The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

asked.
    ‘I have no fuckin’ idea,’ Dante
replied. ‘She’s shitfaced, man. She’ll talk to anyone when she’s like that. I
don’t even think those people were at the wedding.’
    ‘What about this guy?’ Sanchez
asked, nodding at a stranger who had just entered the Tapioca and was making
his way up to the bar.
    Dante took a long look at the new
arrival. ‘I hope he’s not a long lost uncle or something,’ he said. ‘Look at
the state of him.’
    As with all strangers in Santa
Mondega, this guy was weird looking. He was in his early forties and walked
with a bit of a limp. He was unshaven and scruffily dressed. He wore a dirty
grey overcoat that needed a trip to the dry cleaners and a pair of black pants
held up by a piece of string.
    The stranger took up a place at
the bar on a stool next to Dante. ‘Yo, bartender, can you get me a dark rum
please?’ he asked.
    Sanchez was immediately annoyed
that he’d left the piss bottle out back. He begrudgingly picked up a clean
glass and poured out a measure of real rum. He placed it down on the bartop.
    ‘Three bucks.’
    The man reached inside his coat
and pulled out a five dollar bill. As he handed it over to Sanchez he asked
another question. ‘You know where I can find someone called Beth Lansbury?’
    A quiet hush descended over the
bar and before Sanchez could answer, Beth and Flake both came out from the
kitchen to see who had asked the question.
    ‘Who wants to know?’ Sanchez
asked.
    ‘Me, obviously,’ said the man.
‘That’s why I asked.’
    Sanchez wasn’t particularly one
for looking out for other people, but he knew that any enemies of the Bourbon
Kid might come looking for Beth, so he played it cool. ‘What you wanna see her
about?’
    ‘You know where she is?’
    ‘That depends on what your
intentions are.’
    ‘I’ve got something for her.’
    ‘You can give it to me. I’ll pass
it on.’
    The barroom remained quiet. The
large heavy duty propeller fan hanging from the ceiling was the only thing making
any noise as it whirred around at a lazy pace.
    The man sniffed his glass of rum,
then took a sip. ‘You’re Sanchez, right?’ he said, placing the glass back down
on the bar.
    ‘I might be.’
    ‘Yeah, I was told you’d be an
awkward prick.’
    Dante leaned over and nudged the
man’s arm. ‘Hey, buddy. Watch who you’re calling a prick.’
    Sanchez waved Dante away. ‘It’s
all right, I’ve been called worse.’
    The stranger sighed. ‘Let me
explain to you why I’m here.’
    Sanchez picked up a white towel
from under the bar and began wiping the bar to give the impression he was
disinterested. ‘Here we go,’ he said. ‘He’s gonna tell us a story now.’
    The stranger looked around, and
noticing that he had the attention of everyone in the bar, he raised his voice
so that everyone could hear what he had to say.
    ‘I’ve come from a small community
down South. A place called Lakeland. Anyone heard of it?’
    No one answered.
    ‘Well anyway, for years we had an
issue there with a group of bikers. These guys were somethin’ else. Not Hell’s
Angels. Nah, they were worse ’n that. They only ever came out at night. In the
mornings we’d find villagers lying dead in the streets, well, that is, we’d
find what was left of ’em. These bikers did unspeakable things to the people of
our community. Cannibalistic shit. Like stuff you’ve never seen. For as long as
I can remember we all lived in fear. Sometimes they’d leave us alone for a few
months, then all of a sudden they’d come back. They’d break into houses and
drag people’s kids from their beds. We were powerless to defend ourselves and
anyone who stood up to them was ritualistically tortured and killed. Some were
even eaten alive in the streets.’
    Sanchez coughed. ‘You know there’s
a wedding going on here, right?’
    ‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that,’ said
the man, raising his hands apologetically. He looked over at Kacy. ‘Nice
dress,’ he said.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Kacy, beaming. ‘Got
it specially made for me by Franck Summers.’
    ‘That’s nice,’ said the man. He
looked at Dante and added. ‘Is she drunk?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Well, anyway,’ the man raised his
voice. ‘About a month ago this guy comes into town. Real nasty looking dude,
not the kinda guy you’d wanna fuck with. And, well, hechanged
everything.’
    Beth had been standing behind
Flake throughout the man’s tale. She stepped forward. ‘What did he look