The young girl made her way past two tables of men with gazes glued to her. Normie was as still as a statue, clutching the lapels of his sports jacket when she went to his side, and whispered in his ear. The girl then left the same way she came. Normie slid off his stool, adjusted his collar, and headed for his office.
*
Rex leaned back in Normie’s chair behind his desk. His feet crossed and propped on the edge. The roach crawled hopelessly against the side of the container a few inches away.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” Normie said as he walked in.
Rex still wore the helmet. “Su casa es mi casa.”
“Do you always have to bring a damn bug with you? Do you know what kind of germs those things carry? I pay good money to keep those things out of here.”
“I picked up Suzie on my way up. She’s the perfect companion. Never complains how much I drink or what time I come home.”
Normie went to speak, and then stopped. He took a puff from the cigar, and spoke, “You ready for a drink? JD?”
“Yes, and yes.”
“Ice?”
“No, just a straw.”
“You know you can take that silly helmet off in here. There ain’t no cameras. Jeez, I get the feeling you don’t trust me.” Normie poured a tumbler full of whiskey nearly to the brim, inserted a straw, and placed it on the desk in front of Rex’s boots.
“Trust has nothing to do with it. Self-preservation, on the other hand, is a much stronger motivator. I can’t go down without you going down. I know you love yourself too much to risk that,” Rex said, dropping his feet to the floor, and sitting upright.
Normie poured himself a drink and took a belt. “I always know what day of the week it is when you come to visit. Why so often? The Mafia at least conducts their business once a month.”
Rex lifted his helmet, searched with his lips for the straw, and drank until he found air when reaching bottom. Rex coughed and rapped the top of the table once with his knuckles. Normie leaned over the desk and filled the glass.
“You’re not dealing with the Mafia, are you? It’s not difficult to understand. I’ve got expenses. My interests are gaining momentum, and I can’t afford any delay—especially with the elections so close at hand. I need cash as fast as it’s available.”
“I understand.” Normie drank some more. “But I’m the guy breaking his balls keeping business going. Your cut yanks a big chunk out my take-home. I’ve got expenses too. How’s about a forgiveness of debt for one month a year, like in that Bible you believe in?”
Rex leaned back. “Normie, do I sense you think you’re bigger than the ones who put you here? Did you forget it was my associates who manipulated the legislation that allows your sordid business to operate? Laws can be changed. Permits can be revoked.”
Normie scowled, the alcohol showed in his eyes. “Yeah, well you wouldn’t get your cut then, would you?”
“If I didn’t get it from you, then I would get it from your replacement. Everyone is replaceable.”
Normie’s knuckles whitened as he squeezed his glass. “Are you threatening me?”
Rex realized this was becoming a pissing match. “Calm down. This is just business, as you like to say. I scratch your back. You scratch mine. If I’m not in partnership with you, then I am with someone else. If I were to go away tomorrow, my replacement would be here knocking on your door one week later. Money makes the world go ’round and around.”
“Yeah, but I don’t get it. Everything you stand for in your real life is opposed to what we’re doing in Devil’s Bone. The booze, the girls, the drugs, everything you people preach against. Yet you still take our dirty money. How can you do that and live with yourself?”
Rex lifted the helmet and took a taste of whiskey to wet his tongue. “Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation. Every city or house divided against itself shall not stand. If Satan cast out Satan, he is divided against himself. How shall then his Kingdom stand?”
“Huh?” Normie said.
“If we can use ill-gotten money against the Devil to ultimately defeat him, then his Kingdom cannot stand.”
“It seems to me that there would be a more respectable way,” Normie said.
“The Devil is God of this age. We have been condemned to operate within a world system under his control. We have to fight and win by any means necessary.”
“Okay, so what happens, if, and I do mean if, your side wins?”
Rex spread his hands. “Then all things change. The Kingdom of the Devil will fall, and the Kingdom of God will replace it. The things of the old world will pass. All things will be new. The light will shine in every corner of darkness and everyone will change. There will be a new Heaven and a new Earth. There will be no more tears. None of the vices you hold dear in life will bind you.”
“I’m not holding my breath,”
“Enough of this crap. What’s been going on with Goudard?”
Normie sighed. “I’ve left messages on her recorder and mailed her some business proposals. I got nothing. What happened to your plan?”
“She didn’t fall for the yearlong study at Hennington. We had her interest, but we didn’t play our hand as well as we should. Pity, it would have been better if she had come along willingly. Apparently she’s not hurting enough financially.”
Normie smiled. “Don’t give up on me yet. I know people—what they’re capable of when they hit bottom. If I can get her to nibble on the bait, I can hook her with some fast cash. Then I can get her undying loyalty with drugs.”
“Not too fast with the drugs. Let’s get her dependent on the money, and then see if we can get her to relocate for more. We need to get her to the facility and get back to some serious work.” Rex rose from the chair and stretched out his right hand. “The envelope, please.”
Normie reached into an inside pocket in his jacket, pulled out a thick, white envelope, and handed it over. “Just like I said—clockwork.”
“Thank you for your anticipation and for your promptness,” Rex said, placing the envelope in his jacket.
“You staying for some entertainment?”
Rex felt a twitch in his loins. “Yes.”
Normie smashed the butt of his cigar in an ashtray. “Something else I don’t get. How can you look other people in the eye and tell them not to do things you do? It don’t make no sense to me.”
Rex crossed his arms. “Even the Apostle Paul had his thorn in the flesh. The mind is willing, but the flesh is weak. With my mind I serve the law of God, but with my flesh the law of sin. The women who work for you aren’t alive anyway. They have no soul in those animated husks. It is a small thing that I should be judged by you, or any man’s judgment. I don’t even judge myself. He that judges me is the Lord.”
“Hey, I ain’t judging. I’m just saying. . .” Normie opened the door and gestured for Rex to leave, then escorted him down the hall. Normie stopped by a door near the end and opened it. “Take your time. Take all night if you want. Enjoy.” Rex passed, and he closed the door.
Lamps draped with purple and red scarves bathed the room in surreal lighting. A completely naked Non-Dead woman infected in her early twenties sat on the edge of a king-sized bed. She was Normie’s best preserved Sub Z.
Porcelain white makeup covered her skin. Her face and hair were modeled after a geisha. The breasts matched in size but weren’t symmetrical. The implants had been improperly installed or perhaps misshapen by patrons’ abuse.
Normie leaned by the door and lit up another Churchill. He blew puffs of smoke in the air until the entire end glowed orange, and then checked his watch.
“Are you here to have sex?” the Sub Z asked.
“Yes, you moron,” Rex said, removing his jacket, and tossing it on a chair. His hand held the container with the roach, which he placed on a nearby shelf. “Suzie will be watching us. I like making her jealous. Keeps her in line.”
Ignoring his comment, she said, “Do yo
u want me to resist? Do you want to rape me?”
“No.” He removed his shirt and kicked off his boots.
“Do you want me to be your lover? I can say nice things to you.”
“What I really want is for you to shut up. Get on the bed and face the wall. Get on your knees, and put some pillows under your stomach.”
The woman slid off the bed onto the floor and went to the nightstand. “Are you going to put it in my ass?”
“No, not tonight.”
She squirted liquid from a yellow bottle into her hand, spread her legs, and shoved in the lubricant. Wiping the excess on her thighs, she climbed in bed, gathered two pillows, and placed them underneath her stomach.
Rex was naked but still wore the helmet. He massaged his penis until it was rigid enough, climbed on the bed, and crawled behind her.
He moved her legs apart and shifted his hips until his penis found the depths of her vagina. The coldness of her body engulfed his shaft, sending a chill down his back—threatening his erection. He gripped her hips tightly as he thrust into her.
Rex’s rhythmic huffs and moans penetrated the hollow doors and spilled into the hall.
Normie checked his watch again.
As his body slapped against hers, Rex started to pray aloud. “Forgive me, Lord,” Rex repeated over and over. Tears rolled down his face as he sobbed, “I have sinned against You, my Lord, and I would ask that Your precious blood would wash and cleanse every stain until it is lost in the seas of God’s forgetfulness.”
His voice rose louder and stronger as he pleaded, “Forgive me Lord! Forgive me Lord! For . . . uhhh . . . forgive me!” A loud moan followed at his climax, with a soft thump as he collapsed on the bed.
Normie cracked open the door as the undead woman struggled to push Rex off her. He was out cold.
“That took about as much time as usual. I don’t know what’s wrong with the sick bastard that makes him faint after he blows his wad. Must be a vitamin deficiency.”
“Do you want me to stay with him until he wakes up?”
“No. I want that dead ass of yours to get back to the lounge and make me some money. You’ve wasted enough time waiting for this freebie. Now go. Get!”
The Sub Z woman lowered her gaze to the floor and put on a robe before leaving the room.
Normie moved to let her pass.
Rex lay on the bed, muffled breaths pumped from the helmet as Normie stepped to the end of the bed.
He took a puff of his cigar and let the smoke slowly out from his nostrils. “You sure are one sick fuck.”
Chapter 16
Only one person waited in line at the front desk of Marriott Suites, Dallas Market Center. Behind the desk, an attractive female clerk with long blonde hair, eagerly waited on newly arriving guests.
Lisa was thirty minutes early for her job interview. She took the extra time to wander around the lobby, to get a feel for the layout. Painted a sickly yellow, the wooden beams and crown molding outlined the ceiling, and amazingly enough, coordinated with the bright yellow and red squares on the carpet. Lime green couches and chairs set next to dark wood tables. Ornamental lamps broadcast bright white light.
A Non-Dead maintenance worker dressed in the standard dark-blue Z-Class jumpsuit robotically mopped a spill from the tiles in the entrance. He was hindered by a noticeable limp. Lisa imagined a part of his left leg was missing, ending up in the belly of a zombie during The Dark Times. Overall, his skin was firm, and appeared to be holding up well to the rigors of his slave-like existence.
The clock above the elevator pointed to 10:45. Lisa went to the front desk and waited for the clerk to finish a conversation on the phone. Thirty-five years old if she’s a day, Lisa thought, tapping an nervous toe. That hair is about as natural a blonde as my tan, too, and it needs at least three inches chopped off the ends. It looks like a rat has been chewing on it.
The clerk hung up the phone, finally.
Lisa plastered a smile on her face. “Hello, my name is Lisa Goudard. I have an appointment to see Mr. Gregory Stafford at eleven o’clock.”
The clerk poked at the screen of her computer. “Yes, it’s on his schedule. His office is down the hall on the left, room one-o-six. I’ll let him know you’re here. You can take a seat in the lobby. I’ll call when he’s ready to see you.”
“Thank you, but I’d rather stand,” Lisa said, not wanting to pick up any lint on her black jacket or skirt.
Working for a hotel would be far different from the duties she had performed as a health inspector. Still, her previous job did give her some experience interacting with the public—if restaurant managers fell into that category. Certainly, she had learned the art of professional discourse. Lisa felt she should be able to modify her skills to meet the hotel’s expectations.
As far as she could tell, the job was nothing more than typing names in a computer to assign rooms, program key cards, pass off inquisitive patrons to the Concierge, and keeping that zippity-do-da smile on at all times. She imagined caffeine would become her constant companion at work.
“Miss Goudard, Mr. Stanford will see you now,” the clerk said, hanging up the phone, and brushing the hair from around her ear.
Lisa adjusted the hem of her one button V-neck jacket, quickly checked the polish on her conservative two-inch-heeled black pumps, and strode down the hall. She knocked on the door of room 106.
“Come in.”
Lisa took a deep breath, put on a smile, and stepped forward. “Hello, Mr. Stafford. Lisa Goudard—I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Stafford sat behind his desk, a pen in his hand, as if he were posing for a Boss of the Year picture. Her application package held by a large spring steel paper clamp in front of him. He raised his eyebrows as if being surprised by an unexpected gift. “Miss Goudard, the pleasure is all mine.” He abruptly came to his feet, reached out a hand, grabbed up to the first two knuckles of Lisa’s fingers, squeezed, and shook her hand up and down twice.
Ugh. He’s a knuckle cruncher. I hope he’s not some micromanaging prick. What the fuck? He’s looking at me like I just popped naked out of a cake or something. Please don’t be a jerk. I need this job.
Stafford appeared taller sitting in the chair. Lisa had to bend her head slightly to meet his eyes. He was fifty-something in age, balding, with a pencil-thin mustache that had last been popular in the 1940s.
“Please have a seat, Miss Goudard.” He waved his hand toward a chair positioned to his left.
Lisa sat, placed her purse in her lap, and crossed her legs. The stockings made her legs long and shapely.
“May I call you Lisa?”
“Yes, please.”
“Good. You can call me Mr. Stafford,” he laughed.
Lisa returned a polite smile.
“Now, let’s get back to business. I see you’re interested in a career change. Your last employment was with the state as a health inspector.”
“Yes, sir, restaurants and school cafeterias. I wasn’t involved in the health care industry. I completed a business degree from the University of Texas right before The Dark Times. The job with the state was my first full time employment, three years after.”
“And you want to change careers? Why?”
“Personal reasons. My fiancé and I are no longer together, and I’m ready for a fresh beginning. I need to create a new life for myself. I know I will have to start at the bottom. That doesn’t matter. I have no attachments or obligations to anyone. I’m even willing to relocate anywhere in the United States or the world.
“I’m young, I’m intelligent, and I’m a dedicated worker. I hope you see fit to give me this opportunity.”
Stafford tapped his pen on his desk. “An extrovert full of confidence, I like that. You’ll need that attitude to move up around here. And,” he paused, slowing his words, “you’re easy on the eyes. That’s never a hindrance when . . . serving the public.”
“Thank you, sir. I always try to present myself in a professiona
l manner.” Lisa didn’t know if his last comment was a veiled pass or not, so she hoped the way she answered drew a clear line in the sand.
Stafford cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. The position we have available is on the night shift. The hours are long, from nine p.m., to seven a.m., six days a week. We can’t match your previous salary. But if you remain with the company for two years and make scheduled advancements, you will have the opportunity to double your earnings if you qualify for an entry-level management position.”
“The starting salary is fine. Two years will pass by before you know it. I’m eager to face the challenge.”
“Wonderful. It seems though there were minor problems with your application. You applied on-line, didn’t you?”
Son-of-a-bitch. “Yes.”
“The national ID number you submitted didn’t match any in the database. You simply need to correct the number, resubmit the application, and you can sign the employment forms.”
Lisa frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t be that easy.”
“Oh really, and why not?” Stafford asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Lisa tightened her jaw and pressed her damp palms against her thighs. “My original ID number has been terminated, sir. An unlawful act forced upon me by a dictatorial government that has stripped the true meaning of rights and freedom from the Constitution.”
“Where are you going with this, Miss Goudard?”
“I have a new ID . . . it begins with the letter Y.”
“I see.” Stafford stared at his desk, pen tapping. His right hand moved to cover his mouth while he thought. “So, you’re a Sub-Species Y member of the Non-Dead. I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“See, you prove my point. There’s no justifiable reason for me to be treated like a Sub Z. I received the Resurrection Y treatment after I was bitten on my forearm. I easily conceal the wound with theatrical makeup.” She held out her arm for him to see.
“My brain is perfectly normal, and my body functions only slightly differently from yours. There’s absolutely no reason why I can’t be given the chance to do this job.”
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