Services Rendered: The Cases of Dan Shamble, Zombie

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “The kid was always hanging around, very needy,” said Joe. “He wanted to be tough, so we gave him something to do. Made him useful.”

  “We needed to get rid of those dangerous artifacts,” said Bill. “It was … yeah, a community service. And we’ve done community service plenty of times before.”

  Frank retrieved the twenty-sided dice from the ground. “That werewolf kid was smart. He could read the runes.”

  Joe shuffled his feet even though he was drifting a few inches off the ground. “He wanted to be part of the gang, so we had to initiate him. After we got rid of the other magical junk and used up most of the tools, we made him jump through when he opened the last portal. He was supposed to come right back.” He grumbled. “But the stupid furball moved too slow, and the portal closed before he could come home.”

  Frowning, I used my forefinger to scratch around the bullet hole in my forehead. “So, he’s stranded in the mundane world.”

  “But he should have been able to come back all by himself,” Bill said. “He still had one of the unused tools. I think it was a pair of scissors.”

  I went to the toolbox and lifted the metal lid, saw the two tools remaining, a flashlight and a measuring tape, both of them covered with runes. “When he didn’t come back right away, you just left him there. Why didn’t you open another portal so he could return?”

  The genies were embarrassed. “We couldn’t read the runes. That was our problem in the first place.”

  “Yeah,” Bill said. “The spell is really hard to remember. Who talks like that anyway?”

  If the genies were really genies, they should have been able to wish a portal into existence. Intellectually speaking, their lamps seemed rather dim.

  In my pocket, I felt the scrap of paper Vlad had given me. It would be up to me to open a portal and fetch Aldo back from the “real world,” safe and sound, just as his mother had hired me to do. I picked up the rune-etched flashlight, slammed the toolbox lid and lifted it by the handle. “I’ve got to rescue the kid, and I’m taking the toolbox with me, before you mess anything up again.”

  The genies were happy to let me do the spellcasting and rune reading. Gripping the toolbox handle, I held the flashlight in my other hand along with the strip of paper and the phonetic pronunciation. I faced the brick wall, cleared my throat, and pronounced the incantation. “Rutmo byachto seengac igsnat.”

  The flashlight thrummed and throbbed. I watched it glow, but the real special-effects budget was spent on the wall itself. The bricks shimmered, and a glowing blue whirlpool appeared. A spectacular portal opened up, framed with lighting, something Lucasfilm only wished they could do.

  “Whoa!” I said, hoping that wouldn’t disrupt the spell. Through the shimmering doorway I could see another alley, remarkably similar to this one, but it was nighttime there. Aldo Blankenship was on the other side, and I had to retrieve him. Without wasting time on an actual plan, I stepped through.

  My gut twisted as I plunged into the ripple, but it was probably indigestion or anxiety, rather than the after-effect of dimensional transport. A whoosh roared in my ears as I stepped through into another world, a place much like the Unnatural Quarter, but with nothing unnatural about it, where the Big Uneasy had never happened, a place suitable for the disposal of toxic magical artifacts.

  A world where real zombies and real werewolves were definitely not welcome.

  There’s no place like home.

  VI

  With unsettling abruptness, the portal whisked shut behind me. The glowing special effects dwindled, leaving me with only a brick wall behind me. It was dark, late at night, so time must be different in this other world. I was stranded.

  Here on the other side of the doorway, I saw odd debris strewn among the garbage in the dark alley. Broken lizard eggs, a demon skull missing one horn, a cursed letter opener, an obsidian-encrusted flyswatter, and other weird artifacts, permanently deactivated in the mundane world and suitable for nothing more than the last-pick items in a white elephant sale.

  But Aldo wasn’t here. Monsters or not, this was undoubtedly a big city, and I had no idea where the werewolf kid might have wandered in the few days he’d been stranded here. I doubted Aldo was clever or sneaky. Where would he have slept? What would he eat? Poor Aldo must have been so frightened, hiding in shadows, rummaging in dumpsters, huddled under flattened cardboard.

  I heard traffic out in the main streets, cars honking, the bustle of city life. No one seemed to be on the dark side street, not even muggers or derelicts. No sign of Aldo, though.

  As a good boy, he probably would have thought to go directly to the police station, but what would they do with a furry-faced teenager with glasses and braces?

  A werewolf on the loose, even a nerdy one, must have caused some kind of an uproar in a normal world. I’d have to use all my skills as a detective to track down sightings of a monster boy. Alas, the fact that I was a zombie myself would make things difficult. The bullet hole in my forehead would distract them. But I was determined. I had to start somewhere, and I knew I had a long search ahead of me.

  Or maybe not. Though I always insist it isn’t so, sometimes the cases really do solve themselves. I suddenly heard wailing police sirens, five or six cop cars racing straight toward my alley.

  Panting hard, a suspect bolted around the corner and dashed headlong into the alley. I saw his furry face, his glasses, the braces prominent on his fangs as he let his tongue loll out. He bounded along at full speed, holding a pair of scissors in his paw. I wanted to warn him about running with scissors, that he might poke someone’s eye out, and then I realized these were the rune-etched scissors.

  Terrified, Aldo Blankenship bleated as he ran, reading from the runes on the scissors, barking out the spell again and again. “Rutmo byachtu seengac igsnot! Rutmo byachtu seengac igsnot! Rutmo byachtu seengac igsnot!”

  “Aldo!” I waved vigorously to get his attention. “Aldo Blankenship! I’m here to save you!”

  “Thank heavens,” he gasped, scrambling toward me as the police sirens closed in. “A zombie to the rescue.”

  “Your mother sent me to find you,” I said, reaching toward him. “She’s worried sick.”

  Aldo nearly burst into tears. “I’ve been trying to get back home. I read the spell over and over again.” He waved the scissors in the air, and I backed away to a safe distance. “This was my spare tool. I should’ve been able to get home. But it doesn’t work!” He poked the scissors too close to my face.

  “Careful,” I said.

  “Now the cops are after me. I was so hungry, I shoplifted some pastrami from a deli. I tried to be sneaky, but everyone kept staring at me,” Aldo said. “Maybe because I was the only werewolf in the shop.”

  “You’re the only werewolf in the whole world,” I said. “And I’m the only zombie. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  The sirens grew louder. The flashlight in my hand had ceased glowing after the portal closed, and now it wouldn’t even turn on a normal beam when I flipped the power switch. I realized that nobody had put batteries inside. “This one’s used up.”

  Aldo waved the scissors again. “I haven’t used these yet.” He stared at the runes. “I’m reading the spell, word for word, but isn’t working. Rutmo byachtu seengac igsnot!”

  I took out my phonetic pronunciation spell and frowned. “You’re not saying it right. Look here, it should be byachto instead of byachtu and igsnat instead of igsnot.”

  Aldo groaned. “There’s a typo on my scissors! It won’t work. The spell is defective.”

  “I guess you could call it a real misspelling.” I set the metal toolbox on the ground, flipped the latch, and pulled out the measuring tape, the last tool in the set. “We have one more chance. We’ll use this to open the portal back to the Unnatural Quarter and get safely home.”

  I heard screeching tires, the wailing of sirens, shouted voices, and crackling police radios. “Hurry!” Aldo cried. “I can’t go to jail!”
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  I held up the measuring tape, pulled it out to twelve inches, just to be sure it was properly loaded. The numbers on the tape were unreadable and unpronounceable runes, but I had my phonetic cheat sheet.

  I hadn’t been here long. Part of me thought wistfully about the chance to wander through the mundane world again, the normal world. The good old days without magic, ghosts, monsters, or toxic arcane items. But back in that world, if I’d been killed on a case, I would have stayed dead, and so would my girlfriend Sheyenne.

  I realized I would miss my Unnatural Quarter, my favorite hangouts like the Ghoul’s Diner and the Goblin Tavern. I’d miss the werewolves and vampires, the unraveling mummies, the mischievous lawn gnomes. I would miss my partner, Robin, and my Best Human Friend, McGoo. And I never wanted to be separated from Sheyenne again, ’til death do us part and then some.

  “Come on, kid, we’re going home.” I held up the measuring tape as we ran back toward the brick wall.

  I heard footsteps and shouts, silhouetted figures of cops running in from the main street, flashing blue and red light splashed at the mouth of the alley. “Hey, you! Stop right there!”

  I replied with, “Rutmo byachto seengac igsnat.”

  Just like before, a sequel to the first movie but with an even bigger special-effects budget, the wall shimmered and glowed as a dimensional doorway appeared. Looking through to the other side, we could see daylight and the Baba brothers staring at us, mouths open, eyes wide.

  “They waited for me!” Aldo said. “Look, my gang is there for me.”

  “They’re not your gang, kid.”

  Behind us, the cops yelled louder, guns drawn as they ran from their squad cars. They hadn’t even seen that we were a werewolf and a zombie yet, but they sure seemed angry about the stolen pastrami.

  I grabbed Aldo by the scrawny arm and yanked him with me. I still held the now-empty tool kit as we plunged into the portal, whisked from the mundane world to the Unnatural Quarter again, a place where monsters could be safe.

  The portal closed behind us with an audible pop and a burst of fireworks.

  I was surprised to see McGoo standing there with a stern look on his face and a threatening finger jabbing at the air as he lectured the cowed genie brothers. He must have been getting up to full steam when the portal opened.

  Vlad the Fence also stood there, looking very worried, but he brightened when he saw me stumble back through the doorway, teenaged werewolf in tow. “See, I told you! And he’s got the toolbox, too.”

  “It’s empty now,” I said, holding up the red-painted box. “I had to use the measuring tape to get home, so the mundane world is safely separated from us. The monsters are safe now.”

  “And all of the dangerous artifacts are gone, safely disposed of,” Vlad said, grinning nervously. “See, Officer McGoohan, I told you we’d get your friend back. And the Unnatural Quarter is free of toxic sorcerous knickknacks.”

  “Yeah,” said Frank Baba in a huff. “We made it safe. It’s our community service.”

  McGoo stepped to the brick wall and pounded on it with his fist. “Yeah, closed up tight as a sphincter. No leaks.”

  I faced the three surly-looking genies, the young werewolf next to me, then glanced out into the streets, which were filled with ghosts, frog demons, mummies, slithering things, and looming things—exactly the Unnatural Quarter I remembered.

  Aldo sniffled, miserable and shaken. Tears made tracks down his furry face. I clapped my hand on his shoulder. “You need to get a new circle of friends, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid,” Aldo snapped. “I want my mommy.”

  VII

  The Blankenship house was a painfully normal suburban home, a three-bedroom ranch model like something out of a 1960s sitcom from the mundane world. Maybe it, too, had been whisked through a portal and landed here.

  With such a heartwarming wrap-up to a case, I couldn’t wait to see the look of joy on the furry werewolf faces. As I escorted Aldo home, I still carried the empty toolbox, though I didn’t know what I’d ever use it for. Maybe a souvenir of successful detective work.

  Aldo loped ahead to the front door, howling. “Mom! Mom, I’m home!”

  Myra Blankenship burst out onto the porch full of joy, opening her furry arms to embrace her son. “Aldo! We were so worried about you.”

  Next to her came a burly, middle-aged werewolf man with a buzzcut, wearing a work shirt and jeans, a typical blue-collar werewolf. He growled, “Glad to see you back, son, safe and sound.”

  “Dad?” Aldo yelped. “Dad! What are you doing here? I thought you and mom split up.”

  The two adult werewolves looked at each other, and deep feelings passed between their canine eyes. Together, they swept Aldo into a furry group hug. The scene was wonderfully sappy and clichéd, but I wouldn’t have changed it for anything. I kept my distance, just looming there on the sidewalk holding the empty toolbox.

  Mr. Blankenship explained, “When you were gone, son, I realized all the things I missed about home. Your mother and I have decided to try to work it out.”

  Myra squeezed her son even tighter, wrapping her other arm around her husband’s waist. “We’ll be a real family again.”

  I waited there, enjoying the Hallmark moment. It would have been heartwarming, if I had a heart that still worked. For a zombie detective, one of the most gratifying moments is when I can say the words Case Closed.

  And then Sheyenne can send out the bill.

  VIII

  Just when I thought it was safe to go back to the office.

  Having wrapped up the missing werewolf case, I went back to ignore paperwork. I sat in my office, looking at the manila folders of a few pending, but uninteresting cases. I put my shoes up on the desk, leaned back in my office chair to the comforting creaks and groans of the springs.

  Sheyenne kept the empty toolbox on her desk, trying to figure out where to store it. I’m not much of a handyman, since I’m better at breaking things instead of fixing them.

  McGoo popped in to say hello, as he usually did when he wanted to avoid walking the beat. “Those three Baba brothers are trouble,” he grinned. “But they’re in trouble now. They crossed a line with poor Aldo Blankenship. Bill and Joe are under age, but we did arrest Frank for disposing of dangerous magical artifacts without a license. He’ll use up his three wishes he has on a phone call, extra time in the yard, and packs of cigarettes in prison. No doubt he’ll be sentenced to serve ten to fifteen years in a lamp.”

  I came out to greet him. “I’ve never been a fan of juvenile delinquents. You meeting me at the Goblin Tavern tonight?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me out on a date, Shamble?”

  “He’s taken,” Sheyenne said, smiling. “But I’ll let him have a beer with you.”

  We were all relaxing in the calm after-case glow, and then Vlad the Fence kicked open the door to our offices, on the verge of destroying the world. He barged in, his dark eyes wide, his scraggly hair dangling in front of his wild expression. He dragged the young genie Bill Baba by the glowing ear. “I need your help or it’ll be the end of everything!”

  In his other hand Vlad carried a nasty-looking talisman that looked like it came from some old grandma’s rummage sale. It was ceramic, bulbous, a cross between an ashtray and a dog food dish. And it was smoking.

  Bill struggled and flailed. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it!”

  “Right this way, Bill Baba.” Vlad flung the genie in front of McGoo and me. “You better hope we can fix this.” Furious, he held up the smoking, burbling talisman which gave off anything but good vibrations.

  “What is it, Vlad? What did the genies do now?” I asked. McGoo was ready with his handcuffs.

  Vlad looked as if he wanted to tear Bill Baba limb from limb. “Those numbskull genies kept one of the most dangerous arcane artifacts they were supposed to dispose of!” He held up the ashtray/dog food dish. “The Talisman of Terribleness. It’s practically radioactive with sor
cery, and now this idiot triggered it.”

  “I was trying to light a cigarette,” Bill mumbled. “I didn’t know what it was. I just found it there.”

  McGoo looked at the throbbing, toxic artifact. “That sounds bad. Really bad.”

  “Like end-of-the-world bad,” I said.

  “We were going to sell it on eBay,” Bill cried. “Joe and I needed extra cash, now that Frank is arrested.”

  Vlad dropped the Talisman of Terribleness on Sheyenne’s desk. “It’s the last of the dangerous relics from my vault. We have to get rid of it.”

  Sheyenne frowned in dismay at the smoking, sizzling relic scorching the wood on her desk. “Careful with the surface. That’s solid oak.”

  The terrified genie babbled, “I wish I could get out of here!”

  Then in a self-fulfilling manner, he vanished with a popping sound in the air. We all looked in shock at where he had disappeared, leaving the surging, deadly artifact behind.

  Vlad groaned deep in his throat, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I just wanted to retire and sell insurance. I wanted everything to be normal.”

  McGoo looked at me, then at Vlad. “How do we stop it? Can we dump it in a bucket of water or something? How much time do we have left?”

  Vlad was terrified. “I don’t know!”

  I said, “Is there a counter spell? Some kind of toxic magic disposal? A sorcerous disinfectant?”

  “The only way to get rid of it is to open a portal and send it to the mundane world where the magic is neutralized.” He saw the red toolbox on the desk. “And you used up all the tools! We don’t have anything left, no way to open a portal.” He slumped into the guest chair. “I am so tired of this nonsense. I just wanted to go straight. Now it’s the end of the world.”

  Robin came out to see what all the commotion was, but since even such emergencies were common occurrences in the Chambeaux & Deyer offices, she assumed we had it all under control and went back to work on a new legal brief.