Dead Like SpeeD

Part 2

For disclaimers and all that jazz, refer to part 1.

Tim looked around him. "Where am I?" he asked. Well, he didn't have to ask: he noticed immediately he was in a funeral home… and, as he noticed when a mourner passed through him, still incorporeal.

The reason was simple; the funeral was his.

There was everybody he had had a polite interaction with; his colleagues - glad to see H hadn't forgotten the stick up his butt at home -, his family - whose reaction broke his non-beating heart ,
and some friends and ex-girlfriends.

"Hello, boy."

As soon as he heard that voice, he rolled his eyes.

"So, why am I here, if I can't be seen or heard by anyone?"

"To leave your old life behind, Timmy boy."

Speed frowned at the 'Timmy boy' bit.

"And be happy you didn't see your own autopsy."

"At least I wasn't hit by a toilet seat from an old space station,
like George Lass."

"I don't know him."

"Her. She's the main character of 'Dead Like Me'."

"Oh, my, here we go again."

Then, he heard a loud sob from the person next to him.

He turned around.

It was a woman, a young one, blonde, who was openly crying. She looked like a very tall, very lanky Calleigh Duquesne.

"Tim, meet Daria Jenkins. I think you worked her case, some time ago. Ran over by…" Rube trailed off.

"A reindeer?" Tim joked.

Daria laughed good-heartedly - a fact which made a lot of heads turn towards her - and then told Speed "No, a bus."

Another person arrived to join the group.

"This is Bob. A transfer from Vegas. Poisoned by his wife and secretary… for a long time. So, you understand, he became a little… misogynous."

"Can't blame him." Daria and Speed said at the same time.

"You must be the new guy." Bob said, trying (obviously)
unsuccessfully to shake Speed's hand.

"Sorry, no substance yet." Speed joked.

"I heard a lot of people talking about you." Bob continued.

"Oh really?" Speed answered.

"Yeah, both here and in Vegas." Bob said in a low tone, while putting on a pair of sunglasses.

"We're in a church," Daria asked, "what dire need do you have for those sunglasses?"

"People seem to respect a man when he has sunglasses on."

"Why," Speed asked, "doesn't he also when he hasn't them?"

"Please, don't dive further into the question, or else you'll hear his opinion about women," Rube advised, "and boy, will you hear it!"

Speed did as asked.

Then heard somebody.

Swearing.

"What the FUCK is goin'on here?"

"Don't worry, that's just Marissa. Cute, if you like anorexic, drug-
addict teenage prostitutes, but who can swear worse than a man." Bob answered Speed's eyes' mute question.

"Shut up, you pissy little cocksucking bitch!"

"and that, my man, was the solid evidence of it."

"And, you know the urban legend about the killer in the backseats of cars?" Rube said.

"Yup. My fave." Speed answered.

"She was the original victim." This answer left Speed speechless.

After the function, Speed, Rube, Daria, Bob and Marissa walked out of the church and in the sunny streets of Miami.

"So, I think you need to know that being a Reaper doesn't earn you any meal."

"Think I know." Speed answered his new mentor.

"How… wait, don't tell." Rube 'asked'. "The TV Show again, isn't it?"

Speed could only nod.

"By the way, I had already a job in mind…" Speed then said.

TBC