Death Co: 16 (Killing Hitler)

16. Killing Hitler

     “You sure this is where he lives?”

     “Trust me; I’ve fantasized about coming here to do this more than once.”

     “I’m just surprised he’s not in witness protection, and for the future let’s keep the creepy homicidal thoughts to ourselves alright? I’m dead so I can’t give you attorney client privilege anymore.” The kid just scoffs at me. I’m not very good at the whole making amends thing. Facing my mistakes in the flesh turns out to be a difficult process to navigate.

     The house we’re looking at isn’t exactly what I would have expected. For a psychopathic murderer he had rather tame taste. It was a simple one-story with a white door and a screen in front of it. The porch was well maintained, and the lawn was even mowed. Glad to see he did something with the time I bought him. One of my pet-peeves as a lawyer was when my clients went out and bought extravagant mansions to celebrate getting off a murder charge. Not only did it look bad to the judge, but it prompted a lot of eyebrow raising directed at me.

     “How do we get in?”

     “I thought we’d just knock.” I can’t die, what’s the worst he’s going to do to me? Can’t be worse than being impaled on an angel’s sword.

     “You really think that’ll work?”

     “I don’t know, but seeing his dead attorney in the flesh should give me enough time to give him a piece of my mind.” I hold the gun up, letting it glint in the streetlight. A man passes by and quickens his pace without saying a word.

     “Put that shit away!”

     “Why? This is the end of the line for me. I’m going out on my terms, and that means guns blazing. Shall we?” I bend over in a dramatic sweeping motion, pointing my gun at the door. He steps onto the lawn and I follow him. As we reach the porch I grab him by the shoulder and hold him back. There’s a moment where I think he’s going to punch me again, but he stops to listen. “I think it would be best if I went first. Seeing you might be shocking, but it might also induce some old habits that I’d rather not see repeated.”

     “Fair point.” In as simple a gesture as I can muster I walk up and open the screen door. “Here’s to you kid.” I knock on the door three times, trying to seem official, but not overzealous. Ex-cons, future-cons, and people who’ve skipped bail can tell a lot about you just based on how you knock. I wait, and just as I think he isn’t home, there’s shuffling inside and a deadbolt clanks open. The door opens a crack and a gruff voice calls from inside.

     “Who are you? What the fuck do you want?”

     He always was a charmer. It’s a sheer miracle I got that one past the jury. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

     “I ain’t got any friends.” He’s about to slam the door.

     “Not even friends who saved you from life in prison?” The door opens and one bloodshot eye peeps out at me. Luckily the kid is standing on the other side of the door, leaving him temporarily unseen. He’s fuming, fists clenched, wanting nothing more than to rip his father limb from limb.

     “[Name Deleted], is that you? I knew it! You’ve been in hiding! Come on in you old son of a bitch!” The door swings open and in the same moment I raise the revolver and fire. The crash rocks my hand backward. He looks at me, surprised, with the eyes of a dead man. I’d apologize, but the truth is nothing has ever felt better than this moment. For once I am on the right side of things. He falls to the ground, steam rising from the fresh wound in his face. The body twitches spastically for a few moments and falls still.

     “It actually worked…” I mutter. Now that the man is dead the finality of the situation becomes palpable. There are less than 12 hours remaining until I will be dragged to hell to sit at the devil’s right hand. Whatever he’s planning for me is undoubtedly horrible and also beyond the darkest reaches of my imagination (which can get pretty dark).

     “What do we do now?” The process once the cadaver is obtained is really quite simple. Take a vial of the dead to be replaced, put it in the newly dead’s mouth, and then send the replaced into hiding. I’m in no mood to wait for approval, so I take the knife that’s always in my pocket, prick the kid in the finger, and shove his finger the dead man’s mouth. It’s a truly macabre and bewildering display, but it’s the quickest way to keep things moving.

     “What the fuck?!”

     “Look, it’s a long story, just trust me. It’ll work.”

     “Alright sure.”

At last we’ve gotten to a place of trust… I pull out two plane tickets that have been left in my pocket by The Devil himself. “One coach ticket on American Airlines.” Of course the fucker would stick him on American. Always has to have the last laugh. “One-way to Fort Lauderdale, Florida.”

     “Florida?”

     “I don’t like it either kid, but it’s the best you’re going to get. Now get on that plane and start a new life.”

     “In Florida?”

     “Yes! It’s the best I could do alright?!” He’s taking up the precious little time I have left on Earth.

     “Alright, alright.” The kid takes the ticket and looks up at me. For a moment there’s sheer hatred, but he looks down at the body and it begins to fade. Whoever said revenge wasn’t the best medicine was clearly wrong. “Hey, thanks for doing this.”

     “Don’t read too much into it. I’ve just got a guilty conscience that needed assuaging. Now get moving, we don’t have much time before a new agent shows up. If they see you, they’ll figure out the switch immediately.”

     “Thanks anyway.” He reaches out and forcefully shakes my hand. It feels good, knowing that I’m going to die all over again, but at least this time I’ve done something to atone beforehand. The kid turns around and walks down the street. When I can no longer see him I walk away in search of a bar.

     “If I’m going to be taken down below, I might as well get a drink first…”