Zombie Cash Run in Las Vegas: A Lighthearted Tiffany Black Mystery (Tiffany Black Mysteries Book 12)

by A. R. Winters

  Karma and Ryan both nodded.

  "You have to be friendly with it," Glenn said. "Animals have good instincts, and they won't like it if you suddenly appear from behind them and try to milk them."

  Ian nodded, looking even more confused. "Okay. So if I'm going to milk a cow, I've got to be–" he ticked off all the things he needed to be on his fingers– "–confident, show no fear, friendly, and have good vibes. Have loving thoughts toward the cow."

  “And don’t overthink it,” said Nanna. "Don’t complicate things.”

  Ian shot me a desperate look, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "I'm sure you'll be okay. Besides, none of the other contestants probably ever milked a cow either."

  Ian didn’t look like he believed my pep talk. “Maybe they have! Maybe they’ve spent all this time milking cows. I can’t believe I haven’t learned some farming! Is it too late to find a farm and ask if I could milk their cows?” He glanced around the table desperately. “Do you know any farmers nearby?”

  We all shook our heads, and Ian said, “What about renting a cow? I’ve seen petting zoos for kids—maybe one of those guys has a cow they could rent out for milking.”

  “I don’t think that’s how petting zoos work,” Wes said.

  “Besides,” I said quickly, “You’d learn quicker if you just watched a few cow-milking YouTube videos.”

  Ian brightened instantly. “You’re right! The internet is always the answer to everything. Why did I forget that?”

  Ryan looked like he was about to say something about cybercrime, but I caught his eye and shook my head. He smiled, and we let Ian enjoy thinking of the internet as his utopia.

  We chatted about the show for a few more minutes, trying to think of what else the show might ask contestants to do, and then, Ian's phone rang.

  He looked at the screen and frowned. "You’ll have to excuse me," he said. "It's Gavin."

  We all fell silent, and listened as Ian spoke into his phone. "No–it's fine, I'm just having lunch. No, I'm at Tiffany's parents’ house. Um… I'm not sure. Okay, I guess… that would be fine?"

  He hung up, and turned to look at my mother. "He says he was in the neighborhood. He wants to stop by for a few minutes, if it's not a problem?"

  A quick surge of anger pulsed through my veins. I took a deep breath to calm myself down.

  "It’s not a problem at all," my mother said sweetly. "We’re always happy to see him."

  I looked at Ryan, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. My irritation must've been written all over my face, because Ryan just smiled at me gently, as if telling me silently to let it go. But I couldn't let it go.

  A few weeks ago, my mother had introduced me to an annoying young man named Gavin. It was another one of her exasperating attempts at setting me up with a man, and as usual, the man in question had turned out to be horrible. To start with, he was constantly trying to get his hands all over me, to the extent that he didn't take mild hints—like when I almost broke one of his fingers, or when I repeatedly told him that I had a cop boyfriend, and that I could get him into serious trouble if I wanted to. He was so handsy that I'd silently nicknamed him "Grabby Gavin."

  But to make things worse, he'd started sending me anonymous threatening letters under the door of my apartment–letters that told me to stop investigating the case I was working on at the time. I’d thought it was a deranged psycho-killer sending me those threats. Afterward, when I'd found out it was him, he claimed it had all been a joke–and Ryan told me that since Gavin had admitted to the deed, I couldn't actually press charges against him. I wasn't sure that I really wanted to press charges, but the whole affair had been so annoying I'd wanted to throttle Gavin. Unfortunately, Gavin worked for a TV production company that was involved with creating Zombie Cash Run–which meant that he was in contact with Ian every now and again.

  My mother leaned over to me, and hissed, "Be nice to Gavin. He did nothing wrong, you know."

  "Of course he did!" I hissed back.

  My mother shook her head. "Not really, he just wanted to make an impression on you."

  By the time Gavin showed up, we'd all finished lunch, and were busy enjoying dessert. The chocolate lava cake was absolutely delicious: melt-in-your-mouth chocolate and warm, gooey chocolate sauce. And Glenn's lemon bars were to die for–just the right balance of citrusy tanginess and sweetness.

  We were in a relaxed, happy mood when Gavin showed up–but as soon as he entered the room, there was an obvious chill that fell over all of us. We forced ourselves to be polite, but I could tell that none of us had really forgiven him for his behavior.

  Gavin was tall and lanky, with straight red hair that fell past his ears. His eyes were watery, and his skin was splotchy and covered with angry red pimples. He was holding a bunch of pink carnations, which he handed to me awkwardly.

  "I never got to apologize properly," he said, shuffling his feet. "I hope you'll forgive me."

  My mother smiled at him, happy to have been validated in her opinion that Gavin was actually a rather nice man.

  "You didn't have to do that," she said. "I'm sure Tiffany understands."

  My father looked up from his chocolate cake, and scowled at Gavin. "I'm sure she'll forgive you in the end, but that was a stupid thing to do, making my daughter's life more difficult than it already is."

  I wanted to jump over the table and give my dad a hug. A deep blush spread over Gavin's face. "I really am sorry," he said. "I didn't know that Tiffany actually got threats like that in the past. I meant it all to be a joke."

  "Why don't you join us for some dessert?" my mother asked kindly.

  Gavin shook his head immediately. "No, I should get back. I just wanted to come by and apologize."

  He really did look like he was sorry for his actions, and I felt a tiny, tiny prick of sympathy for the guy.

  "It's okay," I said brusquely. "Like you said, you didn't know what my life really was like, and for some reason, you can't seem to take no for an answer. But it's in the past now. And I appreciate that you've been helping Ian try to prepare for Zombie Cash Run."

  Relief washed over Gavin's face, and he smiled at me. "Thanks! If you guys ever need anything from me, just ask."

  As soon as we heard the front door close behind him, I felt my muscles relax. "I wish I'd never have to see him again," I muttered, half to myself. "But maybe he's learned his lesson, and he won't bother me again."

  Chapter 4

  A few days later, Nanna, Wes and I turned up to the Vegas Conference Center to watch Ian participate in the first round of Zombie Cash Run.

  Ian had arrived on his own, before us. When the three of us arrived, I assumed Ian was hanging out with the other contestants.

  Nanna, Wes and I chose seats toward the back of the auditorium, and I texted Ian to let him know we were here. We were among the first people to arrive, and a few minutes later, a young man with dirty blond hair showed up at my side. "Tiffany Black?"

  I smiled, slightly mystified. "That's me."

  "Dave sent me over to bring you backstage. He says he'd like you to meet some of the crew."

  "Hmm." It would be nice to meet the other people on the show, but I didn't like to think that Dave was doing all this to try to convince me to join a reality show, something that would never happen. "Can Nanna and Wes come along too?"

  The young man shook his head apologetically. "I'm afraid it's just you. Other audience members aren't allowed backstage."

  "That's all right, dear," Nanna said. "You go ahead. Wes and I can entertain ourselves."

  I followed the man down the auditorium stairs, and through a door on the right side of the stage. We walked down a corridor, and over to a large room where a group of people were milling around.

  Dave walked forward enthusiastically as soon as he saw me. "Tiffany! I'm so glad you came." He grabbed my shoulders, and leaned forward to kiss me on both cheeks, as though we were old friends. I had to fight not to take a step backward.

&nb
sp; I smiled politely. "I appreciate the invite to meet everyone ahead of time. But isn't it against the rules for the contestants to meet each other, or something like that?"

  Dave laughed. "Not really! The contestants are over there–" he pointed to a large make-up station where five people, including Ian, were getting foundation patted onto their faces–"They probably won't talk to each other before this round starts, and even if they do, it won’t be a big deal. Most contestants only get friendly with each other once they’ve crossed the preliminary round."

  I nodded. "That makes sense."

  "As you can see, it's all very exciting! We need a large team to be able to put everything together–but of course, it's much smaller than the teams you need to put together a regular TV show like a drama or a sitcom. There are a few crew members who are off somewhere else, but most people are here. These are our stagehands, Cameron, Sandy, Frank and Marcos."

  Dave led me from one person to another, and I smiled, shook hands and moved to the next person so quickly that I promptly forgot everybody's name. "This is our director, Chuck, and this is our head cameraman, Bruce. This is Kyle, our consultant–he helps us make the show more believable. Oh, and here’s Gavin–he helps us liaison with the network."

  We moved so quickly that I didn't really get a chance to say that Gavin and I already knew each other, and from Gavin’s wan smile, he didn't feel like getting into that whole discussion either.

  The four stagehands were all earnest-looking young men who seemed to be in their twenties. The director, Chuck, was a buff forty-something man with short cropped dark hair, and Bruce, the cameraman, had geeky, big glasses and a hipster beard. I was told that Kyle, the consultant, had just flown in from LA this morning, and that he'd be flying out again tonight. Gavin rushed off right after we were introduced, and Dave continued his rounds by dragging me over to the make-up area, where the foundation plastering seemed to have stopped.

  "These are our talented contestants," Dave said. "Of course, you and Ian are close friends. This is Clayton, MJ, Taylor, and Brenna."

  "Are you going to have the whole show take place in a conference room like this?” I asked. “American Idol style?"

  "Oh, no!" said Dave. "These audition rounds are just for the first and second ones. After that, we’re moving to the Everglades, and the team can battle it out there."

  I shuddered. I didn't want to think about Ian going off to the Everglades and trying to compete with a bunch of survival enthusiasts. Images of Ian being gobbled up by alligators floated into my mind, and I pushed them aside.

  I chatted briefly with all the contestants: banalities, and good luck wishes. If they seemed surprised to be introduced to me, none of them showed it. Clayton and MJ seemed to be in their late twenties–Clayton was tall, thin, with a shaved head. MJ was about five-feet-eight, slightly chubby, and had dark, tan skin and curly brown hair. Taylor was a petite blonde with shoulder-length hair and a charming smile. Brenna was tall and slender, with sharp features, dark eyes, and dark hair that fell to mid-back.

  I wasn't entirely sure how meeting all these people would convince me that a reality TV show was a fun, exciting place, but perhaps Dave thought that everyone's enthusiasm would rub off on me a bit. And I had to admit, there was a palpable air of anticipation and excitement in the room–everyone was looking forward to the show starting.

  After he’d made all his introductions, Dave gave me a quick tour of the place, pointing at various peoples’ rooms, as well as the staff areas. It seemed cheap and makeshift, but I guessed Dave was trying to save his money for the more important rounds which would take place in the Everglades.

  As we walked, Dave talked about how great reality TV shows were, and how much their popularity had increased over the last few years. I nodded and murmured politely, feeling relieved when Bruce, the cameraman, rushed up and murmured something in Dave's ear.

  Dave turned from him to me, an apologetic smile on his face. "We need to start preparations–the show must go on!"

  I tried to hide my relief. "Of course," I said, "I can't wait for everything to start."

  “Neither can I,” said Dave. “I’m sure this is going to be a show like no-one’s ever seen before!”

  Chapter 5

  I went back to my seat, and told Nanna and Wes about my interactions backstage.

  "It doesn't sound all that impressive to me," Nanna said. "It's just a bunch of people standing around waiting for something to happen."

  I shrugged. "Everyone was excited. I have to admit, it might sound boring out here, but back there, everyone's all hyped up."

  We chatted a bit about reality TV shows, and then there was a pause in the conversation for a few seconds.

  By now, the auditorium had started to fill up. Two young-looking women sat behind us, and when we stopped talking, we could hear their conversation as clearly as though they were talking to us.

  "That Taylor is such a basic blonde!" said one of the women. "She's so dumb, I don't know how she ever gets on to things like this."

  "It's because she's always sleeping around with everyone," said the other woman, sounding bored. "She's good at manipulating men. I'll bet she's with one of the show’s head honchos, and that's how she got on."

  "Yeah. And it's not like she’s pretty or anything. She's just busy sleeping her way to the top."

  Nanna turned around and looked at the girls sharply. "I'm assuming you two are here because your friend Taylor invited you?"

  The girls looked at her belligerently.

  "Why do you care?" one of the girls asked, looking like she was ready to turn her claws from Taylor to Nanna.

  "I care, because it's not nice for women to tear each other down. If Taylor is your friend, you shouldn't be saying such nasty things about her. Especially not behind her back."

  I expected one of the girls to say something back to Nanna, but to my surprise, Nanna's comment shut them up. They stared at the three of us as though we were something nasty they'd found under their stilettos, and then they both got up silently and left to sit somewhere else.

  "I'm glad they moved away," I said shifting in my seat. "I always hate when people are so catty to each other."

  Nanna sighed. "Some folks think they can only get ahead by tearing others down."

  I agreed, and then a silence descended upon the audience as a man I recognized as Frank the stagehand came onto the stage and started moving things around.

  He was followed by the other stagehands, and then Chuck, the director, who told the audience that they needed to be quiet, and that shooting would start soon.

  The contestants each came out onto the stage, and they were introduced by a man named Gary, who said he was the show's host. He must’ve been elsewhere when Dave had shown me around; he was a tall, athletic-looking blonde. Gary asked each of the contestants why they were interested in a zombie reality show. Each of the contestants said something clever about zombies and the future of the world, while Ian talked about his love for science fiction and how much he'd love to actually battle zombies in the flesh. I’d watched a few zombie movies with Ian, and I felt sure that Ian would never survive an actual zombie apocalypse, but I tried to ignore that thought: surely reality TV would be simpler than actual reality.

  After the introductions, it was time for the show to start. The five contestants each took their place in a line at the back of the stage. And then my jaw dropped: five cows were led out onto the stage. Most of the contestants looked mildly surprised, but Ian looked absolutely horrified. I could almost see what he was thinking–Dave really had tried to tip the scales in Ian's favor.

  Gary explained to the camera that when zombies took over, we wouldn't be able to just go ahead and buy milk in cartons off the supermarket shelves. Instead, we'd have to procure milk directly from the source–and each of the contestants would have to do so now.

  After that, he disappeared off the stage, a buzzer rang, and the contestants each grabbed a bucket and walked up to their co
w.

  The cows were all brown, of similar sizes, and looked thoroughly bored by the proceedings. They were probably wondering where their grass was, and why they were in this conference center. I wondered briefly how Dave and his crew had even managed to get the cows here, but then I dismissed the thought. These people clearly had their own methods.

  Brenna’s cow did a massive poop on stage, and the audience laughed. But Brenna didn't seem to be fazed. Instead, she laid a gentle hand on the cow’s neck, and guided her forward. She crouched down beside the cow and beginning milking her efficiently.

  The rest of the contestants weren't doing so well.

  Taylor looked absolutely horrified by the cow, and I guessed that she was like me: she’d never met a cow until recently. She managed to put her pail on the floor near the cow, and pet it a little bit, before the cow tipped over her bucket.

  Clayton and MJ were both approaching the cow warily, as was Ian.

  As I watched, Ian muttered under his breath, and the mic pinned to his shirt caught every word. "Okay," he was saying to himself. "Love and kindness. Love and kindness. I've got so much love and kindness for you, cow. Don't kick me." He frowned. “I need to remember that you’re a common criminal. Whom I feel love and kindness for.”

  The audience laughed, and then Ian realized his words were being picked up. He grinned apologetically, and then walked toward the cow and began petting it. He gave it a hug, which surprised the cow and she took a few steps away. Ian grabbed his bucket, and began to start milking; within seconds, the cow had tipped the bucket over. Ian gave a few more tries, and on his last attempt, he managed to not get the bucket tipped over.

  Finally, a buzzer buzzed, and everyone headed over to Gary with their buckets.

  Gary told each of the contestants to explain what they'd done, and what they'd been feeling, as they went over the contents of the buckets. I half-tuned out, and assumed they were videotaping a lot more footage than they needed.

  Finally, the results were announced–Brenna had performed the best, followed by MJ, followed by–surprise surprise–Ian!