Chapter 15 – Call for Obstruction

So far, Barry has signed his soul into servitude to Satan on Earth. He is a courier, forced to transport a mysterious cargo from Denver to Trinidad, Colorado for a demon named Margery. He desperately wants out of his contract, but Margery has total control over Barry and the other drivers through her magical cigarettes. In order to find a way out of his contract, Barry decides to play the good employee and volunteers for overtime. Only the other OTG employees have gone missing—likely kidnapped by white warriors to God’s angels. Margery expects Barry and senior driver Vern to step in and do all the work, leaving Barry no time to snoop around the warehouse for contract loopholes.

During the second run of the day to Trinidad, tornadoes attach all the vans and snatch up all the replacement drivers, but Barry manages to get out of his van and dive down a steep hill. Barry’s seriously injured, but when Vern shows up, he realizes immortal life has its perks. He heals in minutes. On the drive to Trinidad in Vern’s van, Vern reveals that the OTG employees keep disappearing because the Gates of Hell are just about to open. Vern confides in Barry that he has a plan to stop it from happening. When Barry agrees to help Vern, he finds out that Margery is also in on the plan.

The Courier Series is about Barry White, a twenty-something computer geek with an overbearing mother, no prospects of finding a girlfriend, and an unemployment record that’s made him pessimistic he’ll ever be happy.

In Call for Obstruction, Barry has just lost his fourth jobs in the past year due to corporate downsizing. Desperate for employment, he jumps at the first position he’s offered over the phone, driver for OTG Courier Services. Shortly after meeting his new boss, a tiny yet fiery old lady named Margery, she coerces him into signing a questionable employment contract he soon regrets.

The Courier was originally written as a twitter novel @TheCourierNovel in 2009, and the same year it won the Annual Textnovel Writing Contest. Later parts of the story are still tweeting.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

W. J. Howard lives near Denver and writes horror, fantasy and sci-fi with a bit of comedy mixed in. Wendy is also the Co-op Manager for Visionary Press Cooperative, leading an innovative way to publish.

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Vern and I enter the Trinidad warehouse to the usual cold shoulder from Oscar. He stands behind his workbench with his chest puffed out. In his hand, he grips a screwdriver like a knife at the ready for a lethal stab. Considering Oscar’s husky size and coveralls, all he needs is a white mask and the guy could double as Michael Meyers in a Halloween movie.

Oscar glares at me and clears his throat. “Margery’s waiting for you two in the break room.”

“Thanks,” Vern says as he throws his keys up into the air and toward the workbench. With his eyes fixated on me, Oscar misses the catch. The keys hit the concrete and jingle. “Let’s go, kid.”

As we exit the garage, I lean in and whisper, “What’s up with Oscar?”

“Aw, don’t worry about him.”

“Even if he looks like he wants to kill me?”

I look over my shoulder. Oscar’s leaning through the doorway, listening to our conversation. He turns and walks back into the garage.

The break room’s dark and empty.

“Figures she’d keep us waiting,” Vern says as he flips on the light switch.

The usual buffet’s been laid out by Hell’s caterers. I grab a couple boxes of fruity cereal and head for the liquor cabinet. “Mmmm. Gin and fruity loops.”

“Nasty, kid.” Vern grabs a plate and fixes himself the exact same thing he had for lunch, hot dogs and beans.

The guys going to fog the van with old guy farts the whole way back to Denver.

No surprise, like the whiskey yesterday, there’s a bottle of my favorite gin waiting for me in the front of the cabinet. I take a swig then tuck it under my arm while opening a box of loops. Vern’s at the table, and he’s already scarfed down his first helping.

I drop the boxes of cereal on the table and it tips to the side, spilling the loops. “Crap.” I take in a few more swigs of gin and fall back onto a chair across from Vern.

Vern stands with his plate in hand. “Slow down, cowboy. We need you at least partially sober.”

I ignore Vern, take a few more swigs, and shovel a handful of loops into my mouth. The combo’s not half bad.

“Barry. Honey.”

The sound of Margery’s scratchy voice makes me choke on the loops.

She approaches us and picks up the bottle of gin. “I hope we’re not turning you into an alcoholic.”

“Give him back the bottle. The kid’ll be fine,” Vern says, his voice muffled as he returns to the table with a hot dog hanging out of his mouth.

Margery drops her cigarette into the bottle then places it in front of me.

“What’d you do that for?” I ask.

The three of us settle around the table. “So what has Vern told you about our plan so far?” Margery asks.

I stare at the cigarette now floating in the bottle. “You were listening in, weren’t you?”

“Not the whole time. I do have other responsibilities around here.”

I lean in and smirk. “Why don’t you read our minds and figure it out?”

“How about I use this bottle to spit your head open and scoop out your thoughts,” Margery says with the bottle in hand.

Vern interrupts. “He knows we’re plannin’ on closin’ the gates.”

“Why do you want to stop the gates from opening?” I ask. “I mean, you are a demon. Wouldn’t it be like going home.”

“Honey, if you were born in the slums and moved to a Park Avenue penthouse, would you want to go home?”

She has a point.

“Listen, the heat’s on. We can’t stall anymore by giving up the drivers and the cargo. I’m already getting questions from the police,” Margery says. “Hell’s not happy either, and I’m worried they might reassign me.”

“Where exactly is this gate?” I ask.

“It’s not really a physical gate, honey.”

Vern interrupts again. “Out at the Bellow’s Ranch. There are air shafts into the old coal mines all over the place.”

“Wait,” I say, “I thought you said it’s not physical.”

Margery rolls her eyes. “It’s not.”

“You can pretty much open to Hell from any coal mine,” Vern says. “Trinidad just happens to be the closest to opening. It’s the coal composition mixed with all the bad—”

Margery kicks Vern under the table. “Why don’t you tell him all of Hell’s secrets.”

“The kid’s a computer hacker, not a chemist.”

“Does this have something to do with the cargo we’re hauling?”

“You never mind that,” Margery says. “First things first. We need a plan to stop the Gates of Hell from opening.”

“How am I supposed to help if you two keep me in the dark.”

Oscar enters the room. “You’re wanted in Hell, now.”

Margery sighs while she stands up. She looks worried.

“No, no, no,” I say. “You can’t leave now.”

Margery pulls a new cigarette out of the air and aims it at me as if it’s a dart. “Will you ever learn not to talk back?”

I flinch and swallow hard.

Vern burps while he gets up. “C’mon, kid. Time to go back to Denver.”

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