Heads, You Lose

By Shaun Meeks

The hunters have become the hunted, and heads are going to roll. There is a killer in the city, and men are being found in a state of undress, with their heads missing. Detective Garcia knows the only person who can help him with the bizarre circumstances of the case is his old friend, Dillon the Monster Dick. The only problem is, after a run in with Don Parks, a fellow hunter, Dillon and Rouge are doing their best to lay low and keep off the radar. As more bodies pop up around the city, Dillon realizes he can't hide forever and agrees to help Garcia solve the murders. The three of them take to the street in search of answers. They check every shadowy place, look under every rock, and eventually find the answers they want, and so much more. From sex dolls, to demons, to wigs that are alive, Head's, You Lose will take you on a strange ride through the world of a monster hunter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: IFWG Publishing International
• Release date: May 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922556745

Shaun Meeks

Shaun Meeks lives in Toronto, Ontario with his partner, model and Burlesque performer, Mina LaFleur. Together they own and operate their company L'Atelier de LaFleur. Shaun has been writing for many years now and is a member of the Horror Writers Association. He is the author of Shutdown, The Gate at Lake Drive and the novelette, Down on the Farm. He has published over 50 short stories in various magazines and anthologies. He is the author of the collections At the Gates of Madness and Brother's Ilk (with James Meeks). He will also be featured in the upcoming anthologies and magazines including Midian Unmade: Tales of Clive Barker's Nightbreed, Demon Rum and other Evil Spirits, All That Remains and several more. Shaun will be releasing his latest novel, Maymon in 2015, along with a new collection of short fiction called Dark Reaches. For more information or to contact him, go to www.shaunmeeks.com.

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Shaun Meeks is the author of the Dillon the Monster Dick series (The Gate at Lake Drive, Earthbound and Down, and Altered Gates), as well as Shutdown, Down on the Farm, and upcoming release, Maymon. He has published over 50 short stories, the most recent appearing in Midian Unmade, Zippered Flesh 3, The Best of the Horror Zine, Dark Moon Digest, Rogue Nation, and Fresh Fear. His short stories have been collected in From Nightmares, Dreams, Dark Reaches, Brother’s Ilk (with James Meeks), At the Gates of Madness, and the upcoming Blood on the Ground: Six Shots of Southern Discomfort. This year Shaun is working on the fifth novel in the Dillon series, two standalone novels (The Place Where the Shadows Live, and The Desolate) Shaun currently lives in Toronto, Ontario with his partner, and their micro-yeti, Lily, where they are always planning the next adventure. To find out more or to contact Shaun, please visit www.shaunmeeks.com, www.facebook.com/shaunmeeks, or www.twitter.com/ShaunMeeks

Shaun Meeks' Dillon the Monster Dick series published by IFWG

The Gate at Lake Drive (Book 1, 2015)

Earthbound and Down (Book 2, 2017)

Altered Gate (Book 3, 2019)

Heads, You Lose (Book 4, 2022)

Book 4: Dillon the Monster Dick series

Heads, You Lose

by

Shaun Meeks

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters portrayed herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places, events or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions of the publisher.

Heads, You Lose

All Rights Reserved

ISBN-13: 978-1-922556-72-1

Copyright ©2022 Shaun Meeks

V1.0

This ebook may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

IFWG Publishing International

Gold Coast

www.ifwgpublishing.com

Acknowledgements

As always, there are so many people to thank when putting out a book. First, I want to thank Gerry Huntman and everyone at IFWG Publishing who work so hard and allow me to write these books the way they are, allowing my voice to stay as it is, even when some might think the ideas are too strange. I also want to give a huge thanks to Steve Santiago, whose cover art has lifted these books up and who manages to always come up with exactly what I envisage.

There are also the police officers in Toronto who I’ve worked closely with over the last twenty years. So many of them have helped with the technical aspects and showing me so much of what really goes on in law enforcement. I won’t say their names, but they know who they are, especially all the ones in 51 Division.

Not only did the police help me with this stuff, but so many people I worked with over the years. I’ve been at my job for nearly twenty years now, working in some of the roughest areas of the city, and I’ve been lucky enough to have some great partners who helped inspire many of the characters in here. Whether it’s just their name, or little things that make up their character, I’ve had such a blast with so many of them that I felt they needed to be in this series, one way or another. Thank you all for being my backup, and a source of inspiration.

Over the years I’ve worked with so many helpful and amazing editors who not only polished my writing, but gave me so much advice to make me become a better writer. A huge thanks to Jeani Rector, Weldon Burge, Lori Michelle, Stephen McCracken, Sophie Yorkston, and Noel Osualdini, just to name a few.

And of course, a huge thanks to my love and my partner, Gillian. You listen so well to my madness, let me bounce ideas and plot lines off of you, and never let me get away with anything that might just be skating by. You always help me to be a better writer and person.

This book is dedicated to Brenda Ansara (aka Mrs A). You were the first person who really believed in my writing, encouraged me to pursue this crazy life. I can’t thank you enough.

Friday

The puppy was stealing some of the fallen pizza as I stood over Don Parks and watched the pool of blood under him grow larger. There was a part of me that was sure he was going to get up any minute, jump up and charge at me, even though when I saw Rouge pull the knife from him, I knew he was dead. It was an irrational thought, but there it was. I guess I’ve watched too many horror movies over the years. How many times had I seen Freddy, Jason, and Chucky do it? How many times had I seen them killed, sometimes brutally, only to rise up as determined as ever to continue the carnage? More times than I can remember. It was a trope I hated, but standing over the dead man, I couldn’t help but expect it to happen in that moment.

Hey, Dillon, Rouge said, pulling me from my thoughts with a jolt.

What? I asked, keeping my eyes on the Don’s body.

Can I keep the knife?

I turned to her, reluctant to take my eyes off the hunter in case he somehow managed to survive, but I needed to see if Rouge was serious. I couldn’t believe she was taking it all in stride, and possibly cracking jokes. I was still full of adrenaline from the short fight, could still feel the weight of Don Parks on me, and here she was asking to keep the knife.

Why do you want it? I finally asked, seeing that she wasn’t joking.

Well, if I’m going to join you and be a hunter too, I think I’m going to need a knife like yours. I assume this one has all the same bells and whistles yours does.

Let me see it, I said, and held out my hand, trying not to notice how it was shaking. Reluctantly, Rouge passed me the knife, the same one the dead hunter had been about to plunge into me. The hilt was warm, and I could instantly see there were thin, intricately carved symbols and words of alien origin etched into it and the blade. It was very much like the Tincher I carried. I nodded and handed it back to her. It seems to. Are you sure you want it?

Well, I think if I’m going to do what you do; I’m going to need to have something like this, don’t you?

I nodded, but I still wasn’t sure. Rouge seemed very insistent about being by my side in the work I did, and she’d more than proved herself by killing Don Parks. Not to mention what she did in Niagara Falls, but I was still worried. My concern wasn’t just for her safety, but for the ramifications that might come from breaking more rules than ever before. I didn’t feel as though I needed to be there to protect her from anything, but I didn’t want to be the one to help her step off the cliff either. I had no idea how the Collective would react to her hunting at my side. There was a good chance it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. One thing I was pretty sure about was there’d be some sort of fallout over her killing a hunter.

Only time would tell.

I guess you’re right, I agreed, handed her the blade, and looked at her as she admired it in the low light.

So what do we do about him? she asked, pointing at the bloody mess as the puppy walked over and sniffed at the spreading red puddle. Oh no, you silly thing. Get away from that. Someone that shitty, who knows how rotten that blood is. She scooped up the dog and asked me again what we should do about it.

We need to take it to the bath tub, I told her. You should put the dog in one of the rooms. I’m going to need your help.

She put the dog in her bedroom and shut the door. The little thing whined from inside as we hefted the body down the hall to the bathroom and put it in the tub. It was hard work, and we needed to take a few breaks, smearing blood on the hardwood floors as we went. It was a good thing Rouge’s grandmother didn’t have wall-to-wall carpets or the cleanup afterwards would have been a real horror.

When we finally got him in the bathroom, we lifted him into the tub, and I stripped the blood-soaked clothes off of the body. Once the hard work was done, I gave my hands a quick wash before going out to grab my bag. Rouge was standing outside of the bathroom, towel drying her own freshly washed hands when I got back, breathing heavily and looking a little green around the gills.

Are you okay? I asked and put a hand on her shoulder. She nodded, but she looked a little off. I’m sure a naked man dead in her tub wasn’t anything she’d ever thought she’d see, and what I was going to do next wouldn’t be any easier. I knew she wanted to be a part of what I did, but there was no point in throwing her right into the deep end before she even knew how to swim. Why don’t you go to the kitchen and clean up? I’ll finish up in here.

What are you going to do with… she started, and then trailed off as her eyes went back to the bathroom’s interior. I looked over and all you could see of Don was the top of his head, and his feet hanging out on either side of the tub.

I have something that’ll get rid of the body. It’s not going to be a pretty sight, so maybe you go clean up the kitchen and hallway while I tend to this. If you don’t mind, maybe you could put on the kettle, and we’ll have some tea or coffee afterwards. Sound good?

She nodded and left. I went into the bathroom with my bag and got to work. Even I wasn’t looking forward to what came next, so I was glad she didn’t need to be there for it. I know she’s tough, but there are some things that aren’t easy to get used to, and making Parks disappear was one of them.

I’ve watched movies where people have to dispose of bodies, and luckily my plan wasn’t nearly as disgusting as any of that. There would be no sawing or cutting up his corpse; nothing as visceral as that. I didn’t need a chainsaw or hacksaw for this job. Instead, I filled up the tub halfway with warm water, doing my best not to look down at Don Parks’ body; especially his face. It’s not the first dead body I’ve seen, obviously, but death is something I’ve never really gotten used to. I mean, does anyone of sound mind really enjoy the sight of a dead person in front of them? I hope not. Still, I had a job to do, and I could stomach it. Dispatching monsters is nothing compared to seeing a dead human—even if that human is just a host body for a hunter.

Once there was enough water, I shut the taps off, went into my bag, and pulled out a vial of cloudy, violet liquid. I’ve had it for a long time, since shortly after I arrived on Earth, but only used it one time previous. That time it wasn’t to dispose of someone I–or anyone I was associated with–had killed. The only time previous was to dispose of a body I’d lost. Well, saying I lost it is an understatement. I’d gotten into a fight with a creature I’d been hunting for months. I lost round one by way of having my head torn off. Once I took a new body and recovered my equipment, I disposed of my old body the way I was about to dispose of Don Parks’ corpse. That was something of a mind fuck. Seeing your own body and severed head, a face you’ve been looking at in the mirror for so many years, could easily shake someone who wasn’t used to messed-up situations. Lucky for me, messed-up situations are sort of my specialty. Like that time, this would be fast, and smell like burnt hair and an open sewer, but at least there wouldn’t be a body lying around I’d have to explain.

Four drops of the violet liquid were all it would take. The second the last drop hit, the water began to boil, and the body of the hunter who’d tried to kill me began to shrivel up, melting into a thick pool of purple and red. The smell was terrible, worse than I remembered it, and I turned on the bathroom exhaust and opened the window. It helped a little, but not enough, so I put a few drops of Poo-Pourri in the tub, figuring if it could cover up the aftermath of a four-bean chilli perhaps it would help with Don Parks soup, too. He had been a turd in a human body after all.

I can smell that out here, Rouge called from the kitchen, and I apologized. I knew it wouldn’t be much longer, and then we could air the place out properly.

I sat down on the closed toilet while waiting, feeling the last few days weighing down on me. My head gave the whispers of a headache from drugs I’d been given at the mental hospital, and the nasty curse which had been put on me by a demon attached to a small, wisp of a woman. I closed my eyes, memories of the disturbing things I’d seen recently swirling through the darkness of my mind. Melting faces, headless men, and the madness I felt lingered like the taste of bad meat, and the smell of Don Parks’ melting flesh didn’t help at all.

Tea’s ready, Rouge called out and I opened my eyes, half expecting to see the liquefied remains of the dead hunter rising from the slimy bath tub. It didn’t happen. There was nothing left to come out. The body was gone. I put on a rubber glove and I unplugged the tub, sending his remains down into the sewer where it belonged. I gave the tub a good rinse, used bleach to make sure the last of the goop was gone. When I was satisfied, I tossed the glove into the trash. I went out to meet Rouge, have some tea, and try to add some normality to my life.

Saturday

I woke up the next day long after the sun had risen. I knew we still had things to do, mainly to get rid of Don Parks’ car, which had to be somewhere close to the house. I’d found his keys in the pocket of his blood-soaked pants before we set them in the fireplace with the rest of his clothes to burn. I would’ve done it the night before, but after everything, I just didn’t have the energy to do it.

After a quick breakfast, the two of us set out to dump his car. Rouge agreed to drive mine and I took his piece of crap. The idea was to take it down to one of the rougher areas of the city and leave it with the keys inside, knowing it would disappear easily. If this city is nothing else, it’s predictable when it comes to crime. Leave something unattended for a second and someone else will come along to claim it as their own.

As we finished packing and went looking for Don’s car, my phone rang. I didn’t even check who it was, not wanting to deal with potential clients or the ongoing crank calls, which had been going on since the YouTube video went up. I had enough on my plate without adding to it. Yet when it rang a second, and then a third time, I pulled it out of my pocket to see who it was.

Crank? Rouge asked when she saw me look at the display.

No. It’s Garcia, I told her. I thought about hanging up, but seeing as he doesn’t normally call me, I felt I needed to know what seemed so urgent. Especially since he had called back two more times.

Hello? I said as we walked along the street, on the lookout for our prize.

You busy?

A bit, but I’m assuming this is urgent?

I’m just on scene at something a little, well, strange. I wanted to know if you could stop by so I could see what you think.

I let out a long sigh. I wanted to be able to help him. After everything he did to help me get out of the mental hospital, the least I could do was offer him something in return. He wasn’t the type of person to call asking for this and that, so I figured if he said there was something strange going on, there really must be something bizarre afoot. Yet, I just had too much to do at the moment. I didn’t want to leave Parks’ car sitting around, raising questions, leading back to me or Rouge. It wasn’t as though Don Parks was going to report it missing, or that someone he knew would file a missing person’s report, but there was a chance a nosy neighbor might make a call to the police about the strange car that had been parked there for days. If the police showed up, who knew where that would lead them? The idea it could take them to Don Parks’ apartment, and then the possibility it could turn a spotlight on me, well, I wasn’t willing to let that happen.

Is there any way this can wait a bit? I asked. I’m right in the middle of something.

There was a moment of silence, and then I could hear someone in the background calling out to Garcia. He’d clearly covered his phone as he spoke to whoever was close by, and I couldn’t make out anything he was saying.

Don’t worry about it, he said, and I swear I could hear the disappointment in his voice. I’m sure things will make sense once I put my head to it. If not, maybe I’ll can call you later. Is that okay?

Of course, and sorry about this, I said, and almost went into the details, but I knew we didn’t have time for that.

No worries. My bad for assuming you weren’t doing anything, he said and then hung up.

I put my phone in my pocket and Rouge asked what the call was about. I explained it and she nodded, asking if I was sure I shouldn’t just go.

We need to deal with this first. We can ditch the car around Moss Park or St. Jamestown, or somewhere else like that. Then I’ll see what’s got him so stressed that he took the time to call me. Is that his car? I said, and pointed to a junker with a missing window; the same window Rouge had smashed out not all that long ago.

It is.

Finally, I said, and we walked over to move it, ready to be done with the whole thing. I jumped in the car and she took mine. We decided to take it to one of the Green P parking lots near Yonge and Bloor after we checked the internet and found numerous articles about how it was one of the worst garages for vehicle break-ins and thefts. I left the doors unlocked, even though the smashed window would have provided easy access. I then put the key on the seat, making it look as though someone absentminded might have just left it there, instead of it looking like a bait car the police had set up to catch criminals. When I left the garage, Rouge was parked on the street in my car, and we headed off to grab some well-deserved breakfast.

To avoid the crowds and people who might still recognize me from the video, we decided to go through a drive-thru. A Tim Hortons down near Cherry Street was the easiest one to get to. It is an industrial part of the city, not real full of people who comb the internet for anything other than adult websites. I figured we were safe.

And we were.

We ordered food, drove down to the lake, and ate. The day was nice. There was a cold breeze coming off the water, but the sun was bright and warm, so we unrolled our windows to let some fresh air