Maggie Get Your Gun (4 page)

“Ugh,” I knelt over with my hands on my thighs.  My legs
were all shaky.

“Are you ill?” Killian asked with concern.

“I could use a soda,” I said, trying to ignore the energy
drop.  “Actually, I might just sit down for a second.”

Killian jogged back up to Calico and spoke briefly to the
park ranger as I tried not to pass out.  He was pointing at me and the ranger
was nodding sympathetically before they both trotted off together.  I looked
down at comb, “You little bastard.”

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed The Other Side.

“Mr. Smith speaking.”

“I got your comb and we need to talk.”

“I am afraid you have the wrong number.”

“Listen you old punk…”

“I assure you that you have the wrong number.  The person
you wish to speak with has an appointment at your office at 5:00PM and I am
sure would be quite pleased to meet with you at that time.”

I couldn’t believe this guy.

“Well,” I said, full of piss and vinegar, “I’m afraid I’m
stuck and won’t be able to make it.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“What do you mean ‘stuck’?”

“Meaning I’ve got a flat tire out in the middle of the
desert and only a donut to drive on.”

Without missing a beat, it seemed Mr. Smith was suddenly
all full of helpful solutions, “I could send someone out with a spare…”

“How about sending over someone to transport your little
trinket from the gift shop?” I said.

“I am afraid you’re the only one able to do that,” he
replied.

“Ah ha!" I exclaimed, "You KNEW it was magic.  You
knew and lied to me.  What else are you not telling me?  Am I going to be able
to cross with this thing?”

“You should.”

I stared at the phone receiver.

“SHOULD?!?!”

“All indications reflect this should not be an issue.”

“You little shit!”

“Contact me when you return.”

“Son of a bitch!”

And then the line went dead. 

I swore to god that I was going to kill him if the mummies
didn’t finish me off first.

I jammed my phone into my pocket and lay back down on the
ground.  I probably should have checked for scorpions or rattlesnakes before
flopping anywhere in the desert, but fuck it.  I almost hoped a great big old
rattlesnake came right over and tried to bite me.  I needed something to
choke.  No, wait.  I hoped I got bitten by a rattlesnake and died and Mr. Smith
had to figure out some other way to get his precious little comb.

I heard Killian's feet crunching in the dirt.  I opened up
my eyes and he put the Coke in my hand, “Is everything all right?”

“Yah, just called Mr. Smith and we had a little discussion.”

“How did it go?”

“How do you think it went?”

“Shall we concoct your alibi on the drive home or wait
until after you're arrested for murder?”

“Any judge in two worlds would consider it justifiable
homicide.”

“Rest,” Killian said, patting my shoulder, “I shall change
the tire.”

I didn’t argue.  Killian got the spare on and we were on
the road in about twenty minutes.  I let him drive.  I wasn’t feeling like
anyone’s life should be in my hands anytime soon.  The next closest town out in
the middle of our corner of nowhere was Barstow.  Able to top out our speed at
30MPH, that seventeen mile drive took about forty minutes.  As cars whizzed by,
tooting their horns and giving us the old one finger salute, I entertained
myself with all the different ways I was going to kill Mr. Smith.  We finally got
a full sized tire at a ridiculously expensive price and were on the road again,
hitting Los Angeles about two hours after that.

“Where would you like to cross?” asked Killian.

I would have loved to have just jumped through one of the
lovely legal portals.  You know, someplace that would not put my entire career
at risk if anyone figured out what I was doing, but I knew too little about the
comb.  Who knew how many fucking bells and whistles it might set off.  I cursed
that bastard again for sending me after a stupid piece of jewelry and not
warning me that it just happened to raise the dead.

Dad and I had set up an illegal portal out near the San
Onofre nuclear plant about an hour south of Los Angeles.  The fluctuations of
energy made it a little easier to keep things stable, believe it or not.  The
nuclear signature also hid the entrance from prying eyes that might be looking
for a door.  There were some smaller portals Dad and I had put together, but
none of them were big enough to fit a car.

“Keep heading south,” I told Killian.

As soon as you cross the Los Angeles/Orange County line, it
is like a different world.  The 5 freeway breaks away from urban hell and turns
into a really pretty drive.  You know.  When you’re not occupied about getting
caught in an inter-dimensional prison.  Suddenly, you're out of the city and
there's nothing but rolling hills and ocean.  I didn’t mind so much that this
could potentially be one of the last things I ever saw.  Sure beats the pants
off of some of my other near fatal experiences.  Vampire fights.  Demon attacks. 
Being left alone with children.

I flipped the switches on the car as we neared the border. 
The double white globes of the San Onofre nuclear power plant loomed on the
horizon like two boobs of death. 

Killian looked over at me, “Are you ready, partner?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He reached over and placed his hand upon mine, giving it a
little squeeze.

And then gunned it as we sailed over the bluff.

Chapter 5

“You fucking bastard.”

Mr. Smith was sitting in our Other Side office and he
seemed amused by my outrage.

“You agreed that the compensation was fair,” he stated,
tapping his cane on the floor.  “Surely you did not take this job assuming
there would be no risk?”

Killian sat in my dad’s chair since my dad, mind you, was
still unreachable.  What a fucking lousy time to unplug from the world.

I leaned forward on my desk, speaking very slowly and
clearly so that Mr. Smith understood, “You said that this was a gift for your
wife.  A trinket.  A trifle.  A little piece of metal.  Instead, I had to use
an illegal portal because I was carrying an artifact that wakes every dead
thing in a twenty foot radius.”

“It doesn’t wake every dead thing,” that smug
son-of-a-bitch pointed out.

“Listen, Killian and I,” I jerked my thumb towards my
partner, “we were out in the middle of the desert.  We woke up a bunch of
mummies.  Had to torch them.  Blew a tire.  It wasn’t fun.”

“We could have been killed,” Killian stated bluntly.

Mr. Smith pulled a stack of money out of his pocket and
placed it on the table, “I hope this will ease the discomfort of any troubles
you had.”

I looked at that pile.  It did help.  Quite a lot.  I
looked over at Killian and he gave me a shrug.  Sitting up here on my high
horse after the grunt work was already done wasn’t going to pay the rent, and I
sure as hell wasn’t chalking this one up to experience.  I stacked up the blood
money and put it in my drawer.

“The comb, please,” Mr. Smith asked, holding out his hand.

I went over to our wall safe and spun the dials.  I pulled
out the comb and slid it across my desk to Mr. Smith.

He opened up the bag and poured it out into his hand,
nodding, “It is quite powerful, isn’t it...”

"Why doesn't it zap you?" I asked, a little
disappointed he wasn't lighting up like a vampire bat in an electrical
transformer.

"I read that this particular comb is powered by the
bearer's life force.  Channels it into the dead to animate them and such.  I'm
quite old, so I could never wield it."

"So what you are saying is the more life force you
have, the stronger the reaction from the comb?" asked Killian, making sure
to look at me as he rubbed where it had burned him good.  "One might even
say that if the comb gave one a
stronger
burn, it is because the comb has
a stronger affinity... it, one might say,
likes
that person better than
someone who only received a slight shock?"

"I suppose so..." said Mr. Smith, a little
puzzled by Killian's questioning.

"I don't think that's what he's saying at all,
Killian," I said, cutting Mr. Smith off.

"I believe that is exactly what he is saying,
Maggie."

"I think what Mr. Smith is trying to tell us, before
you so rudely interrupted him, Killian, is the history of the comb..."

"...and how it is able to magically measure a person's
life force, their virility, as it were,  which it appears I have in excess..."

"I would be more than happy to surgically remove some
of that virility, elf."

Killian held up his hands, "Just clarifying the power
of the comb.  Please, Mr. Smith, continue."

The old man coughed.

"Please, continue," I said, dragging the daggers
I was shooting at Killian back into my eyes.

“Well," Mr. Smith said, shifting in his chair, "it
was created for the Empress of China by a powerful sorcerer who based his magic
in the Egyptian arts, hence the scarab symbol you can see here.”

Killian and I leaned forward as Mr. Smith pointed to the
carvings.

“Each line is part of an intricate magical system made for
bringing the dead back to life.  I believe they act as channels, allowing the
energy of the host to flow through them and into the body of the one who has
passed.  The thing about highly complex magic, though,” continued Mr. Smith, “is
that it is quite delicate.  The form must be preserved.  Why, if I were to do
something like this…”

He dropped it on the ground, he raised his foot, and
crushed it. 

“I would render it quite useless.”

He picked up the mangled bits and dropped them back into
the envelope.

“Your lady friend is gonna be pissed,” I said, slack jawed. 
It takes some balls to go around busting up magical objects.  Unless you know exactly
what you’re doing, the objects oftentimes bite back.

He gave me a slight smile, “I believe she will be quite
pleased.”

I shook my head, “Awful lot of work for some mangled
metal.  Why?”

“I’m afraid if I told you, you would be in quite over your
head.”

“Listen, I just torched half the heroes of Calico Ghost
Town.  I think I’m already quite ‘in’.”

“I was there, too,” said Killian as he raised his hand.

Mr. Smith leaned forward and whispered conspiringly, “I am
trying to delay the destruction of Earth by gathering up and destroying any magical
object that evil might choose to yield.”

“Well, shoot,” I said.  “All you had to do is say so.  I’m
okay with that sort of life goal.”

Killian nodded, “She is.  She has saved the world several
times.”

"Really?" Mr. Smith rubbed his white beard,
“Would you like another dip into the ocean?”

“Um…”

“The pay is quite generous and this,” said Mr. Smith,
holding up the bag, “is merely the tip of the iceberg.”

I looked over at Killian but his face was impassively
blank.  He wasn’t going to help me out on this one.  Guess he knew I probably
wouldn’t listen.  It’s what makes us good partners.

“How big an iceberg?  Would it, say, sink the Titanic?” I
asked.

“The number of objects that need retrieval make that berg
look like an ice cube in a tray,” Mr. Smith said, taking out an envelope.  He
tapped it against his fingers a couple times, almost as if he was sizing me up
before he pushed it across the table towards me.  “This is the next object on
my list.”

Killian was giving me just a little shake of his head.  It’s
like we were thinking with the same brain.  I managed to stay awake to the end
of
Titanic
and saw what happens when your ego tells you it’s a great
idea to pit yourself against large frozen masses.  I had no desire to reenact
any of those scenes, specifically the ones where the main characters died.

I pushed the envelope back, “Listen, Mr. Smith, you seem
like your heart is in the right place.  But I’m thinking I would like to keep
my heart in the right place, too.  Namely, inside my chest.  I’m going to have
to pass on this adventure.”

Mr. Smith took the envelope and placed it in my inbox,
“Contact me if you should decide otherwise, my dear.”

“Well, don’t hang around the phone like a mopey thirteen
year old, okay?  It’s been a…” I couldn’t quite manage to spit out something
like “been a pleasure”.  So, I just gritted my teeth and said, “Well… it’s been
‘business’ doing this thing with you.”

He put on his old, beat-up fedora and struggled heavily to
his feet.  The rubber tip of his cane thudded uncomfortably on the ground.  Each
time it hit, I could hear my mom telling me to be nice to old people,
especially old people whose bodies have quit them.  I can’t believe that I was
telling a cripple to go take a leap.  But I was.  I’m just an asshole like
that.  An asshole that had a burning desire to see another day.