the merchandise! No splatter on the merchandise! That's the deal!"

  "You really should adhere to your agreement," I suggested. "Getting banned from a store like this is a blot on your permanent record that will haunt you for the rest of your life."

  "Oooooh, funny guy," said Troll.

  "Really? I though
t that joke was kind of lame. You must be easily amused."

  "Oooooh, funny dead guy." Troll switched the knife from his right hand to his left. "Want me to carve some smiley faces on your chest?"

  "No, but speaking of carving, what's the deal with cutting yourself? I mean, did you, I dunno, have a sexy French maid who cut you as punishment when you were a kid and it became some kind of fetish?"

  Troll shrugged. "It's just my thing."

  "It's a dumb thing. Really, it is. You look stupid when you're doing it. Chicks love scars, but not when they're self-imposed. I mean, I'm all for freedom of expression and all that, but what you're doing just isn't cool."

  "Are you finished trying to distract me?"

  "Almost."

  Troll flicked the tip of his knife against his chin, drawing blood. "Maybe you should give this a try. You might like it."

  "Nah. I've always been a bludgeoning man, myself. So, do you use antiseptic in bulk, or is infection part of the whole allure?"

  "Do you ever stop talking?"

  "Not generally, no. How about this? You look like a pretty tough guy. Why not put down the knife and make this into a fair fight?"

  "Why the hell would I want to do that?"

  "To be honest, I have no idea. I'm just reaching at this point."

  He rushed at me. I instinctively grabbed for the closest object available, a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, and used it to deflect his knife. The blade tore through the bag, releasing a shower of chips.

  I punched him in the face as hard as I could. Troll flew back against the shelf, knocking several canned goods to the floor. He put a hand to his face where I'd punched him, smiled, and breathed heavily, almost panting.

  Panting in a sexual way.

  I truly hoped he didn't enjoy the punch.

  He lunged at me with the knife again, and I stepped out of the way, crunching some chips underneath my foot. I punched him again, slamming my fist into his shoulder, and he let out a groan of pleasure.

  "Not in here!" Charlie shouted, stepping into the aisle. "Some of us have to make a living!"

  Troll rubbed his shoulder, pursed his lips, and said (and I quote): "Ooooooooh."

  I lowered my fists. "Okay, no offense, but this is seriously messed up."

  Troll grinned. "C'mon, give it to me again, big boy."

  I grabbed a large can of tomato soup from the shelf and swung it at him just as he swung his knife at me. Tin can met stainless steel blade, and both lost. The can fell out of my hand and the knife fell out of his.

  I punched him in the face with my other hand, knocking him back a step. He didn't throw back his head and scream "Yes! Oh, yes!" but his expression implied he was thinking it.

  "You're paying for the damage, Troll! I'm gonna take inventory of every cent!"

  "Shut up!" Troll shouted at him. "You're ruining this!"

  This was so very wrong. How could I be expected to fight under these conditions?

  Troll threw a punch of his own. It hit me in the chest, a glancing blow that was not even remotely pleasurable. Instead of punching back, I slammed my hands into his shoulders and gave him a hard push, shoving him to the floor. He landed on cans and potato chips, and this time his reaction was more of pain than pleasure, which was a relief.

  I snatched up the knife.

  Troll sat up and used the tip of his tongue to lick some of the blood trickling down the side of his mouth.

  I held up the knife in what I hoped was a terribly intimidating way. "If you want to live, contact your buddies and tell them to call off the hunt."

  "Why would I want to do that?"

  "Because I just told you to. I don't think having this knife go through your eyeball will quite give you that happy-happy feeling."

  "Couldn't tell you. I've never tried it." Troll got up, brushing potato chip fragments off his pants. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you put that knife down so we can have a fair fight?"

  "Okay," I said, flinging it at him.

  I've never had much knife-throwing practice, but I hoped the blade would strike his throat, heart, or eyeball. It didn't. It struck his upper arm. He stared at the blade as it jutted out of his flesh, buried an inch deep.

  He gasped.

  Then gasped again.

  Then let out a high pitched squeal of delight that was the single most disturbing noise I have ever heard in my entire life, and in the past couple of years of my life I've heard some really disturbing noises.

  I rushed at him and punched at the knife, bashing it with my fist and jamming it even further into Troll's arm. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. A horrified glance downward revealed a bulge in his pants that was even more disturbing than the squeal.

  "What the hell is the matter with you?" I demanded. "You're ... you're ... you're ... you're wrong! You're just wrong!"

  I wrenched the knife out of his arm and smashed the handle into his face. Troll hit the floor again, his head striking the large can of tomato soup. He let out a soft groan and was still.

  "Wrong!" I repeated.

  I wiped my hands off on my shirt. My whole body felt icky.

  I realized Charlie was still standing in the aisle, watching me. His eyes widened and he hurried away as I took off after him.

  Chapter Nine

  CATCHING CHARLIE WASN'T difficult. I grabbed him by the back of the collar just as he reached the front counter and yanked him to the ground.

  "It wasn't my fault!" he insisted. "I tried to keep him from hurting you!"

  "No, you tried to keep him from sullying your merchandise with my blood. Tell me, were you lying about the phone?"

  "No, I swear!"

  "Were you lying about the computer?"

  "Yes, I swear!"

  "How did you going to contact Troll?"

  "A walkie-talkie. It's behind the front counter. But I wasn't really going to contact him."

  I dragged Charlie with me behind the counter. The two most notable things underneath the counter were a huge stack of porno magazines and a walkie-talkie. I grabbed the walkie-talkie but refrained from commenting on the magazines.

  Charlie coughed. "Don't kill me. I wasn't going to rat on you, I swear. I hate helping these people, but they forced me to do it and they don't pay me much!"

  The walkie-talkie had a hell of a lot more knobs and buttons on it than any walkie-talkie I'd ever used as a kid. "How does this work?" I asked.

  "Press the big black button on the side."

  I pressed the button. "Hello?" I said into the receiver.

  A moment of silence, and then: "Troll?"

  "No, this is Troll's captor. You may remember me from the exploding camper incident. To whom might I be speaking?"

  "It's Goblin."

  "Hi, Goblin. Look, I want to cut a deal. You let my wife and kids go, and I'll let your friend here go."

  "How do I know you've really got him?"

  I gestured at Charlie with the walkie-talkie. Charlie leaned into it and spoke. "It's me. Troll is unconscious on my floor."

  I heard a soft curse on the other end.

  "I've already lost two of my closest friends," I said, hoping that if he thought Roger and Samantha were dead they wouldn't look for them, "and you've lost one. Now, we can keep whittling down each other's numbers, or we can cut our losses and call it quits right now."

  "What do you mean, you lost two?"

  "Exactly what I said. Call off the hunt and let us work out some kind of truce, or I'll slit Troll's throat with his own knife."

  "Well, you see ... who am I talking to, anyway?"

  "Andrew."

  "Well, Andrew, you see, we've got a bit of a problem here, because Ogre tends to have a lack of respect for my title, and he always got along really well with the boy your wife killed, so it seems unlikely he'd listen to me even if I did ask him to give up the chase."

  "I'm not screwing around here," I said. "I'll kill him."

  "I wasn't accusing you of screwing around. But, Andr
ew, another problem we've got is that Troll was never one of the more popular associates in our little group. I don't want to disrespect the poor guy when he's this close to death, but he actually made the rest of us kind of uncomfortable. Did you see that knife thing he does?"

  "Yeah. What's up with that?"

  "No idea." Goblin sighed on the other end. "You do what you've got to do, Andrew. I can't honestly say I want you to cut his throat, but I'm afraid it's not possible for us to work out a deal. I would like to leave you with one last thought, though: Now we know exactly where you are."

  The door opened.

  I spun around to see who it was, and caught a flash of Troll running out of the store.

  Damn!

  Before I'd even finished thinking the word "Damn," I heard another vehicle approach.

  "Is there a back way out of here?" I asked Charlie.

  He nodded.

  I didn't think the old man would make a very good hostage. Most likely, they'd happily blow a hole right through his chest if I were standing behind him.

  Keeping the walkie-talkie and the hunting knife with me, I rushed into the back room. It was filled with approximately eighty-seven tons of raw clutter and no computer. I spent a few seconds looking for a weapon but had no luck, so I threw open the door and ran outside, shutting the door behind me.

  I'd made it about a hundred yards into the forest before I heard the door open again. I looked back and saw both Troll and Witch emerge. They immediately followed me, although Troll didn't seem to be quite as energetic as Witch.

  I ran as fast as I could. If I could get far enough ahead so that they couldn't see me, I'd loop around to the front of the store and steal one of their trucks.

  Please don't trip, I told myself, since this seemed like the most appropriate moment for me to trip.

  I didn't turn back but I could hear Witch's footsteps behind me. It sounded like she was gaining.

  Then the footsteps stopped.

  A gunshot fired, and several leaves flew into the air from the branch it struck. I'd thought I was hauling ass, but I picked up my pace nevertheless.

  Another gunshot. This one seemed further off the mark, yet somehow I didn't feel like dancing a merry jig. My mind turned to other important matters, like the fact that I could fall into a spiked pit at any moment.