Super Meals: Part Forty Six

            The blast was bigger than the one that destroyed the morgue.

            The damages were estimated at over a million dollars, after the city had taken into account the loss of the building, the damage to the water, sewer, and electrical systems, the damage to neighboring buildings, and the injuries of people standing around outside.

            Two of the police cars that had just arrived on the scene were declared complete wrecks, four more needed new windshields (which had been shattered by flying debris), and one had to replace the light bar.

             In the first seconds after the blast, everybody on the scene was too stunned to notice Walter climbing into the crater and pulling Adam’s body out of the debris. Their ears were ringing (and, in some cases, bleeding), so nobody heard him toss the body into the dumpster (which had been blasted across the parking lot).

            City officials later remarked that they were quite surprised and happy to hear about the lack of fatalities on the scene. The official story went down as a gas leak, caused by faulty pipe connections between the restaurant’s intake and the city’s supply. The restaurant manager, Mr. Michael Taurus, was working in the kitchen when he detected the leak and immediately evacuated the building. It is unknown what caused the spark that caused the explosion; there were wiring problems within the building, so it could have been electrical, and the garbage disposal area behind the restaurant was considered an unofficial smoking area for employees, so it could have been either. In the end, the city reached an agreement with the restaurant’s corporate legal team that no charges would be pursued on either side of the equation.

            The explosion that destroyed the morgue was attributed to the same leaky gas line, but since it was a government building and nobody was injured by that blast, the city quietly swept it under the rug with minimal explanation.

            Twenty-four hours after the restaurant exploded, the evidence collection team was on-site, combing through the rubble for evidence to substantiate the city’s claims. There were rumors already floating throughout the department of what really went down, but nobody took them seriously. Something about a serial killer being chased in there and taking hostages while real-life superheroes with amazing powers duked it out in the dining room. The evidentiary team did find a hand print molded into the steel counter, but the photographs of it ended up being corrupted files and disappearing from the police database. The hand print itself was cut from the counter and logged into evidence, but when investigators went to inspect it several days later, it was conspicuously missing from the evidence locker.

            The on-site investigation was temporarily disturbed when the collection team found a homeless man sleeping in the restaurant’s dumpster. He was covered in filth and completely naked, so they officers wrapped him in a blanket and called the local gospel mission to take him in. They gave him some secondhand clothes and a hot meal, then showed him to a bunk where he could get some rest, but by the morning he was gone.

            Detective Mimi Spatchcock, who, as the story went, bravely ran into the restaurant to lead the evacuation effort, was given a promotion to Detective Sergeant and stopped getting shit assignments from the higher ups. Her fellow officers pestered her for a while about what really happened, asking her what she saw when she went in and how she made it out before the blast, but she remained largely silent on the matter, telling people to go read the official report.

            Mister Walter Elliot received a cash settlement from the restaurant due to the injury he suffered from the explosion. The shrapnel that pierced his shoulder (so the official story went) caused severe enough damage that he never fully recovered the feeling in his right arm, of which he said, “It’s like my right arm is falling asleep all the time.” While he did maintain use of the limb, the physical damage and emotional trauma was enough that he received one of the highest settlements from the restaurant. He immediately hired a financial advisor to manage his accounts, and while he did not become wealthy, he did manage to live an average lifestyle without the need to hold down a job.

            A week after the restaurant was destroyed, Walter and Mimi and Adam and Jane met at a small, locally owned diner on the edge of town.

            “So what are you going to do?” asked Mimi.

            “I’ve been crashing at Walter’s place for the last week,” said Adam, “but it’s not big enough for two people so I think I’m gonna hit the road soon.”

            “Where to?” asked Jane.

            “Honestly? I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? I mean…I’m dead. It’s not like I can get a job again, at least, not anything legit.”

            Walter said, “Yeah, but, like…what? You think you’re just gonna wander around like the Hulk? Roam from town to town solving mysteries?”

            “Bitch, I don’t know, okay? I mean…it always looks so easy in the movies to just go hobo.”

            “I don’t think ‘hobo’ is a verb,” said Mimi.

            “Well, it is now,” said Adam.

            They fell silent when the waitress brought them drinks and took their orders. When she was gone, Jane said, “Want me to swipe you an identity?”

            Adam coughed into his glass, spraying Walter, and Mimi nudged her under the table. “What?” asked Jane.

            Adam asked, “You can do that?”

            “No, she can’t,” said Mimi. “It’s felony identity theft, even if the person is dead.” Adam’s face fell. “Which is why we’re only going to do it this once,” finished Mimi.

            Adam grinned as Jane slid an envelope across the table to him. “Don’t open it here,” said Mimi, “but there’s a damn good fake ID in there with a matching social security card, prepaid credit card, and a grocery store club card to round it all out.”

            “And here,” said Walter, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. “I picked this up for you the other day and was gonna give it to you later, but if you’re taking off you should have it now. It’s pre-paid, and I put a couple of month’s worth of money on the account, so you should be good for a while.”

            Jane said, “You were the only one who didn’t get a settlement or compensation or anything from that shitty fast food chain, so we all kicked in to help you out.”

            Adam, who was looking over his new identity cards, said, “Thank you. All of you.”

            Their food was delivered to their table a moment later – great, heaping platters of food epitomizing the concept of “greasy spoon” – and the conversation largely died out while they ate. When it was done they caravanned to a local big-box store and loaded up a backpack with some clothes, food, and toiletries, then drove Adam out to the edge of town to say goodbye.

            “You’ve got all of our numbers programmed into that thing,” said Walter, pointing to the phone, “so call if you need something.”

            “Thanks, brother,” said Adam, pulling him in for a hug.

            “You keep in touch anyway, okay?” asked Walter.

            “You got it.”

            They released, and Adam gave Mimi and Jane each a hug as well.

            “Don’t get into trouble now, you hear me?” asked Mimi.

            “Yeah, like it’s really intentional,” said Adam, smiling.

            “Don’t die again, would you?” Said Jane. “Next time, I’m not gonna be there to find your corpse.”

            “You didn’t do much for me this time,” said Adam.

            “Yeah, but it was my morgue,” said Jane. “I hear other coroners aren’t as fastidious or professional as I am. You wake up in a strange body bag somewhere, it might not be as easy to get out of.”

            Adam smiled and said, “I’ll remember that.”

            He turned and walked away.

            Jane took Mimi’s hand as they got into their car and drove away.

            Walter got into his car as well and drove away. He’d only gotten two blocks when his phone rang and the caller ID said it was Adam. Walter answered it, saying, “Jesus Christ, you’re, like, four blocks away and you’re already calling me for help? The fuck is wrong with you?”

            “Shut up,” said Adam. “And come back and get me.”

            “What for?” asked Walter.

            “What is this, the forties? I’m not gonna walk. Gimme a lift to the bus station, will ya?”

            Walter laughed and pulled the car around in a U-turn, heading back to pick Adam up.

EPILOGUE

            As clean up crews dug out the rubble that remained of the restaurant, they ended up below street level in the mostly unused basement.

            There were posters and standees and plastic statues of celebrities endorsing the restaurant or singing the praises of whatever promotion they’d been hired to talk about, as well as vats of industrial-grade cleaning supplies and tools.  The evidence team was no longer collecting samples, it was just contract construction crews shoveling bricks and dirt and sundry into dumpsters.

            One of the men jabbed his shovel into a pile of rocks and felt it jiggle.

            It wasn’t supposed to jiggle. It was supposed to be rocks and dirt and trash.

            The construction guy tossed his shovel aside and started shoving rocks and dirt aside with his bare hands.

            Bare hands reached back out at him.

            He tried to scream, but one of the hands clamped onto his mouth and kept him silent. As he stood up, and entire body came up with him.

            It looked…melted. Like someone had taken a flamethrower to a mannequin. The hands holding onto him were strong, and even though he tried to pry them off of himself, they didn’t budge.

            His flesh crawled, and so, too, did the flesh of this strange body. It crawled and shifted and molded itself until the terrified construction worker was looking at himself.

            A perfect replica.

            His doppelganger leaned in close and whispered, “You might be going insane, thinking you’re seeing things come out of the dirt at you, because this sort of thing doesn’t happen, does it? And that’s why you’re not going to tell anybody that this happened, are you?” The man whimpered under the hand clamped on his mouth and shook his head. “Good,” said the mimic. “You have an extra set of clothes in your work truck, don’t you?”

            The man nodded as best he could.

            “Run and fetch them for me.”

            He did, and when the figure was dressed it was impossible to tell the difference between the two of them.

            “Now,” said the stranger, “you are going to do one more thing for me, and then I will leave and you will never have to worry about me or whether or not you’re insane ever again. Do you understand?” The construction worker, terrified, but curious, nodded again.

            “Good. I need a plane ticket to Indiana.”