From Eugene With Love Page 2

  “Fourth is a really heavy sleeper, and he was taking a nap in the back,” Eugene tried to explain. “He is probably still asleep,” Eugene said as he stabbed his eggs around his plate.

  “I’m impressed. It takes talent to sleep that deep,” Bob told Eugene.

  “There is something seriously wrong with those Interns,” Constantine told the group. “What’s the problem again? When Fourth wakes up he can walk out and call you,” Constantine said in a straightforward tone.

  “That’s not the only thing missing,” Eugene said, sliding down on his chair.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Constantine said.

  “We were carrying over one-hundred pounds of pure chemicals and cocaine to make Ecstasy.” The words flew from his lips, coming so fast together he hoped they didn’t understand what he’d just admitted. Except, he was never that lucky.

  “What?” Constantine growled.

  “Damn,” Shorty added.

  “Eugene, how potent are the chemicals you were carrying?” Bob asked, gripping the kitchen counter.

  “Overdose strength,” Eugene answered without meeting anyone’s eyes.

  “Have you told Pestilence yet?” Constantine asked, almost spitting Pestilence’s name.

  “I can’t,” Eugene said, his tone filled with panic. He jumped from his seat, ready to bolt. “We have strict rules when it comes to chemicals out of the lab. We aren’t supposed to let them out of our sight. If anyone tries to take them, we’re supposed to retaliate with a polio shot.” Eugene paced the length of the room.

  “What do you mean by polio shot?” Bob asked Eugene.

  “We carried an EpiPen with it,” Eugene answered as he stopped and looked at the floor. “Well we are supposed to, but I left mine in my bag inside the hearse.”

  “No wonder those poor Rotarians are still fighting polio when Pestilence has her people spreading it.” Constantine shook his head. “Spill it, Eugene. What’s the penalty for losing your chemicals?” Constantine asked Eugene.

  Eugene picked at the dirt specks embedded in his coat and swallowed the lump in his throat. Any minute he might cry, and he couldn’t have that in front of Death’s crew. “How did you know?”

  “With Pestilence, there is always a punishment. That witch is nuts,” Constantine answered.

  “A year of manual labor in the lower levels of the lab with no ability to see the sun,” Eugene told the group.

  “Ouch. E, you work in hell,” Shorty told Eugene.

  “I agree with Shorty. That is cruel.” Bob rubbed his temple like he was trying to release all the stress inside him.

  “It will be worse since I lost Fourth as well,” Eugene finished, dropping back down in his chair.

  “Relax, child. We will find your missing boy and your drugs before that psycho witch finds out,” Constantine told him.

  “Really?” Eugene asked, sitting straight up in his chair and smiling for the first time since arriving at Reapers.

  “Of course,” Constantine said. “We can’t let her take our favorite mad-Scientist.”

  “Could you do me a favor and not tell Isis either?” Eugene asked.

  “Why?” Shorty asked. “You know the Boss Lady is a huge asset,” Shorty told Eugene.

  “I don’t want her to think I’m totally irresponsible,” Eugene admitted.

  “You don’t care if we think you are totally irresponsible?” Constantine asked him in a teasing voice.

  “You guys are my boys. You don’t care if I am. Isis has high hopes for people. Especially me,” Eugene almost whispered.

  “He does have a point, Boss,” Bob told Constantine.

  “You are in luck since she’s in Jefferson on a job,” Constantine barely got out before the door busted open and Isis ran in.

  “Hi, just here for a minute,” Isis said, running into the loft. She stopped short when she saw Eugene. “Eugene, what are you doing here?” Isis asked.

  “Delivering more sleep formula. He brought us the wrong one on Friday,” Constantine answered for him. “The real question is, what are you doing here?” Constantine asked with a frown.

  “Need to get some clothes,” Isis answered, not looking at Constantine.

  “What happened? Why do you need more clothes?” Bob said quickly.

  “Nothing happened. It’s just going to take me a little longer to track this ghost down,” Isis answered, trying to smile.

  “Are you sure?” Constantine asked. “Or are you trying to have a mini-vacation at a bed-and-breakfast?” Constantine narrowed his eyes towards Isis.

  “Hanging out in a haunted hotel is work, not a vacation,” Isis told him. “Nope, just having a hard time tracking his patterns. He keeps moving houses and I can’t tell which ones are actually haunted by a ghost or if it is just humans pretending to be ghosts. But don’t fear. I got this.” Isis ran to the back of the loft towards the bedrooms.

  “Why are you harassing her? We want her to go, don’t we?” Eugene whispered to Constantine.

  “Eugene, Isis’s room is sound proof. You don’t have to whisper. Besides, if I don’t pick on her, she will know something is wrong,” Constantine answered.

  “Got it!” screamed Bartholomew from the back.

  Eugene jumped in his seat. “Don’t do that.”

  “Sorry about that,” Bartholomew replied, taking off his head phones.

  “It’s about time,” Constantine told him.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault Eugene doesn’t have a tracker on his hearse,” Bartholomew said, trying to defend himself. “I had to create a program to scan and track for hearses. Do you know how many hearses there are in this area? Tons.” Bartholomew shook a finger at his screen.

  “Wait, you found the hearse?” Eugene asked.

  “What do you think I was doing here? Playing Pokémon?” Bartholomew replied in a sarcastic voice.

  “Ignoring me,” Eugene told him.

  “You got jokes. Thanks, E,” Bartholomew replied, using Shorty’s nickname. “But we got a problem. I tracked it to the old Electric Cowboy.”

  “I thought that place was closed,” Eugene added.

  “It is to the public, but not the group that hangs there,” Bob said, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

  “Okay, who hangs out there?” Eugene asked.

  “We are tracking a gang of werewolves in that location,” Bartholomew told Eugene.

  “Oh wow. This day just keeps getting better,” Eugene answered, dropping back in his chair and putting his head on the table.

  “In that case, I recommend you all hurry. We don’t need the night crowd joining that bunch,” Constantine told them. “Besides, better take off before Isis comes back out and starts asking questions.” Constantine looked in the direction of the bedrooms.

  “Shorty, you better join us. This could get ugly,” Bob told Shorty.

  Shorty, Eugene, and Bob left the loft in a hurry. Eugene’s stomach turned like he might be sick any minute, but somehow, he kept moving. This was not at all how he’d expected his day to go.

  The Electric Cowboy used to be a popular club in Texarkana. It no longer functioned as a club, though, since the location was condemned. However, the building was still intact.

  Bob and Eugene rode together in Bob’s truck, which he called Storm. Shorty followed extremely close in his truck, and Eugene couldn’t help but notice how Shorty’s driving never quite affected Bob. Of course, he was prior military and served in Desert Storm, and Shorty’s driving did simulate combat maneuvers.

  “This place is deserted,” Eugene told Bob as they pulled into the parking lot.

  “That’s a blessing. I doubt the three of us could handle a gang of werewolves,” Bob replied as he parked next to the hearse. “Have you considered giving the hearse a paint job?” Bob asked Eugene, pointing at the rust spots littering the vehicle.

  “We just did. Then Second tested a new formula on it and peeled half the paint job away,” Eugene replied with a pout. What he did
n’t say was he was the one that had to paint the damn thing. “We are waiting for him to get past his chemical testing before painting it again.” He rolled his eyes.

  “That’s some intense testing,” replied Bob. “I don’t blame you for waiting. But that poor hearse is looking rough.” Bob shook his head. Eugene knew Bob really felt sorry for the company vehicle because he had a passion for cars—one Eugene would never understand.

  Shorty jumped off his truck and rushed to the side of the building. Eugene and Bob climbed off Storm a lot slower. They made their way around the hearse, taking inventory.

  “Everything is gone. I’m done,” Eugene told Bob as he kicked rocks around like a sad child.

  “Stop pouting, Eugene,” Bob told him. “We will figure this out.”

  “Big Bob, I got some news,” Shorty shouted as he was walked back with another guy.

  “Hey Billy, how are you?” Bob asked the new guy.

  “Hi Big Bob. Doing good, holding things down,” Billy told Bob.

  Billy was in his late twenties, around five-seven with dark hair and black eyes. He had on camouflage pants and a shirt that looked like it had seen better days. His average looks were perfect for blending in and being unrecognizable.

  “Billy this is Eugene, the owner of the hearse,” Bob said. “Billy is Shorty’s latest recruit and one of our star pupils. We know he is going to do great things.” Bob and Shorty both beamed like proud parents, smiling from ear to ear. Billy blushed from the compliment.

  Eugene shook hands with Billy and realized his appearance was only for show. The man smelled like Axe body wash.

  “A pleasure,” Eugene told him.

  “Did you see anything?” Bob asked Billy after introductions were concluded.

  “It was weird,” Billy said. “Two of the young ones pulled in the parking lot driving the hearse like bats out of hell, then two more followed in a Ford F-150. They were happier than a fat kid eating cake. I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but it sounded like they said they just won the jackpot and were going to teach the man a lesson.” Billy looked at Eugene, who just shook his head, hoping to clarify that he wasn’t “the man,” but Billy started talking again. “Then out of the back of the hearse this guy wearing a white coat like Eugene’s jumped out. Scared the hell out of everyone, too. The two young ones freaked out, and one of the guys from the truck hit him over the head.”

  “Oh no. They killed him!” Eugene screamed and started pacing a circle around the group.

  “I’m pretty sure they didn’t kill him,” Billy told Eugene.

  “You don’t understand. Fourth is sensitive,” Eugene tried to explain. “The man passed out from paper cuts.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, he might be dead then,” Billy agreed with Eugene. “Is his name really Fourth?” Billy asked, looking between Bob and Shorty for answers.

  “Long story, my boy. And one you really don’t want to know,” Shorty told Billy, padding him on the shoulder as he turned to look around the place.

  “I’m so dead,” Eugene said in a high-pitched voice.

  “Stop being dramatic. Nobody is going to die,” Bob told Eugene. “Billy, where did they go?” Bob asked trying to hold Eugene from starting his new pacing marathon. Bob failed and Eugene was back to pacing.

  “They didn’t say, they just shoved the poor guy in the truck and took off,” Billy answered.

  “Have you seen anyone else around here?” Shorty asked. “This place looks like a cemetery, even for a Monday morning.” Shorty’s gaze roamed as he spoke.

  “Lately, most of the gang clears the place between midnight and two,” Billy told him. “The cops have been doing more regular check-ups in the area, so they are staying clear.”

  “When do they normally come back?” Bob asked him.

  “Between four and six in the afternoon. I’m guessing some of them actually have jobs.” Billy shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

  “Good job, Billy. Keep an eye on the place,” Bob said.

  “If they come back with the coat-man, give me a call,” Shorty told him.

  “Will do, Boss.” Billy saluted both Shorty and Bob and took off. He waved at Eugene as he passed him.

  “Now what?” Eugene asked, sounding like he was hyperventilating. Before he could add to his questions, his phone rang, which made him jump a foot off the ground.

  “E, my man, you need to calm down before you give yourself a heart attack,” Shorty told Eugene, shaking his head.

  “Shorty is right. Calm down, Eugene.” When Bob agreed with Shorty, Eugene knew he was in trouble.

  “Hello.” Eugene decided to answer the phone instead of arguing with the two men.

  “Rookie, what is going on?” the man on the other line asked.

  “Hi Seventh, what do you mean?” Eugene asked, trying to force a cheerful tone into his voice. It didn’t work. He just sounded squeaky.

  “Rookie, don’t play with me. I know all the games, I invented them,” Seventh replied. “You lost Fourth and now I got a group of punk kids asking for five-hundred pounds of ecstasy.”

  “Shit,” Eugene replied, making Bob and Eugene freeze in their tracks.

  “You know the rule about negotiations. Clear the area. We are going in,” Seventh told Eugene.

  “Seventh no, wait. Please don’t do it,” Eugene almost screamed into the phone.

  “Don’t do what?” Shorty asked, but Eugene ignored him.

  “I got Death’s team working with me. Give me some time,” Eugene begged Seventh.

  “Rookie, this is serious,” Seventh replied.

  “You need to give us more time, please.” Sweat poured down Eugene’s brow.

  “The kidnappers want their ransom by tomorrow at nine p.m. I’m giving you until seven. Don’t let me down,” Seventh told Eugene and disconnected.

  “We are so dead,” Eugene told Bob and Shorty, feeling his face heating up.

  “What do you mean by we?” Shorty asked Eugene. “I don’t like the word we, especially when it comes to dying,” Shorty told Bob.

  “Eugene, what’s going on?” Bob asked him in a soft voice.

  Eugene felt like a scared child, pulling on his button nonstop as he stared at the ground. “Our werewolves called the lab asking for a ransom of five-hundred pounds of ecstasy,” Eugene told them.

  “What? Who do they think they are?” Shorty asked, almost choking on his spit. “Besides, they don’t deserve to get paid for accidentally finding someone. That’s cheating. They didn’t do anything.” Shorty’s hands went to his hips as he tapped his foot furiously against the ground.

  “Was Seventh able to trace the call?” Bob asked Eugene.

  “Of course not. Not everyone has a mini-Bart on staff. No luck there,” Eugene told him as he started pacing again. “We have another problem.” Eugene stopped pacing and dropped his head in resignation.

  “I don’t like the sound of your voice,” Shorty told Eugene.

  “What else is going on?” Bob asked.

  “We have a no negotiation clause,” Eugene said.

  “So what? We do too. Even the US government has one. What’s the big deal?” Bob asked, frowning.

  “Does your clause involve gassing the entire town and killing everyone within a ten-mile radius of the potential target?” Eugene asked, waving his hands in the air like a madman.

  “Holy Shit! You guys are nuts,” Shorty yelled. “Would you kill your own guy to avoid negotiations?”

  “That’s the catch, Shorty. The only person that would survive would be their guy, since they are immune to poisons, chemicals, and even plagues,” Bob explained. “Insane and vicious.”

  “E, I don’t want to die. I’m too talented to die. Shit, I’m too handsome to die,” Shorty rambled.

  “Yeah Shorty, you are too modest to die,” Bob told him sarcastically. “I do agree with Shorty, though. Dying was not on my list of things to do this week. Not to mention, I’m sure Constantine would not apprec
iate Pestilence’s plans.” Bob glanced at Eugene, then turned to watch Shorty, who was now pacing instead of Eugene.

  “Good news. Seventh is giving us twenty-four hours to get Fourth back before they gas the place,” Eugene said, squeezing his hands over and over.

  “Why are all of our deadlines impossible to meet?” Shorty asked from behind Bob, trying to pace and talk at the same time.

  “Pressure makes diamonds,” Bob told Shorty.

  “Right, but it also busts pipes. I think we are in the busting department today,” Shorty replied, crossing his arms.

  “Can we do it?” Eugene asked softly.

  “We don’t have a choice. Dying is not an option. Besides, I doubt we can evacuate the whole town by telling them that Pestilence is going to kill them,” Bob told Eugene.

  “We could put it on TxkToday,” Shorty told him. “Their Facebook page has tons of followers.” Bob and Eugene both raised their eyebrows at Shorty. “Don’t judge. I like their page.”

  “If we tell anyone, the Mistress will kill us first,” Eugene tried to explain.

  “In that case, it sounds like we got work to do,” Bob told them. “Shorty, you need to get the underground mobilized now.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Shorty told Bob and ran to his truck.

  “Eugene, we need to get the hearse back to Reapers and find your werewolves. We also need to figure out what they plan to do with the drugs they already have,” Bob told Eugene.

  “Hopefully snort it, then we won’t have to worry about them,” Eugene told him, feeling mischievous.

  “Now Eugene, it isn’t nice to wish harm on others.” Bob shook his head.

  “You do remember I work for Pestilence. We wish harm on everyone,” Eugene said.

  “True. I keep forgetting that,” Bob agreed. “Follow me in the hearse. I’ll give an update to the boss from the truck.”

  Bob went over to Storm and Eugene jumped in the hearse. Luckily for Eugene, they always kept a spare key at the bottom of the center console. After having the hearse stolen, Eugene realized that might not be the best plan for security.

  After a deep breath or two, Eugene followed Bob out of the parking lot.