Blood Money
fondu au noir
“My daddy was a preacher in Alabama. He died when I was just a little girl.”
Gemma Bird is here with me traveling at fifty miles per hour in the dark. We’re in a hearse that Chu lets us borrow when we go out to make deals, and I’m trying to put together the fragments of each story she tells me every time she turns into a different person. I can’t keep track of them all anymore. The only thing that resonates with me is Valerie and her sister. The one her mother separated her from. Every other tale just vanishes into thin air as soon as it comes out of her mouth.
“He was a snake handler, you see,” she tells me, “He would take trips out to the Texas desert and catch these rattlesnakes and bring ‘em into the church, and he’d hold ‘em and jump around in front of the pulpit and everyone would cheer…” she has a mystified look in her eyes as she tells me this, “It was captivatin’, simply captivatin’. Truly the work of God.”
I keep my eyes focused on the road and let her talk because I know she loves the sound of her own voice. I’m only half listening.
“’They shall take up serpents…’” she recites, “’And if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.’”
Mark 16:17. The scripture pops into my head suddenly. I blink, taken aback by my apparent knowledge of this. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is truly the work of God.
“How did he die?” I ask.
“Oh, he was bitten by a timber rattlesnake,” she answers nonchalantly, “Nasty old thing.”
Ironic. Maybe it’s not the work of God after all.
“What in the sam heck that?” Gemma squints her eyes, staring straight ahead. I glance at her and then back at the road, where something is lying in the distance, right smack dab in the middle of the yellow painted lines. I slow the car down as we near it. It appears to be some sort of animal, but it’s not moving.
“Why, it’s a dog.”
Gemma has left. My heart speeds up when I realize Lily has entered the picture.
“Oh, that poor thing…” she shakes her head in sadness. I watch as she opens the glove compartment and reaches in. What she pulls out fully surprises me.
In her hands, she holds nine millimeter handgun.
I raise my eyebrows for two reasons: one, I have no idea what idea she’s got up her sleeve, and two, what does a person who primarily deals with dead and unconscious people need a pistol for?
She smiles and strokes it like it’s a beloved pet sitting in her hands.
“Sugar, would you accompany me outside the vehicle?”
Of course I will. I would do anything if the request was coming from that awe-inspiring voice cajoling me.
We stand in front of the hearse halted in the middle of the deserted road, engine still running, headlights blaring ahead of us. The mound of fur on the painted line twitches as we stare at it for a moment. Lily turns to me, and for a mere instant, I see my made-up fantasy of her persona flash across my mind.
“Be a dear and go check on it, will you?”
I’m like putty in her hands. I don’t know what comes over me every time she awakens out of Ruby’s body, but it’s unearthly the way I’ll succumb to anything she says.
I cautiously walk over to the poor animal and stand my guard, peering at it from a few feet away.
“It’s a dog, alright,” I confirm for her, “Some kind of mutt.”
I cringe as soon as I take a step closer and realize the poor hound is bleeding profusely, unmoving except for the pained, ragged breaths heaving its body up and down every few seconds.
“Is it hurt, sugar?” Lily calls to me. I gulp, facing her, and soundlessly nod. Nothing transpires in the midnight silence until she slowly lifts up her right arm, pointing the gun straight ahead of her without a word. I stand frozen in my spot, breath caught in my throat as my heart hammers with anticipation.
For a split second, I actually fear that she’s going to kill me.
I can’t find it in me to move aside or even think to run. I am rendered incoherent just by the image of sweet, sweet Lily of the Valley pointing a gun in my general direction. I’m sure if I could remember anything about my life, it would flash before my eyes.
An echoing bang sounds in the still air, like Fourth of July fireworks going off in the street a season too early. I jump when I see the gun powder light up the end of the barrel, and I shut my eyes tight, expecting it to all be over. But it doesn’t end. Instead, I hear a soft howling whimper come from next to me, and then nothing.
When I open my eyes, I comprehend what has happened. A slow trickle of blood is slithering down the asphalt. The dog is dead.
I almost heave a sigh of relief as this realization washes through me. When I bring my gaze back up to Lily, she is staring at me coldly. Her imaginary blue eyes flash in my mind as she speaks.
“Let that be a lesson to you.”
And that’s how we got in the business of taking lives.
Gemma Bird is here with me traveling at fifty miles per hour in the dark. We’re in a hearse that Chu lets us borrow when we go out to make deals, and I’m trying to put together the fragments of each story she tells me every time she turns into a different person. I can’t keep track of them all anymore. The only thing that resonates with me is Valerie and her sister. The one her mother separated her from. Every other tale just vanishes into thin air as soon as it comes out of her mouth.
“He was a snake handler, you see,” she tells me, “He would take trips out to the Texas desert and catch these rattlesnakes and bring ‘em into the church, and he’d hold ‘em and jump around in front of the pulpit and everyone would cheer…” she has a mystified look in her eyes as she tells me this, “It was captivatin’, simply captivatin’. Truly the work of God.”
I keep my eyes focused on the road and let her talk because I know she loves the sound of her own voice. I’m only half listening.
“’They shall take up serpents…’” she recites, “’And if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.’”
Mark 16:17. The scripture pops into my head suddenly. I blink, taken aback by my apparent knowledge of this. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is truly the work of God.
“How did he die?” I ask.
“Oh, he was bitten by a timber rattlesnake,” she answers nonchalantly, “Nasty old thing.”
Ironic. Maybe it’s not the work of God after all.
“What in the sam heck that?” Gemma squints her eyes, staring straight ahead. I glance at her and then back at the road, where something is lying in the distance, right smack dab in the middle of the yellow painted lines. I slow the car down as we near it. It appears to be some sort of animal, but it’s not moving.
“Why, it’s a dog.”
Gemma has left. My heart speeds up when I realize Lily has entered the picture.
“Oh, that poor thing…” she shakes her head in sadness. I watch as she opens the glove compartment and reaches in. What she pulls out fully surprises me.
In her hands, she holds nine millimeter handgun.
I raise my eyebrows for two reasons: one, I have no idea what idea she’s got up her sleeve, and two, what does a person who primarily deals with dead and unconscious people need a pistol for?
She smiles and strokes it like it’s a beloved pet sitting in her hands.
“Sugar, would you accompany me outside the vehicle?”
Of course I will. I would do anything if the request was coming from that awe-inspiring voice cajoling me.
We stand in front of the hearse halted in the middle of the deserted road, engine still running, headlights blaring ahead of us. The mound of fur on the painted line twitches as we stare at it for a moment. Lily turns to me, and for a mere instant, I see my made-up fantasy of her persona flash across my mind.
“Be a dear and go check on it, will you?”
I’m like putty in her hands. I don’t know what comes over me every time she awakens out of Ruby’s body, but it’s unearthly the way I’ll succumb to anything she says.
I cautiously walk over to the poor animal and stand my guard, peering at it from a few feet away.
“It’s a dog, alright,” I confirm for her, “Some kind of mutt.”
I cringe as soon as I take a step closer and realize the poor hound is bleeding profusely, unmoving except for the pained, ragged breaths heaving its body up and down every few seconds.
“Is it hurt, sugar?” Lily calls to me. I gulp, facing her, and soundlessly nod. Nothing transpires in the midnight silence until she slowly lifts up her right arm, pointing the gun straight ahead of her without a word. I stand frozen in my spot, breath caught in my throat as my heart hammers with anticipation.
For a split second, I actually fear that she’s going to kill me.
I can’t find it in me to move aside or even think to run. I am rendered incoherent just by the image of sweet, sweet Lily of the Valley pointing a gun in my general direction. I’m sure if I could remember anything about my life, it would flash before my eyes.
An echoing bang sounds in the still air, like Fourth of July fireworks going off in the street a season too early. I jump when I see the gun powder light up the end of the barrel, and I shut my eyes tight, expecting it to all be over. But it doesn’t end. Instead, I hear a soft howling whimper come from next to me, and then nothing.
When I open my eyes, I comprehend what has happened. A slow trickle of blood is slithering down the asphalt. The dog is dead.
I almost heave a sigh of relief as this realization washes through me. When I bring my gaze back up to Lily, she is staring at me coldly. Her imaginary blue eyes flash in my mind as she speaks.
“Let that be a lesson to you.”
And that’s how we got in the business of taking lives.