Obituary for a bad boy

"NaNo41 Nov12 1096words (nb7a) Obituary [166.281]"  Edited.

Obituary for a bad boy

Lark took out a knife cut off its head. Tossed it into the bucket with the others oozing red. She stabbed it again and again.

"Killing beets," Bawang said as he came in.

"Better beets than Brett." Lark gave a big dark red one a whack. "Do you know what my stupid brother did?" Lark sounded indignant.

"If I didn't I'd be the only one in town."

"You know... I don't want to have to move. I've lived here peacefully almost all my life, and now Brett puts us all at risk."

"Maybe it will blow over like the last time."

"Maybe, but next time? He's reckless and his stupidity puts everyone in a bad spot. Old Sniffer's called a meeting and Lily is sitting with Bunny plotting his death. If it were only so easy."

"Ajo's busy with Czeszniak writing the obit. Knyflok and Thoom are discussing which potion would be best. Shoom is helping your dad with the coffin. Brett says he wants velvet. Everyone's fairly upset."

"I don't care what Brett wants." Lark grabbed the pail of greens and started cleaning. "He can't always get what he wants. He should know that by now. And don't tell me he's young."

Bawang just sat back in his chair somewhat amused and looked at the beets. "Do you want them sliced?"

"Sure. Just pretend your slicing Brett's flesh. I'm making fish-with-fur. Shoom gave me the recipe. Brett never seems to understand our gift and our curse. There's men his age with grandchildren looking forward to a pension hoping their hair doesn't all fall out before then and that they can afford those little blue pills to get an erection and Brett... He thinks he's some teenager and that the party will never end. Well it did. What if the child..."

"The child will be fine," Bawang broke in. "Regardless of whether she's one of us or one of them."

"How do you know it's a girl?" Lark sounded startled.

"The sonogram's pretty clear."

"Oh. Now how can you be so sure she'll be fine?"

"If she's one of them ... no problem. The mother is pissed off at Brett and wants nothing to do with him or with us. It she's one of them, it'll all blow over. Poor girl is having a rough time being pregnant and she doesn't really want the child. If she's one of us, now is the time to convince her to give her up."

"When will we know?"

"They took a blood sample today. Mr. N. has demanded a copy . His lawyer's handling the case and said we wanted to be sure Brett was the father."

"Of course he's the father! The young woman's a twit but she's not a liar."

"Well, that was his story to cover the real reason. By demanding a test he got it sent to his friend in the lab in St. Joseph. They'll be two copies of the results of course. One for your father; one for the mother. Brett's not the issue, the child is. You know everyone wants what's best. If the mother decides she doesn't want the child and it's one of them her cousin is interested. If one of us... well. Old Sniffer wants us to talk about that. Do we keep her here or send her away and where. Then there's the question of where to send Brett. Siberia would be too good for him. A monastery of monks who only speak Greek or a South Sea island with just one coconut tree for shade has been mentioned."

Lark finally laughed. "Poor tree. I can see him trying to crack coconuts. He likes coconut now, bet he'd get tired after a few years."

"Detroit has been mentioned too," Bawang said softly.

... ...

"Well, we all seem to be in agreement that Brett must die," Old Sniffer said bringing the meeting to order. "Who brought the stakes?"

Brett blanched when Bawang held up a bundle to hand them out.

"Ash," he grinned, "whittled to very sharp splintery points." He stabbed a tomato he'd brought, oozing red all over the plate.

"I get the point." Brett trembled.

"Well you should've filed your pecker along with your fangs," Lark spoke out.

Czeszniak laughed. "Or just poked tomatoes instead."

Old Sniffer smiled. This was going easier than he expected. "Okay then. Where to send him?"

"Siberia." "Saint Helena." "Saint Louis." Voices rang out in glee.

"Detroit."

They sobered up quickly as Kynflok stood up. "Detroit. It's not so bad. There's plenty to do in Greek Town. The summer's are hot, but not hell like Saint Louis and the winter is fine. The community there is a bunch of misfits. Brett's too square, too beige, too bland. But they'll cure him of that. They own a few buildings in the wrong side of town. No one asks questions or ventures there. The locals are nice, but they know better than to be nosy if they want to keep their nose. It's that or L.A. but the folks there are having their own problems, guess some think they are God's gift to Hollywood. N.Y. is leery of new folks and Boston... now that would be punishment that even Brett doesn't deserve. Normal people there give me the creeps. Unfortunately, our community is spookier."

"How about London," Brett asked.

"Have a passport?" "Speak the language?" "They don't speak American you know."

"I could learn."

Old Sniffer spoke up. "Learn to behave in Detroit. Get your passport then leave. We need you out of here by Sunday. Monday's the New Moon and a good night for a party, one that you'll miss I might add." Old Sniffer showed his fangs. They needed filing we all noted.

So Brett died suddenly. Severe trauma, fell off a truck, the coroner's office noted. Mr. N came for the body. "Seems a tad stiff," he noted to Czeszniak who came to drive the hearse.

"Well, if Thoom gave him too much, he'll sleep for a while longer, wake up with a bad headache."

"Would serve him right," Lark said. She'd come to assist. "Shoom's got the coffin ready, even lined it with red velvet; too bad Brett can't see it."

"Wake's tonight at 7. We bury him before dawn. He'll be in Chicago by then. Lily's driving. Party's tomorrow at sunset."

"I'm bringing fish-with-fur," Lark said nonchalantly. "Pickled the beet myself and Knyflok's thawing the walleye. Should be enough for everyone."

"Red beets?" Mr N. looked surprised.

"Yes, when a vampire dies, it does seem appropriate."

Czeszniak nodded. "I admire your humor."

Lark said seriously, "Well, I'm not laughing and hopefully neither is Brett."

© Copyright 2023 Kåre Enga [166.281] (12.november.2012)

~1,100 words