The Zombie Plagues (Book 2)

by Sweet, Dell

  Don held up his hand.

  "Huh," Sammy said. "And I never said a word about the highest syphilis rate in the country... Rednecks or fuckin' your sister either."

  Jeffers turned around and looked at Sammy.

  "We're not from New York City," Don said. We're from a little place up by Canada... A farming community... Small place," Don said and smiled.

  Jeffers dragged his eyes away from Sammy.

  “That so? A small place that has over half a dozen unsolved murders in just a few days? Sounds great. Sounds to me like New York City’s just a name. The whole place is polluted," he said.

  "Uh huh," Don said. "Tell you what, Jeffers. We'll just go back to our car. If you need us call us," he said.

  "I ain't got your number," Jeffers said as they started to walk away.

  "You're a detective right?" Don asked. He stopped, turned around and faced him.

  "Used to be: Top of the division now; top detective you could say," Jeffers said.

  Don nodded. "Then detect it," he said and turned away.

  "Smart-ass Yankee," Jeffers said to his back.

  Don walked back to the car, unlocked it and got inside.

  Sammy climbed in his side looking sheepish.

  "Was that necessary, Sammy?" Don asked.

  "Probably not," Sammy admitted.

  "Did you really accuse the man of banging his sister?"

  "No... I just said I hadn't said anything about it," Sammy said.

  Don lit a cigarette, cracked the window and smoked for a minute. "It was a good one, Sammy... I never said that though," he laughed. "They really have the highest syphilis rate?"

  "I read that... At least they used to have... Still might," Sammy said.

  “Did you ever think about the phrase, "Getting along, Sammy?” Don asked.

  "Not really, besides... He started it," Sammy said.

  Don chuckled, smoked his cigarette and drank from his foam cup of cold coffee.

  “Jesus,” Sammy said. “Detect it.” He laughed.

  Mobile

  Jimmy West

  The shoulder was broken. He couldn't move it without the pain threatening to make him pass out. He was in a used car lot that appeared to be closed. He had pulled all the way out by the huge steel garage building. Parked in a line of several other cars, and was trying to figure out what to do next.

  He had no idea what could have gone wrong. He supposed that someone had seen something inside the shop.

  "That's him, that's him, he did it!" That had been all he'd heard. He had to have been spotted through the front windows somehow. He couldn't think of how that could be, but it had to be.

  He managed to get his cigarettes out of his pocket and light one. The shoulder was broken and he was pretty sure it was dislocated too. He'd been through that before. It was going to take someone strong enough to wrench it out and back into the joint so it was seated properly: Until then he would have to deal with the pain.

  He sucked at the cigarette, drawing the good smoke deep into his lungs. Feeling it calm him. The pain was beginning to own him. He dug under his seat and came out with a small black leather case. He was usually prepared for nearly anything. The case held morphine: Enough to keep him floating for days, or enough to kill him out right if he needed it. He screwed the needle into the plunger, drew some morphine from one of the small bottles, measured it carefully, tapped the syringe to clear the bubbles, depressed the plunger to get the air out, and then set the needle down to get his arm ready. Everything he needed was in the black case. A few seconds later he ran the needle home and pushed the plunger. He went away for a while.

  He came awake again with the same pain, but he simply didn't care about it. Morphine was nice like that; it simply made you care less about the pain. Take enough of it and you wouldn't care about anything at all.

  Something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. It took a couple of seconds for him to realize that his phone was ringing. He fumbled it out of his pocket and managed to get it open and up to his ear. "Yeah?" he said, hoping to sound as normal as he possibly could. But there was only static: No one there. He clicked off, thought about clicking the redial function, but he never did that. A guy he had worked with had done that and the cops had used the signal to locate him. If it was a legitimate call for him it would come back. He closed the phone and started to return it to his pocket. Thought better of it and set it on the dashboard.

  The air smelled like burned plastic. His cigarette had fallen from his fingers and burned into the carpet. He managed to pick up the cigarette butt and flick it into the ashtray. It was long cold now.

  He opened the glove box, found a half full bottle of water and took a sip. It had a musty smell, but he could have cared less. His throat was dry. He needed the water.

  He drank down the entire bottle and felt a little better. He lit another cigarette and the phone rang again.

  He clicked it on and said hello.

  "Why didn't you answer before?" April asked.

  "I was about to, in fact I did and you weren't there. I took too long," he told her.

  "Things like that make me wonder," April said.

  "My fault," Jimmy managed. "My Fault.” I'm going to take days killing you, he thought... Days.

  "Do you know where Airport Boulevard is?" April asked. "Right off I-65?"

  "Yes," Jimmy said. You just told me, he said to himself.

  "There's a Burger Joint on the right. Just past the Check Inn. What are you driving?"

  Rental car, Jimmy thought. "A... A Ford Taurus," he said. "Silver... A burger joint, or one of those places called Burger Joint?"

  "The brand name... What did I say? … Pull out in back of the Burger Joint, we'll watch for you," April said.

  "Are you kidding? In public?" Jimmy asked.

  "It's all dumpsters back there. No one will see. No one will care. Take it or leave it, Ronnie Lee," April said.

  "Okay... Okay... I'm on my way," Jimmy said. He closed the phone. Fumbled the black case back together and slipped it into his pocket. He got the car started and then got himself back out on the road.

  Mississippi

  Sammy and Don

  Don had walked back over to the police line, borrowed a pair of binoculars and checked out the motel. He found a Jeep, but it was not the one that had been purchased in Rochester. He watched the window in room 118. The heavy drapes did move on occasion, but he watched three other rooms close to it that had also been evacuated and their curtains moved too. In fact, they moved in exactly the same way.

  Don walked over to Jeffers. Jeffers turned around and looked at him. "Where is the fellow with the bad jokes?" Jeffers asked.

  "In the car," Don said. "We're leaving."

  "So soon? You just got here," Jeffers said.

  "Uh huh. You're watching an empty room. That's the wrong Jeep out there too, but I'm sure you know that. You must have checked the license number?" Don said.

  "Checked it: Wrong Jeep. Already knew that, but I think it's the right people in that room," Jeffers said.

  "There aren't any people in that room," Don said.

  "Care to put your money where your mouth is?"

  "Absolutely," Don said. "It's an empty room." He took out his wallet. "A hundred bucks says it's empty."

  A young black detective smiled as he listened to the exchange.

  Jeffers looked at him, took out his own wallet and matched the hundred.

  "Let your man hold it." Don said. He handed his hundred to the young detective. Jeffers followed suit.

  "Guess you ain't leaving now," Jeffers said "you'll have to hang around to see how everything comes out."

  "I already know how everything's gonna come out," Don said. "It's an empty room." He turned and walked away.

  Jeffers snorted. "Smart-ass know-it-all Yankee bastards," he said. He and the young detective laughed. "Hang on tight to my money," Jeffers told him. They laughed again.

  "Hey?' The young detective said a few se
conds later.

  Jeffers looked to where the young detective was looking in time to see Don jump a small hedge and walk across the motel parking lot toward room 118.

  "What in Christ's name does he think he's doing?" Jeffers asked.

  "Dunno," the young detective said.

  Don walked right up to the door to room 118, stopped, drew back his leg and kicked the door open.

  The young detective looked over at Jeffers, but his mouth was hanging open.

  "All on live TV too," the young detective said.

  Don walked back out of the room and looked over at Jeffers whose mouth was still wide open. He lifted his hands and shrugged in a what's-up motion and then came back across the parking lot, jumped back over the hedge and walked up to Jeffers. He looked at the young detective.

  "Where's my money?" Don asked.

  The detective dug two one hundred dollar bills out of his pocket and looked at Jeffers before he handed them over to Don.

  Jeffers mouth was finally closed, but his cheeks burned red. His eyes sparkled and darted from Don to the motel room door which was still wide open.

  "You probably want to get a tech crew in there. I'm sure they were there, but they're not there now. Like I said it's empty," Don said. He turned and walked away.

  Mobile

  Airport Boulevard

  Behind the Burger Joint

  Billy Jingo

  "I'll only talk to him," April said. She listened. "I'm going to hang up if you don't get me his cell phone number. I know you're trying to trace this call." She motioned for a pen from Billy and wrote down the number. She closed the phone and took a deep breath. "Well?" she asked.

  "Why do you want to do it?" Billy asked. She had called the number from the news program and asked for the detective from New York.

  "Because they think we killed some of those people, and I don't want them to think that. It's not fair. What did we really do wrong?" April asked.

  They were sitting in the Camaro in the back of the Burger Joint waiting for Ronnie Lee.

  "You think he'll believe you, he'll even care?" Billy asked.

  "I don't know... I hope so... We're going anyway; it's just what they say about us... I don't want them to think that you made me come with you," April added. "I love you, Billy. It's wrong for them to say that."

  "You have to do what you have to do for your head," Billy said. "I don't care what they say about me. I know what I did and what I didn't do."

  April nodded.

  "But it's not about me. Do what you feel you should do, baby. I'll understand."

  Mobile

  Sammy and Don

  They were on I-10 just coming into Mobile from Pascagoula. Don's phone rang and he put it to his ear. "Yeah?" he asked.

  He listened and his hand clenched tight on the steering wheel.

  "Okay... Okay... Thank you, Jen. We're Okay... No... That was a bust. Maybe they were there, but they're long gone now. Did you notify Alabama? ... Well we were a little unappreciated. It was me who proved to them that they were watching an empty motel room: Embarrassed them and they didn't take it so well... Hold On... I'll head there... Hang on..." He pulled his small note pad from his pocket and wrote directions. "Okay... Okay... Yeah... Bye, Jen." He hung up.

  "Ronnie Lee. That's Richard Dean's, was Richard Dean's man down here. Fairly high level dealer: Owns a guitar shop. Really just sells out of it: All large amounts. He might actually be able to handle what these kids got. This could be where they're headed," Don said. He signaled, changed lanes and then took a right, glancing at his directions as he did. "Not far," he said.

  They drove in silence and when they reached the strip mall it was cordoned off. A small crowd and an ambulance sat in front of the guitar shop. A few cops were scattered through the crowd.

  Don rolled down his window, flashed his badge and asked who was in charge. A young cop let them through and pointed out a tall black man standing on the sidewalk out in front of the open doorway. As Don and Sammy parked, the ambulance left the parking lot.

  Don walked over and introduced himself explaining who he was.

  "So we're hoping you can tell us something. We have reason to believe this guy we're looking for could be involved." Don said.

  Jack Pardee listened to them politely and nodded. "I have a unit out to Chickasaw Bogue: Been there a few hours; fished out a body... Wallet says he's Ronnie Lee Sipos: Owned the shop. The man you're looking for, I guess?"

  Don nodded.

  "He's been dead for more than 24 hours though, it couldn't have been him who done what's been done here. I got a young girl dead inside, two bullets to the head. Her friend said he just laughed and then he killed her. She herself was strangled. Guy probably thought he killed her," he paused.

  "The crowd almost killed him, would have if they could have held him." He pointed to a man big enough to be two men. "He tackled him. And he's pretty sure he hurt him bad, but the guy pulled a gun and got away. We got the license number. Rental car, Ford Taurus: I'll know soon who it was rented to. We'll get him. He can't get far. Every car in the area is looking for him... Tall Caucasian male: Short cropped black hair, gray at the temples.”

  “Fuck,” Sammy interjected.

  “Wearing a sweater of some kind in this heat. You think this has something to do with your situation?” Pardee asked.

  "If it does it's not good,” Don answered. He shot a look to Sammy. “We have another somebody involved who has killed six people that we know of so far, trying to get to these kids. If this is that guy this is the nearest we've come to him," Don said.

  "If I can help you further let me know. Same goes this way, if you do learn something I'd appreciate it if you would call me here.” He handed them a business card with a work and cell number listed.

  “Will do,” Don agreed. "This is mine,” he told him as he handed the man his own card. Pardee shook their hands, turned and went back inside.

  They got back in the car and Don stared out at the passing traffic.

  “Gotta be that fucker,” Sammy muttered. “Gotta be.”

  Don nodded, but said nothing. The guy could be anywhere... Any one of those passing cars could be him... He started the motor and pulled out of the parking place. His phone rang.

  Monday morning

  Across from the Burger Joint

  Ben Neo

  Ben Neo sat and waited. He knew nearly everything that he needed to know now. It had been hard finding them, but not impossible: Once he had found them the rest had been easy. It was almost like she had left a trail of crumbs. And he had been hoping that, that was exactly what she would do.

  He had followed that trail straight to her, found her parked without the kid and made some quick plans before the kid had returned and nearly caused him to put a bullet in his brain. She had calmed him down, told him it was some redneck stalking her and Ben had allowed them to lose him in traffic: After all he knew what the deal was now, even if the kid didn’t.

  Everything that he had initially planned had turned out wrong including the girl: His girl. And he didn't even know why she had turned, or even if she really had.

  Until he had caught up to her, he had not seen or heard from her since she had led him to the car. He had made his getaway and she had stayed to make sure the mess got cleaned up, but she had failed: The cop had not been set up. He was still walking around above ground. In fact he was on the same trail that Ben himself was on. And twice now on the long drive down he had gotten the idea that he was being followed: Nothing concrete, no suspicious car, just a suspicious head; a feeling and he liked to follow his feelings, he just hadn't been able to put anything concrete to that feeling yet.

  By now Tommy Murphy had to know he had turned. There was probably a huge price tag on his head. Jimmy West was down here somewhere on the trail of Nikki and Jingo and probably knew about him: Maybe even had the contract to take care of him. It had all gone wrong, all of it and he had no idea why.

  He was parked acros
s the road from the Burger Joint. He had seen the Camaro pull in. If not for having seen her up close when he had talked to her in the car he would not have been sure it was her. She had made herself look like the dead girl, April, and she was so good with makeup that he couldn't tell if it was her or the girl, and that had set his mind to wondering if it was the girl… If she had somehow gotten the best of Nikki… That would explain so much.... He just didn't know. Maybe it really was April and so she didn't have to be good with the makeup at all. It had all happened so fast that he couldn't be sure. Back on Lott road when she had been there, where she was supposed to be, he had been positive it had been Nikki: Since then he had not been so sure. The longer things had gone on without hearing from her, the more convinced he had become that she was April. Maybe a smarter girl than he had thought. Tougher than Nikki had thought too: She would have had to been to get the drop on Nikki.

  April or Nikki... And if it was Nikki, why hadn't she called? The only thing she had, had to do was make sure that Tommy got his money back and Jefferson his drugs. That could have been as simple as putting a bullet in Jingo's head. She hadn't done that. Instead she and Jingo had dragged all of it, drugs and money, halfway across the country. Jimmy west was on their trail. The cop and his partner… Who else? Certainly the local cops and probably any number of contacts Tommy Murphy and Jefferson Prescott had down here. The Military? Did they have people that investigated this sort of stuff? Did they even know that there was anything to investigate? No way could this end well. She was lucky he had found her first. He would have to move fast, but they could still work it out. Still get away if she was who she was supposed to be. If not all bets were off. He supposed he would have to kill her either way.

  Whether she was Nikki or April she did not know what he was really after: What he had really been after all along. He hadn't told Nikki what was inside the bales of pot: Tommy had barely trusted him with it, and then only in hurried whispers: A pill that prolonged life, maybe even cheated death? Nonsense whispered from a man on the edge of his own death... It was no secret that Tommy Murphy was dying from the complications of AIDS. Grasping at straws? Ben had thought so at first, but he had taken his own investigative skills and worked backwards. A little money in the right hands had put him into contact with the guy that had handed the deal to Tommy in the first place. A young guy that worked at the new base: Kohlson; a young guy with a bad gambling habit.