Dead Harvest

  'Why are you here?' the creature speaking through her asked.

  'Because I need your help.'

  She released her grip. I crumpled to the floor, gasping. By the time I'd regained my wits, the other had gone, and the girl was glaring at me with glassy-eyed disdain.

  'The boss'd like to see you,' she said.

  'Yeah, I thought he might.' I rose unsteadily to my feet, a hand on the wall for support. Without another word, she headed back down the stairs and out of sight. I stumbled after.

  She led me through the front room to a grimy kitchen, its broken, gaping window doing little to alleviate the stench of rot that emanated from the open refrigerator. In the kitchen was a door. The girl opened it, revealing a set of rickety stairs that led down to the basement. She descended. I followed.

  The basement was close, fetid. The only illumination was from a series of bare light bulbs dangling from the ceiling at irregular intervals. Many were out, and all were so covered in grime they did little to dispel the murk. At the edges of my vision, half-seen figures writhed and moaned and wailed, in pleasure or pain I wasn't sure. There were people strewn everywhere, some shooting up, some grinding against each other in varying states of undress. One man, withered by drugs or disease or both, rocked back and forth, his knees tight to his chest. He'd scratched his forearms raw, and he clawed at them still, nails furrowing flesh. As I passed, I heard him muttering 'I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry,' again and again, to no one.

  My escort led me through this sea of human detritus to the far corner of the basement. The light was warmer here, brighter – the result of dozens of candles, casting tiny halos of light from every surface. A lush Oriental rug occupied the space, and the walls were lined with shelves, cobbled together from scrap wood and cinder blocks and adorned with thousands upon thousands of books. Also on the shelf was an ancient record player, which crackled with the sounds of some old jazz standard – Billie Holiday, I'd guess. And at the center of it all was a man, clad in a pale blue suit and a hat to match, his diamond tie tack catching the candlelight and casting tiny rainbows across his black silk tie. He was draped casually over a high-backed leather chair, a glint in his eye and a smile on his cold, handsome face.

  'Sam Thornton, as I live and breathe,' he said. 'Well, live, anyway. I didn't expect I'd be seeing you again.'

  'Merihem,' I replied.

  'You know, Sam, there was a time you called me Johnnie.'

  'There was a time I didn't know any better.'

  Merihem gave the girl beside me a nod, and she disappeared into the darkness. 'That was some stunt you pulled, walking in here like that. I could've killed you. Woulda been a shame, really – that body suits you.'

  'I'm surprised you recognize me.'

  Merihem laughed. 'I didn't, at first. Your meat-suit fooled her eyes just fine, but my own eyes are another matter.'

  'And you,' I said, taking him in. 'You haven't changed a bit.'

  'I'd like to think I've mellowed,' he said, a grin playing on his face. 'But that's not exactly what you meant, is it? My kind are too dignified to trawl among the monkeys; the body you see is a projection, nothing more. I gather you didn't drop by to catch up on old times – why don't you tell me just what the hell you're doing here?'

  'It's about a girl.'

  'Isn't it always?'

  'I suppose it is,' I said, 'but this one I was sent to collect.'

  'Ah, a little on-the-job romance! So what – you figured you could stash her in a black market body and buy you two some time? Maybe jet off to Cabo for a week or two before you do the deed? You've got stones, my friend, I'll give you that – but believe me, it's more trouble than it's worth. Your handlers will see through you just as surely as I did, and they won't find the situation half as amusing, I assure you. My suggestion is you finish the job and move on. Afterward, bring her body by if you like – I'll pop one of my girls in there, and you can have yourself a go.'

  'Much as I appreciate the offer, I think I'm gonna have to pass. See, I tried to collect this girl, only it didn't take. Her soul – it knocked me back. So I panicked and I snatched her.'

  Merihem guffawed. 'This the chick that offed her family? Man, I've been reading about you – you walked her ass right out of the goddamn hospital! You know, that sketch doesn't do you justice.'

  'Thanks. But here's the thing – I'm pretty sure she didn't do it.'

  He shook his head. 'Not possible. If they sent you, she did it – end of story.'

  'Yeah, only I've got reason to believe someone else was driving.'

  He squinted at me. 'OK, the Sam I knew, he wasn't stupid, which means you probably know how nuts that sounds. I mean, any demon coulda taken this chick out for a spin, but she'd be lit up like a Christmas tree for anyone who knew to look. No way she gets marked for collection. No, a con of that magnitude would take some serious clout – not to mention one hell of a death wish.'

  'Death wish? Death wish how?'

  'You think either side wants a war?' Merihem spat, and any hint of Staten Island disappeared from his voice, an affectation easily discarded. 'When last it happened, one-third our number fell – and all because a son of fire refused to kneel before a son of clay. You couldn't begin to understand the world of shit that would rain down upon us all if one of our kind was caught damning an innocent soul to rot in hell for all eternity. You're not the only one who's duty-bound, Collector. We all have our roles to play. We do them, and do them well, because the alternative is unthinkable.'

  'For you, perhaps. Maybe not for everyone.'

  'OK. Say you're right – which you're not – and your girl's been set up. That means