Page 31 of Grave Humor

If the navigation system blew his mind, the mall would finish him off, and I intended to enjoy every minute of it.

Seven

I’m in a mood tonight, so call me Lucy.

The parking lot gods mocked me, and I had to make three circuits around the mall before I found a space capable of handling my new truck and Eoghan’s ego. His ego might spill over, possibly contaminate the tiny cars I parked between, and drive me insane, but I’d cope somehow.

When he wasn’t trying to drive me crazy, I liked his company. I could only assume I’d already lost my mind. That I was proving to be my mother’s daughter annoyed the hell out of me, but I would do my best to enjoy the advantage while I still had it. I expected life would backhand me soon enough.

“Does everyone have a car?” Eoghan asked, sliding out of the truck and eyeing the junker parked next to us. “This one is a rather sad vehicle compared to the ones I saw where we acquired Lady Luck.”

“Lady Luck is new. That car is probably close to twenty years old. That’s the kind of car the mechanic in Sunset sells. Trust me on this one. You don’t want a car like that. The owner probably can’t afford something newer, so they dump a lot of money down the drain keeping that one running. That’s the problem with being poor. You can’t afford something newer, but you can’t afford to fix what you have, so you run it into the ground and then scrape together enough to get something else you can run into the ground. I couldn’t afford anything at all, so I walked or took the bus.”

“The bus?”

“Think of it as a very large car that can move a lot of people at one time. People who don’t own a car ride them to stops to get where they need to go. I would take the bus to work on rainy days but walk the rest of the time.” I hopped out of the truck, grunted when I landed harder than I expected, and grimaced at the throb in my arm.

Some mistakes I wouldn’t repeat, and the next time I got out of my truck, I’d be a hell of a lot more careful.

“This is more complicated than I anticipated.”

“Just wait until you see how we do our taxes.”

“It is not a flat rate per person?”

“Nope. It’s based on how much you’ve earned in the year, and it’s complicated as hell to figure out. You have a tax accountant, so you won’t have to do too much, but it’s not going to be fun for me, who’ll have to make sure everything is prepared for the accountant.” I didn’t look forward to figuring out what I needed to give the accountant. I had enough trouble with my own taxes, which was simple enough.

Being dirt poor and only having one job helped with that.

I locked the truck, gave her a fond pat, and gestured towards the mall’s glass entry. “There are a lot of stores inside.”

“Like a bazaar?”

Fortunately, I’d paid attention in history class and understood what a bazaar was despite never having seen one. “Somewhat, but the stores are contained and separated rather than a bunch of stalls crammed together. You’ll see soon enough,” I promised.

In the time it took us to cross the parking lot, dodging cars coming in and out of the mall, Eoghan got a close look at several lycanthropes, a quartet of gorgon women wearing veils, and an entire flock of pixies, who shed pink, sparkly dust everywhere they went.

Security would have a field day with the pixies, who were supposed to keep their dust to themselves, although it didn’t take long for me to clue in they weren’t packing much of a punch in the magic department. At most, it took the edge off, which put them at E or D grade.

“They’re dusting the ground?” Eoghan asked after the winged menaces disappeared into the mall, leaving a glimmering trail in their wake. “Are they supposed to be doing that?”

“Nope.” I lifted my hand, which had a pink shine to it after exposure to the dust. “They’re low-grade pixies, so at most you’ll feel a little better about life for a while before it wears off. No big deal. They might get scolded by security, but that’s it, unless the security guards are having a bad night. If they call the cops, I guess it’d be a misdemeanor.”

“Misdemeanor?”

“Low-ranked crime.”

“I see. And how are these crimes punished?”

“Community service, usually. The government doesn’t like jailing people because people started using jails as a way to get free board and meals, so they’d commit crimes to be imprisoned. It beat starving on the streets. Now the community service still comes bundled with lunch, and if homeless, they’re sheltered. It’s cheaper that way—and benefits the community.”

“So thieves don’t have their hand cut off?”

“No.”

“Pity, that. It usually helped keep people from stealing.”

“I understand what it’s like to starve, and when you’re starving, pilfering beats death. I just can’t blame someone for stealing food to survive.”