“Murderer!” they'll say. “Killer of humans! No better than the werewolves! What if she turns on us?”
Hennessy's corpse went into a freak spasm and rolled around on the carpet with no clear goal. I jumped on the body, keeping it still. What do I do if those cops burst in here? Do I kill them? Do I let them take me in? What?
Chief Dreslen yelled into the horn.
“Times up. We are coming in!”
I tried to shove Hennessy's brains back into his skull.
“Don't die, human. Oh, God. They're gonna crucify me!”
The cops jumped through the windows and kicked down the door and aimed their guns at me. Chief Dreslen sauntered in, smoking a cigar with his hands on his jingling belt of various keys.
“Man alive! There's a dead man in here.”
He pointed at me, tongued his cigar to the side of his mouth, and smiled. “We humans don't take too kindly to murders of fellow Homo sapiens 'round these here parts. Arrest her, boys.”
Just as they pulled out their cuffs and nets and cattle prods, Mary-Sue ran into the scene, holding the sword. The dagger of glass was still sticking out of her forehead.
“No! I killed him! I did it! I murdered that bastard! Don't you get it? The Transdolphin saved me.”
Chief Dreslen scratched his head.
“Is that right?”
Mary-Sue lit up.
“Indeed! See?” She ran over to Hennessy's corpse and stabbed him over and over – up and down and up and down, like she was churning butter. “I hate you!” she said to the dead man. “I hope you're boiling in the beer pits of Hell.” She dragged out the last word: “Hellllllllllllllllllllllllllllll....”
She sounded demonic. Chief Dreslen hugged her.
“Shhh,” he went. “That's enough, girl. He's dead. He's finally dead.”
He lovingly pulled out the glass shard in Mary-Sue's forehead and kissed her wound.
She smiled.
“Thanks...Dad.”
Chief Dreslen turned to me.
“And you, kind creature. You've taught me a great lesson, which I have already forgotten. Nonetheless, thank you for helping my little girl. Truly, you are the dolphin of God.”
The cops threw their hands up and cheered and fired into the air. Walking away and smiling, Mary-Sue tossed the glass sword over her shoulder. It landed, standing up, in Hennessy's face. I was reminded of Excalibur. Paramedics put Hennessy onto a stretcher and rolled him outside and set him on fire while everyone danced and talked about the latest football game.
Some people threw roses at my feet.
“Praise be to the Transdolphin!”
Everyone blew me kisses.
Running through Chinatown alleys, my breasts jiggling, morning sun licking the wound in my side, I remember being disturbed:
“I just killed a man. A human.”
You had zero choice. He was attacking you. He was an asshole. It can't be helped.
“I'm here to save people. Not massacre them.”
Oh, you're making a big deal out of this. Bad is bad. Evil is evil. Many shapes; many forms. Devil, werewolf, drunkard. All the same.
“I feel that old, terrible guilt. I feel dead. Am I going to Hell?”
Sounds like you're already there.
“I deserve this depression. This is my punishment for slaying an innocent human.”
He wasn't innocent. No one glued that beer bottle to his hand. You're not the problem. He was. They are.
“If only there was a way to fix everyone.”
One lost soul at a time. Do your best to get more followers. Build the master race!
“I'm doing my best.”
Yes.
“I'm doing good work!”
You can do no wrong.
“I can do no wrong.”
Repeat that mantra. Tattoo it on your brain.
“I can do no wrong. I can do no wrong. I can do no wrong. I can do no wrong.”
And then I was hit with a sudden warmth. I let it all in. I'm guiding you. I'm with you. I AM...with you. My guilt vanished. I was proud. I was lifted. This was good. I walked into the lobby of my place and was hit by screaming fans – all young, Japanese girls. I did my best to shake as many hands as I could. The crowd got crazy with excitement and started yelling and tore off my shirt and pants. I ran off. As I went up the elevator, I checked my wound. It was healing right before my eyes. Amazing! Was I invincible? Could I live forever? When I got to my apartment, that Chinese lady from next door walked out of her place with a little girl. I knew then I was screwed. They took one look at me and gasped. They stared at my nakedness – eyes scanning me up and down, their mouths open, tongues shivering. The child started to cry. The Chinese lady covered the kid's eyes and shrieked at me.
“Damn, naked, whore dolphin! You dare expose yourself to little girls! I'll have you kicked out!”
I ran in and shut the door and listened as she complained and stormed into the elevator. Dammit. She'd be trouble. Was she gonna squeal to the landlord about my nakedness? I couldn't stay there anymore.
Where to go?
Who'd take me in?
Who could I trust?
The church! Yes, of course. Makes perfect sense.
I gathered my stuff as fast as I could. Just the important stuff: Toothpaste, brushes, shampoos, candies, bras, various unmentionables, etc. I kept imagining my landlord with the cops jumping out the elevator and beating down my door and demanding I surrender due to my weirdness. I shook my head.
“Shut up, brain.”
No way was I going down in such an embarrassing fashion. I ran into the bathroom and raided the medicine cabinet. I dumped everything into a bag. Something in the shower exploded. I yelped and spun around and stared into a spinning black hole. My feet flew up, and I was sucked in and flying through the universe. All sorts of clocks spun by me. I saw all the planets. And then I was falling toward a blue planet that had a single landmass. I fell through the clouds like a missile. Insane noise in my ears. I screamed and covered my eyes.
My feet touched earth. I looked through my fingers. I was on an island. Honolulu. In the future. The city was in ruins. Everything was covered in weeds and skeletons. Dead whales littered the streets. Cars stuck out of buildings. Little animals ran here and there. Birds flew around my head. I heard singing. Songs of the dolphin. All was peaceful. I understood it all. Then the black hole appeared in front of me and suck me in again. I opened my eyes. I was back in my cramped bathroom. My hands were gripping the sides of the sink. I was gazing into the mirror. The world sank in: Feet above me stomping. People outside yelling. Cars honking. Various construction.
I started laughing. “I made it. I made it....”
A knock at the front door. A terrible wave of terror vibrated throughout my body. I grabbed my stuff and ran to the window. I stuck my foot out and got ready to jump. I looked down and saw a Chinese parade, complete with a dragon dance. People looked up and pointed at me and cheered. Again, a knock on the front door – this time louder. I went back inside and grabbed a plunger and tiptoed to the door. There was no peephole.
“What! Who is it? If you're looking for Beth, she isn't home. She's dead. I heard it on the news: Her body was found in the mouth of a maladjusted bear that escaped from a mental asylum for circus animals. Now please. I beg you. Let me mourn in peace. Wait. Are you that Chinese neighbor? You inhumane muskrat! I can't swallow your spit anymore! Leave me alone! I have weak veins. Can't you see what you're doing to my cholesterol level? Jesus, don't you get it? We're talking about my health.”
“Beth. It's Lars.”
I opened the door.
“You lummox! I thought you were the Devil.”
“You look hungover.”
“Like a horse. What do you want?”
“I need to talk. You'll enjoy it.”
I stuck my head out into the hallway and looked around and pulled him in and locked the door.
“I thought I made it vaguely clear that I d
idn't want to see and/or hear you again,” I said, packing my bags.
He gave me a piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it.
“This guy wants someone to help with a zombie problem.”
I took it and frowned.
“Why give me this? Aren't you the zombie expert?”
He threw his hands up.
“No one wants me anymore! Word on the street is I'm too fat and drunk and stink to handle zombies,” he said. “Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm not suitable for work. I figure YOU can do this job – help this guy out – and we can split the profit. A reward for me giving you that there number. Doesn't this sound fair? Please say 'yes'. I need money. They're turning the power off soon. I need my TV and video games. I don't wanna think anymore. I don't like what my brain tells me to do. I think it's plotting against me.”
He looked tired and sick and pathetic. Fond memories then: Bicycle rides, breakfasts in bed, dinners in the bathtub, strolls on the beach, jogs through the woods, judo fights in the park. It was too much to handle.
“All right, Lars,” I said. “I'll do this for you. In fact, you can keep all the money. But after this job, we have to move on for good. I can't see you anymore. Are you listening? This is too painful.”
He smiled.
“Did you say I can keep all the money?”
ENOCH
(This entire “Boss, I have your money” scene took place in Japanese – a language I was an expert in. The only real, useful skill I was proud of. Let's continue....)
The boss lived in a Japanese house fit for a king. I ran all the way there, praying the Transdolphin wouldn't jump down from the trees and do me in a mean one. When I made it to the house, I was exhausted, crawling into the waiting room on my hands and knees. I saw the boss on the other side of the paper wall. He was with other people, surrounded by candles, moving his hands around in an important way. There was much laughter in there. Two pigs ran past my feet. The secretary saw me covered in blood and stared at me. I told her I was all right, and that I needed to see Boss Moshi. The secretary shook her head.
“He doesn't want to be disturbed. He's in a meeting.”
I showed her my bag of money.
“Tell him he has a meeting with this.”
She smiled, nodded, and pressed a red button.
“Boss, someone has money for you.”
His shadow looked up.
“...Send him or her in.”
She pulled on a chain. The paper door slid open. Boss Moshi was sitting on the floor in front of other old bosses from various parts of Oahu: An Irish boss, a Russian boss, an African boss, and an Australian boss. They all laughed among themselves; they all wore kimonos. I walked in and stood in line with the other post-werewolves there to give Boss Moshi money they stole. One by one, they marched up to Boss Moshi, bowed, got on their knees, and gave him bags of money. They all said the same thing:
“Boss...the mission was a success. I have your money. Please. Enjoy.”
Boss Moshi would take the bags like a greedy person and dump everything onto a pile of gold jewelry and silver coins and paper money. The pile touched the ceiling. “Excellent,” he'd laugh. “I am proud of you. Now leave and do this again. Rinse and repeat.”
The woman before me bowed, got on her knees, and gave him money she stole.
“Boss,” she said, “the mission was a success. I have your money. Please. Enjoy.”
He snatched the bag and emptied it. The bosses hugged and congratulated each other for doing nothing. Boss Moshi giggled and grabbed fistfuls of bills and threw them at the other bosses. The woman bowed and left the room. I was the last one. The bosses filled their glasses with wine and hundred dollar bills. “Cheers!” Boss Moshi said. “To success!”
Did they not notice me standing there?
“Hurray!” they all laughed. “To success!”
I laughed, too.
“To success!”
They all shut up and looked at me, annoyed. Boss Moshi stood up while a drummer girl nearby played a suspenseful tune. My knees wouldn't stop shaking. The boss looked into my face. His eyes were huge. Was he trying to seduce me?
“What are you doing here in my office, new-guy-whose-name-I-don't-know?”
I raised my bag.
“Boss...the mission was a success. I have your money. Please. Enjoy.”
He looked inside – “This is unacceptable!” he thundered – and threw the bag onto the other bosses. The African boss grabbed the bag and dumped out the contents. Little money fell out.
“How embarrassing,” he said. “I can see why he's angry. Is this all of it?”
Boss Moshi grabbed my shoulders.
“You pig! Don't ever come in here and disgrace me in front of my guests!”
I tried to speak, but my tongue hid down my throat. Boss Moshi shook me.
“Where's everyone else, pig?! Where is your leader? What was his name again? I forget.”
“Dead!” I had to force the word out. I sounded like a goose. “All dead!”
Boss Moshi's eyes convulsed.
“How? What? Who?!”
He kept shaking me. I slapped his hands away and faced him, my spine erect.
“...It was the Transdolphin.”
The room whispered. Geisha crawled away afraid and whimpering. Boss Moshi gripped his heart. The drummer girl played a slower, even more nail-biting tune. She was unblinking, always looking forward. Pale. Was she even alive? Boss Moshi fell to the ground. The others gasped and held him.
“Father! Father! Is it your heart?”
Boss Moshi stared at me with a surprised look on his face. His mouth trembled. His lips parted, and he whispered: “T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t....”
His sons looked at each other.
“What?”
And then Boss Moshi shrieked like an excited woman.
“TRANSDOLPHINNNNNNNN!”
His sons were blown back by his savage rage and flew through the paper walls. Geisha on the other side yelled and ran off.
Boss Moshi jumped up and grabbed a samurai sword and destroyed the walls.
“I want that transdolphin dead! Murdered! Deceased! Gone!” He ran in and out of rooms, always slicing the walls. “I want that monster killed and reincarnated into a goat, so I can eat it and make that goat burn in my belly!” More wall slicing. “And then I want to shit that goat out and feed it to the pigs! Are you getting it? Is my point getting through? Am I just thinking out loud?!”
The situation was getting worrisome. I took a step back in the hopes of leaving – of sneaking out. Pretend you're a mouse. What would they do? It's time to slowly back away. Yesss, that's right. Good. Soon you'll be home with your mom. She's worried about you. She's crying! She thinks you're dead! Maybe you don't even love her anymore....
His guards rushed in dressed in full samurai attire.
“Boss! Boss Moshi!”
I kept looking at their swords. I was too afraid to move, so I just stood there wishing it was all an eccentric dream. When was I gonna wake up?! The boss walked back into the room, eyes on me, sword dragging and cutting the floor. His sons were behind him and argued with themselves and tried to make important points. The boss gave a little run and dove and swam in his money pile.
“Not enough,” he wept. “Not enough. I need more. More!” At one point, he washed his hair with the coins. “Money is the only thing that can cure this emptiness inside! That makes me feel worthy. Of value.”
His African son took his hand and kissed it. “Dad, listen to me. You're sick in the head. Money isn't the answer to this serious, mental issue.”
Boss Moshi slapped him on the face, hard. The boy flew through a paper wall and landed in a bathtub. He never got up. A look of sadness crossed Boss Moshi's face. He reached out to his son. The look went away and was replaced by intense frowning.
“Stupid boy. Look what you made me do. You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through. You don't know what goes on in my head!” He point
ed to his temple. “My heeeeaaaaad.”
He was grinding his teeth when he said it.
Boss Moshi walked up to me.
“Mmmm,” he nodded. “You have shamed me. I hope you have thick skin.” He looked to his guards. “Hold this man.” He aimed his sword at me. “You must be punished for bringing back such little money. You are a disgrace to the werewolf name. My point is: You are a failure. And I hope hearing it breaks your heart and gives you serious stomach problems.”
He snapped his fingers and one of his sons gave him a silver whip.
I tried to run.
The guards were quick!
Those brutes put their hands on me – under my arms, under my legs, around my neck, around my waist. I begged and screamed and complained.
“No! Not like this! I'm sorry!”
Boss Moshi cracked his whip, and everyone clapped. He said, “Turn him around and pull his pants down.”
The guards rolled their eyes and gave a look of disgust and did as instructed. Boss Moshi cracked his whip. I tried holding in my yells, but trust me, it was impossible. People riding their bicycles outside must've been confused. Either something sexy was going on in that house or someone was receiving serious punishment.
Or both.
Is there a difference?
BETH
I packed my attack bag with knives and did a few exercises in the park. Lars was concerned for my safety. I asked if he wanted to come along, but he chickened out. Said something about being too fat to run. Excuses, excuses.
“I'm sorry I'm lily-livered,” he said, sad, looking at his slippers. “I would drink to be stronger, but I'm forbidden to have alcohol due to the fact it hurts when I use the bathroom now. I think I have the burning piss disease. I wish you well. Are you afraid?”
“I'm protected by something greater than zombies.”
And then Lars said something mildly interesting.
“You inspire me, Beth. I want to be like you. Fearless like you. Respected like you. Happy like you.”
Doing jumping jacks, all I could manage to say was, “That's good.”
I just didn't believe him. Was he lying? Was it a trick? Another trick to get in my pants? I called the phone number. The guy on the other end sounded old and excitable. He told me to go into Waikiki, to a building called King's Master Time Apartments. At first, I thought it was a joke name. It was a real place. Rich. First-class. I was impressed. Whoever this zombie was, it had money. I had a little chat with the owner of the place – Philipo – in his office. He sat me down, gave me coffee, and began his tale of woe: