The Missing Boatman Part 34

"I supposed that's my G.o.dd.a.m.n fault, too," Death grumped. "So f.u.c.king shoot me."

H2 made a finger gun and slowly levelled it at Death. Lucy swatted him across the back of the head for even thinking it. She then looked at Death with very serious, pleading eyes.

"Why don't you just go back, Frankie? You know how bad it's getting out there. Exponentially."

But Death did not acknowledge her. He kept his silence, studying how the tiny bubbles in his beer rose to the foamy surface of his mug. His party mood was dying out faster than he wanted. He was no longer h.o.r.n.y. He searched the faces of those sitting around him and saw their anxious expressions. There was a balance to be kept, and his friends were trying really hard to persuade him to go back to his trade.

And this Tony wasn't such a bad guy...

"I'll think about it," he granted them all.

Given the circ.u.mstances and the time and knowing him personally, it was a step in the right direction. They gave a collective sigh at Death's swaying in the right direction.

"I think," Death suddenly announced, "that a test is in order. Yeah. A test. That'll do it."

"A... test?" Lucy asked uncertainly. "Why the h.e.l.l do you have to have a test?"

"Hey," Death pointed at her, "if leprechauns can demand a person to guess their names, I sure as h.e.l.l can ask for a test. Let's get that straight right f.u.c.king now. I don't exactly take the garbage out once a day, you might remember."

Tony returned, swaying as he went. Death felt the ring of his own bladder again and indicated that he wanted out from the table. Lucy and H2 both moved.

"Again?" H asked him as he went.

"Yes, again, G.o.ddammit," Death snapped. "Not my G.o.dd.a.m.n fault I p.i.s.s every five minutes. It's either there or all over you, so I guess there won't be an argument?"

Both of H2's hands went up, "Go p.i.s.s."

"Thank you, I will."

The Mundane and Ent.i.ty eyed each other, one arriving and one leaving. Death winked at the man, and Tony instinctively nodded back. It wasn't until he sat down he realized that Death had just winked at him.

That was f.u.c.ked up.

Paradise was f.u.c.ked up.

He sat down heavily next to H. "How am I doing?" he asked.

There was a long pause from them all. It was H that finally spoke. "At least you ain't swearing at him anymore."

Chapter 39.

Death stopped in front of the wall-length mirror opposite the stalls and urinals. There was a big guy standing by the condom dispenser. Over his shoulder, Death could read the words "Works! Got laid!" scratched on the wall above the dispenser. He went to the urinal and began his business. He wrinkled up his nose at the p.i.s.sy smell in the air. Death heard a flush from nearby and immediately forgot about it. He was in another world, thinking about people, Tony, and the lay of the land.

And the right big t.i.ts on that last bar wench.

The stall door opened and a Mundane stepped out. Except it wasn't a Mundane. In the reflection of the gla.s.s, the man's eyes were black. At the same moment, the big guy inspecting the condoms swivelled and placed himself in front of the washroom door, barring any exit. The Mundane coming out of the stall wore a huge pair of heavy winter gloves; the industrial, deep cold kind that scientists probably wore in the North or South poles or on the surface of the moon. He adjusted them as he came closer to Death.

The trap was sprung, Death thought, and smiled.

"Toilets are overflowing, I see," Death said to them.

"You're coming with us," said the man with the gloves. He had an exceptionally dark complexion as if he had been trapped in a tanning bed for too long. The big one blocking the door merely stared. If Death had been closer, he might've have heard the growl. Regardless, he was feeling c.o.c.ky at the moment. He realized who these "men" were. It had been a long time since he had to deliver any of their ilk to the other side, and when he did, they struggled tooth and nail. But they died all the same, just like anyone else, and instilled no fear in Death.

"And what if I don't?"

The man with the gloves gently placed his hands on Death's person, turned them into fists as he clenched cloth and leather and, without a change in his expression, lifted Death off his feet. Death's expression went from drunken defiance to surprise. He had forgotten how strong they could be. And this was the little one.

Peters brought Death in close, smiling as if he had just bagged the prize of the millennium. "We burn it."

Death screwed up his face. He could tell a p.r.i.c.k when he heard one.

Peters waited for a smart-a.s.s remark. He might just torch Paradise anyway. It would be an easy thing to do this close to Armageddon. Nothing fancy for this place. Just a plain old firebomb to herald in the Burning Ages. The more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. Why wait the week? Why not just f.u.c.king start right now?

But Death only sighed, as if tired of it all. "Okay," he muttered. "Let's go."

Peters' smile faltered, and Death struggled to keep from smiling himself. Like handling old dynamite, these Minions, but he would manage until he did not want to anymore.

Peters set him down on the floor.

"But no hitting me as we're heading out," Death warned both of them with a finger. "I don't go for that s.h.i.t. Understood?"

Peters and Bull Wash exchanged evil looks of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Old man," Peters breathed, "you'll go out in a f.u.c.king s...o...b..x if I say so."

Yes, this one was a p.r.i.c.k. Death sighed. Captured by p.r.i.c.ks. He had sunk low this day. It was a good thing he was drunk. Old man, his a.s.s. He specifically made sure he looked late thirties.

Bull Wash moved aside and opened the door. He stepped out first. Peters motioned Death to follow. "Do anything I don't like, and I'll send this place up like a fireball."

Death did as he was told, half because he was drunk and half because of the novelty of it all.

Peters did not like the way the boatman was stalling, so he shoved him from behind.

"Listen," Death said mildly, his eyes downcast, "I'm telling you again. Keep... your G.o.dd.a.m.n hands off me... Okay?"

The thing in a man's skin smiled, showing fearsome teeth. "Get going," it said and shoved Death towards the door again.

Death didn't like to be manhandled, and slowly shook his head with drunken contempt.

They just didn't know who they were f.u.c.king with.

Chapter 40.

"So, y'see," H2 summed up with an authoritative air, "women are herbivores, 'kay? Men are carnivores. And gays... are also herbivores."

"That include d.y.k.es?" H asked, his brow crunched in the kind of puzzlement only huge amounts of alcohol could bring on.

"No, they're carnivores." H2 declared in a controlled voice, though pretty wasted himself.

"Lesbians are carnivores?" Lucy asked. She, too, was smashed.

"Yeah, see, cuz...," H2 wanted to put this as lightly as possible, "they'll eat out herbivores."

Lucy looked at him. "Don't you mean 'eat' herbivores?"

H2 waved a whatever hand in her direction.

But Lucy did not stop. "What about bis.e.xuals?" she asked.

"They're omnivores. Those guys will eat anything. Don't trust them c.o.c.ksuckers, whatever you do," H2 warned Lucy.

"Jesus Christ," Tony ejected, also pretty drunk, "I can't believe the s.h.i.t you people talk about."

They ignored him.

"Trans.e.xuals?" H decided to ask.

H2 thought about it for a moment. "Good point," he admitted. "I'll get back to you on that one. Never thought about them before."

There was a growing need in Tony to empty his bladder. It felt as if he were about to spring a leak out his a.s.shole, and he didn't think he could last long. And didn't he just get back from the can? He considered the drink in front of him with p.i.s.s-hole eyes, and felt that all too familiar roll of his tongue and palate, suggesting if he finished that drink, he just might throw up. He thought about his bladder again and wondered how it was possible to fill up so d.a.m.n fast. Maybe he should see a urologist. The high given to him by the booze sloshed up and over his senses like flood waters breaching sandbags, and he decided the walk would do him good. The thought Death had been gone for almost fifteen minutes did not enter his mind.

"Where you going?" H asked as Tony got to his feet and struggled out from behind the table.

"Again?" Lucy blurted out. "You pish just like Frankie!" She looked lovely to him. Her cheeks looked darker than before, perhaps brought on by the flush of the beer. Or the light. Or both. Bladder, Tony abruptly thought. Must. Void.

"No more than two shakes," H2 warned him. "Any more than that and you're tuggin' on it, and there's barely enough toilet paper in there anyway."

"Is that what you use?" Lucy chortled, happy at getting one in. She slapped H2 on the shoulder, startling the man.

"I," H2 informed her with great dignity, "use towels."

Lucy screwed her face up at that.

"Much more absorbency," H2 stated, taking the joke one notch further. "I'm all for saving the trees."

H started to giggle. The thought of H2 saving anything was hilarious.

Tony left them and made his way to the can. Their merriment became drowned out by a loud rock tune pulsating throughout the bar. He arrived at the washroom and pushed the door open. He staggered to a urinal, unzipped himself and placed one arm against the wall for support. In his condition, a good wind would have been enough to blow him over. He definitely had to lay off the daiquiris for the next little while.

"Hey, Frankie, you in here?" Tony suddenly yelled out. Death must be in the stall, he figured. "Frankie! Frankieeeeeeeeee!" he wailed in his best marine voice.

But Frankie did not answer.

"Aw, c'mon," Tony grated, "You aren't p.i.s.sed at me, are you? I thought we were done that! I'm done that! Really! Let's talk, mon a me."

Still nothing. Tony stood there, quietly peeing, listening to the dull crashing beat of the music and the sound of his urine splashing against porcelain. Death might not even be in here, it occurred to him. Probably got by him somehow. Figuring that was the case, Tony finished and zipped up. He ran his hands quickly under the water and flick-dried them as he headed out the door.

He made his way past the bar and the gathering people. Paradise was starting to fill up it seemed. There were at least a dozen people in here now, mostly beer drinkers. He walked by them, trying hard not to appear drunk, and looked ahead. He saw their table in the distance. Death was not there.

Tony stopped and blinked. Paradise was not that big. There was nowhere for Death to hide. He glanced around. No Death. He blinked and looked again, this time concentrating with all of his inebriated might. Death was not among the patrons. Tony backed up and turned to the backroom of the bar where there were more tables and a few well-used dart boards hanging under off lights. The backroom was empty. He retraced his steps to the bar and looked in the direction of the modest dance floor. Empty again. There wasn't even a DJ in the booth.

A growing unease began to form in Tony's mind. The washroom. He headed for the toilets, walking faster, and pushed the door open a little too hard. It bounced off the wall with a crash. Tony didn't give a s.h.i.t. He went to the stalls and started pushing in the doors. There were three. All opened to empty, clean looking toilets.

What the h.e.l.l was going on? The thought glowed in the fog of his mind. Had Death decided to leave Paradise without telling anyone? What was up with that? Tony yanked the washroom door open and heard it slam against the wall again. A bartender warned him with a shout. Tony barely heard the man. Instead, he banked to his right and headed out into the night.

The air was cool, refreshing, and smacked him in the face. He found himself fighting the booze's effects and his rising anxiety. Tony couldn't think. Where the f.u.c.k was Frankie? Where would he go? Why would he go? Tony stood in the middle of a road, facing a parking lot with less than a dozen cars all arranged neatly under bright street lights. There was no movement on the lot. There was no one at all.

Just then, on impulse, he turned his head to the right. At the end of the street, slowing at the intersection, was a car. A black Ford Taurus, its taillights red. It was heading away from Paradise.

And it was full of people.

"Hey!" Tony yelled and began running after the car. "Hey!"

The car did not stop. It pulled out into the main road and increased speed. A face in the driver's side flashed in Tony's direction, and then was gone as the car pulled away.

Tony broke into a run. He bounded over the far sidewalk and the greenish yellow lawn beyond, picking up speed as he aimed towards the main road. He stumbled and nearly fell, but his flailing arms somehow got into sync with his feet, and he righted himself on the run. He reached the road and watched the car's taillights wink out of sight around a dark curve. There was no way for him to catch it.

Just then a taxi approached, heading in the same direction.

Tony's arm flashed up and he ran at the cab. The car stopped, the driver's face annoyed at this approaching drunk. Tony thought if the dude decided to drive on, he would jump onto the hood as it pa.s.sed by. As Christ was his witness he would.

But instead, the cabbie allowed him to get in. Tony slammed the door shut.

"Hey" the driver began.

"Follow that car!" Tony barked.

The driver was a middle-aged man in his forties, dark hair streaked with silver and bushy eyebrows that jumped up high on his forehead. He stared at Tony.

"What the f.u.c.k you waiting for?" Tony barked again. His arm shot forth, pointing. "Drive, G.o.ddammit!"

"You can get out if" the driver began.