Excerpt: Lake Of Coprses (Short Story)

It was supposed to be a simple job, just chasing corpses. The past couple months, corpses have been going missing in Fort Hill. As soon as I got into that small hillside town, Commissioner Burns summoned me.

We’re standing on the edge of a crater-lake which was smack-dapped in the middle of the hill. Burns was in his usual get-up, an char-tone trench coat and a fag glued to his lips. A few feet besides him was a corpse, soaked and ghastly bloated.

“I suppose we ain’t sightseeing.” I said, pulling out my flask.

A sleazy grin creeped on his face, “Last time I went sightseeing with you, I got lead stuck in my ass.”

I pointed at the wet corpse, “Found a corpse already.”

Burns nudged the corpse with his foot, “Yeah this guy. Well, he ain’t like the other corpses. He’s special, freshly murdered, your favorite.”

“You’re lucky Hank, if this ain’t a favor, your price would’ve tripled.” I took a swig of whiskey.

Taking a closer look at the fella. He was no older than twenty-five, and built like a cigarette, all the way down to the pale-paper skin and tobacco-toned hair. Wearing disheveled rags. Around the cigarette-man’s ankle was a piece of rope that snapped a few feet from the knot.

I stood up, “You know what done him in?”

Hank’s foot flips over the corpse, “Take a look for yourself.”

On the back of the corpse's head was a dent a few centimeters deep. The dent

wasn’t perfect, had many scratches, cuts, and smaller dents that blessed the noggin. Some of the dents were more flat with a curve to them.

I looked at Hank “Gotta clue who he is?”

“Don’t know the mug. But probably the grave-watcher that gone missin’.”

I peered into the lake where the depths turned into an abyss “Who runs this lake?”

Hank yanked out his fag, “He’s outta town, but his dame isn’t. Talk to her.”

Hank told me the dame’s name ‘Terra Woods’ and pointed me in her direction. So

I headed off. Passed the hillside cluttered with wooden cabins. And over yonder there was the mansion. It was a modest mansion, that’s newer than some of the townies. It’s the type of house you’d expect one of wealthy senators to own.

I made my way up the porch. The tunes of wind chimes masked the creaking floorboards. Before I could even make it to the door, the door flew open, banging into the outside wall. Trusting out the door was a man, clothed like a Chesterfield pin-up boy. The man was silent outside the stomping of his feet, and the coins jittering around in his pockets as he scrammed towards the hill.

In the wake of the chaos, I knocked on the door, as I peered in. The inside was

nice, with all custom furniture paired with a speakeasies feel. A few feet away was the dame, downing a bottle of bourbon while laying on the couch. I knocked again, she didn’t notice. 

I walked in. “I hope I ain’t bothering you. Might you be Terra Woods?”

She plopped down the bourbon, and adjusted herself like some actress right before a play. She spoke in an up-beat voice, “Yes I am, whom does it may concern?”

“Hello, I wish to ask you a few questions, I’m helping out Commissioner Burns.”

She sagged back into the couch, mumbling to herself “Great, first an ex-lover

then a dick, what’s next?” Then looked at me with her puffed-up eyes, “Come on in, and close the door.”

I closed the door. Grabbed a seat across from the dame. Before my ass could even hit the chair, she said “What do ya wanna know?!”

“I’ve came to ask about the corpse in the lake, since from what I’ve been told you run the lake.”

“I don’t know who told ya that, but you’re dead wrong. Ian runs it, not me. I got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Very well. Then enlighten me on the situation of the lake, and if he has any enemies.”

“I haven’t been with Ian for long—only a month or so. He’s fairly well liked, not many enemies. But the situation with the lake’s discovery was relatively recently through a landslide, and Ian’s been working with the city to make it safe and free to drink.”

“So where have you guys been getting your water before?”

“Imported from a river town nearby, ‘Fair Water’. Run by the Fairman family for

generations now. We’d an agreement with them to import water, we've been one of there cash cows since this city’s founding.” Terra pointed towards the door, “The man that’s suppose to be supervisin’ this agreement, Garett Fairman the third, just stormed outta here. If ya hurry you can still catch him.”

I got up, thanked her and left. Hoping to catch up to Fairman, before he’s lost in

the city. The city was fairly empty, outside some kids scattered across, and the

occasional mothers taking a drag.

It was dusk by the time I saw him. He was hanging outside a rundown church playing with a velvet box, as his cigar signed his lips. He started cursing as his smoke hits the ground.

I walked up to him, “Lost in thought?”

“Any man would be in my shoes.” he looked up, spotting me “Don’t recognize you, ya new around town?”

“Lester Collin, been here a hot minute, we crossed paths not too long ago.”

“Sorry, forget me, I have been in the clouds lately.”

“I figured a man of your stature would be happy since all the money we’d be racking in soon.”

Fairman pulls out another cigar, “Money doesn’t matter if you got no one to spend it on. . . Well I better get going.” Fairman waves goodbye and walks off into the distance. 

As soon as he vanished, I entered the church and questioned the pastor. Flashing my badge, he answered: “Fairman was calling off our wedding service.” He elaborated no further, no matter how much I pestered him. So I thanked him and left.

The moon creeped overhead, as i entered the graveyard where the corpse-snatchers were. The graveyard gates were empty, no grave-watchers nor coppers. On the gate, by the handle, was a week-old flier: “Now Hiring, Graveyard Guard. Requirements: self-defense, firearm, and firearm proficiency.” in a finer print “A firearm won’t be provided”

The graveyard was vacant besides the feasting maggots. There were gravel

graves and more modern graves. The upkeep of these graves was as clean as the rotting corpses buried beneath it. Moss suffocated the gravestones, making it unreadable, however it stood over fresh dirt. There’s other identical graves with rope webbing around a six-foot hole. Inside the hole was an open coffin. Empty.

In the silence of night, where a sober scent of the deceased lingered,carried along by a chilling wisp.  Only to be interrupted by the growling of a car, then chatter. I scattered behind a monument dedicated to the buffalo hunters, watching. Two men, a bruno and a rat-face punk. They both were carrying shovels, while the Rat-Face was acting like a Pack-mule.

The Rat pointed at a grave near me, and spoke like he just smoked some helium, “How ‘bout that grave? we’ven’t touched it yet.”

The Bruno grunted like a caveman, and hurled himself towards the grave.

The Bruno’s shovel split the grave, and spoke like a neanderthal “wat ‘bout da die garve-watch? Ain’t he found?”

Rat-Face pitched in his shovel, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll do what we did last time.”

“But don’t you should go watch?”

Rat-Face showed his crooked smile, “Yeah, yeah. You do the diggin’ then.” 

Rat-Face pranced around the graveyard, matching the thumping of The Bruno’s shovel. It wouldn’t take long for him to find me, so I creep like a panther from tombstone to tombstone. Rat-Face was turning towards my direction, so I slid behind a crummy tombstone. And pressed by back against it, knocking it over. It flopped over in an echoing thud, creating a cloud of dirt.

Without skipping a beat, Rat-Face screeched, “Looks like we got a vermin!

Quit diggin’, and Fight!”

The Bruno perks up, watching Rat-Face charging towards me. I picked up one of

the tombstone chunk, and chucked it at Rat-Face. Slowing him down. While making my way

towards the vacant grave.

As soon as I turn around, I’m met with a right hook to the nose. Rat-Face was ready

to scrap. Rat swung again, missed, so I returned the favor. Got his gut, causing him to collapse. Falling to his knees, he was still swinging. I caught a stray to the knee, causing me to jerk, kicking him in the chin. Knocking him stiff.

The Bruno watched, let out a war-scream, then threw the shovel like a javelin. Clipping the tip of my shoulder, rendering it useless. The Bruno was closing the distance, I couldn’t fight him with my busted shoulder. So I did what anyone would’ve done in my shoes, pulled out my revolver, pointed it at Rat-Face. The Bruno spotted in his tracks.

“If you want your pal here to live, raise your hands and back up.”

The Bruno grunted and complied. 

“So are you the corpse-snatchers? What’re ya doing with the corpses?”

He didn’t answer, but he did with the encouragement of a cocking revolver, “We get bodies, and put bodies in lake.”

“Why the lake? What’s there to gain?”

He looked at Rat-Face, as his speech moved at a snail's pace, “Brother said we’ll get paid, if we do.”

“Who’s paying you?”

As soon as those words left my lips, my wrist was slit. And the revolver barked, right before it fell. The Bruno screamed, and charged me. I grabbed the gun off of Rat-Face with my left hand and fired it at The Bruno. My adrenaline spiked, making my hands quake; causing me to miss most of my shots, but managed to hit two in the knee, and he collapsed like an ox. Bashing his head against a tombstone on the way down.

Catching my breath, I took a swig of whiskey, and looked at Rat-Face. He was brandishing a switchblade, but didn’t have a face no more. I ‘relocated’ the switchblade to

my pocket while I hosteled my revolver.

I met back up with The Bruno, still breathing, just knocked out. I shoved

some dirt in his wound and left. There’d be someone soon, who’ll investigate the gunshots and find the two. In the meantime, I headed to my room and patched myself up.

With some makeshift stitches, I talked to Hank at the ‘local’ big house. The Bruno was locked up in a bird in a cage. Hank was finishing up a report of the incident, and over the clacking of the typewriter, The Bruno shouted “He did it! He killed brother!”

Hank looked up from his typewriter, staring at me. “I wouldn’t be surprised. What was it this time?”

I sat down across him and plopped my feet on the desk, “Well, they attacked me, I

protected myself. Faceless slit my wrist making me fire my revolver. Plain and simple.”

The Bruno bang against the steel bars, “No! He lying! He put brother as hostage! He killed brother!”

Hank glared at me, “Is this true?”

“No, of course not. You’d really take a criminal’s word over mine?”

“You’re not exactly Mr. Truthful but if you did you’d be locked up with him.”

“Well, I brought you your corpse snatcher. And if I wanted to I could’ve killed him too.”

The Bruno screamed again, “No! Not true! You didn’t kill me because you hurt and had no bullets!”

“And this’s comin’ from the guy who threw a shovel at me.” I looked at Hank, “I’ve

got the scars to prove it.”

Hank lit another fag, “Anyways, we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we.” Hank ripped

the paper out of the typewriter, handing it to me. “I’m guessing you’re here for this?”

I took a look at the notes, The Bruno and Rat-Face were brothers from the town over. They aren’t new to prison, they practically have a cell reserved for them. They just do petty crime, and sometimes backed by someone.

I handed it back to Hank, “I wouldn't call murder a petty crime.”

“Ain’t their normal memo, but wouldn’t put it pass them.”

“Who do ya think who hired them?”

“Aren’t you the detective? I should be asking you that.”

“Is this in the paper, and is he?” I pointed at The Bruno, “Also have you found any more bodies in the lake?”

“Yup it’s in the paper, and he’s not in it. As for the lake it looked like the titanic

sunk there. They’ll’d typewriters tied to their ankles.”

I was able to convince Hank to hand over some forty-five. I thanked him and left. But before I left Hank gave me directions to the nearest hospital. Which was the city over,

Rivington, the home of Fair Water.