Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
“How come you’re still here?” Jack asked Boris.
It was after nine p.m. By his calculations, Boris had worked a sixteen-hour shift.
Whether or not that was normal for the hospitality industry, Jack couldn’t say, but Boris’s eyes were red and glazed over, his curls flat against the top of his head.
By now, he had a five o’clock shadow and twitchy fingers.
Still, he flipped through the magazine pages, resigned.
How many fucking magazines did he have back there?
“Boss man’s sick,” said Boris, voice raspy.
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Yeah. Why do you care?”
“Just realized you called me at seven a.m. after I saw you last night. Did you ever go home?”
“None of your business,” said Boris, without heat. He didn’t look up. Just stared at the big-breasted blond and her surfboard, glossy on the magazine paper.
“Just seems rough,” said Jack.
“It’s fine,” said Boris, yawning. “I got the boss’s magazine stash.”
“Oh,” said Jack. “Those aren’t even yours?”
“What’s it matter? I got nothing else to do here. You the magazine police?”
“No,” said Jack. He took a deep breath, winced preemptively at his next question. “Hey, uh, you know where I could find a shovel?”
Boris paused, looked at him in disbelief. “Wait a minute. Are you gonna do what I think you’re gonna do?”
Jack glanced around. Finding the lobby empty, he admitted, “Maybe.”
An astonished guffaw rang out, so loud that Jack thought the lightbulbs might burst, that the people on the street might stop and stare inside. “You crazy motherfucker.” Boris’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Fuck. You’re really gonna mess with the mob?”
“I have to know what it is,” Jack insisted, even as his stomach soured.
“You’re prepared to find a body?” A blond eyebrow raised. “You sure about that?”
“As sure as I can be.”
Perfect, white teeth flashed. “Ballsy. I like you.”
“Uh, thanks, I think.”
“You’re really ready to find a fucking body? In the woods? At night?”
“I don’t have a choice,” groaned Jack. “It’s—I think I’m cursed, and the body is the only way to break it.”
Silence. Boris cocked his head. “You’re what now?”
“Um, cursed.”
“Uh-huh. You were serious about that.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And why, uh, do you think that is?”
“I-I can’t explain. I just think that if I can identify this body, I won’t be cursed anymore.”
“Did you kill them?” said Boris, palms flat on the desk, eyes narrowed.
“No!” Jack exclaimed. “Fuck no. I’ve only been here one night. Of course I didn’t.”
“By that logic, it’s also kind of weird that you found a body.”
“Yeah, I know. Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t leave this place, and I can’t figure out why. I think if I identify the body—”
“Wait,” said Boris, holding up a hand. “You can’t leave? You sure about that? I feel like I’ve seen you walk out that door like three or four times today.”
“I can’t leave town,” Jack explained, gesturing toward the window.
“That’s weird.” Boris stretched his arms out in front of him, and without looking at Jack, cracked his knuckles. A bad habit more than a threat. But Boris was big enough and crazy enough that it felt like a warning, regardless. “I feel like that’s pretty easy to do.”
“For most people, maybe,” Jack groused, tapping his foot. “Whenever I try, it doesn’t work.”
“What, like you get zapped back into the city limits?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“That’s fucked,” said Boris appreciatively. “You a writer?”
“Not really,” said Jack. He’d dabbled, but wasn’t very good, nor was he patient enough. “I’m actually just a secretary.”
“Huh,” said Boris, spinning a pen between his fingers. “You look like a traveling salesman.”
Jack shuddered. “Thanks.”
“I tell it like I see it.” Boris shrugged. “So, you think this body is gonna lift your curse?”
“It’s a theory I’m working on.”
“Maybe you could just try leaving again tomorrow.”
“You won’t believe me, but I already tried that.”
Boris shrugged again. “Maybe I do”
Jack stared at him, incredulous. “What, really?”
“Yeah, sure. You seem like you know what you’re talking about.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head, entirely too relaxed. Finally, he looked at Jack and said, “I’m done in an hour. I’ve got a shovel in my trunk. Let’s go.”
“Wait, are you serious?”
“Sure.” Boris rolled his eyes. “I’m fucking cursed, too.”