Jenny Plague-Bringer(3)

Esmeralda had also lost her mortuary cosmetics job at Garcia y Garcia Funeral Home. The only job she could find was part-time at the much larger and cheaper Hernandez place, where the pay was poor and the jobs were all rushed. She’d been spoiled by the quiet, leisurely speed of work at Garcia y Garcia. Hernandez was more like a factory, a fast-paced corpse processing plant.

She had finally saved up enough for tuition, though, and she was about to start her final classes toward her Associate of Applied Science in Funeral Service degree. Then she would find better work while continuing her education, and in time, all would be well.

That was what she told herself as she walked down the crumbling second-floor hallway, sore and miserable, worrying about which utility she would have to pay next, and whether it would be easier to live without water or power.

She slid the key into the rusty lock and opened the door.

Tommy sat on the bed, smoking a Basic cigarette and watching their small TV set. The ashtray on the windowsill was overflowing with cigarette butts, and the entire place reeked of cheap tobacco. The only light came from the open window behind him, sunlight that turned fuzzy and nicotine-yellow inside the cramped one-room apartment.

“I told you to stop smoking in here,” Esmeralda said. She closed the door behind her and hung her purse on a nail in the wall. “It’s so bad for our health.”

“Well, hey, nice to see you, too,” Tommy replied.

“I mean it.” Esmeralda sank to the bed next to him. Tommy was watching a rerun of an old Christopher Reeve Superman movie. He smelled like cheap whiskey, probably Ten High. “Are you working tonight?”

“It’s Thursday, right?”

“Thursday.”

“Then I’m working.” He glanced at the rumpled blanket heaped beside him, then gave a little shrug, reached under it, and slid out a bottle of Ten High. He gave her a little defiant look as he lifted it to his lips. It was a fight waiting to happen, and he knew it.

Tommy had trouble getting good work because he couldn’t even use his real name or identification. Esmeralda had a cousin who was good at finding jobs for illegals, so he’d set Tommy up on a job unloading produce trucks. He’d gotten fired for being late and missing work, so her cousin then found him a job washing dishes in a Taiwanese restaurant in Monterey Park. He’d gotten fired for the same reasons.

Now, he worked a few nights a week as a bouncer at a seedy North Hollywood bar. Tommy wasn’t an especially big and muscular guy, but his touch spread fear into anyone. He could seize a troublemaker, fill him with his own worse nightmares, and then shove him out the door as easily as a crying child.

“I still don’t like you at this job,” Esmeralda said. “Using the fear. It troubles you so much.”

“It doesn’t trouble me.” Tommy snorted at her and swigged his whiskey.

“The more you use it, the worst your own nightmares become. You’re screaming and crying in your sleep.”

“Who wouldn’t, living in a shithole like this?” Tommy waved his bottle at the small, rank room around them.

“I understand about all your bad dreams from childhood,” Esmeralda said. “That’s why you must let the fear rest. It stirs up these things.”

“You don’t understand anything. What else can I do? Your cousin won’t even talk to me anymore. He calls me an embarrassment to his reputation, whatever that means.”

“It means he can’t vouch for you as a good worker. You’re always late and hung over.”

“Nobody at the bar cares if I’m hung over,” Tommy said. “It’s a good job for me.”

“It’s too dangerous. And it doesn’t pay enough...” Esmeralda bit her lip.

“You want more money, is that it?” Tommy snarled, leaning towards her. His breath was full of smoke and bad whiskey. “I can get more money. Anyone out there on the street, I can walk right up, grab them—” Tommy seized her arm, and shivers of fear shot through her body, terrifying and deliciously exciting at the same time. “They’ll give me anything I want. That’s how I always made my living before. Now I have to stick with your stupid rules.”

“They’re not stupid,” Esmeralda said, her voice shivering with the intense feelings he stirred up inside her. “I just don’t want to see you burn in Hell.”

“Come on, you don’t believe in that.” His face loomed closer through the shadowy smoke.

“I believe we can burn in Hell while we are still alive. We build the fire around ourselves, and we damn ourselves. If we are not careful.”

“You won’t see me in Hell unless you’re there with me.” He seized her other arm and pulled her closer. Esmeralda trembled. His paranormal touch filled her with conflicting desires to run away screaming and to wrap her legs around him and fuck him until dawn. He drove her crazy, and she hated him for it. Deep down, she knew her mother was right about this boy.