Cased - Short Story

I ain’t never met anyone quite like Ezekiel… I tell ya. He was wearing that bright blue suit with the legs that were too short, and his stupid socks had like sixteen different colors on them… I shit you not. Guy was real skinny too and he had a beard on him like you wouldn’t believe. It looked like some kind of friggin’ animal hanging from his face.

Zeke just sat there all pleasant, holding his bag, and tapping his fingers away like he was nervous or something. He just had kind of a sketched-out vibe to him.

He came to me, just like every other guy in our line of work does. He wanted someone found. But he was actin’ pretty innocent about it all. Zeke said it was just some little goof ‘em up at the bus station were his bag got swapped with some breakdancer’s. He was walking by, just out on work, minding his own business when… BAM! The punk’s sneaker slams into his face doing some kind of helicopter shit… I dunno.

Anyway, Zeke’s all dazed and one thing leads to another… bag swap.

End of story.

Zeke just wants his bag back.

But that's the thing about Zeke, ya know. It’s never that simple with this guy. He’s pretty high up there at the Bureau, but there were always rumors about him. He’s got a little hobby called ‘exotic imports’. Supposedly he’s got a collection of stuff like you wouldn’t believe! And it ain’t all above board, if you know what I’m saying.

​All kinds of shit could be in that bag.

Shit people pay top dollar for.

Shit that could get real bad if it fell out of the right hands.

So there’s a lot of interest in this thing. That’s why he comes to me. It’s got to be discrete. He gives me a fat stack to keep it on the hush, and we’re square.

Now, I’m thinking this is easy money. It ain’t that hard to track down one friggin’ breakdancer, right?

Zeke had the guy’s bag but it didn’t really have much in it. Just some loose cash. Tips or something the punk was keeping it out on the street for. Zeke pocketed the cash, but the bag itself, man… that was interesting.

I ain’t never seen another bag quite like it, much less two of ‘em.

It was a whole lot more like a chest than anything. Some kind of old-timey crap that the kids call vintage. Now, Zeke said his looked exactly like that friggin’ bag ‘cept his had a little tag on it that said ‘BARKLEY'. I asked him if that was his last name, and he said ‘no’ to me like I was stupid or something for even asking.

Didn’t make any damn sense, but I didn’t want to get sassed again so I stopped asking questions.

Whatever.

This bag, man. It sticks out like a sore friggin’ thumb.

So I get out on the street and grease a few palms. I check out some cameras and shit, and before you know it… I friggin’ know where the breakdancer lives!

Easiest payday I ever had.

So I plan on going over to pay this guy a little visit, but I gotta have dinner with my wife, you know? Our counselor says I gotta be more present or something.

Trying to get back on the job, I eat too fast. She gets mad, I try to explain it to her, and we have this whole stupid fight about it.

Then I’m trying to get out the door and she’s screaming at me, “What did this breakdancer ever do to you?”
And I’m all like, “Not a damn thing but he’s got this guy’s bag, sweetheart.”

We go on and on and she reminds me about how I used to breakdance, which got me all embarrassed ‘cause I looked friggin’ stupid when I did it. I couldn’t do no helicopters or nothin’. But at least I was expressing myself, ya know?

Wow, where friggin’ was I?

Right.

Geeze.

Sorry about that.

​I go over there to see the kid. Only, this guy Zeke figured out I was headed over and friggin’ met me halfway.

I’m all like, “Zeke, how am I supposed to be discrete about this if you’re just chargin’ up in there right with me? It defeats the whole purpose.”

And his smarmy ass is all, “Oh, no. I cannot permit you to handle the bag. You don’t understand.”
Just pissing me off.

​But I get tired of arguing with the friggin’ guy and I just let him come along. It was a real frustrating day, ya know? I got big boy work I could be doing and I’m out here holding Ezekiel’s hand to go get his little bag back from the big mean breakdancer.

Everybody was just grinding my nerves, I tell ya.

​So we get up there, I bang on the door and no one’s answering. Zeke says it’s a real bad sign. I’m not trying to have another argument with the guy, so I just throw my shoulder at the door, like BOOM!

Door doesn’t give. Beats the shit out of my shoulder. Hurts like a bitch.

So then, I kick open the friggin’ door like the badass friggin’ guy that I am and we get into the place.

I’m tellin’ ya right now… you would not believe the state of this place. The bag was right there on the table in the middle of the room, clean as the day it came out of the factory, or whatever. But the rest of the friggin’ room was covered floor to ceiling with friggin’ blood.

And some guts and shit.

It was real nasty.

But, Ezekiel, man… I tell ya. The guy just starts sobbing. He throws himself on top of the friggin’ bag and starts giving it little kisses. He’s saying some crap about, “I’ve missed you so much, Barkley!”

I’m over here like, what? The bag’s name is friggin’ Barkley? You gotta be kidding me! This guy’s in love with his friggin’ bag.

It was freaky.

But anyway… I feel real bad for Ezekiel. I really do.

Not too bad cause the guy pissed me off, but whatever.

What Zeke doesn’t know is that I got another guy puttin’ in an offer for little Barkley. Someone with us at the Bureau of Wizardry offers me more money than I ever seen in my life for this thing. I’m totally cool with it. I’m a firm believer in American capitalism.

You got the cash? Badaboom. I’m your guy.

But… the only stipulation was… Ezekiel had to go, if you know what I mean.

See, not only was this guy smuggling in illegal magic shit… he’d been trading secrets with the wizards over there in friggin’ Russia! It was a hit and grab job. Not my usual thing, but I’ve always got it in the toolkit. We’ve got to, in our line of work.

Zeke was a real nice guy, so I made it quick.

Put one in the back of his head, nice and clean.

Poor guy.

But, oh well. That’s the life.

Now, I admit… my curiosity got the better of me.

I probly shouldn’t have opened the bag.

I mean… I had to know what was in the damn thing. All that fuss and money for little Barkley the bag and I shouldn’t take one little peak to see what it was all about?

Please.

Any other agent would have done the same thing in my shoes. Even the more strait-laced ones without all the back-alley dealings.

Whatever. Sue me.

I undo the latch and the thing flies open. It’s got these wicked sharp teeth and big nasty tongue… thing ate my friggin’ head clean off.

How was I supposed to know the bag was a friggin’ mimic?

You know how hard it is to spot one of those damn things? That’s the whole point of ‘em. Nasty little monsters dressing up like normal stuff to get ya.

Killed me faster than I could say, “Oops.”

I tell ya… I really screwed the pooch on that one.

But I learned a real good lesson from it!

I swear, it won’t happen again. If you just sign my resurrection papers, I could get right back to Earth and get this whole thing sorted out.

What do you say?

Do us all a favor?

​I’m beggin’ ya.