Death's Intern (The Intern Diaries Book 1) Read online

  Death’s Intern

  D. C. Gomez

  © 2017 D. C. Gomez

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1977585345

  ISBN-13: 9781977585349

  For Antonio and Kat:

  thank you for being my own dream team.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Friday night, and I was living the dream. Yeah, right! I had cleaned the same three tables at least fifty times in the last three hours at Abuelita’s. Abuelita’s was a small—OK, more like a hole-in-the-wall—Tex-Mex restaurant in Texarkana, Texas. Of all the places I had ever dreamed of living and had moved to, staying there was beyond me. To make things even more confusing, Texarkana had a twin city, Texarkana, Arkansas. I guess the founders were not very creative with the name selection, but who was I to judge? Compared to most major cities, Texarkana was a tiny dot on the map. For the locals, it was the largest city within sixty miles in any direction. It was by accident that I’d found it. Located on the northeast tip of Texas, it was in the middle of everything and near nowhere.

  I was sure my godmother would love this. I’d promised myself I would never follow in her footsteps of wandering like a nomad. Now here I was, in my fifth town in less than six months. The good news was that I had managed to stay here the longest, a whole three months. I was probably brain-dead—I had moved to Texas in the middle of summer. With the temperatures hitting over ninety degrees and with over 90 percent humidity, I was surprised I hadn’t melted. My curiosity in learning everything about the King of Ragtime was now extinguished. I was sure I understood why Mr. Joplin had left. Why hadn’t I just read Wikipedia? According to the calendar, fall was six days away, and the weather was still suffocating.

  “Isis, are you listening to me?” Oops. I had blanked out Abuelita’s voice from the kitchen.

  Abuelita had named the place after herself. More accurately, she had used her nickname. In her words, the only thing she was after her husband and daughter died was a grandmother. She embraced it and became a grandmother to the world. Her place was open to everyone, and a wide diversity of people patronized the place. Abuelita was probably in her late sixties and tall, around five eleven, with a solid body. I was a couple of inches shorter, and it was odd to have a woman taller than me in this area. She was still strong and beautiful, with her silver hair. That shiny silver hair was the only indication of her age. She had been blessed with genes that aged in slow motion, like most Latinas.

  “I’m sorry, Abuelita. I was distracted.” I sucked at lying, so no need to even try.

  “With what? We haven’t had a soul in hours. Not even our regulars came in. Start getting the place ready for tomorrow. No need to waste time. Might as well close early today.”

  I was speechless. In the three months I had been working there, Abuelita had never closed early. Granted, it was already 9:00 p.m., and we normally closed at 11:00 p.m. So it wasn’t that early, but without customers, the cleanup was done. Closing usually took us at least an hour. I was not planning to argue with Abuelita. She was a very eccentric woman. I was sure she and my godmother would have bonded instantly. I really needed to call her. She was the only family I had.

  The dining area of Abuelita’s had three tables, with four chairs each. Two of the tables were by the large window at the front of the restaurant. The register area doubled as a bar, with six stools on the dining side. I took a chair by the window with a stack of forks, knives, and spoons. I was not in any hurry. There was plenty of silverware wrapped in napkins already since nobody had come in. Abuelita’s faced Highway 82, past Walmart and the other Mexican restaurant heading toward Nash. Normally I saw the high school kids driving around. Tonight even the highway was a ghost area. A bit creepy for my taste.

  It was probably a blessing it was empty, because Angelito was missing. Angelito was Abuelita’s grandson and the other staff member on weekends with me. The only thing angelic about that boy was his name. He went through more girls than most people went through underwear. In his mind he was a ladies’ man, and unfortunately for the ladies, he was hot. At twenty-one he was over six feet tall and weighed maybe around 180 pounds, with a great complexion and incredible hazel eyes. The one great thing about Angelito was that he lived with his grandmother. He was a spoiled boy, but he adored his grandma. If Abuelita told him she needed him, he would change his plans for her.

  I could have passed for his older sister. Angelito and Abuelita were of Mexican descent but looked European. I could have passed for anything, from Italian to even Middle Eastern. My parents died when I was little, and my Gypsy godmother wasn’t sure of their nationalities. I could be anything, with my long, thick black hair and mocha complexion that could place me anywhere in the world. For most of my life, I’d been described as exotic. I guess it was a better way of saying outcast. It didn’t help that my parents had named me Isis—Isis Black. In the age of terrorists, I had the worst name on the planet.

  At times I wondered what kind of parents I had who would trust their only daughter to a woman like my godmother. Don’t get me wrong; my godmother was a beautiful woman with an incredibly caring soul. She was also a little rebel with a complete disregard for authority. Maybe my subconscious was rebelling against my upbringing when I joined the military. I was sure my godmother would have been proud if I had joined a band or run away with the circus. I kind of did both by joining the Eighty-Second Airborne’s band.

  Oh, there it was again—that same weird Mustang. That was the fifth time that it had driven by tonight. Hard to miss a greenish-yellow car. It almost looked sick. Why would anyone buy a car like that? Instead of tinted windows, the car had an almost mirrorlike quality. Of course, I could hear its engines roaring from inside.

  Around ten o’clock, just on cue, Bob showed up. Bob was a veteran. He was also homeless, as far as I knew. He had served in the first Gulf War. We joked that we had served in the same sandpit just decades apart. Bob was in his late forties, with sandy-blond hair and deep-green eyes. In his younger days, he had probably been very handsome. Now he rarely smiled, and most of the time, he was paranoid. Bob was also the one person I called a friend. My war stories made sense to him.

  I ran behind the bar to the big window between the dining area and the kitchen. “Abuelita, Bob is here. May I take my break now?”

  “Of course, Isis. We’re still empty. Here’s Bob’s plate. At least I can count on Bob.” Abuelita handed me a large plate of carnitas with rice and beans for Bob. According to Abuelita, Bob was a creature of habit. For the last three years, he had been coming in at exactly ten o’clock. Bob ate the same pork meal every Friday night and
said very little.

  Bob did odd jobs around the restaurant for Abuelita. He had once stopped a few kids from robbing Abuelita. Ever since, Bob was the unofficial night guard of the place. He made sure Abuelita locked up in peace. In return Abuelita made sure he had a hot meal each night.

  I took Bob his plate and brought quesadillas for myself. Unlike Bob, I would change my mind about dinner at least five times before ordering. Lucky for me, Abuelita’s quesadillas were the best in town. It was pretty hard to mess up tortillas and cheese. I loved Abuelita’s food, since she had a special menu for non-meat eaters.

  “Hi, Bob. Are you ready for dinner?”

  Bob was looking around the place with concern. I followed his gaze but couldn’t see anything wrong. I took a seat on the picnic bench Abuelita had outside. After several long minutes, Bob joined me.

  “Isis, any trouble tonight?” Bob sounded worried.

  “It’s been a cemetery around here all day,” I replied between mouthfuls of food. How could I be hungry? I hadn’t done a single thing all day.

  “Don’t joke about those things. Death walks the night.” Bob was intense at times, but tonight it was even more dramatic. Death walks the night. Was Bob drunk? OK, according to Bob, he had quit drinking years ago. But that was just odd.

  “Bob, it was just a figure of speech. Nobody came in all night, including death.” I was aiming for funny and clever.

  Bob didn’t even blink. “Isis, make sure you go directly home tonight. It’s not right tonight.” Bob was staring at me with those piercing sea-green eyes.

  “It’s going to be hard to clear my busy schedule, but for you, I’ll do it.”

  I think he missed the sarcasm in my voice, because he visibly relaxed and started eating his food.

  “Oh yeah, Angelito didn’t come in today.” Bob arched an eyebrow at me. I swallowed quickly and proceeded to explain before Bob decided to go full assault squad in search of Angelito. “Nothing major. Abuelita said he has a new girlfriend. He met her this week, I guess.”

  “Have you ever wondered where he finds all those girls? Texarkana has fewer than a hundred thousand people when you combine the Texas and Arkansas sides. Most people are either related by blood or marriage. How is he not dead from messing with the wrong family?”

  Wow. That was the longest speech Bob had ever given all at once. Angelito’s wild life must have really been puzzling Bob for him to say that much. I was nice and didn’t point out how he had used death to describe Angelito’s potential future. I didn’t need another lecture.

  “According to him, he doesn’t lie, and he doesn’t make any promises he can’t keep, so nobody is ever mad at him. I’m twenty-five, and I haven’t met a twenty-one-year-old boy who didn’t lie about himself.” I didn’t have the best track record with men my age, so I was probably not a great judge of character.

  “You sound a little jaded there.” Bob was very talkative today. I didn’t think Bob was that good at reading people. Or maybe I just needed to work on not being so transparent.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I added a glare for good measured.

  “Anytime, Grasshopper.” Bob actually smiled at me. Maybe my dad was a little like Bob—focused but not taking himself too seriously. Bob was suffering from terrible spells of PTSD, so he couldn’t hold down a job. PTSD was the new term the government was using to describe what most returning vets were going through, post-traumatic stress disorder. According to Bob, it was hard to take yourself too seriously when you were struggling.

  Bob finished his food and started to look around the place. At that same moment, the pale Mustang drove by. I was staring east on 82 after it when Bob turned to face me.

  “What’s wrong?” He had that worried tone again.

  “Oh, nothing. Just been seeing a car driving around here tonight.” I started yawning. Slow nights were painful. At the end of the day, you ended up tired and with nothing to show for it.

  “Anything suspicious about it?” Now Bob was in full paranoid mode.

  “Nothing really. Just an odd color. OK, we’re closing early, so I need to hurry.” I left with the empty plates before Bob could ask me more questions.

  I walked directly to the kitchen with the plates. The kitchen area was immaculate. Abuelita ran a tight ship, and tonight she was ready to go. I washed the plates and forks while Abuelita finished putting pots away.

  “OK, Isis, you can take off.” Abuelita didn’t even turn around when she said it. I was ready for bed but didn’t want to sound too excited. “Are you sure? I can help you lock up.” I was really praying she would say no, but I would stay if she needed me.

  “I’m good, child. Besides, Bob is doing his rounds. I’m sure I’ll be OK.” She smiled when she said that. Bob was very efficient.

  “Thank you, Abuelita. Good night.” I dried my hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek on my way out.

  “Good night, Isis,” she said as I ran out the door.

  “Good night, Bob,” I yelled at the night. There were no buildings near the little restaurant, so I knew sound would travel.

  My minivan was parked in its usual place, the spot farthest from the restaurant. Abuelita liked her paying customers to have front-row parking.

  The minivan was old and beaten up, and it had once been midnight blue. Now it was just a faded blue. My godmother had given it to me, and I had nicknamed it the Whale. I wasn’t complaining; the Whale saved me on gas, and I could pack my whole life into it. On top of that, it was paid for. I opened the door and was blasted by the heat that was still trapped inside. How could it be in the high eighties in September?

  This night I was ready to go home to my small apartment on Summerhill Road. It was a seven-minute drive using the service roads next to 30, Highway 30, but I was exhausted all of a sudden.

  Chapter 2

  Did I mention that everything I owned fit into the Whale? That included everything in my one-bedroom apartment. It wasn’t in one of the fancy complexes in town, but for $400 a month, I wasn’t complaining. Compared to my last apartment in Washington Heights in New York, this was luxury.

  I owned a small futon that doubled as my bed and sofa. A wicker table sat in the middle with my books and sheet music. The bedroom was actually my studio, where my sax hung out. Most of my clothes were in plastic storage containers from Walmart. The bathroom was next to the bedroom. A small hallway with appliances made the kitchen area. It was a good thing I didn’t cook much, because there was barely any room in the kitchen to walk around. I loved cooking, but it’s too much trouble to cook for just one person.

  Most of my stuff had come from Walmart. I probably had an obsession with the supercenter—or, more accurately, I couldn’t afford any other place. I spent way too much time wandering the store buying things I didn’t need, like more books. The apartment had no curtains, or even pictures on the wall. I never bothered with that stuff. I was never in one place long enough to settle. I had piles of books all over the apartment; they were neat and organized. I just refused to buy bookshelves. Those things were hard to move. On the positive side, everything was paid for, and I had no debt. Keeps things simple when you need to move in a hurry.

  There was a knock at my door. It was almost eleven, and I had no friends. All the people I knew I’d left at Abuelita’s. Texarkana was a relatively safe city by my standards, and I wasn’t too excited to get killed there. When it comes to crime rates, most people have a hard time looking at the big picture. For the natives, Texarkana was becoming too big and dangerous. They wanted to keep the small-town feel. When people know your name at the restaurant you frequent, you live in a small town. No matter what the natives believe. With that in mind, I grabbed my bat and walked to the door.

  “Who is it?” I tried to make my voice sound mean and menacing. Instead I sounded as if I had swallowed a frog. Just my luck.

  “I have a message from Brooklyn. Could we talk?” a female voice said. The voice had a slight accent, maybe European. She sounded frien
dly, but the Brooklyn part didn’t make me feel better. I had left Brooklyn in a hurry. Besides my godmother, nobody from that life knew where I was.

  “Isis, we can talk in private, or we can do it this way. It’s up to you.”

  How did she know my name? I slowly opened the door with my left hand, keeping my right on the bat. I peered through the crack, trying to look mean.

  I had heard stories that when Death comes for you, your life flashes before your eyes. Well, that was a lie. My life didn’t flash. Instead, everything froze. As I stared at the woman on my threshold, I knew I was seeing Death. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not talking about someone who was there to kill me. I was actually staring at Death herself, the Grim Reaper. Why Death was wearing a very expensive designer suit and four-inch heels was beyond me. For that matter, why was Death beautiful, with a curvaceous body and long, silky brown hair?

  “Can I come in now, or do you just plan to stare at me?” There was mischief in her voice, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit sheepish.

  “Sure, why not?” If Death was at my door, there was no point in hiding.

  “Do you know who I am?” She strolled into the apartment and did a quick scan. She was wearing a light jacket over her suit. I guess Death doesn’t feel heat or cold, because it was still too warm for all those layers even in September.

  “Death.” The word came out harsh, even for me. That was all I was able to say. I was feeling nauseated.

  “Not bad. May I?” She pointed at the futon. I nodded. She slowly took a seat with a grace I had seen only in Miss America pageants. I had a couple of folding chairs by a wall, but I was too shocked to move.

  “Are you here to kill me?” I found the courage to ask.

  Death raised an eyebrow and analyzed me. “Sorry, dear, I’m not in the killing business. I’m more in the delivery one. So, no, I’m here because we have some business to attend to.”

  I was totally lost. What did “delivery business” mean, and why did I have business with Death?