“You know, sometimes if you don’t actually save the column before adding a new body it’ll erase the notes,” I explain.
“Really?” he asks, swiveling back to his computer and giving it a try.
I’m right.
“How did you know that?” the kid probes.
“We’ve worked with you before.” I lean over his desk,slowing down my voice a bit and dropping the volume. “You’ve always treated usverywell.”
This little move could come off as comically overdramatic, like a seductive femme-fatale caricature in the office of a private eye, but I manage to sell it. Selling sex to teenage boys is so easy that I probably could’ve just grunted.
I’m also telling the truth. Ihavebeen here before—different wig, same Poppy Stringer. It’s been two years since I hit the Yucca Valley Farewell Tributes and Cremation Center, but it’s nice to know they still haven’t updated their computer system.
“I called this one in myself. Must’ve been before your shift,” I continue. “The woman I talked to was really helpful. Jenny Fountain, I think?”
This is the kid’s boss. I didn’t talk to her, but just throwing out her name adds to the credibility of what I’m saying. Anyone could’ve pulled Jenny Fountain from the funeral home’s website. Small details absolutelydo notconstitute any sort of concrete proof of who I am or what my business is—on their ownorstacked up by the dozens—but what I’ve learned is that doesn’t actually matter.
The truth is overrated. Afeelingof truth is what matters.
“I should probably call her,” the kid says. “Just to confirm. What’s your name?”
I recall the name on tonight’s fake ID. “Madison.”
The kid picks up a phone on his desk.
“It’s almost midnight, you know,” I quip, despite thefact it’s not even eleven yet. “If there’s one thing I know about Jenny, it’s this … you might be on call for her twenty-four seven, but she’s not always on call foryou.”
Another detail that means absolutely nothing, but feels deeply authentic.
Surprise! Your boss doesn’t like to be bothered at home.
Psychics use this technique a lot when they do “cold readings”—when they fake talking to the dead without any preparation. “Hot readings,” on the other hand, involve a little research, looking up the death records of a target’s family or learning various facts about their life to create the illusion of supernatural knowledge.
I’m getting a message from beyond. They’re saying not to think so much about money.
Everyone thinks about money.
I sense something important happened in your childhood. There was an accident.
Name a person who hasn’t had an accident.
The kid behind the counter pauses, then hangs up the phone and grins knowingly. He chuckles to himself. “Yeah, that sounds like Jenny.”
I motion back over my shoulder, out through the door of the kid’s office and through the lobby of the funeral home. Our sight line continues all the way to the dimly lit parking lot beyond. From here, he can see my refrigerated truck, the vehicle still running for dramatic effect. My headlights shine out into the darkness, emphasizing that our time is limited.
“Listen, there’s a four-year-old over in Barstow whowill be blind by morning if I don’t get her those corneas,” I press in a steady, matter-of-fact tone. “If you wanna be the guy who holds this up, that’s on you.”
The kid hesitates, still not entirely sure what his move is.
I lean in again, a tonal whiplash as I lower my voice for a second time. “What’s your name?”
“Robin,” he replies.
“Hi, Rob,” I coo. “I’m telling you this from the bottom of my heart: I’m just trying to do what’s right for that little girl. I’m sorry it’s rushed and things weren’t marked properly in the system, but they’ve only got one shot at this surgery, and it happensright now.”
He lets out a long sigh, then swivels back to investigate one last thing in Tyler Fleming’s file. I can’t see the screen, but I know exactly what he’s doing. This is the part where they check on what time the body arrived and whether there are any next of kin on file.
Fortunately, based on the circumstances of Tyler’s discovery, I already know he very likely doesn’t have anyone to look after his corpse. The police scanner, which I was monitoring before heading all the way out here to the middle of fucking nowhere, suggested as much, and a little social media digging gave me even more confidence.
