“Thanks,” I said, massaging my ears. “This room is a freaking echo chamber.”
Air whooshed from Harry’s lungs as he crashed to the concrete floor on his back. A biter had tackled him by his knees. Harry’s gun bounced out of his hand and skittered across the floor into the darkness. He kicked at the biter’s face, driving the heel of his shoe into its nose. The deadhead flew backward and rolled off Harry. I placed Hawk’s muzzle against the back of its head and pulled the trigger. Liquified zombie chum (what I call zushi) instantly plastered Harry’s face.
“Thanks, partner,” he said, wiping his cheeks. “Not that I’m complaining, but maybe next time, blast the brains away from me?”
He pulled his backup piece from his belt, as I helped him to his feet.
“Picky, picky, picky.” I eyeballed his gun. “Tell me you carry speed loaders for that fossil.”
“Two. But I’ve always found if you need more than one, you’re a crappy shot. Well, either that or you’re in deep shit.”
“Shh. What’s that noise?”
We stood back to back and shined our flashlights in random patterns, illuminating as much of the room as our beams allowed. A sound thrummed in the darkness. The sound grew louder, and louder still. Its source finally crept into view.
“Harry,” I said, aiming Hawk at the front line of an approaching horde. “I think we’re in deep shit.”
“Holy Hannah,” he whispered, moving beside me. “How many do you think there are?”
“Really? How the… Too damn many, Harry. Way too damn many.”
His primary gun, centered in the beam of my flashlight, was less than twenty feet from the throng of rotters that shambled toward us.
“Cover me.” I fired into the horde and sprinted toward his gun.
Harry fired at the sea of deadheads, picking them off like ducks in a shooting gallery. But just that quick, he stopped.
“What the hell?” I screamed, bending down to grab the gun. “Keep firing!”
“Sorry. Six-shooter.”
The cylinder clicked as he dropped in a speed loader. By that time, I was close enough to Harry to hand him his gun. But the biters were hot on my heels. Harry continued firing with his left hand, grabbed the gun from me with his right, and started double-pumping lead.
I raised Hawk, emptied my mag and slammed in a new one. For every rotter we dropped, another took its place. We were quickly losing ground. Harry and I shuffled backwards. He stopped firing to drop in his last speed loader.
Beneath the din of the gunfire, came the deep metallic groan of the door that had closed behind us. Footsteps pounded the concrete floor, coming faster and closer. Flashlight beams bobbed up and down as several of Cincinnati’s finest, guns ablaze, joined Harry and me.
“Headshots!” I screamed. “Headshots!”
Multiple rounds of ammo later, the last of the biters fell. Harry and I scrambled to find our female vic, calling for her repeatedly. But we never got an answer. Moments later, I nearly tripped over a CD player sitting in the middle of an otherwise empty floor.
“Over here,” I called, as I squatted down and pressed the play button.
The same high-pitched scream that had drawn us inside blared from its speaker.
“Well now,” I said, grinning up at Harry. “Looks like someone wants to play.”
14
Well, Don’t You Have Some Big-Ass Balls?
Waking up to a ringing phone at ten in the morning blows, especially when you didn’t get to bed until six a.m. Even then, the only reason I was allowed to leave The Crosley Building was because Harry had volunteered to handle the reports. By then, the late night snow had melted, so he drove me back to the bar to pick up my Harley.
I considered letting the call go to voice mail. But then I pictured the old dinosaur hunched over his desk, slogging through the mountain of paperwork the night’s events had prompted, and guilted myself into picking up the phone. Had I known it was Doc Blanchard on the line, I’d have left him hanging ’til The Rapture. He hemmed and hawed before telling me the reason for his call.
“You want me to do what?” I said, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“Raise a corpse.”
“Really? Well, don’t you have some big-ass balls?” I pulled the phone away from my ear, ready to end the call.
“Wait. Don’t hang up.”
“Doc, you made it pretty clear that I don’t report to you. When was that, now? Oh, yeah. Yesterday. In court. Bye-bye.”
“This is different—”
“Why? Because you want some—”
“They found a body this morning at The Crosley Building.”
“Yeah. A ton of them. The deadheads we took down last night.”
“No. A recently deceased, non-infected, human body.”
That woke me up faster than coffee with a Red Bull chaser. “Where? How?”
“At the bottom of an open elevator shaft. There’s a neck laceration but no sign of a struggle. No DNA and no trace on the body. I can’t tell whether he accidentally stumbled into the shaft in the dark, and cut his neck on the machinery, or if someone slit his throat.”
Suddenly I wanted to raise that corpse as much as Doc did — but not without a get out of jail free card in my hand. “You were ready to throw me to the wolves yesterday, Doc. You want that corpse raised, it’s going to take a court order.”
“Fine. Go through the proper channels. But do it quick. Once I autopsy this guy, he won’t have a brain.”
When Doc hung up, I called Harry. He knew the whole story because he’d been at the station when the forensics team called in the body. In fact, he had already launched a sneak attack on Farragut in the hallway to ask for the order. Harry said he hadn’t called me because he didn’t want to wake me up. But knowing him, he probably thought he had a better chance of getting the order without me. And he would have been right.
“Farragut shot me down,” Harry said. “No surprise there. I was just about to go see Cap and bring him up to speed.”
“Be there in twenty,” I said, turning on the shower.
After sandblasting away any remnants of The Crosley Building, I climbed into a clean pair of jeans and my Aim for the Brain T-shirt. Then I coaxed Headbutt outside and gave him the Allie eye as he trotted toward Nonnie’s bushes. I didn’t have time to deal with him getting the hose again. Headbutt wore a pouty face when he strolled back inside, as if I’d sucked the joy from his life.
I kickstarted my Lowrider and lit out of the driveway like my hair was on fire. By the time poor Nonnie flew out her front door to jump my shit, I’d be long gone. I smiled at the visual, and Little Allie scolded me, telling me I’m not half as slick as I think I am.
That freeloading bitch squats in my brain like a croaking toad, just waiting for me to screw up. She should save her breath, or better yet, go find another brain to bicker with. It’s taken me twenty-six years to hone my attitude problem. Why mess with perfection?
I arrived at Harry’s desk with three minutes to spare. We trekked down the hall to Cap’s office, discussing the case. When we turned the final corner, I discovered that Miriam had repositioned her desk directly across from Cap’s door. Anyone entering or leaving his office had to pass on either side of her. Apparently, Miriam was determined not to go down without a fight.
The old biddy had game.
I flashed a toothy grin and perched on the corner of her desk. “Good morning, Miriam.”
She narrowed her eyes and sat a little taller. “We’ve covered this before, Ms. Nighthawk. You’re not on the Captain’s schedule. Now, if you’d like—”
“Really? I’m certain we made an appointment.” I reached across the desk for her day planner.
She dove to her right and snatched it, leaving the left side of Cap’s doorway open. I barged into his office with Harry on my heels, followed by what I presumed was the sound of Miriam’s fist pounding her desktop. When I reached behind me and gently pushed the door closed, a clear, conci
se, damn it, rang out from the other side.
Cap shook his head. “I’ve never heard that woman cuss before.”
“I have that effect on people,” I said, handing Cap an invoice. “Before I forget, here’s my bill for the Veronica Henry investigation.”
Cap flung it back at me. “The Henry investigation? What the heck for? You didn’t do any raising or putting down.”
“Hey, time is money. Harry’s not the only one working this investigation. I may be cheap, but I’m not free.” I flipped my bill into his inbox, daring him to argue with me.
Cap pointed to the crappy visitor chairs. “Take a load off, boys and girls. We need to chat about last night.”
As Harry and I took our seats, I figured the conversation would jump right to the biter trap. As usual, I was wrong. Cap leaned forward and darted his eyes from Harry to me, then back to Harry.
“You mind telling me why you didn’t wait for backup before going in?”
Harry put his elbows on the arms of his chair and leaned forward. “A woman screamed from inside the building. We’d already put one biter down outside on the perimeter. I feared for her safety.”
“But it wasn’t a real woman. It was a recording.”
“How the hell could we know that? We hadn’t made it inside yet.”
“You almost died out there,” Cap said. “Nighthawk, too.”
“It was a judgment call. I’d do it again. So would Nighthawk.”
I nodded. “Damn straight. Wait ’til you see my bill for putting down half the horde.”
Cap rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Between you, Harry, and your backup, you can’t possibly know how many Zs you personally took down.”
“A crap ton, that’s how many.”
“What is that? Like eight? Ten? Send me the damned bill and I’ll look at it.”
“A crap ton is a shit load, rounded up. Way, way up.”
“Can we get back to our discussion on protocol, please? Harry, you fired shots outside to take down the first biter. You should have called for backup then.”
Harry blanched. “It was a biter call, for God’s sake. Shots will be fired. It’s a given. We don’t—”
“Wait just a minute,” I barked. “This is what Harry and I do. Biters don’t shoot back. Calling in extra badges for every undead call would be a waste of personnel. Harry called for the cavalry when he realized we were in trouble. End of story.”
Cap settled back in his chair and ran a hand across his bald head. “Don’t take this lightly. Every action we take on biter calls is scrutinized and second-guessed by the public, the media, and the ACLU — from actual raisings, to civilian attacks, to loss of emergency responders. We have to be able to justify every move we make, on every call.”
“Understood,” Harry said, with a nod. “What about today’s request from Doc Blanchard? He wants Nighthawk to raise the guy they found at the bottom of the elevator shaft in The Crosley Building.”
Cap’s gaze shifted to me. “Doc says the trace they collected at the scene was negligible. The vic’s wounds could be consistent with a fall-related event. Doc has no way to determine whether the fall was accidental, or if somebody helped our vic into the shaft. Even though Doc is officially requesting the raising, we should go for the court order. Just to be safe.”
“No dice,” I said. “Harry went to Farragut. He wasn’t about to give us a court order after yesterday’s hearing.”
“Do we even need one? Doc said he’s willing to authorize your services. Based on the judge’s ruling, that should be enough.”
I shot out of my seat like a bottle rocket. “One day, Doc wants to throw me under the bus, and the next day, he wants my services. Words like ‘should be enough’ don’t give me the warm fuzzies.”
“We could go around Farragut,” Harry suggested. “Pursue the order ourselves without the DA’s blessing.”
I yanked my phone out of my pocket and dialed Opie. The call went straight to voice mail, so I left him a message.
“Opie. Nighthawk. Believe it or not, Doc Blanchard wants me to do a raising at his office today. We tried to get a court order, but Farragut denied the request. Doc’s willing to verbally authorize my assistance. I’m feeling twelve kinds of hinky here. Call me. ASAP.”
“What about last night’s attack?” Cap asked. “How many biters did they find?”
Harry glanced at his notes. “That would be twenty-six.”
I paced the floor behind Harry, shaking my head. “That call was shady from the get go. Who phones in a biter sighting at an abandoned building at ten o’clock at night? And twenty-six biters? I’ve never seen twenty-six biters hording in one place ever, let alone in Cincinnati. We’re not exactly the rotter capital of the world.”
Harry chuckled. “No pun intended, but the woman’s scream coming from a CD player, in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, kind of screams setup.”
“That’s my point,” I said. “Rotters have one driving need. They need to eat. They’re not social butterflies. They don’t mingle in groups like hangry party guests, hoping to stumble into a platter of brain crudités. Someone corralled those biters inside The Crosley Building and tried to serve us up as dinner.”
Cap sighed and rubbed his forehead. “But who? And how?”
“Still working on that,” I said. “But as for the why, we’re obviously digging in the right places on the Henry investigation. What else could it be?”
Harry nodded. “I requested the vic’s account balances and phone records. That request is on file. I haven’t finished reviewing them yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I’m betting someone is very nervous about what those records will show.”
“Could be,” Cap said. “What about the book Veronica Henry mentioned when you raised her. Have you located it? And have we ever figured out the significance of the word ‘stretch’?”
Harry slumped in his seat. Dark circles crested beneath his bloodshot eyes. His normally clean-shaven cheeks were flecked with gray stubble. “Not yet,” he murmured. “But we will.”
Cap’s phone rang, interrupting our meeting. He took the call, responding with a series of grunts and monosyllabic words. After hanging up quickly, he pushed his chair back, got to his feet, and grabbed elevator guy’s evidence bag from the desktop.
“Doc Blanchard would like to meet with us in the ME’s office. He says he’s got a proposition for you, Nighthawk.”
15
Nobody Likes Ankle-Biters
So, Doc had a proposition for me, did he? A host of possibilities flitted through my mind as Harry and I followed Cap’s county car to the ME’s office. None of those scenarios boded well for me. Visions of being handcuffed and led off to jail topped the list, followed closely by a tableau of Jade Chen skewering me on the nightly news.
I don’t play well with others, particularly the press. And for whatever reason, Jade Chen’s liberal, corpse-loving heart had declared war on me. She was more of a nuisance than a concern, really. Still, the brain bitch, intimately familiar with my ability to shoot off my mouth, remained vigilant, urging me to ‘bite my tongue’ whenever the media maven was near.
The three of us appeared at Doc’s doorway, curious but wary.
He invited us to sit, then quickly got down to business. “Thank you all for coming. I understand your reluctance to take on another raising, Nighthawk. I think you may have…misinterpreted my willingness to testify on your behalf yesterday—”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a finger and forged ahead.
“That is to say, perhaps I didn’t express myself clearly. While it’s true that I would not lie for you, or anyone, in court, I did not mean to imply that you had asked me to do so. Thankfully, your attorney asked the right questions, thereby allowing me to assist in your defense. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.” He stopped his speech and stared at me with hawk-like eyes and a too-wide grin, reminding me of The Grinch.
I waggled a finger at him. “That’s not exactly w
hat you said on the day of the raising, is it? I seem to recall you saying that I did not act under your authority, and that you did not instruct me to raise Ms. Henry’s corpse. And that if asked under oath, that would be your testimony.”
Blanchard’s chrome dome glistened with sweat. “It was a stressful time, Ms. Nighthawk. In retrospect, I could have been more supportive.”
It was my turn to sport a shit-eating grin. “That’s an understatement. Especially since I’m the one who got arrested.”
“Cut to the chase,” Cap said. “What is this proposition of yours?”
Doc shoved a piece of paper across his desk. “I’ve prepared a document for us to sign, stipulating that I am directing you, in my capacity as the ME, to raise Alejandro Vega. Cap and Harry can witness our signatures. I’ll ask my clerk to notarize it.”
“Who the hell is Alejandro Vega?” I asked.
Doc sighed. “The guy from the bottom of the elevator shaft.”
Little Allie thought this notarized statement smelled like the hind end of a hippo. I wasn’t crazy about the idea either. But Doc swore it would protect me.
“You heard the judge. If I deem a raising necessary to prove cause of death, you’re good to go.”
Maybe so, but I still wasn’t feeling it.
Doc tossed his hands in the air. “Look, the DA’s up for reelection. He’s a conservative hardliner who jacked you around to court the liberal voters. He made his point. He isn’t going to open this can of worms again.”
Doc was probably right, but I was the one in the crosshairs. On the other hand, we were crapping out on the Henry murder. If there was even a remote chance that this Vega character was involved somehow, we needed to know. Damn it. Why hadn’t Opie been available when I called? In the end, I shouted down the brain bitch and signed off on the agreement, praying this spineless ME had enough intestinal fortitude to stand behind it.
With a copy of the signed document shoved securely into my pocket, I followed Doc, Cap and Harry down the hall to the morgue. It wasn’t surprising to see Doc’s tables full. Morgues all over the country were overflowing thanks to the heroin and fentanyl epidemics, not to mention the usual spates of natural deaths and homicides. Three steel autopsy tables filled the primary chamber with cold storage drawers lining the far wall. A walk-in freezer at the rear of the room provided additional space for cadaver storage. Doc’s attendant glanced up from loading the autoclave and nodded as we walked through the door.
Life Among the Tombstones Page 9