Selzer - Just Kill Me

A LSO BY A DAM S ELZER

Play Me Backwards

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Childrens Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright 2016 by Adam Selzer

Jacket illustration copyright 2016 by MMJ Sudio

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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Jacket design by Chlo Foglia

Interior design by Hilary Zarycky

First Edition

CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 978-1-4814-3494-2 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4814-3496-6 (eBook)

For Hector Reyes, Wendy Weaver, Willie Williams, Ken Scholes, and all the good people who rolled with the rotters with me from 20052014.

Thanks to everyone at S&S, in order of appearance: Dani Young, Justin Chanda, Liz Kossnar (hey Liz, get the new Grimes album), and Alison Velea (who had to fact-check me on all the historical swearing). And to Adrienne Rosado, my agent, who does impossible things.

In Chicago: thanks to Ronni and Aidan, to the crews at The Wormhole, UPS at Grand and Ogden, Chi-Town Eatery (R.I.P), and Sip Coffee. To Angie at Bestway, Ray Johnson, Dale Kaczmarek, Amelia Cotter, the Newberry Library, the Harold Washington Library, Augie at Centuries and Sleuths, Jen Hathy, Patti Vasquez, Craig Collins, and Michael Glover Smith.

From all over, Frank Redfield, Stiffs Incorporated, Caitlyn Doughty, Bess Lovejoy, Atlas Obscura, Amy Vincent, Ryan and Sooj, Tanner, the real Punk Rock James, and Seth (my first partner in ghostly crime).

From: Megan

To: Zoey Baby

Date: Wednesday, 5:12 p.m.

Subject: Something wicked this way comes....

When you were little and watching Disney movies, did you ever sort of wish that the villains would win? I totally did. They had cooler outfits, much better castles, and all the best songs.

For a while I believed that if I watched the same movie a thousand times, just once the ending would be different, and the prince and princess would end up in the dungeon while the villain took over the world. And every time I watched one of those movies, part of me always hoped that this would be the time.

God, I sound like a psycho, dont I? LOL.

Anyway, off to my job tryout. Wish me luck!

Megan

In this life I have already been declared dead. It wasnt so bad.

ROGER EBERT

T he Blue Line L train rolls toward downtown Chicago, and I point my face at my phone so it doesnt look like Im staring at the two weirdos sitting across from me. Even though I am.

My old roommate... now he was a rat bastard, says Comb-Over Al. One time he borrowed my boat without even asking, you know. My boat!

In the seat beside him, Stanley the Stinger grunts.

Comb-Over Al, as Ive named him, has dyed the last few hairs on his head so freaking dark that its like he used India ink, and his furry gut is hanging out from beneath a stained white T-shirt. Beside him is this wrinkly old guy in a pinstriped suit and matching hat. I assume hes a retired hit man and decide to call him Stanley the Stinger. In a movie, hed be the guy you called to get things done. Comb-Over Al would be his bumbling assistant who eventually screws the whole thing up.

Hes lucky he didnt screw me out of one more dime, Al continues, spittle spraying from his mouth. Because he worked down at the funeral home, ya know. And hed talk when he got home. I mean, the jag-off would talk, ya know. And I remember every date, every stiff, every amount! Fuck.

Stanley the Stinger grunts again.

Life must have been weird down at Comb-Over Als place. I imagine him sitting on a cracked leather couch, eating sardines out of a can and watching bowling on television when his roommate blows in, saying, Boy oh boy! I will always remember this, July seventeenth, as the day I stole $47.50 out of the pockets of the corpse of Hank Jamrag. Now Im gonna take your boat across the lake to Gary, Indiana, to spend it!

There is no better people-watching on the planet than on the Blue Line, which starts in Forest Park, where I live, and goes East through downtown Chicago before looping back west to the airport. The Red, Orange, and Brown Line trains have better views out the window, and the Green Line has more entertaining panhandlers, but the Blue Line is the weirdest. I have no idea why, but almost every time I ride it, the other passengers are a regular carnival of grotesques, ghouls, and freaks of nature.

I seriously dont know how people who live in small towns without public transportation cope.

Comb-Over Al and Stanley the Stinger get off at the Pulaski stop, presumably to go break somebodys thumbs, and the train rumbles on while my phone buzzes with enough messages that I feel rather popular for a minute or so.

Zoey, my long-distance girlfriend, sends me a text to wish me luck at the job interview Im heading into town for. Then Cynthia, my former babysitter (and possible future employer), sends me one to make sure Im on my way. Mom asks if Ill be home for dinner. I send a smiley face with its tongue out to Zoey, a yep to Cyn, and nothing to Mom.

I get along with Mom fine, but shed flip out if she knew what I was doing tonight.

Our house is a two-story Victorian in Forest Park, a suburb close enough to Chicago that its basically still the city. The second floor is an apartment just about like any other, with cat-scratched furniture in the living room, Taco Bell wrappers on the floor, and prints from the Frank Lloyd Wright museum on the wall. But the first floor is the funeral parlor my mother owns. In the basement we have all the prep spaces.

Having lived above a funeral home all my life, I have reason to doubt Comb-Over Als story about his roommate. Im pretty sure we never had any corpses brought in who had cash in their pockets. Als roommate probably worked in a morgue or something, and Al just didnt know the difference.

The train goes underground when it comes to the Loop, the main downtown area. When I get off at the Clark and Lake stop and make my way upstairs and outside, Im right in the middle of a dense forest of gothic towers, art deco skyscrapers, and glass hotels. The heart of the city. French-fry grease permeates the air and mingles with the aroma of freshly-baked brownies from the Blommers factory, which you can smell all over downtown.