Night of the Living Debt Part IX

Eventually, for his hard work and refusal to surrender in the face of absurdity, Duane was rewarded by being privileged to buy a couple of tuna salad sandwiches, a Hawaiian Fruit Punch, a Cream Soda, some coleslaw, moon cookies and a pack of grape flavored gum all of which left him staring mournfully at the hole in his wallet where his money used to be.

Munching thoughtfully on his second sandwich and smiling cheerfully, Ambrose said "So what I was saying before is that I want you to know that when I kill you, it won't be personal. Just doing my job, right?"

"If your job is to kill me, then yes." Duane informed his nemesis, who continued to smile back stupidly. "If I may ask, how did you come back to life?"

"Oh, nothing special. Just resurrected by an ancient and powerful goddess to wreak her vengeance on the immoral." Ambrose said conversationally.

"Ah. And how much is this goddess of yours paying you for this work?"

Ambrose frowned deeply at his empty bottle of Hawaiian Punch. At first Duane wasn't sure what Ambrose was thinking, and assumed it was probably completely unrelated to the conversation anyway. Possibly imagining a conversation with the mascot on the bottle or wondering if everyone all over Manhattan and down Doheny way had gone surfing, surfing USA. After a moment's silence, Duane came to the sad realization that spending time with Ambrose was giving him disturbing insight into the inner workings of his nemesis' mind. Grunting, Duane rose, pulled a new bottle of Hawaiian Punch from the fridge, waved it at the man behind the counter and plunked it down in front of Ambrose.

"She doesn't pay me anything. It's all for the honor and the glory of my name."

"Sure, honor and glory of her name, you mean. It's always 'Justice, Justice, Justice.' Where's your recognition? Besides, that's hard work. Did she think of your feet?"

"Well no…"

"Then isn't she just like that woman in the Suburban? At least I paid you for your discomfort."

"The hell you did. You owe me fifty bucks." Ambrose and Duane stared at each other long and hard, until Ambrose turned his attention to his Hawaiian Punch and downed it in one shot. Apparently Justice is fueled by artificial fruit flavoring.

"You're right." Duane paused. "You're right. I should've given you the other fifty I just didn't think…"

"You're damn right you didn't think!" Ambrose shouted, slamming the plastic bottle into the small deli table and crushing it.

Duane slowly pulled out his wallet. "I'll tell you what. I'll give you that fifty- no, seventy five in addition to this meal if that'll make you feel better."

"A hundred!" Ambrose shouted. "Not a penny less!"

"I'll do you one better." Duane smiled slowly. "I wouldn't do this for most people, but I'll give you the extra hundred and another fruit punch." Reaching into the deli's drink refrigerator, he pulled out yet another Hawaiian Punch and handed it to his undead and unintelligible nemesis, who quickly twisted the top off and drank half of it in one shot. "Do we have a deal?" Duane asked sweetly, sticking out his right hand.

Ambrose clutched it in his own hand and burbled something through his drink. Before he could even finish the bottle, his body began to fade from existence. The bottle clattered to the floor but fortunately the sugary drink bounced the other way on impact and left the Gucci clothing Ambrose left behind in perfect condition other than the tire marks.

"Idiot." Duane muttered before squatting down and reclaiming his cash. Rifling further he decided to take Ambrose's tie, watch, and shoes which happened to be a half size too big, but nothing that a good tight knot or possibly some inserts wouldn’t fix. Looking up, he made a mental comparison of the horrified clerk to his twice damned nemesis. Straightening, he took the suit to the clerk. "This is for those last two drinks and your silence. Mum's the word, yeah?" Without waiting for agreement, Duane walked out of the deli with several hundred dollars worth of expensive accessories.