Free The Transmigration of Bodies by Yuri Herrera Page B

he saw a black truck riding up on them hard, several yards behind. He slowed to let them pass but the truck pulled alongside, someone in it looked at Baby Girl and then it cut them off. Two badasses emerged with faces that confirmed they were indeed very big badasses. The one who got out on the passenger side didn’t have to tell the Redeemer to hustle. The Redeemer turned off the engine and got out. The badasses weren’t wearing facemasks either.
    Girl gets out too, said one of them.
    The city had seen other times when people died by the cartload, but back then it was bankrolled black lung and mass mine collapses—the usual. Perhaps because life was short, people had learned not to stick their noses into the affairs of others: existence was already a bitch without worrying about them as well. Perhaps that was also why they were all so fixated on form, on nicedaying and areyouwelling and thankgodding and tookinding. Mechanisms to mark distance. But these thugs knew nothing of etiquette.
    The Unruly got out of the car and went and stood behind the Redeemer, arms crossed.
    What’d you do to the other girl? asked one.
    Nothing, she died of this shit.
    The badass adjusted his dark glasses, took a few steps toward the Bug, stared at Baby Girl a few seconds and returned.
    You need the body?
    I do, said the Redeemer. Only reason I’m out is so I can deliver it.
    Thing is, we need a body, the badass said. But I guess there’s lots of them around these days.
    He said something to the other badass and they got back in their vehicle. The Redeemer and the Unruly returned to theirs.
    Normally it’s the dead that are rotten, not the living, the Unruly said.
    Her proclamation made the Redeemer want to up and forget about everything and have everybody up and forget about him. He wanted to crawl under a rock or onto some furniture. Who knows why we were left here like collateral, he thought. I guess some other Redeemer will negotiate our release.
    They arrived at the Big House and he handed the Unruly the keys to start clearing the way, got Baby Girl inside, lay her on his bed. The Unruly stared at the Redeemer’s possessions as tho shocked to see he didn’t live in a cave, then said I’m outta here, don’t move her without telling us.
    And she left.
    The Redeemer leaned back against the wooden table by the bed and tried to look Baby Girl over with a professional eye, but it was hard since what he really wanted was to sit and hold her hand. So that was what he did. She was cold but still a little soft.
    We’ll get you cleaned up, young lady, he said.
    He stood, smoothed her skirt, closed her eyelids all the way, combed her eyebrows. He found an iron he hadn’t used in months, carefully removed Baby Girl’s cardigan and ironed it on the table and then put it back on.
    What else? He knew there was more but he had no desire to do those things and didn’t know how. He’d ask Vicky to help. He pulled out his cell: no signal.
    He went out to the street, arranged to go pick up Vicky, then called the Neeyanderthal. Get over here, it’s almost time.
    The Redeemer was about to go back into the Big House when he saw Three Times Blonde turn the corner. He stood waiting for her at the entrance and, when she arrived, gestured with his hands to say Huh?
    Three Times Blonde tossed her head and said Seeing as you’re so useless…
    She took him by the hand and pulled him indoors. She walked in front, smiling at him—this time most definitely at him—with her little pantyline.
    Before going into her place the Redeemer said Let me lock up.
    Like you have treasure in there, she said, not knowing that today more than any other day he would have happily stabbed someone to protect what was inside.
    He turned the key in his lock and went to Three Times Blonde’s place; she took him to her room and pointed to the bed. Lie down.
    The Redeemer lay down and in the time it took him to wriggle out of his clothes she’d taken off all hers. That was the