The telephone rings on the bedside table, my girl for the night rolls over onto her side, perturbed by this early morning interruption. She’s on my side of the bed, so I roll over her, putting pressure on her naked body, she moaned, I figured she had been finished moaning for the night. Lifting the phone off of the receiver, I put it up to my ear and listened. After a minute, I put the phone down, and got up to have a shower. I was rubbing my hair down when I stepped back into the bedroom. I hate leaving my house when a stranger is here, but I figured “what the hell, I know where she works.” No need to dress nice where I’m headed, I’ll have to change later anyways. I put on my favourite t-shirt and jeans, grabbed my watch, wallet and key and was out the door.
With my 1976 Ford Mustang actually running, I headed to the office. This car is a beauty, dark green exterior, brown leather interior, sitting on a set of 22 inch tires with stainless steel rims. I spend more time rubbing her body down then any other… I just love to wax that ass. I thought of giving my neighbour Peter a call when I got to the office, just to let him know that the girl was there and that she doesn’t try to bring in a moving truck and take all of my stuff. Peter is a writer, and sometimes he gets late night ideas. I’ve seen him turn his lights on very late, not sure if he has an idea or if he’s wondering why the girl and I make so much noise at this time of day… well, just the girl. He’s a war story writer, I’ve read some of his work and it’s good, he’s been to Vietnam and Iraq so that’s what his writing is based around. I was over in Iraq too, so I gave him some ideas on my experience. He’s also a good guy, a little heavy on the drinks, he brings his selection over once in awhile, never seems to use glasses though, keeps the bottle clutched in his hand.
I drove into the office parking lot, locked the door, did a couple of stretches, and then ran to the main building. It was a morning ritual of mine, to run to the office, it got my heart rate and my head clear for whatever my day was going to unleash. I pulled open to entrance door, brushing against a passerby as a headed up the stairwell. I pushed out the 5th floor door, just as the elevator stopped, letting out my friend Dekard, we looked at each other, gave a quick nod, then were off side by side down the hallway. Dekard took a left turn down another corridor after 5 minutes of walking; I kept going and walked straight up to the reception desk where a wide-eyed, big-grinned Selene was to greet me.
“Good morning Selene”.
“Good morning Craig, have a good night?”
Selene was always at work before I was; she always seemed wide awake even without a coffee at hand. Unlike most receptionists in this office, Selene was small breasted, but what she lacked in figure, she made up in intelligence, personality and sexual attraction.
“My night was fine, just had some company over” I said, shrugging off telling her about the girl at home.
“When are you going to invite me over again? I can be good company.” Selene understood what I meant by “company”.
“We’ll see when I get back”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, I was just on my way to find out”
I waved goodbye, turned around and went down the hall to my right. With his door wide open, I strolled into Dekard’s office and found him typing away at his computer.
“Close the door” he said
I shut it, then grabbed the swivel chair next to the door; I propped it up beside Dekard and sat down. Dekard grabbed a mug full of coffee and handed it to me.
“Mind if I borrow your phone for a minute?” I asked.
I picked it up and called Peter. After three rings, a groggy sounding Peter answered.
“Hey Pete, its Craig, sorry to bother you, but I had a girl over last night, and I was hoping you’d keep an eye on her and my place.”
“And I’m sorry if we woke you up last night”
“Ah, I was sound asleep, I had a friend over last night as well.”
“I hope you don’t mean your friend Jack Daniels…”
“Ah Craig, you know me too well”
“Just lay off the stuff, watch my house and I’ll invite you over when I get back”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out”
Dekard was playing a game of solitaire when I hung up.
“Ok” I said “what do we got?”.
“The morgue?” I asked.
“Yup, that’s what it says” said Dekard.
“And that’s it?”
“Why the hell can’t they just tell us to go here, kill people, try not to die or blow lots of things up? Why give us bread crumbs?”
“It’s the government, they can’t afford to give us anything more then bread crumbs”
Dekard sighed, then gulped down the rest of his coffee before continuing
“If you have a bunch of bread crumbs in one place, people start to get suspicious, but spread out all over the place, then they’ll eventually disappear”
“Oh…” I said
Dekard sure had some weird analogies.
We pulled up to the curb next to the morgue, the sun was up now and people were out on the streets headed to work. There was a Starbucks next to the morgue, so Dekard told me he would wait in there till I got back, a place for the dead, next to a place for the dead tired. Dekard had a phobia of going into the morgue, too many bad memories, too many times having to identify bodies. I asked him to grab me a coffee as well, a mouthful of words that only coffee lovers would understand when told the first time.
The decomposition of human tissue left only the nose to cringe and the bile to rise. My bile rose a little to far and a little to widespread over the concrete floor after watching the Diener pull a body out of a single freezer, and throw off the white plastic sheet covering a naked and grotesque torso remains of a Mr. Yashib Lasheran. I apologized for the mess I had made, but the Diener waved it off saying the usual, “happens all the time” and grabbed for the hose on the wall.
I hated going into morgues, but not as much a Dekard does. The Diener made a quick motion with his finger for me to follow him; we stepped into his office which was filled with posters from the band Korn on every inch of surface area, a Korn CD playing in the background. He didn’t talk much, a sort of plastic face plastered onto what appeared to be a head, misshapen as it was.