Dead Man Running Read online

  "You don't want to know," Elias said. He approached Jan Sugerfoot. The attractive woman, still dressed in her dark conservative church skirt and white silk top, was visibly shaking.

  "Listen, Jan, Reverend Wiley died. Of natural causes. We just can't let the press or Mrs. Wiley find him here. Will you help me?"

  The young woman nodded her head.

  "Good. Just stand over here like a good little girl and I'll tell you when we need you." He guided the woman to stand in the corner.

  Meanwhile, Chi stared at the corpse.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Elias asked, his voice brimming with barely controlled anger.

  "They say your soul comes out through your eyes."

  "What?"

  "When you die, your soul comes out through your eyes."

  "That's crazy." He looked around the room at the still cowering Jan, the impatient but not lifting a finger Mookie. "Am I the only one who wants to get this body out of this room?"

  "You telling me you don't believe in life after death?"

  As Elias shook his head Mookie raised his hand. "I do," he said.

  "Shut up, Mookie," Elias said. "We have to get his body out of here, to somewhere more appropriate."

  "I think it'd be cool if I could catch his soul before it left," said Chi.

  Elias sighed. Chi, his good hearted but slightly dim best friend, was trying his patience.

  "Then what?" Elias asked.

  "I don't know. I'd find some white dude and sell it to him."

  "Yeah, Justin Bieber or those guys from The Big Bang Theory. Those boys could use some soul," Mookie said.

  "Shut up Mookie!" Elias said. "I don't want to hear any more talk about souls." He fixed his hard brown eyes on Chi. "We need to wrap the body up and take him out the back way."

  "Do you know how much this mother weighs? The three of us can't carry him," said Chi.

  "Yeah, the two of you can't," said Mookie. He reached for his back and began to rub.

  "Too bad he can't walk out of here on his own," Chi said with a smile.

  "Why don't we just get someone to put some voodoo on him and he can walk down the stairs by himself," Elias offered with a smile.

  "Now you're talking, boss," said Chi.

  Elias stared at Chi. "I was joking, you idiot."

  "Too bad, I know just the man," Mookie said. He stroked his hairless chin.

  "The man for what?" asked Elias.

  "His name's Hamid. He's a sorcerer."

  "You been whipping and whopping too much man. You're saying that you know somebody who can bring him back to life?" Elias asked.

  "Well, not life exactly, but close enough."

  "And you know this how?"

  Mookie looked away, around the room, anywhere but at Elias.

  "Had him bring back one of my high earning girls. Managed to make a few more dollars off her until the smell got too much."

  "Long as he can walk down those stairs, I don't care. I ain't lifting nobody. I was a pall bearer a while back. Man, once we got that fat ass stiff in the ground I felt like jumpin' in after him. My arms hurt real bad." Chi rubbed his arms.

  "You two done?" Elias asked. "I can't believe you know somebody who does voodoo."

  "This is Harlem, nigger's paradise. There's somebody who does everything here."

  A soft, sweet voice joined the conversation. "I think we need to call Mrs. Wiley, let her know."

  The three men looked back toward the corner, where Jan stood. "She deserves to know her husband is dead, doesn't she?"

  Elias pointed a long slender finger in Jan's direction. "Listen, if I wanted your opinion, little girl, I would have asked for it. Now, stay out of this and let the grownups talk."

  "I was just saying..."

  Elias put his index finger to his mouth. "Shush. The noise we are hearing is a little girl about to lose her job."

  Chi stepped between Elias and Jan. "Job? What job? Without Wiley, we're all out of work. We were less than two weeks away from the election. Damn, less than two weeks away from another two years in this sweet job. Man. If he could be brought back, that would save all our asses. We can leave his dead ass on the ballot. Who would know?"

  "You think a dead man can be elected to Congress?" Elias asked.

  "If he be black, a Democrat and running in Harlem, damn straight he can," said Chi.

  Elias walked away from the rest, stared at Wiley's corpse. If they could bring him back long enough to win the election, Elias could take over afterward. He could either be the power behind the zombie on the throne or take the seat himself.

  Congressman Elias Turnbull. He liked the ring of that. Intellectually he knew zombies didn't exist but his greed was willing him to give it a try.

  "You know I'm right, E," said Chi.

  "He can win if he's vertical, just let me call my boy," said Mookie.

  Silence filled the room. It was abundantly clear that his lazy associates were not going to lift a finger to carry the stocky Wiley until this crazy idea was fully played out. And maybe it would work. Stranger shit than zombies have found their way to Harlem. Think Al Sharpton.

  "He can do it?" Elias asked Mookie.

  "Sure can!"

  "How much?"

  "Five grand is standard for reanimation. I thought everybody knew that."

  "Apparently I've been traveling in the wrong circles. If he brings him back, tell him I'll give him ten."

  "Bet. I'll call him ova."

  Another hour passed with Mookie, Elias, Chi and Jan remaining in the room. A sheet covered the dead body.

  There was a knock at the door. Mookie walked over and looked in the peephole.

  "It's my boy," he said. He opened the door. In walked a bald, elderly man, with a long beard, swarthy skin and slight build. Mookie quickly shut the door behind him.

  "What the hell is this?" asked Elias.

  "This is my boy, Hamid."

  "You're joking, right?"

  "Nah, E. He's the real deal. Magic, the black arts, this man's the shit."

  "Young man, you doubt my powers?" Hamid asked.

  "Yeah. I was kind of expecting someone, you know, black. A Haitian or some shit. Maybe wearing some chicken bones around their neck and holding a fucking goat."

  The small man held his ground, his one good eye staring down his tormentor. "You think black people are the only ones who know the black arts? Arabs have been doing magic for centuries. It was our magicians who faced off against Moses and the Hebrew God."

  Elias shook his head. "From what I heard, Moses won."

  "The winners get to write the history, young man," Hamid said.

  "E, the man got a point," Mookie said.

  Elias turned toward Mookie. "If I let this man do his thing, will you help us carry him out?"

  "Yeah, but we won't need to carry him," Mookie replied.

  "In for a penny, in for a pound," Elias thought. He addressed Hamid: "Ten grand if you make this stiff walk, nothing if you don't." Hamid nodded and Elias found a wall and watched.

  Hamid stood at the foot of the bed and raised his hands above his head. His lips mouthed spells silently spoken. He removed too vials from his jacket, opened Wiley's mouth and poured the fluid down his throat. He stepped back and raised his arms again. "Rise, Ben Wiley. Rise!"

  Hamid turned around and faced the four.

  "Okay, it's done."

  Elias faced Hamid, his back to the corpse. "What do you mean, it's done? He's as stiff as ever. I'm not paying you."

  As Elias completed his sentence, Wiley sat straight up in the bed.

  "Yo, E. I think you need to pay the man," Chi said.

  Elias pivoted slowly on his expensive footwear, stared slack jawed at the upright Wiley.

  Chi walked over to Wiley. "Hey, Reverend, good to have you back."

  Wiley turned his head to stare at Chi.

  "He can't respond to you," said Hamid. "He can walk, he can look around but that's about it. The only thing he can say is wha
t he was saying in the hours before he died. Basically it will be random words and phrases."

  Elias smiled, patted his boss on the head. He retrieved his campaign credit card from his wallet. "He's a black Democrat running for Congress in Harlem. He doesn't need to talk. He just needs to not be dead."

  Hamid took Elias' card and swiped it with a cell phone card reader. He handed the card back and had him sign. "Nice doing business with you. And there's one more thing. He might get hungry."

  Chi nodded. "Yeah, yeah. We'll take care of it. We'll pick him up a lox and bagel on the way home."

  "But..." Hamid tried but was cut off by an excited Chi. "Later, man."

  He slammed the door behind the startled magician.

  Elias addressed the room. Finally it was his time, when he would become Congressman Elias Turnbull. Power – tantalizingly close for so many years – would finally be his.

  "Nine days people. Nine days. We just need to pull this off for nine days. Now let's get the candidate ready to go home to his loving wife."

  "Won't she be upset to see him like this?" Jan asked.

  "You've only worked with the reverend a few weeks, Jan," Elias replied. "There ain't much Mrs. Wiley really sees when it comes down to Mr. Wiley."

  Nearly three thousand miles away Eldina Thomas dozed in church. Her granddaughter Tamesha sat at her side and could be counted on to wake Eldina at the appropriate moments. Eldina Thomas had worked a double shift yesterday waiting tables and she was exhausted.

  She fell into a deep sleep, her head hitting her chest. In moments she was dreaming and minutes later her eyes sprung open, greatly disturbed by what she had dreamt. She rose quickly, patted her granddaughter reassuringly as she slipped out of the pew past fellow members intent on The Word coming from their pastor.

  She hustled her tired feet and sore legs up the aisle as fast as she could. She held one hand to her mouth. One of the nurses dressed in white spoke to her but she ignored the words.

  Eldina reached the bathroom, pounded the door open and pushed her way into a toilet stall. She got on her knees and vomited into the toilet.

  After emptying her stomach she rose and went to the sink. She washed her face and rinsed out her mouth. If asked, she would tell them that she was under the weather. There was no telling who would be with the monsters and who wouldn't.

  She would tell her Tammy the truth, of course.

  Now that things had begun, Eldina Thomas would have to be very careful if Tamesha was to survive.

  The limo sat in the alleyway behind the hotel. The group had dressed Wiley in his black preacher's suit and walked him down the back stairs. He now sat in the back of the silver Mercedes limo with Jan and Elias. Chi was in the driver's seat.

  Jan pressed herself against the window to distance her body from Wiley's. Wiley's large eyes stared straight ahead.

  "E, do you think we can trust Mookie?" Chi asked.

  "Who cares? Who's going to believe that psycho? By the time he's done explaining about voodoo and whip whop wham, they'll have his ass in a straight jacket in Bellevue."

  A loud growling sound erupted from Wiley.

  "What the hell was that?" Chi asked.

  "It sounded like his stomach growling. Only ten times louder," Elias replied.

  "M…maybe we need to get him something to eat?" Jan suggested.

  With that, Wiley turned his head toward Jan. Jan looked at him and subtly stopped pressing her body against the window.

  "Yeah, we need to stop for a sandwich or something," Elias said.

  Chi started up the car while still looking at Wiley. "As hungry as he looks, I think we need to supersize his shit."

  THREE

  Elias used Wiley's key to let himself into the congressman's upscale brownstone. The house was dripping money, sharply furnished with all that two decades of misappropriated campaign funds could buy. As Elias entered the house, Wiley's wife Eloise floated down the steps. She was a walking fashion plate.

  "Mrs. Wiley, what a pleasure to see you. You look lovely."

  "Elias, are you still taking good care of my husband?"

  "But, of course. Only the best for Reverend Wiley."

  Chi and Jan escorted Wiley into the house. Chi closed the door behind them.

  Mrs. Wiley approached her husband. She stared at him with some puzzlement then smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

  Wiley looked straight ahead, his eyes now settled into a bug eyed, finger stuck in the electric outlet look.

  "Elias, what have you done to my husband?"

  "Ma'am?"

  "You've done something to him, haven't you? There's something different about him. I just can't put my finger on it."

  "Must be his new aftershave. Eau de death," Chi said.

  Elias stabbed Chi with a look.

  Mrs. Wiley walked around her husband. "Is that a new suit?"

  Chi and Elias exchanged a look. "Only the best for Harlem's congressman!" Chi exclaimed.

  "I knew it! You can't put anything past me. Are you tired Ben, you want me to fix you something to eat?"

  The three staffers stared at Wiley. His mouth moved like a fish out of water. Finally he spoke.

  "After I bust this nut, I'll get behind you!"

  Mrs. Wiley blushed, playfully swatted her husband. "Oh Ben," she said as she smiled like a sixteen year old virgin. "Okay, sweetheart. I'll go make some roast beef sandwiches for all of you."

  Mrs. Wiley left the room. Jan watched her leave, incredulous. "She doesn't know he's dead?"

  "Baby, they've been married thirty years. Mrs. Wiley hasn't noticed him the last twenty," Elias said.

  "Oh. You've known the congressman that long?"

  "Yeah, he saw my potential for politics when he caught my orphan ass palming money from the collection plates."

  Eloise Wiley poked her head back into the foyer. "Young lady, could I have your help in the kitchen?"

  Elias discretely motioned for Jan to go with Mrs. Wiley.

  "Of course, Mrs. Wiley," Jan replied.

  Mrs. Wiley put her arm around Jan. "You boys have a sit down in the study. I know you have plenty of politics to talk. This young lady and I will get the food together."

  In the Wiley study the reverend stood facing a corner of the room. Another loud growl emanated from his body. Elias and Chi, seated in leather seats in front of a large desk, turned around to glance at Wiley.

  "Damn, I wish he would stop doing that. Maybe we need to call Hamid. Find out what he eats. He sure as hell didn't touch his Mickey Dee's," said Chi.

  "Forget about that. He's dead, he doesn't need to eat."

  "That's not what his stomach is saying, boss."

  "Okay, Chi, let's focus, man." Chi reluctantly placed his eyes on Elias'. "What's on the reverend's itinerary the next nine days?"

  Chi nimbly called up the congressman's schedule on his iPad. "He's got the candidate prayer breakfast tomorrow morning with the mayor. They're expecting him to say the opening prayer."

  "I think he just got laryngitis."

  "Word."

  "What else? What's the major stuff, not the kiss, eat and greet shit."

  "Hmmm…the biggies are the World Affairs Club address on Wednesday and the debate with Madame Capshaw on Thursday."

  "Okay, everything else, we cancel. We need to lay him low till the election."

  "E, what about his church? He never misses a service before an election. What are the deacons going to say?"

  "You mean, what are they going to say when we put a dead man in the pulpit?"

  "Right. It's not quite the resurrection they've been waiting on. But still, it'd raise some eyebrows if he's not there."

  Elias considered the problem for a moment. "Oh, he'll be there. I'll get to the deacons ahead of time. I'll tell the deacons that Reverend Wiley would prefer one of them to lead the service. I'll say he's exhausted from the campaign."

  "They'll probably have a knife fight trying to sort out who'll say the sermon."

>   "They'll be so busy basking in their own glory they won't notice they have a dead man there. Okay, that takes care of his schedule, can you think of anything else?"

  "Yeah, don't you think Mrs. Wiley will figure this out? I mean, she's got to sleep with the man."

  "The good reverend hasn't slept with her since her stuff started bagging and sagging. He wouldn't know the way to her room if you gave him a freaking map, man. No, we'll deposit him in his room every night and pick him up in the morning. No sweat."

  "She won't notice a dead man in her house for nine days?"

  "Bro, the light's been out in that attic for many a year."

  "Oh."

  In the nearly professional kitchen Jan and Mrs. Wiley stood around the massive center aisle. Mrs. Wiley wielded a huge carving knife to slice into the roast beef.

  "I always have to cut this very thin. My Ben loves his meat sliced thin."

  Jan, unsettled by the woman's lack of reaction to her zombie husband, nodded dumbly. "Uh huh," she uttered finally.

  Mrs. Wiley continued her careful slicing of the beef. "So, tell me dear, what are you doing in my house?"

  Jan, taken aback by the question, struggled to respond. "Well, Mrs. Wiley, I'm here to assist your husband."

  Mrs. Wiley cut a paper thin slice with the sharp blade. "You were to never come to my home."

  Mrs. Wiley paused with her knife. She set it on the table and walked over to the French doors leading to the rest of the house. She closed them. As she turned to face Jan, a sinister smile crossed her face.

  "Care to explain what a dead man is doing in my study?"

  "Dead man?"

  "My husband. You know, tall, black, bugged out eyes. Cold hands, bad smell. That dead man, woman."

  "Mrs. Wiley, I..."

  "You what? Listen, when I hired you, I paid you to screw him then kill him. Did I stutter? Did you miss something? Screw, kill. Screw, kill."

  Jan lost her look of innocence. "Somebody beat me to it, and then those two jerks got someone to bring him back to life."

  "Who?"

  "Some old Arab dude named Hamid."

  Mrs. Wiley marched around the center aisle and stood inches from Jan's face. "I don't know what you have going on with those two chuckleheads in my study, but I'm telling you, I'm not going to have it. You need to fix this shit."