Leah mindlessly reached in the bag and picked out some popcorn. She mechanically chewed the kernels, seemingly oblivious to what was on the television screen.
Chapter 1
“Rico, don’t you think you’ve had enough tonight? Why don’t you go home to your wife?”
James Connors, better known as Pop, the owner of Pop’s Lounge, leaned on an elbow and smiled with one eye half closed. He had a tint of genuine concern in his voice, like always. Running a bar for the last forty years in downtown Killeen had taught him many life lessons on the power of suggestion. Taking into account the customer’s level of inebriation was essential.
Rico’s expression didn’t change as he continued to stare through the short, red haired proprietor. Four empty shot glasses set in a neat row on the bar in front of him as he held onto the last shot he had finished some five minutes before. The empty glass reminded him of how he felt as he gripped it tightly in one hand.
“Rico… Hey, big guy. Whatever’s eating at you, let it go.”
No response.
Rico looked away from the barkeep and stared into the distance.
“You’re sitting here in your police uniform getting shit faced. What if this gets back to your chief? You don’t want to jeopardize your job.”
The officer’s cheeks puffed out like a bullfrog, widening his mouth as whiskey from his stomach rose to irritate his throat. “I’m off duty. Give me another.”
“You’ve had five shots in the last hour. I can’t give you anymore. It’s my legal duty as a bartender to stop serving a patron if I think they’re showing signs of inebriation.”
“Fuck the law.”
“Can’t do that, buddy. Now you’re talking about my ass. I can’t let you get snookered to the point you leave out of here and hurt someone on the road. I’d get fined and shut down if that happens.”
Rico closed his eyes, adrift on a skiff through time and space. The bar chatter and music blended into an eerie silence. He had been alone before in life, but he had never felt this alone. Each passing second bled out an ounce of his will to live. The whiskey didn’t replace what he’d lost, as he hoped. His trusted friend that eased the pain had finally let him down. He shifted the glass to the other hand and mindlessly tapped the side with a finger.
“She’s not home,” he finally said.
“Who? Oh, your wife?”
“Not home. Says she can’t live with me anymore. Blames it on my drinking.” Rico turned his gaze to Pop for the first time since he sat down. It had been hard to look other people in the eye these days, thinking maybe if he didn’t engage them personally, then they couldn’t see him. Because if they saw him for whom he was, he would be forced to acknowledge the problem. Pop’s Irish grin melted a dam of bitter emotions. “I blame my drinking on my job. Fuck my job. Fuck the law. Fuck life.”
The old man nodded. His green eyes sparkled under time-marred eyelids. “You’re not the first cop to sit at my bar and drown his sorrows. I get that the job is tough. Day after day dealing with the worst society has to offer. Long hours, low pay, not knowing if the next guy you pull over for running a red light will whip out a gun and blow your head off. It sounds to me that you’ve just lost focus.”
“Focus?”
“Sure, think back to why you took the job some . . . how long ago was it?”
“I finished the Academy when I was twenty-two. That was eight years ago. Hmm,” Rico grimaced. “Eight years sounds like such a long time. Right now, it feels more like it was yesterday. I wish it were yesterday. I’d have done things differently.”
“You went into law enforcement because you knew the American dream couldn’t continue without men and women like you. You saw people getting older, like your parents, and wanted them to live a safe, happy life. You wanted your children growing up in an environment where they could play outside and go to school and make something of themselves.” Pop pointed to the officer’s name badge. “Sergeant Rico J. Cruz. You didn’t become a Sergeant by eating doughnuts and directing traffic. You’ve worked your way up from the bottom and hung in there. Showed yourself to be the cream of the crop. The drive inside that led to your promotion to Sergeant is still there. Sure, the job’s tough, but I’ve been in this business long enough to know that finding refuge in the bottom of a glass isn’t all related to work.”
Pop leaned toward Rico. His gaze cut like a priest waiting for a confession.
Rico grimaced again as he squeezed the shot glass. His face reddened under the dim, yellow lights above the bar. He had promised himself he wouldn’t cry over the matter. For God’s sake, he was a grown man after all. Tears would be a sure sign of defeat—ultimate humiliation. A deep breath strengthened his resolve.
“The drinking didn’t start until . . . until Mary Etta started losing interest in me. We were married pretty young. Not more than kids, really. We were so in love though.” His expression softened as he placed the shot glass on the counter. “Things were great at first. We lived in an apartment for the first two years. Those were the best of times. We bought a house, and she went to work. It all kind of started then. She was working with a lot of women her age that weren’t married. Sometimes she would go out with them to bars and clubs. You know, when I worked night shift. I guess I stopped paying her the special attention women need.” Rico lifted his head and with glistening eyes gazed at Pop. “At some point, she got that special attention from other men.” His voice broke, and he clenched his teeth to keep his angst from spilling out.
Pop reached over and placed his hand on Rico’s shoulder. “That’s a shame. I wish I could say things like that don’t happen very often but that wouldn’t be true. I hear a story like that so much in this line of work that I think it’s become the norm. Sometimes I think marriage licenses should only be good for three years. It’s just the way society has gone. You’re about to enter a new phase in life, buddy. Don’t worry, there are plenty of hot women in the world that’s in the same situation as you. It’ll take a little time. You’ll get over it.” Pop raised his eyebrows. “But you gotta take control of this thing. You’re better than that. Accept it for what it is and move on. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
Despite the fact Rico looked like his mind was a thousand miles away, he had heard every word. Pop was a kind man, even though he was also the kind you didn’t want to cross. Right now, Pop felt like his best friend. Hell, maybe even more like his own father used to be back when he was a kid. Before his sister Jennifer died.
Rico sighed, and then said, “I’ve been trying to convince myself to move on for some time. I didn’t know how to do that. I still don’t. But, I hear you, Pop. I hear you, and I know what you mean. Thanks for giving me hope.”
“You see, you’ve got to get out of the trap in your mind and get back into the swing of things. Not that I don’t appreciate the business… I really do. But push the bottle away. Get some rest. Buy some new clothes and maybe change your hairstyle. You might look good with one of them Mohawk cuts. Seems all the rage these days. Well, at least that’s what my grandson says.”
“I’d probably look like an iguana.”
“Some women love iguanas,” Pop chuckled.
Rico let out a rip of laughter that had half the bar turning his way. When he managed to regain control, he said, “Pop, you slay me. You’re the best.”
“I’m just glad to see you smile. How about I call you a cab?”
“Nah, I can call one of my men on patrol and get them to pick me up and take me home. Don’t worry. You aren’t going to read about me in the morning paper.”
“Good deal. Go home and get some rest.” Pop patted Rico on the shoulder just before turning to attend to the needs of another customer at the bar.
Pop’s right. Mary Etta shouldn’t ruin my life. She don’t want me? Fuck it. I can’t let her do this to me. I can’t let her ruin my job. I’ve worked too hard to blow it all on that bitch. Rico surprised himself. He had taken the blame for everything un
til now. She is a bitch. A lying, cheating, good for nothing cu— He stopped himself as he had vowed never to disrespect any woman to that level. From now on, things were going to change. They had to.
Rico’s stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten since noon. He looked at his watch and thought how a pizza sure would be good right now. It would be hard to get a pizza and not have beer with it. He didn’t need any more alcohol and decided he’d hit the next fast food joint on the way out.
Pop was at the other end of the bar when Rico waved goodbye. Pop waved back, showing his new set of dentures. Before Rico could rise, someone shouted.
“Look by the window. What’s that?”
A thump against the storefront window followed. Someone looking more dead than alive mashed their face against the glass, startling some of the patrons. From the looks of the guy, it was probably safe to assume he was a member of the growing homeless crowd. He looked to be as rough as rough could get.
Pop’s lounge played a mixture of soft jazz and blues in the background. It was one of the quieter bars in the area where people could meet and actually hold a conversation. Most everyone in the bar had their attention on the homeless man at the front window. He kept pounding on the window as if he wanted in, but was too drunk to figure out he wasn’t actually in front of the door. Not counting Pop and Rico, there were close to thirty people in all watching the strange scene. A few sat at the bar by Rico while others sat scattered about in chairs and at tables drinking and carrying on in conversation. This was, of course, before the show they watched now. Other homeless people must have been drawn to the commotion, because a few more came out of the shadows to join in the banging session outside.
A bloated hand slapped the glass and left a trail of wet ooze.
A woman shrieked. “Eww… Gross, what is that?”
Louis Armstrong’s classic voice sang over the sound system:
‘I see trees of green, red roses too’
‘I see them bloom for me and you’
‘And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.’
“What the hell? I just cleaned those windows.” Pop reached under the bar and pulled out a shiny, maple baseball bat. “Those bums are bad for business!”
Rico held up his hand. “Let me get this, Pop. It’s probably just some high school kids pulling a prank.” Pop’s talk and the alcohol worked together to stoke Rico’s fire. He was an officer of the law, and he was about to prove to himself and others that the real Rico Cruz was back in control of his life.
The barstool squealed across the concrete floor when he stood. Whoever this was had picked the wrong place and wrong time to try the patience of a lawman not in the mood to put up with any shit.
“There are more out in the street. Something’s wrong with them. They seem lost,” a thin girl in a red pencil skirt said, looking out another window. She flipped her long blonde hair to the side and brought her martini to her lips while keeping her gaze toward the street.
Rico headed for the door and watched his own reflection pass over the pawing vagrant on the other side. The shirttail of his uniform hung over his pants, and his tie was crooked. He looked a mess.
What a slob. I’m going to change a lot of things in my life—starting tomorrow.
Rico straightened his tie and approached the bar entrance.
The background music grossly mismatched the scene.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world
When he reached the door and opened it, a man in a dark suit waited just outside. The skin on the man’s face looked like worn leather. His cheeks were sunken giving him a skeletal smile. Rico froze—stunned at the sight of the person’s face. The man in the dark suit appeared to be dead, but that just couldn’t be. That didn’t make sense. In the years he had spent on the force, he had run into his fair share of vagrants. The homeless population was always a little beat up looking. A little rough around the edges. But this man took the cake. His skin looked decayed.
While trying to wrap his mind around what he saw, two other vagrants bum rushed from his peripheral, slamming him against the open door. Rico fell backward into the establishment, landing hard on his butt on the floor. One of the attackers had grabbed hold of him and landed on top. The vagrant tried to pin Rico’s arms to his side during the fall.
Rico had been taken by such surprise that he was lost at what to do next. He had expected to flex his muscles and give a stern warning to the homeless person to end the situation. Maybe it was the booze, maybe the emotions. Whatever it was, he had trouble focusing. The man on top of him writhed and slobbered thick muck. Rico managed to bring his arms up for protection. A withered face peered back at him with teeth chomping into empty air. The officer forced his forearm against his attacker’s throat holding the bites at bay.
The other two assailants had turned their attention to the crowded bar.
The blonde haired woman in the skirt jumped out of her booth, sloshing most of her drink onto the floor as the mayhem began. Several of the patrons screamed and ran by the walls for safety. A few of the younger men, on the other hand, stepped forward to confront the deranged interlopers.
The three men who stepped forward to do something were all very different. One guy was short, looked to be in his early twenties. Height didn’t appear to be a hindrance. His wide frame made him a tank of a man. His pectorals bulged under his white shirt, and it was obvious he chose the tight fit as an intimidation tactic, or as a way to attract the ladies. Of the other two men at his side, one was tall and skinny and looked like he should be working as a tech support nerd at a computer store. He had thick framed glasses and wore a tie. The other man was not as notable. Aside from a small tribal tattoo that peeked out from the sleeve on his left arm, he was just a regular looking Joe. Really though, they were just ordinary people. Just guys at a bar trying to relax and have a good time. They probably were enjoying themselves before the crazy freaks busted into Pop’s and attacked a police officer.
Rico was still on his back, wrestling with the one that had landed on him. Even though the thing didn’t feel like it weighed much, its strength more than made up for it. How was that sick old man able to keep him down?
Shouts and screams echoed out from male and female voices alike.
Louis sang on:
‘I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow’
‘They'll learn much more than I'll ever know’
‘And I think to myself, what a wonderful world’
“Hey, buddy, what the hell’s the big idea?” The beefy short man shoved a finger into the chest of one of the vagrants. His attitude was a powerful as his punch.
The vagrant staggered back. Only these weren’t normal vagrants. It was clear to everyone in the bar these weren’t homeless people. Their body movements were all wrong—robotic—not natural, and that wasn’t ordinary dirt and grime on their faces. The smell that preceded them was beyond sour body odor. It was a musty smell mingled with rot and decay. It was the smell of death. It lingered in the air so thick it burned at the back of the nostrils and found refuge in the throat.
The computer geek put a hand over his mouth. “God, they smell worse than feta cheese.” He muffled a gag.
“That ain’t no shit!” The man with the tribal tattoo agreed, sticking his tongue out like a dog trying to get a bad taste out of its mouth.
“Someone, help that policeman,” a female voice shouted.
The two decaying vagrants continued their slow trek toward muscle man, computer nerd, and tattoo arm. Rico fought for his life, and right now, the odds favored the attacker.
The woman screamed again, “Do something!” The urgency in her cry slapped people out of the debilitating fear cementing them to the floor. It’s been written, ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’ Her command acted like a movie director calling ‘Action’ for the scen
e to start, setting the would-be actors into their roles. This wasn’t a play, or a script from some silly movie. This was real life. In real life, there is no script.
The beefy workout man shoved the smelly bum in front of him again, knocking him back just like before. It caught its balance, as if becoming more comfortable in its new life, and continued its approach with a snarl. Its lips parted, showing rotted yellow teeth. The stench that bellowed out could only be described as coming from the sewage pits of Hell.
“What’s wrong with these people?” the muscle man said with his arms held out at the ready.
The computer nerd opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. Instead, he gasped as if it was his last breath.
The nerd’s outburst distracted the muscle man enough for the bum kept at bay to lunge forward, sinking its teeth into his hand. Blood spurted from his callused palm as the creature mashed its jaws together and thrashed its head from side to side. The man yelled so loud that it hurt Rico’s left ear. His cry ignited the crowd, throwing another wave of panic across the bar. Blood splattered to the floor, peppering the side of Rico’s face.
The creature pulled away with a mouthful of human flesh, its teeth stained with crimson and stuck bits of meat.
Like a magic trick performed by the great Houdini, the muscle man’s hand was missing three fingers. A river of red gushed from the wound down his arm. He held it in front of his face, staring in disbelief, and lost all control of rationality.
Resurrection X Page 30