by Mike Resnick
“Thank you,” said the man, entering the office.
“Have a seat,” continued Mallory, indicating a chair that faced his desk.
“I’d prefer to stand,” said the man, eyeing Felina nervously.
“As you wish. Now, who are you, and what can we do for you?”
“My name is Nightspore, Aloysius Nightspore,” he said. “I am one of the owners of Nightspore, Nightspore, Nightspore, and Cohen. You’ve heard of us?”
“Aren’t you a rock group?” asked Mallory.
Nightspore shook his head. “Dear me, no. We’re undertakers.”
“Okay, you’re undertakers,” said Mallory. “What seems to be your problem?”
“One of our . . . ah . . . clients has gone missing.” He grimaced uncomfortably. “Our most important client.” “Let me see if I understand you correctly,” said Winnifred. “Someone has stolen a corpse?”
He shook his head. “No, no one stole it.”
“Well, it sure as hell didn’t just get up and walk out on its own power,” said Mallory with a chuckle.
“In point of fact, that is precisely what it did,” replied Nightspore.
“Damn!” muttered Mallory. “Every time I think I’m getting used to this Manhattan, something like this happens!”
“Let me explain,” said Nightspore.
“I think you’d better,” agreed Winnifred.
“Have you ever heard of Big Benny Bernstein?”
“He’s been a local politician forever,” said Winnifred. “What we used to call a ward healer.”
“Well, he died two days ago,” said Nightspore. “Natural causes?” asked Mallory.
“I suppose it’s natural that death results from two bullets in the spleen, another one in the heart, and one more in the liver,” agreed Nightspore.
“Four shots would do it,” agreed Mallory. “And the killer had two left if he needed them.”
“Well, in theory,” said Nightspore. “In point of fact, the other two shots just frightened the three women away.”
“Three women?” said Mallory.
“Big Benny was always just a bit scandal-prone,” answered Nightspore.
“I’d say he was energetically scandal-prone,” said Mallory.
“Anyway, they’re giving him a first-rate sendoff tomorrow afternoon,” continued Nightspore. “The Mayor, the Governor, one of our Senators, half the City Council, eleven members of the State Legislature—and now there’s no corpse.”
“You say he just walked out?” said Mallory. “How do you know someone didn’t steal the body?”
“He was laid out in his coffin after we embalmed him, and suddenly two of my assistants witnessed him get up and walk out the door.”
“Have you got any details? Was there any external stimuli—a full moon, anything like that?”
“They were on their break, having a drink and playing that hit CD by Vlad and the Impalers, and one of them mentioned that he was going to see Bubbles La Tour at Salacious Sally’s Five-Star Burlesque Emporium later tonight—and suddenly Big Benny sat up, said he wasn’t ready to give up all the good times yet, and just like that he climbed out of his coffin and walked out the door.” “And this was how long ago?” asked Winnifred.
“Let’s see,” said Nightspore. “It’s almost five now, so I guess it was about four this afternoon.” He looked like he was trying to hold back some tears. “If we don’t have him back in time for the funeral we’ll be ruined! I don’t care what you charge, just get him back no later than nine tomorrow morning!”
“We’ll need a retainer,” said Mallory.
“Here!” cried Nightspore, pulling a wad of money out of his pocket and throwing it at the detective. Felina leaped forward and caught it in her mouth before it reached him, while Nightspore walked to the door. “Remember—by nine at the latest!”
Then he was gone.
“What do you think, John Justin?” said Winnifred.
“I think if Felina eats that money I’ll slit her open from top to bottom to get it back.”
“What else do you think?” she said as Mallory reached out and took the roll of bills out of Felina’s mouth.
“It doesn’t taste as good as a rat that’s been dead a week,” complained Felina. “Or a month. Or two months.” She paused thoughtfully. “Three months, maybe.”
“In answer to your other question,” said Mallory, “it sounds like Big Benny wants one last night on the town. How hard can it be to spot a zombie enjoying himself?”
“I don’t know,” answered Winnifred. “But have you noticed that none of our cases ever turn out to be as easy as they look when we accept them?”
“That goes with the territory, at least in this Manhattan.” He checked his wristwatch. “Damn. Stopped again.” “It’s 5:20,” offered Winnifred.
“Well, we’ve got less than sixteen hours to find one runaway corpse in a city of eight million,” said Mallory. “I suppose it makes sense to split up.”
“I agree.”
“The question is: where? I’ll check out Salacious Sally’s a little later, when she’s open for business, but where else do we look?”
“Clubs that play bad rock music, his favorite restaurants, political rallies, party headquarters, the same places he’d hang out if he was still alive,” said Winnifred. “Remember, he left the funeral parlor because he wasn’t ready to give up all the things he enjoyed yet.”
“All right,” said Mallory. “I’ll take Broadway and everything west of it; you have everything east.”
She nodded her agreement. “We should arrange a meeting, to compare notes.”
“Eleven o’clock at the Slithering Snake?” suggested Mallory.
She just stared at him.
“Eleven o’clock back here,” he amended, “Sounds good,” she said. “I’ll need ten minutes to prepare, and then I’m off after him.”
“What kind of preparation do you need to do?” asked Mallory. “Research him on the internet?”
“I have to go to my apartment, pick up my .550 Nitro Express, pass the word to some of my safari trolls— especially my gunbearer and my tracker—and change into my khaki shorts and shirt, and my hiking boots.”
“Are you sure you’ll need all that?”
“What if he goes to Central Park, or even Grammercy Park?” replied Winnifred. “The game’s afoot, John Justin!”
“We just want to find him, not blow him to smithereens,” cautioned Mallory.
“He’s already dead,” said Winnifred, “so what harm can it do?”
Mallory shrugged, unable to come up with an answer.
“I’ll see you in five and a half hours,” she said, walking out the door.
“I’m going with you, John Justin!” purred Felina.
“You could stay here and protect the office,” said Mallory without much hope.
She shook her head. “No! My place is beside you. Well, behind you, anyway—at least until I decide to desert you in the end.”
“You could desert me right now,” suggested Mallory. “Think of the time you’d save.”
“No,” said Felina. “Someone has to protect you from Big Benny and Bubbles La Tour and all the other evil denizens of the night.”
“I can’t tell you how safe that makes me feel,” said Mallory sardonically. He got to his feet and walked to the door. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”
“I have a question, John Justin,” said Felina, leaping lightly off the desk.
“What is it?
“Are zombies good to eat?”
* * *
They walked past the Vampire State Building and were headed in the direction of Madison Round Garden when Mallory spotted Ming Toy Yingleman’s Almost-Kosher Delicatessen at the corner.
“Didn’t Big Benny used to eat at that joint?” he wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” said Felina helpfully. Then: “What does an almost-Kosher taste like?”
“Just like a nearly-Neopoli
tan, only different.”
“Thank you, John Justin,” said the cat-girl. “You know everything.” She turned around. “Skritch my back.” “Later.”
“All right.” A brief pause. “Is it later yet?”
“Not till a week from Tuesday.”
The answer seemed to satisfy her, and Mallory headed off toward the deli. As he entered he walked up to the cashier and asked if Big Benny had come in recently. “About ten minutes ago,” was the answer.
Mallory looked around. “I don’t see him.”
“Of course not,” said the cashier. “We threw him out.” “Why?”
“Don’t let the peeling wallpaper and the cracks in the ceiling fool you, fella. We’re a high-class establishment— and we don’t serve zombies.”
“Where did he go?”
“I sent him down the block to Odd Oswald’s. They’re less fussy about their clientele.”
“Thanks,” said Mallory, heading out the door, grabbing Felina by the hand and dragging her away from the display case.
“There were dead fish right there for the taking,” she protested as they emerged onto the sidewalk.
“We have work to do.”
“I hate you!” she hissed. “And I’m never speaking to you again!”
“I’ll just have to live with the disappointment,” said Mallory.
“Of course, I might talk to you someday if you begged me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of making you compromise your principles.”
“What’s a principle?” asked Felina. “Is it good to eat?” “Only with pickles and hot fudge,” said Mallory.
“Will you point one out to me, John Justin?” she asked, purring and rubbing her hip against his.
“They’re kind of rare in these parts,” said Mallory. “Besides, you’re never speaking to me again.”
“Oh, that” said Felina. “I forgive you.”
“You’ve made my year.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Odd Oswald’s,” said Mallory. “It’s supposed to be around here somewhere.” He looked across the street. “Yeah, there it is.”
The two of them crossed the street and walked into the restaurant.
“There he is,” said Mallory, indicating a white-haired man in a beautifully-tailored suit who was arguing with a waiter.
“This is unacceptable!” yelled Big Benny Bernstein, staring at his plate. “I don’t want brains! I want knishes, and some chopped liver on the side!”
“But sir, you’re a zombie,” said the waiter patiently. “What’s that got to do with anything?” demanded Big Benny. “One joint won’t feed me at all, and the other brings me a plate of”—he made a face—“brains!”
“But this is a restaurant for creatures of the night,” explained the waiter patiently.
“I don’t care! Bring me some lox and blintzes.” Big Benny frowned thoughtfully. “Well, maybe wrapped around a brain. Oh, and a cup of java.”
“All we have is blood, sir.”
“What the hell kind of deli is this?” bellowed Big Benny.
“One for zombies,” said Mallory, stepping forward.
“Do I know you?” asked Big Benny.
“Not yet,” said Mallory. “You ran off at a very inopportune time. My name’s Mallory. I’ve been hired to bring you back.”
“I’m not ready to go back. The world is full of wine, women and song.”
“You had your whole life to enjoy them,” said Mallory. “But your whole life ended a couple of days ago, and now it’s time to embark on your afterlife.”
“You insist?” said Big Benny.
“I’m afraid so.”
Big Benny got up and began walking toward the door. As he passed an empty but unbussed table he picked up a half-empty cup of blood, stared at it, then shrugged and drank it.
“Not bad,” he admitted.
“I think that’s what the waiter was trying to explain to you,” said Mallory. “Like it or not, you’re a zombie now.” “Not!” yelled Big Benny, throwing another cup of blood into Mallory’s face. By the time the detective had wiped it out of his eyes, Big Benny was nowhere to be seen. “Thanks for your help,” said Mallory wryly.
“I didn’t do anything,” said Felina.
“I was being sarcastic.”
“What’s sarcastic?” she asked. “It is good to eat?” Mallory walked out onto the sidewalk and looked up and down the block. There was no sign of Big Benny.
“Okay,” he said, “use that nose of yours and tell me which way he went.”
She sniffed the air. “Away.”
“Away in which direction?”
“North, or maybe east,” she said, and then frowned. “Or west.”
“Point.”
She extended a finger toward his chest.
“Not at me,” said Mallory. “Point to where he went.”
“I don’t know where he went,” said Felina. “But,” she added, pointing north on Ninth Avenue, “he headed off that way.”
Mallory resisted the urge to yell “Follow that zombie!” and settled for telling her to follow his scent, which sounded less dramatic but at least told Felina what he wanted her to do.
They passed a tavern for ghouls, another for leprechauns, one for vampires, and had finally reached one that specialized in zombies when Felina came to a stop.
“Here?” asked Mallory.
She nodded.
“Let’s go in, then,” said Mallory.
She reached her hand out and shook his. “It’s been nice knowing you, John Justin, but I think it’s time to desert you.”
“Am I in that much danger if I go in?”
“Probably no more than if you go into that bar,” she said, indicating the vampire tavern.
Mallory was still debating entering the bar when he heard the sound of shattering glass, and a voice that sounded like Big Benny’s began screaming almost incoherently.
Suddenly Mallory smiled.
“What’s so funny, John Justin?” asked Felina.
“I think I know what’s going on in there,” answered Mallory. “And if I’m right, I don’t have to go in.”
“Why not?”
“Because Benny’s going to come bursting out any second.”
And as the words left his mouth, Big Benny Bernstein stalked out of the bar, cursing a blue streak.
“Hi, Benny,” said Mallory.
The zombie peered at him. “Do I know you?”
“We’ve met once before.”
Big Benny frowned. “Did you vote for me in the last election?”
“Anything’s possible,” said Mallory. “What was the problem in there?”
“I asked for a vodka martini,” growled Benny. “I don’t know what the hell they brought me, but it looked like carrot juice. You ever see a martini that wasn’t transparent?”
“Figures,” said the detective.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a zombie. You may not like it, but zombies eat brains and drink blood. Your body can’t metabolize knishes or martinis any more. Why don’t you come back to the funeral home with me?”
“I’m not ready, damn it! For one thing, it’s not fair to my constituents!”
“They’ll never miss you,” said Mallory as Felina saw something moving in a nearby alley and silently headed toward it.
“True,” admitted Big Benny with a sigh. “Besides, what politician really gives a damn about them except on election day?” He frowned. “The truth of the matter is that it’s not fair to me. Do you know that I’ve never lazed on a beach in the South Pacific surrounded by six nude and nubile young maidens? Not even once!”
Mallory resisted the urge to remark that Big Benny was the only man he knew who hadn’t experienced that.
“I’ve never eaten at Maxim’s,” continued Benny, tears coming to his eyes. “I’ve never refereed a heavyweight title bout. I’ve never popped open a bottle of Dom Perignon.” He paused, shaking his head sadly. “
I’ve never even had my face slapped by Bubbles La Tour.”
“You’ve never had your face slapped?” asked Mallory dubiously.
“Oh, lots of times. But never by Bubbles La Tour.”
“I don’t know how to break this to you, Benny,” said Mallory, “but I don’t think any of these things would appeal to you in your present condition.”
“Maybe not,” agreed Big Benny, “but I have to try. I’ll never have another chance.”
Felina returned with a very dead rat in her hands and a feline smile on her face.
“That was quick,” said Mallory. “Usually you play with them longer.”
“He was already dead,” she answered. “So it’s not as much fun, but he’ll taste just as good. Maybe better. Sometimes it’s good to let them age a little.”
Big Benny stared hypnotically at the rat. “I don’t suppose you’d care to share that,” he said hopefully.
Felina hissed and backed away.
“You know,” said Mallory, “I’ve never been to Maxim’s, but I’d lay plenty of six-to-one that they hardly ever serve dead rats there.” He paused thoughtfully. “Especially without a wine sauce.”
Big Benny frowned, still staring at the rat. “I shouldn’t like that, should I?” he asked.
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Just between you and me, I think I’m having trouble adjusting to being a zombie.”
“I’d never have guessed,” said Mallory dryly.
“But I ain’t ready to hang it up yet!” said Benny with a sudden burst of emotion. “I’m off to yell ‘Take it off!’ to Bubbles La Tour, and maybe get my face slapped!”
And with that, he turned and began walking toward Salacious Sally’s.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” said Mallory, grabbing his arm.
Big Benny swung his arm and Mallory literally flew through the air, landing about fifteen feet away.
“Don’t try to stop me, copper!” snapped Big Benny. Suddenly he smiled. “Damn! I’ve always wanted to say that!”
“I’m not a copper.”
“Same thing. New let me give you a word of advice: don’t get between me and Bubbles La Tour.”
He headed off again, and this time Mallory knew better than to try to physically restrain him, so he simply followed the zombie at a respectful ten paces. Felina gobbled her snack and then fell into step beside the detective.