“Believe me, Monstro, the way to your crypt is burned into my brain. How are we doing for tagalongs?”
“Ah… very good, Gus… you did keep my CIA enthusiast in mind.” Nick sighed. “He missed the new adventure. We’ll have to enlighten him later. He figured he was safe since we were walking the dog. Heh… heh… not so, my little secret agent friend.”
“Hell… no one could have called that one but you, which places everyone in the human race who didn’t in the normal zone,” Gus replied.
“Normal is overrated.”
“Maybe in Nick-land. In Gus-land, normal is wonderful.”
“Don’t make this confrontational. Nick-land has been known to attack foreign normal invaders from all other lands.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, you freak.”
Jamal began to groan into consciousness, but Nick reached around and gave him a five second blast with his stun-gun.
“Damn it! Could you at least call out ‘fire in the hole’ before you do that while I’m driving?”
“Fire in the hole.”
“Late… as usual.”
“You didn’t think I was late when I put holes in those dudes’ heads in your hotel room overseas.”
“Damn it!”
“You need to loosen your hold on the reins a little, Gus. I protected you and my buddy Deke here, didn’t I? Good old Jamal. He’s a standup guy. Now, we don’t have to plot how to find him alone, or what car he drives, or where his good buddy Aban is… because here he is.”
Gus tried to hold back any amusement at all. He lost control in a braying horse laugh that had Deke doing mimicking howls. Nick enjoyed it all, putting his arm around the very dead Aban. “God… I love Kabuki Theater. With a little white face paint, Deke and I could be stars. Deke could do the singing with his partner Gus, and I’d do a little dancin’. We’d be the bomb.”
Nick finished off his soliloquy with a special hug for Aban, who would never be doing anything related to singing and dancing ever, except Nick was making him dance slightly by yanking on his coat.
“That’s disgusting, Nick! Have some respect for the dead, brother.”
“What do you think brother Aban would be doing if he and his pal Jamal had toasted us on the sidewalk? I bet if they had the time they’d be pissing on our corpses… even the Deke.” Nick paused to make Aban dance a little more while Gus made gagging noises.
“Will you please stop that?”
Nick released Kabuki Aban. “That is so shallow of you, Gus. I’m providing Aban’s lost soul some comfort before the snake descends into hell.” Nick shook Aban one last time, turning the corpse’s face toward his as if he were having a heart to heart talk. “Hold my place, Aban. I’ll be with you shortly, but first I have to waltz with your pal Jamal for a while. I think he’ll need you to warm up a seat for him first.”
“Damn, Nick… I kid you not… every cell in your body is rotten. Let that dead man sink down on the seat, and leave him the hell alone. That’s just nasty… you making fun of a corpse like that. It’s bad karma.”
Nick shook his head as he released Aban. “Nope. Gunning innocent folk down in the street is bad karma. Doing a Kabuki dance of the dead instead is kind of cool.”
Gus chuckled and sighed. “The only innocent on that sidewalk was Deke.”
Chapter Eight
Information Gathering
Jamal Kader awoke cold, shivering while feeling the plastic under his back. It made scrunching noises as he twisted first one way and then the other, the restraints on his limbs preventing any excessive movement. Forcing his aching head up, Jamal took heed of his nakedness, and the blasphemous surroundings accompanied by eerie music. Jamal leaned back, breath rasping with increasingly sharp gasps, terror streaking through his being with icy premonitions of what lie ahead. The images of torturous death covering the walls in their black light exposure pierced his panicked imaginings. He remembered the last instants of consciousness, holding his weapon on the arrogant McCarty, revenge within his grasp.
A slide show of horror followed that brief moment of triumph. In seconds, the weapon flew from his grasp in a sharp moment of pain. Jamal remembered it firing across his face, causing him to turn involuntarily toward its new target: Aban. The bullets ripped into his friend Aban’s head, causing a splash of brain matter mixed with blood on the car window. The last horrific image implanted of an empty eyed, open mouthed shock of death in Aban’s face as it twisted toward him, caused bile to fill Jamal’s throat. He vomited violently, his face turned to the side. Long moments followed as he spit, trying to rid himself of the bitter taste of fear. Jamal saw a dark shape slowly come into view, features blackened by the weird lighting at its back.
“Hi, Jamal. Welcome to hell. I’ll be your guide.”