Suspect Zero, Part 5

<The final section of the story, serialized Monday-Friday the 13th. Feel free to share the url, link to the page, etc. RK>

Part 5
“If I’d of shot you back there, would I have become you?”

“You’d have become something. More than what you are, but no. You wouldn’t become me.”

Gabriel touched the sticky blood on his chest and legs.

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore. I want it to be over. Can you help me out?”

“Kill you? I’m afraid it doesn't work that way. You want to sacrifice yourself, go feed the homeless for Jesus. I’m not interested in those who want to be taken.  There’s others for that kind of thing. There’s no nourishment for me in suicides. For me eating suicides is like trying to eat the fog hanging in the empty spaces between the stones on a mountainside. There’s nothing to sink your teeth into.”

“If you're not a ghost then what are you?”

They changed lanes several times. The killer turned the truck off the local freeway and onto the interstate.

“Please. I’ve got to know.”

Suspect Zero reached up and pulled a cord, letting loose two long blasts from his air horn. He whooped with the sound.

“I’m a road shaker and a heartbreaker.” They hit a straightaway and he looked at Gabriel. “But most of all, I’m the toll taker.”

“What toll?”

 “You asked me before if I was a ghost. I’m not. But I wasn’t always such a grizzled bastard either. Hell, for the longest time I didn’t have any form at all. You people called me all sort of nonsense back then. Devil. Old Wolf. Ogoun. Soo-oop-wa. Our Lord of the Flayed One. I grew two legs, two arms and two eyes. I walked on the ground because that was what I needed to do to be near you.”

“Are you an angel?”

“Shut up and listen. Over ten thousand years you’ve been coming here. You walked here over ice bridges, marched up from the south and beached your ships on the coasts.  You came to me. To the dirt. The mountains and the lightning. The rivers and the dust devils tearing up the Mojave. You wanted my blood and built your lives and homes on my flesh.  Now I’m in your pavement and wires, your concrete, subways and sewers. I’ve always been here. I am this place. And you, every one of you, owes me a blood payment. Get it, boy? It’s like this truck. It’s my home. It’s me and no one rides for free.”

“You’re god.”

“Don’t be stupid. But you’re not the first who’s thought that. I’ve been worshipped and exorcised. I’ve buried you people in blizzards and earthquakes. Cooked you in brush fires burning all the way from Mexico to the Yukon. I’m the price you pay for being here.”

“You’re all that and you still can’t kill me?

“I told you. I’m not an angel or your god. I’m not here to ease your pain. You’re a nice kid. I wish I could help you out, but it’s not my place.”

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully, trying to absorb it all. His head was spinning. He only understood a little of what Suspect Zero said, but it was enough. Gabriel looked at the old man.

“You've been real nice to me tonight and I really appreciate it. I’ve been wandering around for so long. I’m glad I finally got to meet you. I hope you don’t think I’m rude.”

“Rude how, kid?”

“I’m going to go now.”

Gabriel pushed open the passenger door, stepped out and was gone.

The truck was doing 60 and the last thing the old man wanted to do was jackknife, so he eased on the airbrakes and slowed enough that he could pull onto the shoulder and stop. He checked his mirrors, but didn’t really expect to see the boy. He was probably a good half mile from where the kid had jumped. He got out of the truck and walked to the shoulder side. There was nothing to do now but wait. He lit a cigarette with the silver lighter. He finished one cigarette and was about to light a second when he saw Gabriel crest the nearby overpass. The boy had a slight limp where the bone stuck out of one of his left leg and his chest looked funny and puckered where the tires had run him over. His clothes were torn and he was covered in road rash. Other than that, the boy looked pretty presentable.

The killer put away the cigarette and lighter. When Gabriel reached him he l helped the boy into the truck and got in on the other side.

“I’m proud of you, son,” said Suspect Zero. “I couldn't help you, so you helped yourself. You doubted yourself night, but you came through in the end. You are the right kind of people.”

“Can help me now?”

“Absolutely. You smoke?”

“Yeah.”

He handed the boy his cigarettes and the silver lighter. 

“Keep them. You earned them.”

They drove in silence. A few miles ahead, the old man took an exit Gabriel didn’t remember as having been there before. Out the widow, he watched as they pulled into an enormous truck stop. A bright sign stood over the parking lot. It read, END OF THE LINE. He’d never noticed it before. How could he have missed something that big in all the times he’d hitched up and down this stretch of freeway? But he’d been alive back then. Maybe that made a difference.

His door opened and the old man helped him down. The night felt light and slightly unreal. The leg with the bone sticking out didn’t hurt, but it wouldn’t work right so he was slow getting across the lot to the diner.

Inside, the place was longer than a football field, lined with rows of booths and Formica tables. Gabriel couldn’t even see the far end. The big parking lot hadn’t been more than a quarter full of trucks and their drivers and passengers were spread out over so much space that even occupied, the diner looked empty.

The old man scanned their faces, spotted one fifty rows ahead and they headed to where a pretty dark-haired young woman was sitting by herself nursing a cup of coffee and a plate of corn fritters. The young woman sat up as she saw Suspect Zero and Gabriel.

She smiled an easy smile and said, “Hello, you old vagrant. Long time no see. Sit down and take a load off.”

“Hello Crow, what do you know?” He and Gabriel sat down across from her in the booth. “I haven’t hauled any special cargo for a while, so I haven’t had a chance to stop in.”

Crow, the young woman, glanced at Gabriel. She was beautiful. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, but not scary dark like Suspect Zero’s eyes had been. Her’s were soft. When he looked back her, Gabriel felt something enter him. It was warm and curious and as strange as the feeling was, he wasn’t frightened. A moment later, it had passed.

“You must really be something for this bone picker to come out of his way like this,” she said to Gabriel.

“He's been very nice to me.”

She looked at Suspect Zero and cocked her head quizzically.

“Picking up strays? I never took you for sentimental.”

“Call it old age. Call it helping out a colleague,” he said.

“Those bones and crush marks don’t look like your work.”

“No. The boy did that himself. Straight up and out. Made the choice and did it like a man.”

She took a sip of her coffee and drew in a breath.

“Kid, if I give you a lift you know where I’m taking you, right? That old man next to you is special, but there's only one road for human killers. That includes suicides.”

Gabriel nodded.

“It's okay. Everything is okay now.”

Suspect Zero leaned over to Gabriel.

“Now’s when you pay her.”

Gabriel looked at him.

“She's a professional like me. ‘Psychopompos’ they used to call her. And she doesn't haul freight for free.”

Gabriel patted himself down, not sure what the old man expected of him. He still had the money from the convenience store in his pockets, but he was pretty sure money wasn’t worth much here. Then he felt it in his pocket. He took out the silver lighter, set it down flat on the table and slid it to Crow. She picked it up eagerly.

“Shiny. Very pretty,” she said.

“That enough to get the kid a ride?”

“First class. He can even ride up front with me like a big boy.”

“Time for me to go,” the old said. He slid out of the booth and looked down at Crow. “Thanks for all your help, chickadee.”

“Take care of yourself, road man.”

“That’s what I do.” 

The old man squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder and said, “Try the peach pie before you go. It’s the best you’ll ever get.” Then he turned and walked away.

Suspect Zero bought a cup of black coffee and a jelly donut, which he devoured on the way back to the truck. Inside the cab, he set the coffee in a holder on the dashboard. He took the pistol from his jacket pocket, reloaded it, wrapped it in plastic and stashed it back in the cooler.

He reached down and pulled a flat bog iron box from under his seat. Inside were seven bone cups carved with runes. Inside each cup were slips of paper in a language only he could read. He pulled one slip of paper from each cup and set them on the dashboard. They read: MAN. 30s. BLONDE. BANK. INSIDE. BUSINESS HOURS. HAMMER.

The killer sighed. This was going to take a little doing, but it would be a banquet when he pulled it off. Not fun, though. He wished the boy had stuck around long enough to understand that. Not fun. Just the work. The work and the blood that feeds the land.

Copyright Richard Kadrey 2010