by Kirk Alex
After witnessing a series of disturbing incidents—like the shady “after hours” business taking place—that hurl him into an immoral world of grave robbing, coffin swapping, and even disappearing bodies, Zook finds himself caught in the middle of a twisted power-struggle to control ownership of the funeral home.
If Zook hopes to escape this utter mess with his sanity intact, he must rise above his fears and confront the dark deeds before he ends up back in the looney bin . . . for good this time.
CHAPTER 1
I had just gotten off the bus and the two of them followed me: the dim-witted young chick with the dishwater hair and the beastly two- hundred-pound butch dyke with her: all tats and rings and studs and chains. Lots of black leather. Blue/black crew cut. Demanding money.
“For what?”
“BJ.”
The other one was quiet. Just wasn’t there mentally. Didn’t seem like it mattered to her, either. It was the bitch built like a dozer who was after my cash. I dared her to take it, which hadn’t been a wise move at all. She cold-cocked me. By the time she was done I was on the ground, nearly out. She’d flipped me over on my belly and sat on my back. I could hardly breathe, let alone do much of anything else at this point. She’d taken my wallet, extracted the bills, tossed it back at me. Spit in my direction, and they walked off. With close to eighty dollars of my jack. My roll. A good chunk of it. If it hadn’t been for the paper money I’d kept stashed inside my sock I’d have been up the creek. I was, but at least with what remained I’d be able to rent a room, buy something to eat, a newspaper, and look for work.
I had been sound asleep, as comfortable as one can possibly be on a Greyhound bus. Been pulling on a bottle of hooch all the way from Phoenix. The idea was to stay on in Tucson long enough to beef up the roll and continue on to Ft. Worth. The ex had family there and I hoped that’s where she’d ended up. I didn’t have a need to connect with her. It came down to my kid. In her early teens by now. Hadn’t seen her in years. I’d been to LaFayette, Indiana; Bowling Green, Kentucky; Lawrence, Kansas, and dozens of other towns, large and small. I stayed on the move; perpetual motion seemed to keep the demons at bay—at least I had myself convinced of it. I had war- related nightmares I couldn’t shake, and some other things I was trying to live down. Staying on the move seemed to be the answer. Only how in hell do you get away from yourself? I’d been given the boot by more apartment managers and motel desk clerks for kicking the floor and walls in my sleep than I cared to remember.
It was usually some indiscriminate setting, me unarmed, being chased by the enemy in some far-off land. Commies? Mid-East zealots? Your run-of-the-mill America haters? Who knew? Or maybe I was in denial. Unwilling to face my demons. It took a lot to deal with that shit.
That was where they got on, though: Phoenix. The young one: couldn’t tell how old, didn’t look half bad in tight jeans, pink blouse, although the heavy one with the butch cut made me want to retch. This was one unappealing broad. And wouldn’t you know it, she was the one who dropped her sweaty and mean ass in the seat next to mine. She wanted a hit off my hooch. I told her to piss off. Took the occasional nip from the bottle, pulled the blanket up to about my neck. I had no idea how long I’d be staying in Tucson. Didn’t know a soul in town, not really. It was just a place to drive through, or maybe spend a week in, look around. Been in the ‘Old Pueblo’ before. Worked as a busser at some sports bar some years back, did a bit of panhandling.
What nudged me awake was the two of them switching seats. Now the young one was sitting next to me. Before the fat one gave up her seat, she whispered in my ear: “My cousin gives great head.”
“How much?”
“Forty bucks.”
I told her to get lost.
They switched seats, and before I knew it, ‘cousin’ had her hand under my blanket. Inched it slowly toward my crotch and was rubbing it, just running her fingers gently over it, and I’ll be damned if my groin didn’t begin to stir. All that vino, and there I was: getting wood. She proceeded to unzip my fly. I let her; pretended I was asleep, and let her do what she wanted. I figured if I acted like I was dozing, they wouldn’t be able to claim I owed them money later, her and the beast she was with.
She had it out, stroking, slowly, taking her time. Then she ducked her head under the blanket. I let her. Of course, I let her. It had been a while. No love, no sex. Traveling the country on buses, when the money was there, hitching when it wasn’t.
She had her tongue on it, licking; then she had the shaft inside, all of it. I didn’t have a tremendous whole lot, but it was all right; there were some poor bastards who envied what I did have. You lived with the hand the Dealer laid on you—and this time the Dealer had shown me some kindness, I thought. That head of hers bobbed up and down, not fast, gently, gradually, taking her time. And the fact it was night provided adequate cover. Passengers were zoned out, with the exception of some punk in his teens, across the aisle, watching out of the corner of his eye. Let him. Probably wished he was me, the big shot, getting his nuts off on a Greyhound bus to nowhere.
The licking went on. She played with the head, flicking it thoroughly. This chick had been around, knew her business when it came to licking balls and sucking cock. It had been such a long time, too. Probably did this to get by: sucked off strangers for whatever they could pick up. Who knew? Did it matter? Only I’d had too much wine. Couldn’t make it. It was no good. Wine and sex didn’t mix, not for me.
She lifted her head. I pulled out my wallet. Extracted a tenner for her effort. She did what she could. Not her fault. Before the young hooker had had a chance to even take a good look at it, the beast, her freakish ‘relation,’ stuck her hand in and snapped up the sawbuck. She sniffed it. Looked it over. She was not pleased. Tough, I thought. That was a ten dollar try.
“My name is not Bill Gates and I don’t own Microsoft. Besides, I never got off.”
“You’re lying.” She yanked her ‘cousin’ out of the seat, and lowered that wide posterior next to me.
“We agreed on forty.”
“Like hell we did.”
“That was a forty dollar BJ. You never had anything that good in your life.”
“How would you know? Maybe I had better.” For a fact. Only my ex-wives wanted nothing to do with me, especially the last one. I had no idea where she was. Ft. Worth was nothing more than a guess, a vague one, like all the other towns I’d been to. She’d taken the kid and disappeared off the face of the earth. Could explain the roaming. If I admitted it to myself. I didn’t need the exes back, only ached to see the kid. A girl. Must have been six years ago I saw her last. I didn’t blame the wife for leaving me. Couldn’t take the screaming in the middle of the night, the kicking at the floor with my feet, the times I was stationed out of the country, or stuck in some bug bin here in the states. I drank to fight the demons. Only made everything worse. They had me on Prozak, then Paxil, at the VA. While I was in the whack ward the wife dropped the bomb: wanted out. I couldn’t stop her, didn’t try. She never mentioned custody, only because she figured she was entitled. She’d given birth to the child and that was that. Frankly, I was in no shape to take care of a kid, couldn’t even take care of myself. I let it go; let them both go. The ex had a man, in fact, had been shagging a neighbor while I was stationed overseas. The way it usually went. I’d had it done to me once before. Kid could be his, biologically. Probably. Don’t matter. I treated her like she was my own. You get emotionally attached. Kids are all right. Always wanted a family. Always did. Things kept going wrong somehow. Something would always happen to turn things upside down. This was divorce number three. You know what they say: three strikes and you’re out. Three marriages, three divorces. I was defective, a loser. Something was seriously the matter with me. It was the war; it was other things.
“I doubt it.” She looked at me. “Not with that nose and those teeth.” My nose was bent, both ways, in bar brawls that I usually started and lost, so were my teeth—born with th
em that way—the ones still there: black, yellow. Of the uppers in front, I had but one left. In the middle.
I pulled the blanket up, and pretended to go to sleep. Only she wouldn’t let me.
“Thirty bucks. You can’t deny that was worth thirty bucks.”
“You got what it was worth. And that’s the end of it. I never got rocks. You bitches came on to me. Before I knew what was going on, your nympho girlfriend was molesting my privates.”
“You owe us money.”
“Fuck off, or I go to the driver.”
“He’s our friend. That wouldn’t get you anywhere.”
“What does he pay for it?”
“That’s a different case. He gets a discount—and has nothing to do with you.”
“I feel drained for some strange reason and crave rest.” And this time I shut my eyes and kept them shut. I could feel them switch seats again. As she got up, I turned my head, and caught her cousin going down on some geezer way in the back. I guessed the freak was on her feet in order to collect payment, and before I knew it, the young bitch was back sitting beside me. It wasn’t long before she had her hand under my blanket again. This time I slapped it away, and she left me alone.
We got off the bus. I had my old backpack; walking down in search of a cheap motel along Drachman. Then I turned down an alley. Big mistake. They’d had friends waiting for them. Indians. Looked like. I was jumped, knocked down. She stood on one side, while one of those drunk Indian friends of hers stood on the other, and they took turns delivering a couple of very effective, if unsteady, kicks to my kidneys. The beast had emptied my wallet, rummaged through the backpack, spat in disgust and left me lying there in the puke and blood.
Welcome to Tucson, Arizona. To be fair, this was no slam against the Old Pueblo, and besides, the bitches had hopped on in Phoenix.
I was up, wiped vomit from my chin. Dug my hand inside my left sock. At least I still had that. Jammed the spare socks and underwear, photo album, toiletries, back in the pack. Checked into a motel, washed my face, showered, then plopped down on the floor and slept the rest of the night and most of the next day when I had to go out and find a bar, or Circle K, to buy a can of Spam and a 6- Pack of Red Dog, a newspaper. At this rate, my money wouldn’t last long and I’d be stuck here indefinitely. Taking a look at the job ads was in order.
* * *
About the Author
Kirk Alex’s novel Lustmord: Anatomy of a Serial Butcher was a finalist in the Kindle Book Review’s Best Book Awards of 2014. He is also the author of Zook, Fifty Shades of Tinsel, the story collection: Ziggy Popper at Large, the Love, Lust & Murder series: Throwback & Backlash, the Eddie “Doc” Holiday Private Eye Series, and a few other novels & shorts.
http://www.kirkalex.com
Table of Contents
A WORD OF CAUTION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHAPTER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
CHAPTER 89
CHAPTER 90
CHAPTER 91
CHAPTER 92
CHAPTER 93
CHAPTER 94
CHAPTER 95
CHAPTER 96
CHAPTER 97
CHAPTER 98
CHAPTER 99
CHAPTER 100
CHAPTER 101
CHAPTER 102
CHAPTER 103
CHAPTER 104
CHAPTER 105
CHAPTER 106
CHAPTER 107
CHAPTER 108
CHAPTER 109
CHAPTER 110
CHAPTER 111
CHAPTER 112
CHAPTER 113
CHAPTER 114
CHAPTER 115
CHAPTER 116
CHAPTER 117
CHAPTER 118
CHAPTER 119
CHAPTER 120
CHAPTER 121
CHAPTER 122
CHAPTER 123
CHAPTER 124
CHAPTER 125
CHAPTER 126
CHAPTER 127
CHAPTER 128
CHAPTER 129
CHAPTER 130
CHAPTER 131
CHAPTER 132
CHAPTER 133
CHAPTER 134
CHAPTER 135
CHAPTER 136
CHAPTER 137
CHAPTER 138
CHAPTER 139
CHAPTER 140
CHAPTER 141
CHAPTER 142
CHAPTER 143
CHAPTER 144
CHAPTER 145
CHAPTER 146
CHAPTER 147
CHAPTER 148
CHAPTER 149
CHAPTER 150
CHAPTER 151
CHAPTER 152
CHAPTER 153
CHAPTER 154
CHAPTER 155
CHAPTER 156
CHAPTER 157
CHAPTER 158
CHAPTER 159
CHAPTER 160
CHAPTER 161
CHAPTER 162
CHAPTER 163
CHAPTER 164
CHAPTER 165
CHAPTER 166
CHAPTER 167
CHAPTER 168
CHAPTER 169
CHAPTER 170
CHAPTER 171
CHAPTER 172
CHAPTER 173
CHAPTER 174
CHAPTER 175
CHAPTER 176
CHAPTER 177
CHAPTER 178
CHAPTER 179
CHAPTER 180
CHAPTER 181
CHAPTER 182
CHAPTER 183
CHAPTER 184
CHAPTER 185
CHAPTER 186
CHAPTER 187
CHAPTER 188
CHAPTER 189
CHAPTER 190
CHAPTER
191
CHAPTER 192
CHAPTER 193
CHAPTER 194
CHAPTER 195
CHAPTER 196
CHAPTER 197
CHAPTER 198
CHAPTER 199
CHAPTER 200
CHAPTER 201
CHAPTER 202
CHAPTER 203
CHAPTER 204
CHAPTER 205
CHAPTER 206
CHAPTER 207
CHAPTER 208
CHAPTER 209
CHAPTER 210
CHAPTER 211
CHAPTER 212
CHAPTER 213
CHAPTER 214
CHAPTER 215
CHAPTER 216
CHAPTER 217
CHAPTER 218
CHAPTER 219
CHAPTER 220
CHAPTER 221
CHAPTER 222
CHAPTER 223
CHAPTER 224
CHAPTER 225
CHAPTER 226
CHAPTER 227
CHAPTER 228
CHAPTER 229
CHAPTER 230
CHAPTER 231
CHAPTER 232
CHAPTER 233
CHAPTER 234
CHAPTER 235
CHAPTER 236
CHAPTER 237
CHAPTER 238
CHAPTER 239
CHAPTER 240
CHAPTER 241
CHAPTER 242
CHAPTER 243
CHAPTER 244
CHAPTER 245
CHAPTER 246
CHAPTER 247
CHAPTER 248
CHAPTER 249
CHAPTER 250
CHAPTER 251
CHAPTER 252
Interview with Kirk Alex
Excerpt: ZOOK
About the Author
