The Book of Death (8 page)

Just inside the museum reception
area, one of the security guards rushed over. Beth knew him only as James. He
was a broad muscular fellow and like every other security guard that had ever
worked there his grey uniform looked a size too small. Maybe in his case it was
by choice because it looked like he wanted to show off his large pectorals. He
was a big guy in his early twenties with a blond wavy haircut and stupidly
large shoulders. A nightstick hung from a belt at his side, but in truth he
didn’t look like the kind who would need it. His fists were big enough to deal
with most things.

‘Beth, have you heard the news?’
he asked with a look of genuine concern on his face.

‘About Cromwell? Yes. Terrible,
isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. Shocked the hell out of
me.’ James seemed to suddenly notice that she wasn’t on her own. He stared at
JD for a second, then looked back at her, his face showing signs of confusion.
‘What you doing in today anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be off?’

‘Simmonds called me and asked me
to come and see him about something.’

James grimaced. ‘Oh. He’s in his
office. You can go straight in. He’s on his own.’

‘Where’s his office?’ Beth
asked. She couldn’t recall Simmonds ever having an office.

‘Cromwell’s old office. Down
there.’ James pointed down a corridor that Beth knew well. Her thoughts turned
back to Cromwell, one of the nicest men she’d ever met, in a city full of
horrible people. He had been the only person to make her feel welcome at the
museum. The thought of him being brutally slain by a psycho with a machete was
almost too much to bear. It made her more grateful than ever to have
rediscovered JD.

‘Poor Bertram,’ she sniffed,
feeling an outbreak of tears coming on. ‘He was such a nice man.’

‘Yeah. Simmonds will be a good
replacement though. He’s already got big plans for this place. He’s gonna have
a real shake up.’

Beth’s heart sank. Her time at
the museum was surely at an end. Simmonds, the high-flying, pony tailed,
scrotum scratching slimebag, didn’t like her. Cromwell had been her only ally
at the museum.

JD rubbed the small of her back.
‘Hey don’t worry, I’ll come with you,’ he offered.

‘You can’t,’ James interrupted.
‘It’s staff only down there. You’ll have to wait here.’

JD kissed her on the forehead.
‘You gonna be okay on your own if I wait here with this guy?’

‘Yeah.’ Beth looked up at him,
unable to mask the worried look on her face. She was about to head into a
confrontation with Simmonds and she was going to have to do it on her own. ‘I’m
probably going to get fired,’ she whispered.

‘You’ll be all right,’ said JD.
‘Just be confident.’ He stroked her hair and kissed her on the lips, bringing a
gentle smile back to her face momentarily. He still knew exactly how to make
things better for her just with a simple gesture. After a deep breath and a
squeeze of his hand, Beth headed off down to Cromwell’s old office to see her
new boss Elijah Simmonds.

JD stood in the reception hall
with James the security guard and watched her walk away. Her body language
spoke volumes. The walk to the new boss’s office clearly filled her with dread.

Once she was out of sight, James
wandered over to him and slapped him gently on the shoulder. ‘I doubt she’ll be
very long, buddy. Simmonds gets to the point very quickly.’

‘Is she gonna lose her job?’

‘Probably.’

‘Why? What’s this Simmonds guy
got against her?’

James laughed quietly, almost to
himself. ‘You don’t know her all that well, do you?’ he said. ‘I can tell,
you’ve clearly only just met her.’

‘Kind of, yeah. Why? What do you
mean?’

James patted him on the shoulder
again. ‘No offence, buddy, but you’ll find out soon enough, so I might as well
tell you anyway, she’s known around town as Mental Beth. She’s not quite right
in the head.’

‘What?’

‘Seriously, man. Ask if you can
meet her friends.’

‘Why? What’s wrong with her
friends?’

‘Nothing, man. It’s just that
she ain’t got any! No one around here likes her. If I can give you some advice,
I’d say get out of here quick. Give her a wide berth. She’s bad news.’ He
lowered his voice slightly before adding, ‘She killed her
own mother
.’

JD nodded. ‘I see what you’re
saying.’

‘Yeah, you can do a lot better,’
said James, patting him on the shoulder one more time. ‘Right, I’ve got other
places to be, see you later, man.’

As James walked away, JD
followed after him. ‘Hold on a sec,’ he said catching up with the security
guard.

‘Whassup?’ James asked.

JD pointed at James’s chest.
‘You’ve got something on your shirt.’

Ten

Sanchez wasn’t entirely sure how
it had happened, but somehow he’d ended up in a Volkswagen Beetle with Flake.
And he was on his way to the police station to enrol as a member of law
enforcement. Not a proper officer by any stretch, but if he couldn’t work out
an acceptable way to weasel out of it pretty soon, he was going to find himself
in a uniform as one of those useless part time cops with no authority.

Flake babbled on at a hundred
miles an hour about how excited she was to be joining the force. She spoke so
bloody quickly that Sanchez couldn’t get a word in. He’d had to accept a ride
from her after discovering to his dismay that some local kids had vandalised
his car outside the Ole Au Lait. All four of his tyres had been slashed. “
No
doubt unprovoked,”
he thought.

Flake had promised she would
drop him off at the tyre repair place. But it now seemed that her plan was to
go there after they’d been to the police station. As a contingency plan to
avoid joining the police, Sanchez was fully prepared to pull out the old “bad
back” excuse.

Flake drove like she spoke too.
This girl didn’t stop for anything. Red lights, stop signs, pedestrians,
snowmen, she just zipped through, over or around them. Her constant chatter
would have done Sanchez’s head in under any normal circumstance. At the moment
he was unable to concentrate on anything other than clenching his butt cheeks
and pressing both hands against the dashboard. As if to make travel that much
more terrifying, the passenger side of Flake’s old white Beetle wasn’t fitted
with a seat belt. So Sanchez actually felt somewhat relieved when they arrived
at the police station. Flake steered the car down the wrong side of the road
for a hundred yards or so, before pulling a completely unnecessary handbrake
turn which spun the car around and pulled it perfectly into a parking spot
directly out front of the station.

Throughout the manoeuvre Sanchez
had gripped the dashboard so tight that his fingers had gone white. He was also
stuck with a wide-eyed look of terror imprinted on his face. It was a look that
would take a few seconds of deep breaths to shift.

Flake switched off the engine.
‘Come on, Sanchez,’ she said. She gave him a gentle shove on the arm as if she
thought he was faking the look of terror.

‘I think we just travelled back
in time,’ Sanchez muttered.

‘You’re so funny,’ said Flake, slapping
his arm once more. ‘Come on. Stop joking around and let’s get in there before
it’s too late.’

Sanchez definitely wanted to be
out of the car. He knew that much. But he didn’t particularly want to be
walking up the steps to the police station. As the blood began to flow back
into his fingers he peeled his hands back off the dashboard and reached over to
open the door. Flake was already up and out of the car by the time he had
hauled his ass up out of the seat. Closing the door behind him he took a deep
breath and with his left hand reached slowly around to his back. He started to
rub it slowly and pretended to wince in pain.

Flake looked genuinely
concerned. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

‘Old war injury,’ said Sanchez
grimacing. ‘Not sure I’ll make it up them steps.’

Flake’s face dropped. ‘Oh.’

Before she could add anything
else, a police officer came rushing down the steps from the front of the
station. He was a rugged fellow in his mid-forties with a full head of neatly
combed brown hair. And he was dressed smartly for a cop too. He had on a pair
of black trousers and a white shirt with a black waistcoat over it. Sanchez was
surprised to see an officer in such good shape, considering the obligatory diet
of donuts that all the local boys in blue stuck to so rigidly.

The officer yelled at Flake as
he approached her. ‘You got a license for that vehicle miss?’

Sanchez recognised the officer.
It was Dan Harker, a fairly decent, hard-working detective who had never really
made it as far up the ranks as he should have. If memory served correctly he
was one of the less corruptible cops, not as easily open to bribes as most of
the others. He’d dropped by the Tapioca numerous times to question Sanchez
about various unsolved crimes.

At the sound of his voice Flake
turned around. ‘Hello, Mr Harker,’ she said. She knew him too. The Ole Au Lait
wasn’t exactly crime free either.

‘Flake, you drive like a
freakin’ lunatic. I could book you for dangerous driving and illegal parking
right now!’ Harker said, shaking his head.

Sanchez nodded in agreement with
Harker, although he brought the nodding to an abrupt end when he thought Flake
had caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye.

‘I’m sorry Dan,’ said Flake
smiling. ‘We’ve come to sign up for the police force and I was hoping to
impress you with my driving skills, you know? I’m good in a high speed
pursuit.’

Dan Harker’s look of disapproval
vanished. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Good. I mean, excellent. You’re the first two to come
and sign up. Come on in. I’ll get your forms filled in.’

‘I’ve got a bad back,’ said
Sanchez, once more rubbing his back and wincing.

Harker ignored him and spoke to
Flake, ‘There’s a thousand dollar incentive for the first two people to sign
up.’

Sanchez perked up and looked
around him. There were a few other people milling around in the street. No
sense in waiting for one of them to race up the steps and get into the station
before him. Straightening up, he rushed out of the icy road and onto the
snow-covered sidewalk, then bounded on to the steps and up towards the glass
doors at the front of the station.

‘Gosh, he’s keen,’ said Harker.

Flake rushed up the steps after
Sanchez. ‘We’re both very keen to do our duty,’ she said.

Sanchez reeled back in shock
when he saw the state of the reception area in the station. The place was a
bloody mess. Literally. In fact it was one big crime scene. The walls and floor
were covered in blood. And it smelled like the Tapioca after a curry night.
Harker followed them in.

‘It’s a real mess in here,’ he
said walking briskly past Sanchez and Flake. ‘One of your first jobs will be
cleaning this place up. We’ve had forensics in to collate all the evidence, now
we just need someone to wipe the blood off the walls.’

‘Sanchez will be good at that,’
Flake said.

‘That’s true,’ Sanchez agreed.
He’d cleaned blood and piss off the walls of the Tapioca numerous times. And
for a thousand dollars, he’d clean up just about anything.

Harker smiled and reached into a
drawer on the main reception desk. He pulled out a thick blue hardback book and
slapped it down on the desk. ‘I just need you both to sign this register,’ he
said opening the book up. ‘You sign this each day and it grants you the
authority to arrest, harass and intimidate local civilians at your leisure. You
get paid a thousand dollars up front for being the first two recruits. After
that it’s a standard five hundred dollars a day.’

Sanchez picked up a pen from the
desk and grabbed the book before Flake could get to it. He filled in a few
details and signed his name then looked up at Harker.

‘You paying cash?’ he asked.

‘For the first day, yes. After
that it’s bank transfer.’

‘Good enough.’

Flake began filling in her
details in the register. Harker took a few steps back and stared at his new recruits,
looking them both up and down. ‘Right,’ he said frowning. ‘I’m going to nip
upstairs and get you two some uniforms. Should be easy for you Flake, you’re a
fairly common size. It might take me a while to find a pair of pants for you
though, Sanchez.’

‘I’m a medium,’ Sanchez said
defensively.

‘And I’m an astronaut,’ said
Harker. ‘I’ll find you some pants, don’t worry. Now, while I’m upstairs getting
your uniforms you can get started. Flake, you man the reception desk. Deal with
any phone calls or anyone who comes in off the street to report a crime. If
you’re not sure what to do, just bullshit them.’

Flake looked genuinely
enthusiastic. ‘I can do that,’ she said smiling.

Harker turned back to Sanchez.
‘You can start by cleaning the elevator. There’s a mop and bucket over there in
the corner. There’s soapy water in it already. All you gotta do is…’