Part II – The Right Drunk

3 Years Later

1. The Big Easy

A thousand marching bands vied for dominance in the limited confines of Nick’s skull. Bass drums pounded in his temples, vibrating the edge of his vision with agonizing throbs. Every inch of his body hurt, and he suspected it had either been a very good night or a very bad one. Acid burned in his stomach eating him from the inside out. As he opened his eyes, the bright light felt like an avalanche of icepicks. He closed them immediately. What in the hell was I thinking and what in the hell was I drinking?

“You alive over there?”

Nick squinted through half-closed eyes. Shirley Codwell sat across from him in a faded leather armchair. She didn’t look happy. “Alive is a strong way to put it,” he replied. Recently, he had paid a visit to the actual Land of the Dead and found his current situation wasn’t that far off.

The ground shifted and the roar of engines cut through the relatively peaceful agony Nick had been wallowing in. “Don’t tell me I’m on a plane.” Avoiding planes had practically become a pastime in the last year and he found he slept better. Metal boxes that went impractically high were doomed from the outset to end their lives in fiery catastrophe.

“Alright, you’re not on a plane.”

The sound of a metal seatbelt clicking into place said otherwise. The ground tilted and jostled from side to side. Nick opened his eyes further, careful to raise a hand to shield them. The lights might as well have been coming from the fiery eyes of an angry deity. Squinting through the pain, he got his first good look at his surroundings. Despite words to the contrary, he was on a plane, private by the looks of it. The chairs were plush leather and polished wood tables were set between them. “You’re a lying prick, you know that?”

Shirley smiled. “Nice to see you too, Nick. It’s been a while.”

Nick grunted and pushed himself to a seat. “A phone call would have sufficed.” Memories came back like scattered pieces of a lost film. Nick remembered drinking at The Haven, never a good start. “Wait a minute, we were on a date.”

Shirley shrugged. “Technically.”

“But you—”

“Like women, yes.”

Nick tried to cobble the pieces together, but failed. The Shirley he knew was a mousy young tabloid reporter trying to expose Bigfoot. The woman sitting in front of him looked like the textbook handout of a corporate goon: Suit that cost more than a month’s rent in his shitty flat and hair so black that it threatened to swallow all the light in the world To top it all off, Shirley’s face was changed, not just makeup, but structurally. The only thing remaining was her eyes, piercing and curiou. “Did that hurt?” He motioned to her face.

“Not in the way you think. They knocked me out for the procedure, but it takes a while getting used to seeing someone else in the mirror.”

“Happens to me every morning.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Nick sat back in his chair and took in the plane’s décor. There were no logos, few seats, and everything was done with wood paneling. “So, The Sixth Side, huh?” It was a guess, but there were few government agencies that met with monster hunters. The National Parks Department wouldn’t have sent a jet, but the fabled Sixth Side of the Pentagon—stupid name—they wouldn’t give a damn about burning some extra fuel.

Shirley shifted in her seat, a flicker of displeasure crossing her face. “Yes, The Sixth Side.”

“Last I remember, they were shooting at us, but good for you.” A sudden wave of nausea rocked Nick forward and he put his head between his legs. “Why don’t we skip to why we’re here?”

Shirley sighed. “Your colleagues assured me that you weren’t going to be a problem, but judging by the state of things…”

Pressing his lips tight, Nick tried to sit up straight and felt soreness radiate through every inch of his body. With each passing day, he grew more accustomed to it. It was the aftermath of a lifetime of bad decisions and aggressive supernatural entities. There were some things the body never truly healed from. He took a few breaths, finding calm and trying to stop the room from spinning. Nick looked around for a drink and found nothing but bottled water. He grabbed it and took a spiteful sip. “I’m not going to be a problem, I’m just confused. How did they find you?”

Shirley didn’t answer immediately; her bright eyes searched him, seeing all the way down to the marrow. “Maybe there’s a time for us to talk about it, but I don’t think that’s now.” Her eyes twitched almost imperceptibly upward.

Nick looked at the ceiling and saw the black dome of a security camera. “Right. The government stooge only tells us what we need to know.” A part of him wanted to apologize, for all of it, but without the booze, anger took over. “You mentioned my colleagues. Where are they?” A new fear suddenly shot through Nick. “For the love of God, don’t tell me you let Lopsang fly the plane!”

Shirley raised a hand, but Nick was already on his feet, fighting through the nausea and heading for the cockpit. “Look, he’ll tell you he has a ‘pilot’s license’, but it’s from an online university and I’m not sure it counts.” A sudden image of a falling prop plane and lightning high above the Amazon flashed before him. Not again. “Does this thing have parachutes?” He started to root through the overhead compartments.

Shirley sat, calm, arms folded. “Relax, Nick. I know it was a fake date, but I did listen to your story about the plane crash. Believe me, his miraculous escape from that wreck is something we’re going to discuss another time.”

Nick paced back and forth, stumbling as the plane banked into a left turn. “You’re sure he’s not flying? Because it sure as hell feels like he is.”

“I’m sure. I like Lopsang, but I wouldn’t let him anywhere near the controls on this jet. The retired Air Force pilot at the sticks is going to be offended at the implication.”

“Great, I’ll add him to the list of military personnel who want me tied up in a black site.” Nick sat down, taking slow breaths through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. He still thought mindfulness was bullshit, but in a pinch, breathing right could stop panic. “You mentioned ‘my colleagues’, where are they? Also, does this plane have a bar?”

Shirley cleared her throat. “Same old Nick. Yes, the plane does have a bar, and if you can give me your attention for five minutes, I’ll give you the combination to the lock.”

Sweat trickled down Nick’s back. Any bar that had a combination lock was worth raiding. He sat up straight and tried to convey undivided attention. It wasn’t really something he was capable of, but after years of practice, he honed the look. “Alright, Shirley, hit me with it. Why am I working for one of my least favorite shadow organizations, and how did you get me on a god damned plane?”

“I’ll start with the easy one. Lopsang carried you on the plane because you were incapacitated. I’m guessing the ringing in your ears and shooting pain in your temples can tell you why.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Nick didn’t say anything but rubbed the sides of his head.

A cocky smirk crossed Shirley’s face. “Don’t worry, the bar’s got something for that. Government shadow organizations have enough funding to create world-class hangover remedies.”

The thought of relief brought a tear to Nick’s eye. “I’m listening.”

“Before we get there, you’re here to help us stop a rogue necromancer.” Shirley passed Nick a packed manilla folder. “They’ve been going by the name Red Death.”

“Dark arts users and their clever names.” Nick took the folder and leafed through it. The first page showed a map covered in small dots with dates above them. “Let me guess, these are corpses that have turned up where they’re not supposed to be.”

“Gold star. Over the past few months, we’ve been seeing a rash of John and Jane Does winding up miles from their grave sites.”

Nick nodded. “A hallmark of someone in the first stages of necromancy, but usually nothing to be concerned about.”

“Nothing to be concerned about?”

Nick shrugged. “There are plenty of people with a passing interest in the dark arts that never do anything truly dangerous. Have you considered this person might just be going through a phase?” It likely wasn’t a phase, but a shot at ending a job early was a shot worth taking.

“Unfortunately, no. Turn to the next page.”

Nick flipped through and tried not to gag. The next page was a high-quality image of what looked to be a massive yarn ball of corpses, rotting in the midday sun. “Oh, good, they’ve moved on to abominations. Where did you find this one?”

“Just on the outskirts of New Orleans.”

Nick nodded. “Lucky that didn’t get near any population centers. Undead on their own are only dangerous if they can bite people, but an abomination…”

“Is something else entirely, believe me, I know. That’s when we got the call. The rise in corpses getting out of their graves is concerning, but whoever’s bringing them back is getting bolder. That picture is from a few days ago. Ordinarily, one zombie isn’t something we’d call a professional about.” She hitched on the word ‘professional’.

“Oh, come on, Shirley, is it that bad to be working together again? I hate The Sixth Side, but I think we do well together.”

“Last time, I ended up watching a prominent television personality disemboweled atop a frigid mountain and nearly died in an avalanche.”

“You make it sound like we didn’t have fun.” Nick smiled at the memory. Despite the death, dismemberment, and other inconveniences, it had been a damned good adventure. “Did you ever stop to think about the irony that an ex-tabloid reporter is now a government agent and is probably one of the few people to have actually seen Bigfoot?”

Shirley’s resolve broke and genuine joy spread across her face.

Nick nodded. “You don’t need to say anything. Just checking to make sure you’re still human.” He continued to flip through the file. There were a few break-ins at notable voodoo shops and places of power, followed by a bizarre arrest. “Let me guess, we’re flying in to cover this up?”

“To stop a dangerous necromancer,” corrected Shirley.

Nick wasn’t taking it for an answer. “And then cover it up?”

Shirley sighed. “When the alternative is an entire city suddenly concerned about zombies and an outbreak of the living dead, you bet a cover-up is our top priority. Do you have any idea what happens when people get word of shit like this?”

“Jonestown,” commented Nick.

“I’m sorry?”

“Jonestown, the suicide cult. Leader saw too much decided to protect his followers from the worst of it. People think he was cracked out of his mind on LSD, but the reality is he saw the work of someone exactly like this.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. He never liked necromancers, or necromancy for that matter. “Don’t get me wrong, the guy was a sociopath and a prick, but situations like this push people. Fucking necromancers…”

“Ironic given your traveling companion, don’t you think.”

Nick let out a small laugh. “James? That’s not necromancy. If you steal someone from the Land of the Dead fair and square, I’m all for it, but so far as I know, we’re the only ones that have done that. James is alive and well. Whatever this ‘Red Death’ is raising has only a shell of what it means to be human.”

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“About condemning necromancy? Sure. But here’s what I’m trying to figure out. What exactly do you want me to do about it?”

Shirley shrugged. “You’re one of the few people with contacts in the community.”

“Contacts? You mean Martin? I don’t think he’s going to give me a good reference.” People didn’t usually survive being kicked weaponless into an illegal fight pit.

“Well, you’re going to have to try.”

“I’m not in the business of raising dead men.” The irony did not escape him, but he held firm.

“What if I told you Martin is in New Orleans?”

“I’d tell you turn the plane around and drop me back in Midway.”

At that moment, James and Lopsang walked through a curtain from the front of the plane. Both had rosy cheeks and were clutching tumblers full of brown liquid.

“Oh good, he’s awake.” James swirled the glass in his right hand, sliding the ice around the glass edge. “Didn’t we agree on no more witch’s brew after last week?”

“Witch’s Brew.” He groaned. “Now this makes sense.” Witch’s Brew was a powerful drink that sobered the mind but neglected the body in the process. It was a wonderful feat of chemical engineering and a horrible blight on the human condition. Nick looked into James’s eyes, still amazed that the kid was standing. They had been back from the Land of the Dead for almost a full year, but the novelty hadn’t worn off.

“He’s doing the thing again.” James took a drink.

Nick cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Screw off kid, I’m just making eyes at your drink.” To cement the statement, Nick made a futile grab for it.

James pulled the drink back.

“How’s he taking it?” asked Lopsang. He popped open a bag of mixed nuts and started eating noisily. Food was a relatively new concept for Lopsang. As a recently ex-immortal, the shackles of the mortal coil were still a novelty. His newfound love for food had been a small solace in an otherwise painful year. Dark circles ringed his eyes. The basics of being human were a tough pill to swallow.

Shirley shrugged. “Nick told me to turn the plane around.”

“Wait, you two already know?” Nick scoffed. “And to think I keep you on the payroll.”

“Payroll is a very loose term when we haven’t had a good job in months.” Lopsang popped another nut in his mouth. “At least this way we’re getting fed.”

“I’m not sure I’ve seen a moment where you weren’t being fed in the last year.”

Lopsang recoiled, holding the bag of nuts tight to his chest. “Rude, and that doesn’t change the lack of pay.”

Nick sighed. “I’ve been doing my best.” It was partially true. Under normal circumstances, he would have sat in his apartment waiting for business to magically appear. However, recently, he’d taken to asking any and every drunk at The Haven for work. Nick wanted his peace and quiet back. Roommates weren’t the best backdrop when he was trying to drown his mistakes at the bottom of a bottle.

“Trying his best.” James laughed. “And yet somehow you still passed out for the pre-mission briefing.” The ice cubes in his drink clacked together as the plane hit a patch of rough air.

Nick seized the opportunity and lunged.

Despite being recently dead, James’s reflexes were sharp. He pulled the cup back, sloshing the drink violently. “Ah, ah, ah.” He waggled a boozy finger at Nick. Precious brown liquid dripped from the bottom of the glass onto the carpet. “This is for people who listen to the nice lady who’s keeping us off the streets. I know you hate government contracts, but the money is good. The advance already cleared.”

“Perks aren’t bad either.” Lopsang tilted the remainder of the bag of nuts into his mouth.

“And to think you get on me for being a miserable drunk.” Nick turned his attention back to Shirley. “Fine, let’s skip to the end then. So, Martin is in New Orleans, we’ve got a rogue necromancer, and you think he’s going to know something about it.”

“Yes, now, we’re wheels on the ground in twenty, so I suggest you get yourself ready.”

“Ready for what? Ready better involve the combo to that bar.”

“Password is 1-2-3-4.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Now, what am I getting ready for?”

Shirley’s nervous glance at the others confirmed it was unpleasant.

James saved her the trouble. “We’re going to a fight club!” He jumped for joy, forgetting the plane’s low ceiling and cracking his head on a luggage container. What remained of his drink sloshed out over the manicured carpet.

Nick shook his head. “Apprentices, they can’t hold their liquor. Now, what kind of fight club?”

No one replied.

Nick’s heart sank. “No.”

Lopsang finished his drink.

Shirley stood up to leave.

James winced.

“What kind of fight club?!”