Max Abaddon and The Ghost and the Grave: A Max Abaddon Short Story by Justin Leslie

Author:Justin Leslie
Language: eng
Format: azw3, pdf, mobi
Publisher: J.S.L
Published: 2021-03-15T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

We both got in the car after Phil gave me two more accounts of him saving my life. “Tell you what, you’ve earned it. Let’s hop over to FA’s for a drink. I’m going to call this whack job and get this mess behind me,” I said under my breath.

After a full accounting of events to Phil, I realized he had pulled over and was staring at me.

“What?”

“Bruther, I think you were in the Perdition.”

“Perdition?”

“You know, Purgatory, the in-between, whatever the hell else you call it. I’ve never seen a real ghost, and you just strolled down to the halfway house to hell and picked a fight. I’m not sure about this one; the car saving you, the vampire, the pirate… We need to talk to Tom or check you into rehab.”

“About that, any word on where he is?” I asked, both chuffing at his joke. Phil, looking concerned, pulled back out onto A1A.

“On some mission. Won’t be back for a few weeks.”

I needed to talk to Gramps, or as I now called him since his remarkable rising from the dead, Tom. He was, after all, a Necromancer.

Since we now conveniently lived next door to FA’s, I took a few minutes to get cleaned up and text the number the guy had left me. I didn’t think people really called anyone anymore.

After a few minutes and a quick change of clothes, I received a text letting me know he was there.

This text was followed by a picture of Petro and Casey on their honeymoon. In typical Petro fashion, he was wearing a Speedo while standing by a pool.

There was something about seeing an eight-inch-tall, mustached pixie in a Speedo that made me turn off the screen.

Phil and I talked before going into FA’s. He was to carry an e-meter in his pocket to see if he could get a reading off the guy. The meter was handy in figuring out what type of person or thing someone was.

We weren’t expecting trouble, especially not with Trish and Amon running the bar. Still, something about the entire episode seemed manufactured, like a setup, and I, as always, wanted to know more.

We walked through the door with our usual nod to Trish. The place was packed full for a Friday night, and the only open spaces were at the knee wall separating the dining and table area from the large bar. The smell of copper, cooking steak, and light smoke filled the air.

Trish had hired a few more people to work the bar and was the first to walk up, handing us our drinks without taking our order. As always, she was right.

“Let me guess. The weird guy in the hood standing at the jukebox playing Whitney Houston songs on repeat?” Trish asked me, already knowing.

“Yup. I want to figure out why he sent me to a haunted graveyard.”

“I need to hear this one sometime. No trouble, Max, I mean it,” Trish said before walking back to the bar.

We shuffled over to the jukebox after a few reflective pulls of our drinks.

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