Neil McGregor existed in the afterlife like a death row prisoner in a cell, wishing for somewhere better, yet preferring his situation over what awaited him next. An unfavourable rebirth drew closer every day. He knew it.
Glancing around the dimly lit tavern, Neil took in the young patrons settling themselves in for the night. The well-groomed spirits crowded around a jazz band playing in a corner and rested on the leather couches, laughing and drinking amongst themselves without a care in the after-world. He could never understand why any healthy person would be happy. Life could come to them at any moment. He sipped his scotch, his trembling hand rattling the ice in his glass like a cup full of teeth. “It’s coming soon.”
“Here we go,” Karl said, in his gruff voice, “Nervous Neil’s at it again.” His afterlife drinking buddy slurped his whiskey. “Just relax for once, put life out o’ your mind.”
“I can’t.” Neil ran a hand through his thick hair. “I’m getting younger every day. I don’t limp with that bad knee I died with, and more memories from my last life are coming back. Yesterday, I remembered my father. He was a policeman.”
Karl choked on his drink. “Well, there ya go. That ‘elps explain why ya lived an honest life.” He grabbed a fistful of peanuts from the bar and crammed them into his mouth. “But don’t worry, you got a long death ahead o’ you, trus’ me.”
“That’s not all.” Pulling his fringe back, Neil said, “Look, no more wrinkles.”
Karl leant in close enough for Neil to taste the bourbon on his breath. “Nope.”
“Nope, what?”
“Nope…I can’t see anythin’ through that ginger beard of yours.”
Slamming his glass on the bar, Neil said, “I’m serious.”
“So’s that beard.” Karl chuckled so hard his barstool rattled on the floorboards.
“Damn it, Karl, that was your idea. ‘Grow a beard,’ you said, ‘let’s be twins for a laugh,’ you said.”
“It was a laugh.”
“Yeah, until you shaved yours off. And your hair.”
“Well…” Karl stroked his clean-shaven face, casting a suspicious eye around the tavern. “I needed a change is all.”
“And I’m not comfortable in this bar. Something’s not right. I’ve got a sixth sense about it.” Wisps of fog drifted between them, and Neil swatted it away. “I don’t know why we had to stop going to The Devil’s Water Inn.”
“We’ll ‘ave a good night here. If you get stuck into your whiskey. Get a little drunk, I need ya to relax.” Karl pulled out his wallet. “Let me buy you another.”
Neil stiffened like a corpse. “I just remembered something.”
Karl’s blood-shot eyes searched over his wallet.
“Oh.” Neil covered his mouth. “I’m going to be punished in my next life—”
Karl slapped his wallet shut. “What?”
“I remember—”
“Remember what?” Karl grabbed at Neil’s shirt, and his hand went straight through him. His stool tipped forward and he fell to the ground.
Lost in thought, Neil remained dead-still. “I stole my father’s wallet when I was eight.”
Karl looked up at him. “Is that all!”
The barmaid, Ada, drifted over, her stilettos floating above the low mist covering the floor. Flicking her ghost-white hair over a shoulder, she glared down at Karl. “Honey, it’s like you want to attract the angels.”
Karl shot a look to the doors, scrambling up.
Ada frowned back and forth between them. “You know they visit here often,” she waved her black-painted fingernails through the air across the barroom, “’cause of our young clientele. I don’t want to be losing any more customers to them.” She clenched her fists on her hips. “And you two baby-faces are probably next on their list.”
“Sorry, Ada,” Karl said, taking a fifty-dollar-note from his wallet and handing it to her. “A couple more whiskeys, and a little extra for you.” He winked. “We’re no trouble makers, okay?”
“I want a beer,” Neil said.
Fluttering her spider-leg eyelashes at Neil, she said, “Honey, we only serve spirits here.”
Neil slumped.
Examining the note, Ada asked Karl, “This better not be one of them fakes you been passing at The Devil’s Water?”
“Trus’ me,” Karl said, holding up his right hand. “A little misunderstandin’ is all that was.”
Drifting away, Ada tucked the note into her lace bra.
Karl sat back down, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. “Don’t scare me like that, Neil.”
“Scare you? That’s what I don’t get. You’re more concerned about my next life than your own. You were a thieving sod all your life, but you never worry.”
Karl looked out the corner of his eyes to the entrance. “Things ‘ave a way of workin’ out for me. But you, you’ll be fine.”
Neil held Karl’s eyes. “You reckon?”
Karl took a whiskey from the bar, and swished it around his mouth. “The angels don’t care ’bout a kid takin’ a little extra pocket monies,” he whispered. “We’ve been over this. Many times. You was a good fella in your life, you’re set for big rewards in your rebirth.”
The barroom doors groaned open like the lid of an old coffin. A grey-haired man rolled in on a wheelchair, wearing the stench of fresh death. “Where the hell am I?” he said. “What happened to the nursing home?”
“Honey,” Ada said, “you’re dead.”
With trembling arms, he pushed himself up from the wheelchair, stretched a toothless grin, and then collapsed. The tavern erupted with laughter.
“You didn’t make Heaven this time,” Ada shouted, “you’ll be needing those wheels a little longer in the afterlife.”
“Poor bloke,” Neil said, “stuck in the afterlife, and in a wheelchair.” He shook his head. “I wanted Heaven too, not another go-around-and-try-again.” He snatched up his scotch, downing the lot.
“That’s the way, that’ll ease the nerves,” Karl said, swaying on his stool. “Say, how long until you got out of your wheelchair?”
Neil’s glass dropped to the floor, smashing. “What?”
The band went silent.
Karl’s eyes widened.
“I never told you about my wheelchair.”
Tugging at his shirt collar like it was a noose, Karl said, “Well, with your knee and all…I just assumed…”
Neil trembled a finger at him. “You know too much.”
“I know nothin’.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Trus’ me.”
“You’re always asking questions. ‘What did you do in life?’ ‘Were you good or bad?'” Neil slid backwards off his stool. “You’re one of them undercover angels.”
Gritting his teeth, Karl whispered, “Sit down.”
“No, Karl,” Neil shouted.
Karl sprang up. “Don’t shout out my name ’round here.” Waving Neil to sit down, he said, “Look, I’m expectin’ some company, and I don’t want us getting’ kicked out before they gets ‘ere.”
Neil stepped back. “Always wearing that trench coat.” He raised his voice. “Take it off, let’s see your wings.”
The barroom turned to Karl.
“All your worrying’s going to get ya alive.” Karl took his coat off like a tailor removing a fine suit, and then tossed it to Neil.
“And your shirt.”
Karl pulled off his shirt, and threw it down. He turned his bare back to Neil, waving his arms up and down. “I’m a angel.”
The crowd backed up, gasping.
Throwing his head back in laughter, Karl yelled, “I’m a drunken angel.”
The doors burst open.
Two angels flew in. Their wings stirred up the mist, casting a chilled wind.
Karl dropped his arms.
The angels searched the barroom, their glow lighting up startled faces as the patrons backed away.
Karl snatched up his shirt, started putting it on, and said, “Quick, put the coat on. It’ll disguise you.”
Wide-eyed, Neil looked between the angels and the exit as customers started slipping out the doorway.
“You won’t make it out,” Karl said. “Put it on, trus’ me.”
Neil scrambled into the coat, fumbling it on backwards, before getting it on right.
The angels stopped beside them. A bead of sweat trickled down Neil’s face. An angel took out a digital tablet from his robe, cleared his throat, and read, “Karl Crookman, by order of God, the arch-angels, yada yada, for living a life of …” Looking to Neil, he flicked his finger across the screen. “… Thievery, you shall henceforth be reborn into poverty, and you shall continue such cycles until you, blah blah.”
Both angels seized Neil by his arms.
“I’m Neil McGregor,” Neil said, looking to Karl, whom was backing away.
“You’ve been dodging us for some time, Karl,” said the second angel. “But we had a tip you’d be here today.”
Karl disappeared into the crowd.
“I’m not Karl,” Neil shouted, struggling against their grip.
“Sure you’re not. That trench coat and beard gives you away.” The second angel leaned over to the first. “Add liar to his list.” He glared at Neil. “Someone’s going to get a little conned in their next life, too.”
They flew him out the doorway.
—
Jamie D. Munro is an aspiring speculative fiction author, currently writing short stories. He resides on the south coast of Western Australia. He has been published in The Colored Lens.
I didn’t see Karl’s con coming. Clever and fun.
Thanks, David! This story seemed to write itself for me.
Wow! I love this. Great Story.
Thanks!
Loved this story, the twist at the end was a great ending !
Thanks for taking the time to read it!
I love the twist at the end! Very well done.