“I don’t want anything,” he snapped, his anger flaring, though it didn’t necessarily seem aimed at me.
“I’m… supposed to die, aren’t I?” I asked him after another long beat, but he didn’t get a chance to answer, because our policeman returned, offering Reaper Man’s paperwork back to him, which he accepted before handing the bundle off to me.
“Sorry about that, sir,” said the cop. “You’re free to go.”
I did a double take between Reaper Man’s driver’s license and the cop, who I must have misheard.
“Have a good night,” said Reaper Man.
“Happy Halloween,” said the police officer as he turned and walked off.
“What… just happened?” I asked.
“I have diplomatic immunity,” he replied.
“The government knows about you?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “Basically, I’m just listed in the system as someone not to fuck with. Because, when it comes down to it, I’m not.”
Hard to argue with that.
He restarted the car, and I took the opportunity to peer from his driver’s license to him and back again. He didn’t smile in his picture, which made me wonder if… he ever did.
“Your name is seriously Richard McDead?” I asked.
“What?” That scowl snapped toward me, his glare falling to the paperwork still in my hands. “No, my name’s notDick McDead,” he snarled, snatching up his ID, which he scrutinized before tossing the card into the back seat. “Fuck, it is.”
“It… is?” I asked, more confused now than ever.
“Fuck no,” he said. “Fuckin’… Flora did that. She was in charge of getting all our paperwork settled, and I just didn’t notice until now because I never use mine.Ever.”
“Flora?” I probed as he cranked his window closed. And who did he mean by “our”?
“She’s… Never mind,” he said, seizing and toggling the stick shift. “I don’t have a name.”
“Everyone has a—”
“I don’t!” The growling bite in this, his “normal” voice, silenced me.
“So… then what do I call you?” I asked as, when a break in traffic came, he guided the car back onto the highway.
“Not that you need to worry about that,” he said, these words frightening me more than any other he’d uttered to me thus far, “but Grim.”
“Where are you taking me now, Grim?” I asked as the car rumbled.
“I told you. Home.”
“Which means you know where I live,” I said. “That blond man who tried to kill me. Does… does he know where I live, too?”
Reaper Man’s—or Grim’s—hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles going white.
“Fine,” he said. “I guess… we do need to talk.”
“Can we do that at the next exit?” I nodded toward the interstate sign sporting all the logos for the approaching chain restaurants. “I really did mean it when I said I wasn’t ready to go home. Also, I haven’t eaten since noon, and your fake last name made me remember how hungry I am.”
“What?” he snapped, glancing between me and the road.
But I just pointed to the upcoming off-ramp. “We get off here and take a right at the light.”
