Jailbait Zombie

by Mario Acevedo

  “Any good vodka.” I had to qualify that. “Make sure it doesn’t look like lighter fluid.”

  Shawna flashed teeth the color of buffed porcelain and went inside. I took out my contacts and did a sweep of the street and traffic. Nothing suspicious. I put my contacts in.

  Shawna came back carrying a paper bag. “I got Grey Goose. A bottle of tonic. A lemon. Some ginger ale.”

  “Where to?”

  She aimed a long fingernail down the street. We passed the traffic light when she told me to slow down. “It’s on the left.”

  A lighted plastic sign outlined with flickering bulbs announced DeLuxe Restaurant Motel. Shawna said to park behind the restaurant.

  The DeLuxe was an old motor court with a ground-in smell of cooking oil and wet garbage. Small rooms faced the compact asphalt square of a parking lot. Floodlights at the corners of the eaves didn’t do much except make the shadows appear that much darker. Pickups with rifle racks in the cabs were nestled in the carports between rooms. Every bumper had an NRA sticker.

  Shawna directed me to an empty spot at the right corner. It didn’t surprise me that when Shawna got out, she already had a plastic key tag in her hand. It also wouldn’t surprise me if she knew my name as well.

  “You always this prepared?” I asked.

  “Oh, honey,” she replied, “me and the owners go way back.”

  Shawna set the bag with the liquor and goodies on the doormat next to a Folgers coffee can containing kitty litter and cigarette butts. After unlocking the doorknob, she twisted the key into the deadbolt and grabbed the doorknob. She jiggled the key and thumped her shoulder against the door until it opened.

  She flicked on the room lights.

  I opened my coat and waited by my Toyota, convinced this was a setup. But I detected nothing. Even my sixth sense drew a blank.

  I grabbed my backpack and entered the room. The place smelled like the bottom layer of a neglected laundry basket. Shawna put the Grey Goose, tonic, and ginger ale next to plastic disposable cups on the dresser. I nudged the door shut with my foot.

  I set my backpack on a card table covered with green contact paper. A placard on the wall above the table admonished:

  ABSOLUTELY NO COOKING OF ANY KIND IN THE ROOM.

  NO HOT PLATES. NO CAMPING STOVES. NO STERNO.

  NO SMOKING. NO CANDLES. NO INCENSE.

  NO DRESSING OF GAME IN THE BATHTUB.

  PLEEZ UNLOAD GUNS BEFORE CLEANING.

  Bullet holes punctuated the last warning.

  Shawna grabbed a small plastic tub from the dresser and offered it to me. “We need ice. Go to the back door of the kitchen and ask for some.”

  I walked past her to check the bathroom. “You get it.”

  Shawna shrugged, took the bucket, and left.

  No one waited behind the bathtub curtain. The bathroom window faced a cinderblock wall on the other side of a narrow alley. Steel bars covered the window.

  The bed was a couple of twins pushed together. Duct tape held the legs tight. Underneath I found a roach clip, a knee-high stocking, a couple of .270 rifle cartridges, and a copy of the Alamosa Valley Courier. The paper was from two days ago. The headline of a front-page article read: “Local Business Owner Missing.”

  Someone else had disappeared?

  A quick glance told me that the business owner was the latest of area residents who had vanished. The article mentioned a loving wife and family and, only as an aside, introduced a gambling problem and debts.

  Yet another zombie recruit?

  I left the newspaper under the bed. I stuck my pistol in a pocket of my barn coat and laid the coat over the back of an unraveling wicker chair. I took off my boots and socks. I stood barefoot on the carpet, closed my eyes, and calmed my senses, making myself aware of all sensations, from the texture of the carpet against the bottom of my feet to the drum of air inside my ears. My mind was a smooth pool of water and every disturbance rippled across its surface.

  There was the rumble of traffic on the boulevard. I heard television programs from the adjacent rooms. A radio tuned to a sports call-in show. The creak of a rusty hinge. Phone calls.

  Steps approached the door. The quick steps belonging to a woman.

  I pulled myself from the trance just as Shawna shoved the door open. The cascade of outside air chilled my feet.

  She came in and put the bucket and ice on the dresser. She moved her shoulders and hips to a tune only she could hear. “Let’s start the party.”

  I locked the front door behind her.

  Shawna unsnapped her jacket and tossed it over the foot of the bed. “You never told me your name.”

  Details. As if she didn’t know.

  “Felix Gomez.” I dropped ice into cups.

  “Nice name, Felix. Like the cat.”

  “So I’ve heard.” I made vodka tonics with twists of lemon.

  Shawna plopped her skinny ass on the mattress. “What’s in your bag of tricks?”

  Plenty.

  She yanked off her red cowboy boots and scooted them under the bed.

  I had a lot of questions for Shawna and I’d get to them in a minute with hypnosis.

  She started on her vodka tonic and punched buttons on the clock radio. “We need some goddamn music.” The clock kept flashing 12:00 and the speaker belched static. She turned the volume off.

  Shawna guzzled half of her drink and handed the cup back to me. “Put some fire in this motherfucker.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Too much tonic. Don’t be stingy with the vodka. If I wanted a sissy drink, I’d follow you to Denver.”

  Denver? That made a big blip on my stink-o-meter. I never told her I was from Denver. Another question for hypnosis.

  Shawna rested against a pile of pillows fluffed across the headboard. Her boobs sagged within the tube top.

  I handed her a new drink with maybe one molecule of tonic floating between the ice cubes.

  She sipped and gasped in approval.

  I asked. “What do you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For money?”

  Shawna gave the most noncommittal of shrugs. Her breasts wobbled like a bowl of watery mashed potatoes. “This and that. Favors, mostly.”

  “What kind of favors?” I knew that answer already.

  She stroked her stockinged feet against the bedcovers. “Let me show you.”

  I took the cup from her and went to the dresser. I took out my contacts and faced her. “No, let me show you.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Shawna lay on the bed. The penumbra of her aura undulated like the surface on a puddle of red water. Her blue eyes gazed at nothing. A bottle of Windex showed more life.

  I knelt beside her and scooped her neck in my hand. My fangs extended and I touched the sharp points with the tip of my tongue. Yes, I’d interrogate her, but first, it was time for dinner.

  I removed one of her oversize horseshoe earrings and put my nose into the hollow of her neck behind the left ear. My cheek brushed against hair that was broom-bristle stiff with Aquanet. My fangs found their mark on her throat. Her blood spurted into my mouth. The taste of tramps was a flavor I knew too well.

  I sucked deliberately, filling my mouth to capacity, and let the heavy mass of blood swirl over my tongue. Type A-negative I was sure. I swallowed and the luxurious warmth flushed through my body.

  I gave Shawna only enough of my pleasure enzymes to keep her aura steady while giving a maximum dose of healing and amnesia enzymes. An hour after my fanging, she’d have no souvenir of my feeding except for a blank spot in her memory.

  I climbed on the bed to straddle her hips and cradle her head in my hands.

  “Shawna,” I whispered. “Talk to me.”

  Recognition sparkled in her eyes. Her pupils shrank as the focus in them receded to a point deep within her consciousness. Sparkles of psychic energy collected along the aura around her head and made a halo. Probably the only one she’d ever wear.
r />   “Why did you come on to me?” I asked.

  Her pupils alternated between dilating and shrinking.

  Let me rephrase the question. “Who sent you?”

  “Sal.”

  “Last name?”

  “Cavagnolo.”

  So this rendezvous was a setup.

  I massaged the back of her scalp. “What for?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  I believed her; she had no choice but to tell the truth.

  “Cavagnolo told you to approach me at My Final Bender and invite me here?”

  “Yes.”

  Simple enough plan, though so obvious that a blind drunk would’ve seen it coming. I had told Cavagnolo to stay out of my way and I’d get Gino’s killers. But the old man had his pride and the only way to restore face was to take me down. I expected visitors.

  Another question for Shawna: “Do you know anything about the mutilations?”

  The smooth sheath of her aura turned into an undulating fuzz. A rash of dark spots betraying anxiety broke out across her penumbra.

  “Answer me.”

  Her eyes fixed on a spot miles above. She struggled to obey me while her subconscious fought to keep her pain buried. “I…I…I’ve heard.”

  “Heard what?”

  “About Stanley. Barrett. Now Gino.”

  “What about them?”

  The dark spots sprouted tendrils that whipped from her aura. Sweat trickled from her forehead and wet her temples. Her eyes became wide concentric circles of white around the blue middles. “People are scared.”

  “Why?”

  “Because no one knows why folks are disappearing or who’s doing the killings.”

  Shawna shut her eyes and milked tears. Wet mascara filled the wrinkles of her cheeks. She looked terrified and suddenly very old.

  I’d hit a wall of emotional distress. It wasn’t worth digging through. She’d told me what I wanted to know. I laid her head on the pillow and got off the bed.

  Other than confirming that Cavagnolo was still gunning for me, what had I learned? He was more frightened about the killings than he would admit.

  But as to who or why? A big goose egg of ignorance hovered over me.

  When Shawna came around, she’d want an explanation as to what happened. I dumped the remaining vodka down the bathroom sink. If I told Shawna that she’d passed out from the boozing, I doubt it would be news.

  This chase after the zombies was getting murkier by the minute. I had no clue what to do next, so I decided to rest and wait and see if Cavagnolo’s men showed up.

  I cleaned my pistol, the magazine, and the bullets. I turned the wicker chair toward the TV on the dresser. Like everything else in the room, the TV looked salvaged from a recycling bin. I sat and picked up the remote but the TV wouldn’t click. I got up to wiggle the wooden dowel sticking out where the power button should be. The TV buzzed and the screen showed the commercial for a public auction of tractors and manure spreaders.

  The goddamn psychic signal started. I jerked upright, alert. The echo remained low, almost a hum. Now that I knew Phaedra was responsible for the signal, the mystery to them was gone.

  And just like that, the echo stopped.

  What did Phaedra want? What was the purpose of the signal? A warning?

  I lowered the volume of the TV and turned off the lights. Let’s pretend I’d fallen asleep.

  I put my fingers against the door and held still. I collected the faint vibrations from outside, the tiny smells, the whisper-like noises.

  Slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, like a cold breath had fallen over them. Danger lurked, that was for sure, but in what form?

  Footsteps creaked over the gravel in the parking lot. One set. Two sets. Three sets.

  I holstered the .45 into the waist of my jeans and put my boots on.

  I didn’t want a gunfight. Not here. The shots would alert too many people and make my hunt for the zombies much more difficult. I only took the gun to keep the odds in my favor.

  I’d attack Cavagnolo’s men as a vampire.

  CHAPTER 30

  I would go out through the bathroom window. The bars on the window were welded to a metal frame that was bolted to the wall of the window opening. I used my talons to saw off the heads of the bolts holding the frame in place. I worked the frame loose and sliced a hole in the screen.

  I gave a listen, heard nothing unusual, and peeked out. To the left, the alley dead-ended against a tall cinderblock wall. To the right, toward the street, a metal barrel and a sheet of plywood were arranged into a makeshift barricade at the entrance. The bottom of the alley was full of mud and trash.

  I climbed out the window and levitated to the ground. The stink kept me from smelling anything except for rats, raccoons, dead sparrows, and discarded diapers.

  I crept close to the metal barrel. Crouching to remain low, I peered through a gap between the plywood and the wall.

  Two pickups sat on the other side of the road, the same ones Cavagnolo’s men drove. A red aura bubbling with anxiety surrounded a man pacing between the trucks. The ember of a cigarette lit up his face. He’d been with Cavagnolo earlier but I didn’t get his name. A maze of shadows obscured the front of the buildings behind the truck.

  The plan must be to catch me in bed with Shawna and then lights out, amigo.

  A simple and effective plan. Too bad I was on to it.

  When the man guarding the trucks turned away, I leaped over the barrel and plywood. I landed softly on the gravel shoulder and sprinted across the boulevard.

  I hid in the shadows and studied the guard. He paused and leaned against the back of one of the trucks while keeping watch over the motel. I stalked close enough to smell that he had steak for dinner. I crouched next to a tire behind him. He tossed the cigarette to the ground.

  No need to kill him; I only wanted him out of the way.

  He stood with his back to me. I sprung forward and clamped onto the collar of his coat. My momentum slammed him face-first to the ground.

  I yanked on his collar and scooted back, gaining speed. I whipped around in a circle until his feet lifted off the ground. I turned in place, spinning completely around and tossed the man against a wall. He hit the bricks and went uff. His aura flashed once, then shrank to a dull simmer. He was out for a while.

  I went to every truck and clawed the tires. Sharp rubber odors escaped through the ragged holes. I dashed across the street and leaped for the motel roof. This was too easy. I couldn’t resist doing a full gainer. Levitating the final distance, I landed with a sound no louder than bunnies screwing.

  I trod softly to the edge of the roof overlooking the parking lot. Two men, Cleto and another guy, sneaked along the walls to my room. Each carried a pistol with a silencer. Vinny watched from a position close to a Dumpster.

  The two men crept close to my room door. They nodded, once, a second time, and on the third time, Cleto kicked the door to my room. Both men disappeared inside.

  I heard them scramble, confused, wondering where I had gone. I followed one man’s frantic steps to the bathroom. Cleto stuck his head out the window into the alley and stared right and left. Angry, nervous tendrils snaked from his aura. I should’ve peed on him.

  Cleto withdrew his head. Seconds later he yelled, “Get your ass up, stupid bitch. Where is he?”

  There was slapping and the tumble of a body to the floor. Hell of a wake-up call.

  After a moment, Cleto and his buddy marched out the door. They muscled Shawna between them, her hair knotted in Cleto’s hand. She hobbled along barefoot, with no jacket, and whimpered like a cold, frightened puppy.

  Vinny joined the trio and vanished around the corner of the restaurant.

  No lights came on in any of the other motel windows. Maybe guests getting roughed up was nothing to lose sleep over.

  I jumped from the roof and landed beside my room entrance. The front door remained open. The bed had been overturned.

  Wi
thin a minute I was back outside, with my contacts in place, fully dressed, and driving my Toyota out of the parking lot. My headlamps swept across Cleto and crew staring at their trucks. The flat tires hung from the chrome wheels like soggy doughnuts. The guy I’d thrown against the wall was up and rubbing his head.

  I drove to them. Shawna sat in the backseat of the Chevy’s cab.

  Vinny’s eyes shone like a couple of candied cherries against his ham-like face. He tapped excitedly on the other guy’s arm and pointed.

  Vinny, Shawna, and this guy eyed me like I’d materialized from the air. I halted with my left front fender beside Cleto and announced, “Hope you guys have AAA.”

  Cleto spun about. He had such a Holy Shit! expression that it took him a moment to recognize me. His eyes brimmed with surprise and rage. He jerked the pistol toward me.

  I tossed Shawna’s jacket at him. “If she catches cold, I’m holding you responsible.”

  Cleto fumbled for the jacket and his pistol clattered to the ground.

  I gave the gas pedal a nudge and my front tire crunched over his gun. I rested the muzzle of my H&K on the windowsill of my door. “Who wants to live?”

  Vinny and the other guy raised their hands.

  Cleto straightened and clutched the jacket in both arms. “Where the fuck were you?” The question came out as a pained groan.

  Cavagnolo had sent this wild bunch to do me in, and instead they had nothing to show for their efforts except for a thousand dollars in tire replacements.

  “Watching TV. You walked right past me.”

  “How…I didn’t see…no way.” His eyes darted back and forth and he wobbled in a fit of vertigo.

  I extended my hand and rubbed my thumb across my fingertips. “You owe me for the door you busted open.”

  “The hell you talking about?”

  “Cleto, you’re forgetting that I’m aiming a gun at your guts. Pay up and I won’t air-condition your belly.”

  Cleto dropped a hand over his stomach.