Lethal Takeout Read online

  “Great. Just great.”

  Then my eyebrows shot up into my uncombed hairline. Not only was Lee going to be upset, she wouldn’t even see me or hear my excuses or anything. What a night. I thought about where I should go and couldn’t come up with any other place.

  I automatically pushed at the door and entered the wood. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. All around me, bouncing brown balls of energy zipped and zapped at breakneck speed. Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about my neck being broken – one of the perks of being dead—but I still instinctively ducked when a ball shot at my head. I inched through the door, which seemed to have thickened up considerably, and finally, I oozed through the other side and into a small apartment crowded with second-hand, mismatched furniture.

  Lily Chan (no relationship to the restaurant owner) was sitting, back straight, in her favourite armchair, mindlessly flipping through TV channels. Her long, black braid hung down the back of the chair, and she was wearing her trademark black Kung Fu suite. I once called them ‘Chinese pyjamas.’ I won’t tell you what she called me.

  Lily was not very lily-like. She might look small and cute, but she was tough, despite being almost fifty. So everyone called her Lee. It suited her better than ‘Lily.’ The only other important bit of information you need to know for now is that Lee was my best and only friend. Not just because she got me a job working with her as a janitor when I was flat broke with only the clothes on my back to call my own (and even those I’m not sure about). And not only because she saved my life three years ago. But for every day for the past three years that had been made liveable because of her.

  As I continued to silently watch her, she scratched her left elbow.

  Lee’s left elbow always itched when she was being watched.

  No joke. I’ve tested this bizarre early warning system numerous times. Itchy left elbow won every time.

  She glanced around, still scratching. “It’s about time, Cooper. I’m starving. Where’s the food?”

  “You can see me?” I asked, my shoulders easing down to normal as I blew out a breath.

  Her thin, black eyebrows rose. “Obviously. My eyesight’s not that bad, for Pete’s sake. Young ones these days. Bah.” Then she peered closer, her black eyes narrowing further. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

  “Or something” was all I could say before I sank into the floor.

  Lee & the Talking Trash

  Now, most of you would probably not take it too well if your best friend walked literally through your front door and sunk knee-deep into the floor. I’m guessing your reaction would be on the freaked-out end of ‘possible reactions to have when your best friend turns into a ghost and shows up for dinner, dead.’

  Not Lily ‘Lee’ Chan.

  At the time, I didn’t know this story, but Lee eventually told me. It had all started a few years before I was shot.

  She was stooping over a garbage bin at the coffee station in order to haul out the bag. The bin was almost as big as she was, but under the baggy work overalls and the Chinese pyjamas was a little lady who could juggle fully loaded garbage bags without breaking a sweat, as long as the bags were firmly knotted shut.

  The bag she was currently about to haul out was definitely not tied closed. Lee was tough, but she hated the smell of garbage. It made her gag. And she was a janitor. Go figure. She also wasn’t crazy about all the possible germs crawling around in there. She was trying not to breathe too deeply; the bag had been there all day and it had been one heck of a hot day.

  In between stooping, not breathing and hauling, she felt a slight breeze. And that was weird because the coffee station was in the middle of the office, nowhere near any windows.

  Lee straightened up and glanced around, just in case. Nope. No windows nearby. No air vents, either. She rubbed the back of her neck. The breeze faded away, but her left elbow itched.

  “That’s weird,” she whispered.

  She kept looking around as she scratched at her elbow. The office was dimly lit, deathly silent and totally empty. There could be no one around to watch her.

  Thing is, her elbow was never wrong. Never.

  She waited, her breathing shallow and quiet. In the silence, she could hear the hum of the small fridge. A car honked from the street far below. She swivelled around. The office on all sides of the coffee station was equally empty of watching eyes.

  Her elbow still itched.

  She shrugged, stopped scratching, leaned over the bin and stared at the old coffee grinds, soggy paper cups, a mouldy brown banana peel and the head of an elderly lady.

  She screamed.

  The head screamed back.

  She screamed again and jerked away. She forgot that her hands were still clenched around the plastic bag. The bag popped upwards and slumped back into the bin as she opened her hands.

  She stopped screaming.

  The head also stopped and muttered, “This isn’t right. I knew we should’ve asked for directions.”

  Keeping her distance, Lee stood on tiptoes and peered over. The bodiless woman turned around amongst the coffee grinds and shrieked, “I told you we should’ve stopped and asked directions from those two freaks with wings.”

  A second head, this time an elderly man, popped up amongst the coffee grinds. “You think those hippies with harps knew where they were?” he snapped. “Didn’t you see the cloud around them? They were smoking drugs. Drugs, I tell you! Anyways, we’re not lost. We’re just taking a little shortcut.”

  “Well, your shortcut stinks,” the woman’s head retorted. “And I mean that literally. Maybe we can ask this one. She doesn’t look like she’s on drugs. Hey, you up there. We’re looking for the exit to the bright light tunnel.”

  “My GPS has never been wrong before,” the man muttered.

  “Your GPS sounds like a retarded computer,” the woman said, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. “Hey, you up there. We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

  It took Lee a couple of rapid breaths and a few unhealthy heart palpitations to realise the head was actually talking to her. Fortunately for her heart and lungs, she was used to the weird and wacky, although this was the first time she’d experienced weird and wacky in a garbage can.

  After getting her heart and lungs under control, she stuttered, “Ah… no. Sorry. I…”

  “See?” the second head announced triumphantly. “Asking for directions is totally useless. I told you so.”

  The two heads continued to bicker as they sunk below the banana peel and the trash was silent once again.

  Lee remained in her tiptoe position, unable to move. She didn’t even dare raise a hand to push a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. Instead, she blinked slowly and watched the garbage for a while after that, but there were no more talking trash heads.

  “It must’ve been the tacos at lunch,” she finally muttered while she knotted the garbage bag and hastily hauled it out. “No more tacos, ever.”

  Blaming the bad lunch food seemed like a pretty good explanation, but just in case there was something else going on, she finished her cleaning shift as quickly as possible.

  Fortunately for the guy running the taco stand, it happened again. She was at home, pouring a cup of green tea, when her left elbow started itching about the same time as an elderly gentleman walked through the kitchen window of her twelfth floor apartment.

  “Pardon me. I’m looking for Granville Street,” the apparition politely said as Lee dropped her mug. It (the mug, that is, not the apparition) shattered on the tiles, but not before splashing its hot contents down her right leg.

  “I haven’t eaten tacos today,” she howled in protest as she hopped on her left foot while rubbing the hot tea stain with a kitchen towel. “I haven’t even had breakfast.”

  The elderly man shook his head. “My dear, breakfast should never be missed. Although I’m not sure I’d recommend tacos first thing in the morning. Now, could you be so kind as to point me
in the direction of Granville Street?”

  That’s when Lee realised she’d dropped her mug. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Look at this mess. I just cleaned in here.” Turning to the elderly man patiently floating above her sink, she snapped, “Go down the corner to the corner store and turn right. Take the bus heading downtown. I just bought that mug.”

  Lee didn’t have to drop too many cups. The ghost thing didn’t happen that often. Most spirits managed to catch the exit on time and all. And after a few stray visitors, she soon developed the appropriate nerves of fishing string (which may not be as strong as steel, but is definitely more flexible).

  So having had a few years of experience in these things, Lee was rather calm as she watched her best friend sink into the floor up to his knees.

  We Make a Plan, Sort Of

  It took me a moment to extract myself from the grip of the floor. It took much longer for me to recover from my third shock of the evening: unlike most people, Lee could see and hear me. I was still processing the other two shocks – that I was dead and my dinner plans ruined – but on the positive side, I now had someone to talk with.

  “Blast it, Lee,” I spluttered.

  People who know my background are surprised by my mild curses. I mean, who says ‘Blast it’ instead of… well, you know. Thank my Gran who raised me for the first nine years of my life. Once, I swore in front of her. She washed my mouth out with the foulest tasting soap ever. I think she used that bar of soap to scrub dirty socks and the toilet bowl. I was blowing stinky bubbles every time I drank something for two days after. To this day, I get a soapy tasting flashback if I swear. No joke.

  So, back to the scene where I’m not swearing.

  “Blast it, Lee! You never told me you could see… well, you know… spooks.”

  She stared at me with that stare that always reminded me of something between a dentist’s drill and a jackhammer. I could tell she was still mulling over the lack of dinner and my recent demise. “Would you’ve believed me?”

  “No.”

  “There you go.” She shrugged as if that ended that conversation, which it kind of did.

  “Well,” I said as I finished pulling myself out of the floor. “For what it’s worth, I believe you now.”

  “I’m overwhelmed with gratitude,” Lee responded dryly while she poured herself a mug of Chinese tea. “Seeing as there’s no Chinese food to eat, I guess this will have to do. I’d offer you some, but…” She gestured towards my obvious lack of physical means to consume the tea.

  “Yeah, no worries. I never liked Chinese tea anyway.”

  “And I’m a little upset about the takeout,” she continued.

  “Yeah, me too.” I frowned at her and her preoccupation with the missing dinner. “But I’m a bit more upset about being killed and all.”

  Lee pursed her lips and then nodded understandingly. “I can see that. I’m still trying to get my head around it. It’s… unexpected, to say the least.”

  “No kidding.” I watched Lee closely and saw her eyes blink rapidly. “You okay?”

  She set her mug down a bit too hard; green tea sloshed over the well-used coffee table. “What do you think?” she demanded. “I send you out to pick up our dinner, and you return dead. It’s…” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I guess I just… I assumed you’d always be around.”

  “Assumptions are dangerous things.”

  Her mouth twitched and her shoulders sagged. “You’d know that better than most, Axe Cooper.”

  I ignored the memories her comment stirred and let them settle back into the primordial ooze of my subconscious. “I’m still here for you, you know. As long as you need me.”

  She studied me. She was the only one I knew who didn’t flinch from the stony sharpness of my gaze. Most people don’t hold a stare, but Lily Chan sure could. “Is that why you stayed on, Axe?”

  I shrugged. “I was worried about your takeout. Hey, maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t get to deliver it. You eat way too much of that stuff. They use a lot of MSG at Chan’s, you know.”

  Lee chuckled and picked up her mug. “I’m Chinese. MSG can’t hurt me.”

  “Still…”

  She waved my comment away and retorted, “A little MSG isn’t going to kill you. Well, definitely not you.”

  “Sure it can,” I persisted, even though the conversation was totally off track from my current situation. “And it’s addictive.”

  “It is not,” Lee said firmly, her back straightening up to its usual posture. “Absolute nonsense. Studies show it’s totally harmless to the vast majority of users…”

  “They also said that about cigarettes and leaded gasoline once upon a time, you know.” Okay, now I was just being contrary.

  “Things you don’t have to worry about any more.” Lee’s thin, black eyebrows rose and she looked at me meaningfully. “I think it’s more dangerous to pick up the food than eat it.”

  “Seems like it.” I paused. “Apparently, I’m stuck here until I put right the wrongs.”

  Lee nodded, as if this didn’t surprise her. “Then you have a lot of work to do.”

  “Thanks.” I kicked at the coffee table. My foot sailed through it.

  “From what I know, you’ve built up some dark karma, boy. And I’m sure I don’t know the half of it.” She peered at me, as if to confirm her suspicion.

  I didn’t respond to the suggested question at the end. “But which wrongs? And how do I right them?”

  She shrugged as she flopped her head against the back of her faded-green armchair. “Make a list and prioritise, starting with who killed you and why. By the way, you have horrible timing.”

  I glared at her and pretended to be completely outraged. “Horrible timing?”

  “Yes. And don’t give me the Popeye glare, Cooper.” Lee waved a finger at me, doing the whole maternal thing, using her two decades against me.

  I hated when she pulled rank on me.

  I scowled, my glare disappearing. You know Popeye: that wacky cartoon sailor who’s always chugging spinach to get him and his anorexic girlfriend out of trouble. I really don’t appreciate the nickname. I mean, seriously. How can anyone get intimidated by a glare when they’re thinking about a cartoon character dancing around like a drunken sailor?

  And just for the record, I make it a lot scarier than Popeye ever could. Maybe it’s the jagged scar on one side of my chin, or my hard, grey eyes or my generally rough, uncombed appearance. When I glare like that, most people step to the side or find something else to look at.

  Fortunately for our friendship, Lee didn’t scare easily. When faced with spiders, ghosts or the Popeye glare, her response was a shrug, a flick of her braid and a warning finger. In the case of the spider, there might also be a boot thrown at it.

  “So why’s my timing so horrible?” I finally demanded, crossing my arms.

  “You won’t be able to attend my retirement party next month. Well, not properly anyways.”

  I studied her for a moment like she’d just sprouted Chinese noodles on the top of her head. My mouth twitched and finally settled into a line that wasn’t quite a smile but could almost be one. “Gee, real sorry about that. Top of my list of ‘Things to Regret now that I’m Dead and Can’t Do Anything About It’.”

  Lee snorted, which wasn’t a great idea with a mouthful of tea. Some of it shot out through her nose.

  “Serves you right,” I gloated.

  “For Pete’s sake, just look at this mess,” she said as she wiped her face and glared at the spilled tea. “Okay, fine, it’s not the top worry.”

  “And you don’t look like you should be retiring.”

  Lee acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. “It is a slightly early retirement, I admit.”

  “Real early, you mean. How come you get to retire so young?”

  I knew she wouldn’t answer me, but I kept trying to figure it out, just like she kept trying to figure out my secrets. Neither of us minded that we kept secre
ts from each other. That’s yet another reason we were friends, I figured.

  “But there’s good news,” Lee said, ignoring my question. “You won’t have to work at that dead-end janitorial job anymore. You just got an even earlier retirement, a really permanent, early retirement.”

  “Yeah, sure did. Like, three decades early. And that dead-end job is the same as your dead-end job.”

  “That is why I’m retiring early,” Lee reminded me as she began wiping up the spilled tea with one of her long Kung Fu sleeves. “We’ll be able to see each other a lot more.”

  “Things to look forward to.” I floated over to a shelf that hosted a large collection of photo frames. A few of the faces were familiar to me. “None of them will be able to see me, will they?” I murmured, poking a finger through one photo.

  “No,” Lee responded sharply, still focusing on wiping down the coffee table. “And there’s no use moping around about it.”

  I laughed; it was a brief, flat laugh. “I’m not, don’t you worry. I don’t have a lot of friends to miss, so that’s the good news.”

  Lee shook her head and wagged a finger at me. “As far as I know, you only have one. Why are you still here anyways, Axe? I mean, really? Didn’t you see that tunnel of light exit?”

  “Nope. No tunnel. Plus I figured you’d be mighty pissed if I didn’t show up.”

  I didn’t look at her but stared intently at the photos, willing them to give me the real answer, studying them with grey eyes that felt, and probably looked, like they’d been dead a lot longer than an hour.

  “Well, I still am,” Lee said, peering closely at the coffee table. With a flick of her damp sleeve, she sat back and looked up. “Not only did you show up dead, you showed up without our dinner. Which brings me to the question I should’ve asked before: why are you dead?”

  I related what I could remember, which was shockingly little considering my murder had happened only an hour ago or so. The one thing I could remember about my murderers was that they wore cowboy hats.