Frank Dainard didn’t quite know how he had gotten into the lifestyle. Nor did he care, when it came down to everything except the crunch.
His profession was theft, a career choice that had become more challenging as of late. The easy targets all had security systems. Consequently, he needed ruses. Now, the easy pickings were the absent-minded: prof types. After his apprenticeship, which did include a couple of extended vacations in Club Fed, he figured out how to spot the easy marks. Trusting, with a lousy visual memory. The kinds who were delighted to learn that their recent purchases included a “service contract” which, Frank was good at intimating, was part of the warranty. No bothering the homeowner with this ‘service’! No messing around in a private home; no. The item in question went straight to the shop.
And, after its spell in the shop, it went to the owner. The new owner, courtesy of one of several fences.
The idiots who trusted their reputable security firms couldn’t even remember him, except for a few features. It was easy, but Frank had enough forethought to see it becoming hard. He had already become accomplished at the conventional tools of disguise: his favorite was the false distinguishing feature. Why remember a fellow as 5’ 11”, brown hair and eyes, roundish face, somewhat cynical smile, when a stylish tattoo was a dead giveaway? On and off, and that’s all they remembered. Thankfully, his age-peers were raffish enough for him to stick out but not in an immediately suspicious way. The marks didn’t see him as a miscreant until long after he got away. Tats, Frank had decided, were better than hair – too close to the face. They were also easier to remove, with the exception of wigs.
Still, despite his caution and foresight, he knew that the perfect scam was two steps from being blown. It was only a matter of time before the cops would be knocking at his door. Frank recognized the value of co-operation. He wasn’t the only one to work this scam; he had made sure of it. The fences, and the shadowy figures above them, saw him as a bright boy when he had the idea of chivvying guys who looked like him into the same schtick. Likely to confuse one with the other, it was a four-fifths chance that the fellow nabbed would have an alibi. Part of the plan, of course, was to be in a public place when off the job. An alibi, carefully deployed, would get the do-gooders howling about “persecuting the poor” and the heat directed the other way. Despite his cunning, Frank was fatalist enough to know his moment would run out. That’s why he was angling for a job as a fence’s assistant. No better way to go “behind the camera” (Frank liked to think about it that way) and get into the same old industry in a less legally perilous role. Once laundered, he could open up his own fence shop and even go legit some day. A small businessman, with nothing to hide except his past. Although unknowing of his plan, Frank’s caseworker had pegged him as one of the reformable ones. He kept trying to find work, and was rather assiduous about it. Even to the point of asking his applications be time-stamped…
He wasn’t the tallest nail in the bag, that he knew, but the hulking figure in front of him was bigger than he had seen anyone. Whoever this creep was, he was big. At least six inches on him.
Still, that didn’t matter. No-one busts into Frank’s home without looking for a fight!
“Hey! What do you think you’re –“
What stopped Frank cold – chilled cold – was the full sight of the creature. A black hoodie, out of which an oddly bulbous nose protruded. The hoodie extended down to the feet. The thing had eyes, but Frank could only feel them. He decided that he didn’t want to see any more.
Now, the thing replied. “I am Death. All who die come to me; all who die pass through my gate.”
“You mean I’m dead?” Frank’s voice now highed up, like it did when he was arrested for the first time. Cripes, that was sudden, his inner voice told him.
"No, you are not. I am visiting you because I require your assistance with a death. Should you agree, then fulfill your responsibility, you will learn the year of your death.”
The incongruousness of the Grim Reaper offering him a deal got some of Frank’s wits back. “You telling me you want to deal? What’s the catch here?” One thing Frank was not, was like his victims.
“What you’re offering me is pretty powerful. Why do I rate it? What’s the real in the deal here?”
The creature replied smoothly. “You were selected largely at random.” So it’s like a lottery or something, Frank filled in. “My power is not unlimited. As the human race has grown in number, the number of simulacrums I can muster has been exhausted. I need human help, and my knowledge of fate grants me the wherewithal to bargain.” That, in a tone suggesting the thing wasn’t exactly accustomed to the wheely dealie.
Anyways, Death’s motive was clear. In return for shouldering his load, Frank would get something. He’d find out when he’d die. But why not –
“Can’t I get the day?”
“You can, but I must warn you. If you learn the day of your death, then you will take steps to avoid it; I have found that the measures you will take will render the information you receive useless.”
Useless? Dodging death? This guy must be Death; I don’t know anyone who would be so damn cold about it. Useless? A get-out-of-death-free card? This guy was so lost, Frank was now tempted to mark him down as a potential victim.
That temptation vanished when Death’s unseen eyes lingered on his. With stomach filling with bile, Frank now knew that Death was not someone you dicked around with.
The high voice came back. “Can I get the time?” The creature nodded. This deal was going easy, in a way, but…
They were now in an execution chamber. Frank’s eyes bulged as he saw the writhing body of someone who might have been one of his “clubmates.” He had to remind himself of his instructions: call to the guy when he’s finished; talk him into going co-operatively; summon the Reaper when everything’s cool. Then, collect. It was actually easier than a boost.
Still, if it was easy… Frank, looking around, now saw that Death was gone. He was alone with the convict, who was now dead.
“Hey…fella? You with me?”
Frank still had enough presence of mind to feel woozy when seeing a second body stand up from the dead one. It was the same guy, who seemed delighted.
“Well, look at that! I done cheated death!”
“Actually,” Frank explained, “you sort-of didn’t. You came up from your own body just now. You are dead.”
“It don’t feel like I am,” the convict replied, with his tone adding that’s enough for me. Then he smiled, to himself. “If the guy I torched went through this too, then I guess it’s all right. Both ways. He lives, I live, only in another plane."
The implications, though, got his brow furrowing. It became clear that this fellow was worried about a rematch.
“He done killed my deal, you see, and that’s why I killed him,” the convict continued. “He’s gonna be walking all over me again, here, and that means I gotta take steps.
“Can you die again here? You know that?”
Frank shook his head. “Don’t know a thing. All I know is I gotta prep you for the death walk.”
The convict grinned a little. “Shouldn’t be that hard, ‘cos I’ve done the death walk now.” Two prison guards and what appeared to be an orderly had come in to the execution room, and the convict turned around. “My! That’s me. That’s really me there.”
But not for long. The body was ushered out, with his spirit and Frank’s remaining in the room of execution.
The rest of it went smoothly. Frank had no way of knowing it, but his assignment was a relatively easy one. The fellow went quietly; Frank had sped it along by intimating that he would set things right once Death escorted him to wherever. That got him moving.
Death’s words came back to him when Death did, and they were both back in his place. All that thing had seen was a convicted murderer, born to die in an aura of moral squalor. Frank wasn’t any way close to that fellow, he was sure of it, but he still nodded off when he heard that cop crap. Maybe Death was a cop. There was no way of knowing.
If he was, he’d better be an honest one. Frank didn’t know how to get revenge on the thing, but he’d sure try if he was stiffed. Damn right he would.
“Okay,” he barked, “it’s time to cough up. When’m I gonna die?”
The thing spent some time looking down on him, but Frank felt the fear that meant action. He was afraid, but he wasn’t scared. No way he’d freeze if Death screwed him over.
Finally, the thing spoke. “I can inform you that the time of your death will be ten minutes hence.”
That got two expletives out of Frank’s mouth. Ten minutes!? What kind of cheat –
He had to admit, though, that it wasn’t a cheat on Death’s end. The creature had fulfilled his part of the bargain. It wasn’t in Frank’s moral compass to thank the creature for the early warning.
“Well, I guess it’s so long.” Since the creature didn’t seem accommodating, he added “I shouldn’t keep you because you’re busy.” That got rid of him.
Now, Frank was what he preferred to be: alone. If he was going to be offed in ten minutes, he’d better be. Fishing out his gun gave him the time to locate the probable suspect. He knew where Joey was, and also knew it was about ten minutes’ drive there. It had to be Joey, even if Frank couldn’t figure out how the fellow had screwed him.
Still he would find out – hold on.
Try to be smart about it, Frank instructed himself. If he went over, he might as well have invited himself to his own death. All he had to do was stay holed up, in his room, and wait it out.
The ten creeping, dragging minutes had almost gone when he heard a knock on the door. Frank suddenly realized that he had done wrong to hold up. Joey – or whoever it was; it could be anybody now – had come to him! So he had to fight for his life, in his home.
A couple of quick shots at the door – that would drive whoever it was away. Frank felt the familiar recoil as the bullets flew at the door. F--- the landlord; I’ll be safer in jail. That was action.
The reaction was equally swift. Frank’s face went bloodless when he saw who he had shot at. Badges –
He couldn’t stop his gun hand going up again, he was so shocked. The first bullet tore through his chest, jerking him back; a couple more brought it to an end.
He didn’t look at the presence that called to him: some kind of a girl. He looked down at his body instead. Soon, what was left of him would be part of a crime scene. Or so he hoped.
“Yeah; I know I’m dead,” he said flatly to her. She looked bookwormish, and kind-of distant. Frank didn’t catch why; the words of Death during his own stint were gone from him.
What he did remember was how he had treated the apparition before it had blown away. S---; I’d better drag this out!...
