The Black Death by Aric Davis Page B

safer.”
    “How do the customers know where they’re going to be?”
    “Well, either they can smell all that pussy from a distance,” said Free, “or we got something else worked out.” Danimal parked the van next to a trio of oversized pickup trucks and turned off the engine. Free patted his side and gave a look to Danimal, who returned the gesture.
They’re both packing heat.
Looking at Danimal’s face, Matt saw something else. They were nervous, too.
    Free and Danimal opened their doors at the same time, and Matt was out of the van after them, unzipping his duffel so that it was open and then slinging it over his shoulder.
    Free handed Danimal a package the size of a small pillow and then took a pistol from under his shirt. Watching him fumble with the snap on the holster, Matt could tell that as tough as the gun might make Free feel, he sure wasn’t all that comfortable with it. Free gave Matt a nod and said, “Let’s get to it. Matt, you pick up the rear.”
    Free led them from the makeshift parking lot closer to the trailer, the dancing fires of cigarettes drawing closer, and the silhouettes of men slowly taking form around them. They must have been becoming visible, too, because the men were all separating around Free, almost dancing away from the door to the middle of the trailer as their group passed. Free swung the door open to let Danimal inside and then nodded at Matt to follow.
    Matt walked inside the RV, and the stench was almost overpowering. Loud music was playing that had somehow been inaudible outside, and a man with a beer gut who was wearing a cowboy hat and holding an AR-15 stood in front of what appeared to be a bolted steel door with a slotted window cut into it.
    Time seemed to freeze as Matt, Free, and Danimal stood looking at the expressionless and well-armed guard, and then the man broke into a smile that Free returned. The two hugged and then bumped fists, and Matt looked at Danimal, who, while left out of the exchange, was grinning, though small beads of sweat were collecting on his upper lip.
    This might be the arrangement, but it’s not a comfortable one.
    The man with the rifle rapped his knuckles three times on the door, never turning away from them.
    “How’s it hanging, Freebird?” the man asked in a thick Southern drawl, a much more pronounced accent than either Free or Danimal carried in his voice, and it reminded Matt of some of his Southern travels.
    “Low and to the left, Henley. How you been?”
    “Busy. All this fucking takes some work, y’know?”
    “I can dig it. I got your crystal.”
    “You know that’s not my problem,” the man said, scowling. “She’ll be out soon enough.”
    As if on cue, the slot in the door opened. Matt caught a quick glimpse of a face behind it, and then several locks began turning from behind the door before it opened and the woman slid out.
    If Free was slowly rotting away and Luther was all but gone, this woman was the next level. Matt had a feeling that she would have been hideous looking even without the rot, but with it, she was horrible.
    She was dressed in Daisy Duke shorts meant to show the maximum amount of leg and a tight cropped top with a push-up bra, but the only thing getting pushed up was a pair of breast implants sliding around in festering wounds. Her face was done up with makeup but was rotting off her skull, looking almost as if it were sliding off inch by inch. Her eyes were sinking into her head, and her hair, dyed and highlighted, hung in damp spaghetti strands. Her walking and living was a mockery of all things dead. She walked up to Free and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
    “We brought you your stuff. More this time, too, just like you told Bucky your girls needed.”
    “My girls do need the black if they’re going to stick around and do like they’re told. Bucky tell you Jesse Ann went feral? Tore up a trucker real bad, ended up having to put him down and dig a hole.”
    “It was a real shame,” said