"Bring in the next vehicle!" yells out the conductor. Some of the cars come through the garage, others come on a belt and get taken apart by machinery.
"Alright you niglets and … whatever. This is a goddamn car." Clifton puts his hand on the hood of a beat up 2008 Camry. "This is Amy. Or at least we finna name her Amy. Now, boys and girls. Amy is not a serial killer but she does hide dead bodies. Here at the shop we check for dead people; high and low. Not in-between."
It's about forty-something vampires around minus the twenty-seven people.
Dead, ran, or missing. I was told to fetch Mokiri. She's my cousin…
Suddenly, I'm overcome with a heavy feeling of forgetfulness.
"Ok, somebody in the front line come pop the truck. So we remove the dead bitch." A vampire steps forward and Clifton stands by them next to the truck. "Now you need a key for this." they stare at each other. "I don't have a key."
There is a light air of laughter. "So, the next best thing is to picklock this son of a bitch. But first! Smell it!"
The vampire takes a whiff of metal. "It don't smell." he says. I round to the back so I can seen. "Imma give you the shit to unlock it." he says.
Clifton gave the vampire the tools to pop open the truck. "AHHH!" Clifton yells waving his hands. "Dead babies!"
Inside the truck is a bunch of pillows with an air fresher stuck to them The pillow are dressed in cut overalls. "You see, always expect the unexpected." he says. "We got dead kids in the truck. Now what?"
"What the fuck…"
"Growden. Now get rid of the dead kids…"
"How did you--"
"Get rid of the kids!"
I wouldn't know how to. Obviously, you call somebody about it. You start burials. nYou close the truck and set the car on fire.
You drown the car, bleach, I guess you could cut them up.
On a regular bases, I wouldn't know but that's how the world works. If somebody die. That it. You either hide or wait.
Which makes me think about supper.
.
.
.
"I got a few orders from Zebedee to haul some big trucks." Clifton explained to us in private. "So the niggas is helping dismantle, repair, and clean. But about that order."
"What was the order?" I ask.
"Zebedee wants Rams, Fords, and a customed truck. He wants a hybrid."
"A hybrid of what?" questions Ernestine. Clifton shrugs, "I don't know!"
"How do you not know?" I narrow my gaze. "I said over the phone. Do you want a hummer? He said no, he wants rams. I go, you said you want trucks. So, I get you a ford for about 11,500. I thought that was fair. He said drop it to 800. Again, I tell him, if you want something good. I can't give you that at 800."
"What's the big deal?"
"He wants the speed of Mercedes and Bugatti blend."
"What the hell does the Bugatti offer?" I fold my arms. "I don't know! He said to me, he wants a 11 feet truck custom made."
"For storage maybe," assumes Ernestine.
"I think the cracker got drunk. That doesn't sound like swelling?"
"Drunks nor imps get that big. In a ritual you can double up on bones. Not organs." I say. "That man is on something. You know what he asked me for?"
"Like today?" says Ernestine.
"A 12 feet long hearse able to fit at least eight coffins. I'm sitting here like cars don't breed like that. Like a car is made not birthed."
"Well a car isn't a female."
"That's what I'm saying!" he stressed. "The white man is a full pedophile. Did you know they got kids… in Comedia?" he lifts a brow. "They have a haul for little girls." he grits his teeth. "I don't have freedom."
"What happened?"
"I'm on a lead!" he declares. "If I die. I'm not allowed to!"
"You want relief?"
"I want the ability--Listen!--I want the ability to fuck!"
Ernestine blinks. "Everybody can do that--"
"I am castrated!" he cries. "That man believes in slavery of ALL. I ain't got nuts and I get sweaty hands off the inability to say hi!"
"Just wave…"
"MY DICK!?"
I am a woman and I can't imagine what he is going through. "That man is trying to be God. You wanna know another strange ass request?" he looks at us both. "He wanted a car made out of bone and one made out of skin. I'm talking like, the structure of the car made out of real bone and the other car has the exterior of skin!"
"Preposterous." says Ernestine. "I ain't never stressed my vocabulary like that."