Bitter Friends

Montgomery smoothed out the saliva covered bills; bearded cheeks flushed with anger. The similar taste of urine and metal from the money so recently stuffed in his mouth was inescapable. Looking about the cramped cluttered room his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Nothing to assist him getting out of a simple locked closet, just a bar that held an assortment of suits and dresses of various styles and colors. Closing his free hand, he struggled to calm himself. Forcing his breathing he concentrated on the muffled voices that reverberated through the door.  His master would be furious, but the circumstances were beyond belief...
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Franco adjusted the swivel lamp to get a closer look at the body on the table. The lighting being poor to begin with; the adjustment just splayed shadows about the already darkened room. Fidgeting a sun grayed fedora over his winkled brow the near elderly man squinted. Brushing non existent lint off his suit sleeve out of habit his eyes turned to his partner, Benson.

Franco examined his companion a few seconds. Benson dressed in now ill fitting plain clothes of a detective of Reno Police. Retired for five years he found the inactivity put a few pounds on his midsection causing the clothing to strain. Benson still had all his hair and only just starting to go salt and pepper much to Franco's annoyance. Seeing eyes upon him Benson spoke; his voice carried a near hushed tone. "Did you have to stuff money in that man's mouth and put a gun to his head? I had it handled."

Letting his gaze fall back to the body on the table to gain a closer look Franco shrugged, speaking in a slight Italian accent, "Your badge was good but now that chowder head is completely confused. You flash a badge; I stuff'em full of cash. Sides, this is no time to play around."

Benson pushed himself off the wall before walking over towards the table, nearly stubbing his toe upon an array of embalming tools. The basement of the funeral home was dry and kept at a cool consistent temperature.  Siding up next to the table opposite of Franco, Benson crossed his arms and rocked on his heels gazing upon the corpse. "Poor Justin. All that booze finally caught up with him."

The man on the table measured nearly six and a half feet tall, muscular at one time but age had its way and taken a good portion away. Justin's corpse was dressed in a black polyester suit. The duo had interrupted Justin's arrival to the coffin that was parked on a roll bench on the far side of the room near a small service elevator.

Hearing Benson's statement, Franco made a face. "Yeah, right. Justin never drank." Reaching in his wool brown coat Franco produced a small leather bound book and placed it on the corpse's thigh. He proceeded to unbutton the shirt on Justin's dead body. Benson lurched and obscured the poor light over the corpse. Slight panic rang in his voice. "What are you doing? And, what do you mean he never drank, the report said he over-dosed on alcohol!"

Franco shook his head; when he got nervous the accent became thicker. "My kid works the station. Gave me the lowdown on the autopsy, too. Unless Justin started drinking last week like a thirty year addict he was either forced to drink that much or he committed the cardinal sin of suicide. Sides, he always refused wine when he was over."  Peeling back the shirt Franco flicked open a switchblade, "Open the book to the yellow bookmark, and point that light better."

Benson shook his head, looking to the stairs then gripped the swivel arm with the light.  Adjusting the light Benson used his free hand to open the book laid out on Justin's thigh. Pain arced through his back and raced down to his knees, his arthritis flaring up again. Benson grit his teeth feeling that any moment his back would give out or his teeth would shatter, "Your kid is a cop? You must be really disappointed."

Using the adjusted light Franco began to feel along the corpse's chest trailing to the ribs squinting as if the motion could improve his vision. Franco could feel Benson's nervousness. Keep the man talking it seemed to help. "Eh, I figured she needed to taste the other side of the tracks before she figures out where she belongs. What's the book say? And for fuck's sake keep the light steady, I don't wanna be here all night."

Benson gratefully turned his head from the corpse to the book, the movement caused a new wave of pain, "It...I...fuck. Excuse my language. It says...bottom rib left side. Man, Justin was the first of us."

Franco traced his switchblade laden fingers over the corpse and nodded. "Got it, I see the scar. As for him being the first, did some digging of my own. He was the first that lived through the procedure." Franco paused to rub the collar bone on the right side, "Makes my own itch just seeing it."

Benson took in the new information; struggling to keep his breathing steady, he never liked to think about his scar and where it was placed.  Closing his eyes Benson spoke to Franco, "Just get to it, Franco. We got a lot of ground to cover tonight."

Shrugging Franco parted the graying skin the bottom rib with the switchblade, glancing at the corpse, "No disrespect, Justin."  Franco froze as a realization crept into his mind; the body felt...warm.  Checking Justin's corpse there was no signs of breathing. Snapping his gaze to Benson; a small solace that the former detective was looking the other way.  Franco felt his fingers shaking as he resumed cutting, maybe it was just the room. No blood, keep cutting.

Franco peeled back skin and muscle gingerly, exposing the rib. Letting out a pent up sigh; Franco felt his nose wrinkling at the new smell of chemicals and underlying decay. Looking around Franco snatched up a nearby cloth, and wiped at the rib, "There it is. Almost done, pass me a bone saw."  The rib bone seemed to glitter; delicate designs swirled in the form of arcane sigils. Franco felt his scar burn and itch, he was almost certain it would never go away.

Benson chanced a look and immediately regretted it; late lunch filling his mouth. Letting go of the book it flopped to the floor, groping around blindly on a tray, with his free hand. "I can't feel one." Looking to the tray, trying his best to keep his eyes off the scene next to the tray, Benson blanched. "This guy doesn't have one!"

Franco stepped away from the table irate. "What? Are you fucking kidding me?" Pacing around the room once Franco spied a tool box. Rummaging through the tools Franco produced a wooden handled hammer; setting his jaw he approached the corpse on the table again. "Once again, Justin. No disrespect."

Benson let go of the swivel lamp and rushed to a sink, the contents of his stomach emptying in a rush.  Bracing his hands on the sides of the sink, his voice strained as it echoed off the basin, "Franco that is Justin man, what are you doing!?!"

A meaty impacted followed Benson's words causing him to dry heave into the sink.  Another blow, followed by yet another, Benson couldn't bear to look; his head swimming with near vertigo. The final impact sounded through the room mixed with a snap of bone. Silence washed over the room, save for an unexplained breeze that whistled upon the ears of the duo.

Wrapping the broken rib bone in the cloth Franco used to wipe it down with earlier the retired gangster pocketed the package. Placing a hand on Benson's should Franco coaxed his one time nemesis away from the sink. "It's over. Turn the water on; don't want to leave any evidence...just in case we live through this shit."

Benson did as requested, rinsing his mouth first with the water before letting the basin run.  Benson looked to Franco, the former gangster was pale and sweating. Benson muttered, "Is it too late to say we are too old for this shit?"

Franco felt his legs growing weak leaning upon Benson as much as the detective leaned upon him. Franco snorted as they made their way to the stairs, "Nobody should ever have to do the fucked up shit we have done. Ever. We got a city to save, which includes my kid and your wife. Get some fire under your ass, Benny."

After what seemed like an eternity the two made it to the parking lot of the Mountain View Cemetery funeral home. They were just down the hill from their goal, but had to take an alternate path to get there. Franco nudged Benson in the ribs, "You are the one with the sight. Where is the nearest gateway?"

Blinking, Benson steadied himself, closing his left eye and tracing his index finger from his earlobe to the left corner of his mouth.  Benson could feel his hair stand on end as usual when he used his gift. His hooded vision misted over, the city faded away leaving only a few twinkling lights in the near darkness. His vision locked on the nearest of the lights, nodding he opened his eye. Benson whispered his throat tightening to keep from dry heaving once again. "San Rafael Park. That is the closest."

Franco opened the door to the parked black sedan, and slid in to the driver's seat. Benson took his seat on the passenger side, leaning his head against the cool window he began to time his breathing, six seconds in, six out. Repeat. An old cop trick, Benson was so intent upon the task he failed to hear the engine start.

*** ***** **** ***** ***** **** ****

Montgomery had overheard much of the actions taken by the two. Dishonoring the dead was so taboo to Montgomery that the mere thought of it made him ill. Once he was certain they were gone he fished the key to the closet from his pocket. Montgomery wiggled the key in the stubborn lock, finally feeling the click. Pushing the door open Montgomery raced through the home pausing to check the doorways. The warding runes were intact yet the 'visitors' walked right through them. How? The wards kept out all visitors after dark.

Rapid footfalls sounded on the steps as Montgomery descended into the embalming room. Calling the police would raise too many unneeded questions that Montgomery was not inclined to answer. The corpse on the table, clothes in disarray and the lower part of its chest flayed open. Justin Wyatt, he has a name, Montgomery chided himself.

Viewing the corpse Montgomery felt sadness at the sight which changed to anger.  Grabbing the receiver of the wall phone Montgomery rapidly dialed a number. The young embalmer felt his stance was off kilter. Looking down he moved his right foot revealing a leather bound book.

Stooping down he picked the book up just as the call went through.  Frantically Montgomery began to relay what had transpired. "Master! We've just had intruders! Interlopers! Defilers!"  The voice on the other end attempted to calm Montgomery, get the man to slow down.

The conversation continued, "No, Master. They walked in through the wards like they were not even there. They locked me in a closet! They had no magical ability, yet they were here inside." Listening, Montgomery frowned, still panicked. "Cowin? What is a Cowin?"

Looking to the book, Montgomery pinned the receiver of the phone to his ear with a shoulder. "They dropped a book" Thumbing through it quickly, Montgomery could make little sense of it. "I can't read it, there is a symbol on it though, an eye. Master. I think they are going to try and stop you from doing what is right."

Montgomery nodded and hung up the phone after the conversation. Storming back upstairs he eyed the front door, he would not be able to leave until dawn struck the doorway. The price one pays for such wards.  Balling his fists, he felt trapped in a place that was supposed to be safe.  All he could do was clean up what these defilers had disgraced.  Feeling his shoulders slump Montgomery turned from the door and set about the task of soothing the disturbed corpse of Justin Wyatt.