by William Bebb
Stinky fell to the ground again. He saw a man in a filthy Obama/Biden '08 T-shirt and blue jeans running impossibly fast at him screaming. He threw the empty toolbox at him and tried to hobble back along the fence to the gate. He was opening the gate when he felt fingers clawing at his leather boot. He didn't need to look down to know the short stinky one was still around.
He was biting and chewing on his boot while holding it firmly in both hands, like a squirrel gnawing on a succulent nut. The other one didn't seem fazed by the toolbox and was only seconds away. His body trembled harder as he felt more tired than at any time in his life. With his knee shuddering and sending urgent messages of agony he leaned against the gate in the fence and swung the crowbar weakly. The undead Obama supporter only stumbled back a step, as it hit him, but did not fall.
With his crowbar free he stabbed down at the one on the ground and felt it crushing into his skull. Stinky had been grunting as he chewed and clawed at his boot, but as the tip of the crowbar rammed its way into his skull he said in perfectly understandable English “Uh oh.”
Josey felt stunned and sick to his stomach by the combination of the heat, the cracking wet squelching noises of the crowbar entering the short stinky man's skull, and the near exhaustion from all the fighting. The chewing and clawing on his boot had stopped, but the spasm in him felt stronger as he began to vomit while pulling out the crowbar. The vomit shot out of his mouth like a garden hose, and spray coated the man he'd hit with crowbar moments before. He never believed you could throw up and laugh at the same time until that moment. The situation was far from funny but he couldn't help laughing as the spray of vomit made up mostly of water and a few last remnants of his breakfast soaked the man’s hair, face, and presidential shirt. He had the weirdest look on his face. Almost like shock, confusion, and maybe a touch of disgust, but Josey wouldn't swear to the disgust part.
He was moving forward, dripping and grunting louder. Josey spun to meet it and felt his knee spasm again. Screaming and falling back against the fence next to the gate, he weakly held the crowbar up at the fast approaching zombie. In pain and near exhaustion he said a quick prayer.
Boris may have never been the answer to a prayer before, but just as the zombie knocked the crowbar aside the dog leaped at full gallop sending the Obama supporter rolling sideways and away from the nearly helpless Josey. Fighting against the pain, he managed to grip his crowbar and crawl away from the zombie that Boris had just toppled and made his way as fast as he could through the gate in the chain link fence.
The dog continued to distract most of the zombies by barking and running back and forth through their midst. The zombie he'd just fought with, that Boris had knocked over, was up and moving toward him again. He stood shakily by the gate, whistling weakly for Boris. But the undead were much too close to leave the gate open. He slammed it shut and swung the crowbar at the one still dripping from his vomit on the other side of the fence.
He heard a yelp and then saw a blur of fur as Boris easily leapt over the fence. The dog turned around to bark at the assembled crowd of undead and infected. Several more zombies surrounded and leaned over the fence apparently unable to figure out how to climb over it.
Leaning heavily on the crowbar Josey staggered toward the door of the trailer. He saw an old man and a cute kid standing in the doorway as he slowly limped up the steps and smiled weakly at them. The kid was petting Boris and asked “Can we keep him grandpa?”
The middle aged fat man wore a conservative suit as he sat at the edge of the leather high back chair and talked rapidly and loudly into his phone.
“I don’t care how you make up the work! I don’t care if they don’t like it. Tell him if he doesn’t like it he can come up here and swab my ass clean with his tongue.” He said, slamming the phone down so hard the plastic handset cracked. Steven Keck was not a happy executive. He wiped his nose and saw blood staining his fingers.
“Not again.” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling of his office and hollered “Margaret!”
The door opened and a lady wearing a smart business suit came in holding a notepad. She stopped on the other side of the desk and smiled asking “Yes sir, did you call?”
“It's another damn nosebleed. Go get some ice out of my refrigerator and hurry.”
“Yes sir.” She said walking to the bar in the corner of the office and prepared the icepack. Margaret had just sent off another series of resumes and job inquiries moments before he had yelled and hoped to hear something soon. She had been so happy to get an executive assistant position here at Beaumont Bio-Chemical Industries a few months ago she thought it was a dream come true. But while the job paid well, she would quit today at half the money if something were available because her boss was a truly horrible man.
“Hurry up. I’m bleeding to death.” He whined with an odd clogged nasal tone in his voice.
She stood beside her boss and held out the plastic bag of ice cubes. He looked up at her and said, “You hold it on my nose. It makes my fingers too cold when I do it.”
“Yes sir.” she said suppressing a sigh, and placed the bag on ice gently on his nose as he breathed hard through his mouth with his arms hanging out stretched on either side of his chair.
“Margaret, am I an unreasonable boss? Be honest.”
“No sir.” She lied feeling her fingertips going numb as she held the bag of ice on his bloody nose.
“That’s what I thought. I work hard and provide jobs for hundreds of people at this plant. I pay a fair wage for an honest day’s work. And how do the ungrateful bastards repay me?”
There was a pause and she was uncertain if she should respond. She imagined saying what was on her mind and smiled. Do you mean the bastards you pay slave wages to who happen to be working here illegally? The ones you don’t offer any benefits? The bastards who get the privilege of washing and waxing your Mercedes every day on their lunch hour? The poor bastards you sent home with a corpse last week? She shook her head as she continued to hold the bag of ice. She noticed his body trembling as he took a deep breath.
He saw her head shake and screamed, “They fuck me like a two dollar whore!” More blood dribbled from his nose running down into his mouth and onto his chin.
She felt queasy and wanted to run away but stayed. “Mr. Keck, you should try to calm down. You don’t want another heart attack. Did you take your medicine this morning?”
“Calm down? I didn’t fire them all last Friday when not even one of them showed up or called in. I have been calm and patient with them long enough. Every man has his breaking point.”
She looked at the smashed big flat screen TV, in the corner of his office. Keck smashed it last Friday when he heard none of them had showed up for work and took a deep breath as he continued to rant.
“Someone had an unavoidable accident, and yes it was terrible, but for God’s sake I gave them a thousand bucks for his relatives. I didn’t have to do that. And how do they repay me? They all skip work on Friday, and now after the weekend they all stay home today and laugh at me. Now, we’ve fallen so far behind the quotas my supervisors are out for my blood.”
He took the bag of ice from her and said “Go get Lopez or Guteriz over at the Sheriff's Department on the phone. I want to make sure they got the message from my friends in Santa Fe.”
“Yes sir.” She said, and quickly left his office rubbing her fingers together trying to defrost them.
CHAPTER 5
Lieutenant Bo Autry looked at the kid, sitting behind the one way window, and wondered what his parents had been smoking when they named him. He glanced at the rap sheet and then back at the kid again. Sixteen year old Yugo Samwise Wallace had been arrested seven times since his eleventh birthday. He was the only, known, son of Dawn Mary and Randy Wallace whose current whereabouts were unknown. His parents were known almost affectionately as the Redneck Gourmets due to their ability to produce a very successful line of Crystal Methamphetamine.
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sp; There were outstanding warrants on both his parents for a long list of drug related charges most of which centered on the possession, sale, and manufacture of Crystal Meth. Their mug shots were on TV news shows and in newspapers with a frequency that many Hollywood actresses would be envious of. In addition to all the drug charges, the Bonnie and Clyde of the Redneck variety were also suspected in a few gruesome murders stretching back several years. Most of the dead were not choir boys, in fact nearly all of them had records that involved some type of drug use or distribution charges. The murders were most notable for the wide variety of types of execution. None had been shot or stabbed, but perhaps the most infamous murder had been that of Jimmy Faukener.
What was left of his burned body was found tied to a sign along the interstate that said Welcome to Beautiful Albuquerque. Under the state approved message, the Redneck Gourmets spray-painted Thou shalt not steal from us. The coroner had never seen a death by alcohol infusion before and hoped never to see one again. The badly burned body contained almost no blood at all. On the final report he'd written. Subject appears to have had repeated blood lettings and infusions of alcohol, specifically tequila, before he was ignited. Given the sheer quantity of alcohol, subject was definitely dead before burned.
Several witnesses described a man fitting the description of Randy Wallace fleeing the scene driving a van identical to the one Yugo had been driving when he was pulled over for speeding a few days earlier.
Bo heard the door open to the hallway and Captain Lopez came in carrying two cups of coffee and handed him one. Lopez was nearing retirement and was in a state of annoyingly perpetual good cheer lately, yet he was a hard man to not like. He bore a remarkable resemblance to Ricardo Montalban an actor he always loved growing up especially for his work in the movie Star Trek The Wrath of Khan. But his favorite greeting for new inmates was actually from another show he had watched starring the late Montalban. He would walk into the prisoner lockup smiling and say “Welcome Fantasy Cell Block, where all your fantasies come true, as long as they involve being raped by your cellmates.” The only problem was fewer young prisoners knew who he was doing an impression of.
Bo stared through the glass and ran his free hand through the buzz cut hairstyle he wore and sipped his coffee. “He still won't say anything helpful. Just keeps saying he found the van he was driving, and didn't know it had two hundred pounds of Meth in the back. Plus an impressive amount of firearms, including my personal favorite- a highly illegal, fully automatic AK-47 Assault Rifle.” Bo said holding the warm cup with both hands, enjoying the coffees warmth.
The captain smiled and looked down at the young lieutenant, “I think our long haired friend may be telling us a fib. Not even a very good fib, since the van was last registered to his parents according to the computer.” Lopez said, leaning against the door and looking thoughtful.
“We've been sweating him since we caught last Thursday night, and now his lawyer is pressing hard for Juvenile Hall. I heard he's even got a judge listening. I think the kid may be out of our hands before long. If they take him over to Juvie we may never know where his parents are hiding.” Bo said, looking frustrated and angry.
“The Redneck Gourmets would certainly be nice to find. Let's go ask him nicely where they are, and see what happens.” Lopez said, tossing his empty coffee cup in the trashcan and opening the door.
Yugo was an unhappy teenager. His long greasy hair hung down past his shoulders as he stared at his acne covered reflection in the big mirror on the opposite wall. Having stared at the reflection over the last three days he thought maybe a little trip to the hairstylist was in order, if he ever got out of here. He felt the cold handcuffs and heard the metal clink as he tried to get more comfortable. The cuffs were attached to a bolt on his chair, between his knees, and he couldn't raise his hands any higher than the tabletop in front of him. His nose ring was itching like crazy and he leaned down to wipe it on the tabletop. He was still rubbing his nose on the table when he heard the door open.
“See what I mean Bo, when I was a kid I used a handkerchief to wipe my nose but kids today just wipe their snotty noses anywhere.” Lopez said, walking around to the other side of the table looking at Yugo with a sly grin.
“It's the upbringing Cap, it’s not his fault. It’s certainly not his fault he'll be spending the rest of his life in prison for being caught driving a van that he found, that happened to have a couple hundred pounds of Meth and a nice assortment of guns in the back. A van that coincidentally was registered in his parent’s name.”
Yugo looked at his reflection with a bored expression, and ignored the officers. He'd heard it all before and knew under the law he was going to Juvenile Hall, not prison. He smiled slightly at himself in the mirror.
“Well Yugo I can't blame you for protecting your parents. Why I bet they're probably pretty concerned about you by now.” Bo said, shaking his head in exaggerated sadness. “Just think about your dear old mom worrying about you, probably can't even sleep from staying up wondering if you're dead or alive. I can remember, back when I was Yugo's age, I went on a scouting trip for two weeks. When I got back home my dad told me all she did while I was gone was worry.”
“You told me about that once.” Lopez said, looking at Bo with a sympathetic expression on his face. “Didn't your dad have to take her to hospital or something?”
“Yeah, she got to worrying so much about me she forgot to take her medicine and suffered some kind of Diabetic seizure. My parents never told me about it, but my mom’s sister told me all about how they had to take her to the Hospital Emergency Room. She said it had been a very close call.”
Yugo stiffened slightly when Bo said the words Diabetic seizure. It was a small thing, but both officers noticed it. They had access to all the Redneck Gourmets medical records including the fact Yugo's mother, Dawn Mary Wallace, had been suffering from Diabetes for over ten years.
Bo snapped his fingers and had a look like inspiration had hit and looked up at the captain. “You know Cap, since he's going to be going to Juvenile Hall anytime now-” Lopez gave Bo a royally pissed off look as he continued, “...maybe we could cut the kid a break.”
“He's not going to Juvie, and you know it, Bo.” Lopez said, through gritted teeth, as his eyes flashed at him saying clearly with no words, What the Hell are you doing?
“Come on Cap, he's not stupid. He knows he'll probably be sprung sometime this afternoon and then what? Months, who knows, maybe years before he can even see a phone let alone use one. I have an idea.” he said, pulling his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and setting it in front of Yugo almost within reach.
“Just give us the address where your parents are and you can give them a call. We'll even step outside so you can have a little privacy.” Bo said patting him on the shoulder gently.
Yugo looked away from the mirror and up at Bo, then glanced at the captain who seemed genuinely furious. His dad always said cops were “the stupidest fuckers ever given guns”, yet Yugo still had his doubts. But if I could really use the phone, for just a few minutes, what would it hurt to give them a fake address, Yugo wondered. He felt undecided and hopeful at the same time.
“I'm sure you are thinking it's a trick, but it really isn't. You're a smart kid and I'm sure you know how to erase the recent calls on a cell phone, don't you? All you gotta tell us is where-”
Captain Lopez interrupted, “You've gotta be kidding me Bo, he won't give us a real address, we'll be lost wandering the whole damn desert for days if we follow his directions. Just put the phone back in your pocket and let’s get out of here. I'm sick of looking at the snot nosed bastard.”
Bo picked up the phone and put it back in his shirt looking beaten. “Yeah you're probably right.” But as he joined Lopez walking out, he gave Yugo a wink and patted him again on the shoulder.
The teenager sat alone after the door closed and thought of his mom. True, she wasn't much of a mother but she was all he had. He couldn't help feeling worrie
d about her and felt tears leaking from his eyes as he stared at the table. While Yugo had a long rap sheet, he was still just a young teenager who felt very alone and realized he might never see his mom or dad ever again. Mom does have a bad case of Diabetes. She already lost both feet last Winter. She could die anytime, he thought, and cried harder resting his head down on the table.
“I almost screwed that up, didn't I?” Lopez said, smiling and blushing.
“Nope, it was a spur of the moment idea and I'm glad you said what you did. I just realized Yugo, aside from being saddled with one of the worst names I've ever heard of, is still just a kid. He'll make the call.”
Ten minutes later, Yugo had stopped crying and was still sitting with his face down on the tabletop when Bo walked in alone. He leaned down and set the phone in front of the boy.
“Just give me the address. I really need this Yugo. You can help us both out. Give me the address and I'll testify on your behalf when it goes to court. If we bring in your parents I'll even push for you to get probation, and that's a promise. You could be a free man this time next week.” Bo opened the door to the hallway and said, “You can talk for five minutes then I'll come back for the phone. Just hit the clear recent dialed numbers button. Honestly, Yugo I hate sending you away for maybe thirty or forty years.” he said, patting him on the back again.
“Hell, I don't care what you say. Tell her the cops are coming to get her and your dad. Tell her what’s in your heart son. Tell your mom you love her. Look at the mirror, go on look.”
Yugo lifted his head and looked up at the mirror, and saw the inside of the observation room was empty. The lights were on in the room and now it was just a regular two way glass window. He looked up at Bo, with a faint hope in his eyes, cleared his throat and said, “They're set up cooking Meth at 2358 Longhorn Way, Just north of town.”