by HC Hammond
“Zork, you ever hear anything more about Donald’s graduates?” He asked, gently laying the plastic pint container on the round table before him. Zork snorted, swallowing the last of the meal in one great bite. It took a moment to chew and complete the swallow.
The slug sighed its own sigh of satisfaction and settled back in the chair. “You know, I’ve never heard or seen from a single so called, former member of FEBs,” It said, absently rubbing at the transmitter collar.
Harold smoothed down the edges of the plastic pint container. “It’s odd. Isn’t it? Seems like he’d be parading them around as examples of success.”
Zork revealed teeth as it continued rubbing at the collar. The slug stopped using its eyestalk and resorted to reaching up with its butt end to rub at the device. “This freaking thing itches,” Zork growled, “Well you know how I feel about the all-powerful Donald. He’s a quacker.”
They shared a laugh. Old Donald Duck was always good for a laugh or two. “I still can’t believe he made us draw a naked ogre.”
Zork’s air holes groaned, and it made a show of pressing both eyestalks against each other. “My eyes are still burning. I’ve been saying it all along, dude doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m surprised one of you hasn’t tried eating him yet.”
Harold smiled revealing his own set of fangs. “You know the thought crossed my mind,” he said, leaning back against the wall to watch a particularly attractive and frosty woman cross the casino floor, “but, I just couldn’t stomach the idea.” He made a face.
Zork’s eyes bobbed up and down in agreement. The cold woman Harold was watching met up with a couple of zombies working the floor. Harold tilted his head to try and catch their conversation but couldn’t hear much with the background din. There was something oddly familiar about her.
“You must have heard rumors though?” Harold asked absently.
“Rumors about what?”
“What happens to the program’s graduates?” He replied.
Zork joined Harold in people-watching the Casino floor. “Oh,” the slug said, then fell silent for a second or two, “There are theories. You know, some of the zombies in group work here. Nobody is keeping to that stupid diet Donald set up.”
Harold turned from watching the woman to look at Zork. “I saw you eating pie,” He practically accused.
“I’m not like you. I can eat whatever the hell I want and like it,” Zork affronted, “as long as it isn’t salt.”
The slug visibly cringed.
He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling an urge to get up. Harold grabbed the slug’s empty plastic grocery bag and his own empty bags and tossed them in a nearby trash can.
“What have you heard about the graduates?” He asked, sitting down again.
“About what?”
“About the graduates?” Harold hissed. His eyes remained drawn to the woman talking with the zombies. He only saw her in profile, but she seemed so familiar. Petite, Asian, with dark straight hair and some sort of black hat, probably the latest in fashion. Maria would know. Her high skirt and low cut jacket vest did enough to set his imagination going. Even at a distance Harold could tell she was in charge from the way she carried herself and spoke to the zombies. Something about the way she held herself seemed so familiar.
“Oh them again,” Zork sighed, “I don’t know, some of the members say there are no graduates. Donald just lies about it when someone completes the program.”
Harold turned to Zork who was performing an all-out body stretch from eyes to tail. “Why though?”
“Ahhh, I ate too much. I don’t know,” Zork muttered, “Maybe they just give up? Can’t change a leopard’s spots and all that. Donald’s got a money-maker going with FEBs, so he pretends he succeeded.”
Harold sighed. Figures Donald’s program wouldn’t work. Nothing else had in over eighty years. Nothing Harold knew of worked; not all the doctors or potions from early morning infomercials; not the diets or the starvation; nor the prayers or the good will towards man. He was right all along to be pessimistic about this stupid program. Nothing short of death would change who he had become.
At least he had something to give the G-men and keep ’em off his back for a while. Donald was a liar, liar pants on fire.
Zork asked if he was ready to get out of here or wanted to blow some more cash at the slots. Harold didn’t hear. He’d focused back on the woman and her companions again. She got in their faces, pointing fingers and drawing up her shoulders. If she weren’t careful they’d get pissed off and attack soon. Be a shame, eating such a pretty lady. Zombies weren’t too disgusting as far as Harold was concerned but they didn’t look all that great either. Then, she turned fully in Harold’s direction, crossing her arms. One of the Zombies, very well preserved, laid an arm across her shoulders in a comforting manner.
Harold’s mouth dropped. It was Orlen. The little hypnotizing bitch. Only she looked hotter, more controlled, like she’d been after trying to entrance him back at the apartment.
The zombie leaned over Orlen and spoke with her, coaxing a small smile. They were quite close to each other. Well, she had herself a zombie boy toy… Harold allowed himself a blegh moment at the thought. The two wandered off arm-in-arm while the third zombie continued on its way.
What the hell was she doing here? She got off pretending to be some uptight, normal kiss ass working for the blood bank and treated him like nothing. Another person riding his back for their personal gain and here she was, with her very own skele-toy in the closet. He’d promised her he’d kill her the next time he saw her. Harold didn’t like breaking promises.
He stood and followed them out across the casino floor. Zork’s voice calling after him. Harold had a few hundred yards deficit to make up for in catching them. He was lost among the throng of people. They moved fast for a short woman and decaying corpse.
Luckily, Harold was his own blood hound. He kept low, remembering Orlen’s smell and seeking it out in the crowd. Mingled with the flesh of a zombie, it didn’t take long to find.
Harold followed the scent down an aisle of slot machines and around a corner before he sighted them again, sashaying along the darkened casino wall, partly shaded by a long row of supporting columns. Harold crossed over to that secluded semi-darkness, following them from column to column, getting a bit closer with each quick step. They laughed easily with each other as they came up to a door guarded by an ogre in flashy polyester suit. They greeted him. He nodded without looking down. Orlen swiped an ID card at the door and they let themselves in.
Damn it. Harold slapped the column, alerting the security guard. Harold disappeared around the column before the ogre turned in his direction.
Zork was sitting right behind Harold. At the sight of the small creature he almost let out an involuntary yelp. Okay, Harold had to admit, he probably did let out an involuntary yelp.
“What the hell,” Harold hissed, sagging against the column. He took a deep breath and let it out as he mentally tried to collect the remains of his dignity. Not much left to a vampire anyway, he thought.
“I’m faster than I look,” Zork said. The slug peered around the column, sending one eyestalk in either direction. Harold kicked it between the eyestalks. The slug belched, eyestalks retracting swiftly back into its body. The epithets it muttered would have shamed the saltiest sea dog.
“That hurt you sonafabiatch,” Zork growled.
“Quiet, there’s an ogre I don’t want to piss off back there,” Harold hissed.
Zork stilled and very carefully eased around one side of the column, making certain to keep both eyestalks together and out of Harold’s reach. Harold turned with him. The guard wasn’t there. The space he occupied beside the door now conspicuously empty. Harold had a brief hurrah moment. Now, he could easily sneak into the door without having to deal with a super-sized freak. Then, he felt the tap on his shoulder.
Heavy breathing and the sudden stink of methane aside; the ogre did look rather sharp i
n his dark blue suit. Zork coughed beside them, suddenly taken with a fit of allergies or perhaps a cold. It hacked and sneezed and a large glob of mucus shot out of an air hole, landing on the ogre’s size 16 Triple E shoes.
That the ogre did not like. The big man rumbled low in this throat, and grabbed Zork by the eyestalks. He grabbed Harold by the neck. Harold’s feet left the ground. His head threatened to leave his body under the pressure of the ogre’s hand… and the ogre threw them both into a wall. Harold had achieved flight for the first time in his short, vampy life. They slumped to the ground.
“I hate you,” Zork groaned into the floor.
Harold did a quick internal body check. Nose broken. Two crushed ribs. Swallowed two teeth. Throat rapidly swelling. Shoulder hurting like a bitch.
He didn’t have the energy to do more than cry as the ogre hefted him up by the back of his jacket. He heard a similar cry and assumed Zork had also been pulled up.
The ogre dragged them along the floor with surprising speed and ease. Patrons stared as they moved through the casino. Harold could see why the casino hired these guys for protection. It was way better to be on the giving end of a mad ogre than the receiving end.
They reached an exit with a zombie gal standing by it; a different door than the one they came through earlier. She giggled very slowly and roughly, her vocal cords not working so well anymore. The ogre pushed open the door and threw out Zork. The slug squealed and a wet splat was followed by groaning. Harold’s turn came next. He reached consciousness a few seconds later with his face pressed into the concrete.
Chapter Eleven
There were times when Harold did not enjoy having a girlfriend so much. This was one of them. Maria pinched his chin between her bony fingers when he and Zork first crawled in the door. He was not a pretty sight, he knew, but it didn’t mean she had to be so mean. It also didn’t help when she screamed so loudly at the sight of Zork, nothing more than a bruised and rapidly swelling pile of goo, flesh and radio transmitter on the floor beside him. Nor did the rough swiping of a wet washcloth across his nose help the pain much. He hissed and grabbed the washcloth to do his own tending up. Zork groaned softly from on the table where it sat nursing a beer.
“I don’t like… him being up on the table,” Maria said, waving her manicured fingers at the slug. She looked delectable in a skimpy, white nightgown. It complimented her perfectly tanned skin in such a striking way Harold felt inclined to kick the slug to the curb and do whatever she wanted until sunrise. The painful lurch in his neck told him sexy times would be out of the question tonight.
“Would you rather I die on the floor?” Zork said softly.
Harold turned, or rather turned his whole body towards Zork. “You’re not going to die.”
Zork lifted up eyestalks to glare at Harold. “How do you know? I’ve got ogre all over me.” Zork made an obscene sound. “What on this planet are you thinking, spying on an ogre. Sneaking around the casino. Pissing off an ogre.”
Maria crossed her arms where she stood between Harold and the slug. “What’s this about a casino?”
Harold stood to wring the washcloth out in the sink. While he was at it he put the last of his blood winnings from the casino in the fridge. Maria peered at the bag with a raised eyebrow, but Harold didn’t say anything. No way he was getting into that argument tonight. He took a bag of peas out of the freezer, pressing it to his face.
“It’s nothing, we spent a few hours playing cards at Mephisto’s. If you must know, we got into a little trouble with security and they tossed us out,” Harold said, pointing at his poor, poor nose.
“Harold, you’ve been gambling?” Maria asked. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I bother with you.” She turned away from him and opened the fridge. Nothing seemed to appeal to her for she slammed it shut, moving further into the small kitchen and Harold heard her open and slam several cupboards. He leaned back and tried his best to ignore her. Zork made miserable sounds from the table. Finally, the slamming stopped. It became blessedly silent. Or as silent as it could be with Maria’s little heart beating fast and her little nostrils flaring in anger. She moved very close, leaning over him. Then, she kicked him in the shin.
“Sometimes I don’t even know why I bother,” Maria said, “It’s as if you don’t even care anymore.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a dish towel, turning to look out their patio door, though honestly she couldn’t see anything since it was pitch black out there. Harold heard a small opossum snuffling around in the grass out by the wire fence. He occasionally picked up its musky odor on the morning air before turning in for the day. He didn’t bother it and it didn’t bother him. Yep, the two of them had a special relationship going on.
“Aw, you made your girl cry,” Zork perked up, frowning at Harold.
Sensing an ally in the making, slimy or not, Maria turned to Zork. He heard all about their bad relationship and how he stayed out all night. The slug perked up more, nodding at her whole-heartedly with both eyestalks. It clucked softly in all the right places and even patted her on the shoulder, which Maria suddenly didn’t seem to mind at all, but Harold did. Harold minded that a lot.
“Okay time to go. Sorry you’re sad Maria, we’ll talk about it later.” Harold threw the bag of frozen peas in the sink. “Got to get back to the house before they get suspicious. You know house mates and all.” He yanked Zork up by the eyestalks causing the slug to let out a blood-curdling scream.
“I think you’re hurting him,” Maria said, as she continued to dab at her eyes with the dish towel.
“Oh right, you must be in a lot of pain.” Harold said to the slug, yet somewhat reluctant to lessen his tight grip. “We’d better get you back to your room so you can rest up.”
Maria followed him to the door where she stood, dish towel forgotten in one hand, bare skin goose pimpling in the night breeze, and tears rapidly drying. “I’ll drop by the house tomorrow evening. We can go out?” She suggested, her anger all but forgotten for the moment.
Out, right. It would consist of him watching her eat and them getting into a big argument over dessert. “All right,” he said, “but come over before dark. I’ll drive you back home after we eat.” If he got his way, and he usually did, they’d have something extra for dessert at home.
She smiled and leaned in to give him a quick goodbye kiss. Harold turned into the night with the slug muttering and cursing him in one hand and car keys in the other.
Harold threw Zork into the passenger side of the car. It hit the side window before falling into the bucket leather seat with a groan. The transmitter around its neck beeped lightly.
“What the hell was that for?” Zork asked.
“I know what you were doing in there,” Harold said, turning the ignition, the car purred to life and he revved the engine for emphasis, “and don’t do it again.”
Zork rubbed its head with one eye. “You’re being paranoid,” it said, “it’s not my fault if I’m a sympathetic ear.”
“I’m going to put the fear in you if you don’t leave her alone. The only one sucking on Maria is going to be me.”
“Whatever,” the slug muttered. It turned to stare out the window. “There are plenty of others knocking down my door.”
Harold grunted. Zork’s attitude tended to turn even the other group members off. “Would those others be the feds?”
They locked eyes and both broke out into laughter. Zork’s harsh sounds decaying into inane giggles as it spread out flat on the bucket seat, eventually flattening and widening into a round little pancake.
They had a short drive through the city to the halfway house. The usual G-Men were waiting outside to check the transmitter on Zork’s neck and give it a general roughing up before letting Zork inside the house. They might wonder at the slight bruising and swelling evidence of an attack on Zork, but they generally paid so little attention to the slug’s welfare, it probably didn’t matter to them either way.
Harold left Zork with t
he babysitters and slipped into the house before they could waylay him for questioning about Donald and FEBs.
His head and neck hurt like hell, but it was almost sunrise and he’d be able to sleep it off soon. Being a vamp had its benefits.
Harold shucked off his clothes and fell asleep before he hit the bed.
The sun had already gone down when Harold woke up late for work the next evening. His alarm clock didn’t go off. That sloughing freak of a roommate hadn’t deigned to wake him up.
As Harold rushed to get dressed, pretend to choke on a cup of artificial blood and get the car through evening traffic, last night’s events kept running through his mind. He didn’t know what happened to the werewolf after snapping during their game. There certainly wasn’t any sign of him at the halfway house today or last night, but then again he hadn’t been paying much attention. Also discovering an entire casino and subculture within the city was mind-boggling. He had no clue and no hints, no scents, nothing. Harold hadn’t been keeping a careful ear to the ground for signs of others with Abeos. He really was bad at networking.
Seeing Orlen had been no small shock either. The bitch. Did she work at Mephisto’s? Harold didn’t know, but he suspected it involved their blood supply for the gamblers.
Well, now that he knew where Orlen’s home ground lay it was time to go hunting. He’d not to fall for her little hypno-games a second time. Time for the stalkee to become the stalker. Better to be careful though. He underestimated her before and she proved extremely dangerous.
Katherine Orlen… Almost reptilian in nature and changeable, cold and proper on one visit and giggly, almost childish on another. He would have to proceed slowly. Step one being, find a way back into the casino. Harold needed to figure out if they were banned from the place or just caught the ogre on a bad day. He was fairly certain Orlen hadn’t seen him following her in the gaming area, so he had something of an edge. He needed to keep that edge. Time to ask David some more questions.
Harold got into work in time for his shift. An open space in the front of the parking lot helped.