Bubba took the compact gel pack and put it against his jaw. Since it had been in her little fridge, it was icy and felt good. He nodded shortly. I kin still breathe. That’s got to be a good thing.
Simone grimaced. “Some people have a little reaction to the glue. I’ve seen it before. It’ll wear off in a few hours. I’ve got some antihistamines around here.”
Bubba shook his head and waved at her. What he really wanted was a beer. A nice cool bottle of beer. Some kind of lager that he hid in the back of his fridge for a special occasion. He wouldn’t be able to drink that if he took an antihistamine. Also he needed to let Precious outside and play with her awhile. It would make both of them feel better.
Simone waved back.
When Bubba walked around the last van that was parked nearest to the mansion, he saw that the sheriff’s department Bronco was gone. It made him want to hit the van with his head again.
* * *
Miraculously Bubba had lost his appetite. He drank from an ice cold bottle of Rogue Juniper Pale Ale. It was made in Oregon and a gift from Willodean. It had taken him three months to drink all six and the last one was held in his hand, with condensation dripping over his fist.
While the reds, blues, and oranges faded from the western skies, he’d drug out a ball and tossed it for Precious until she collapsed on her side, heaving with well-earned exertion. After retrieving the isolated beer from his fridge, he’d sat on a lawn chair and batted at mosquitos while watching the film crew pack up and leave. Then he’d witnessed Miz Demetrice and Miz Adelia sneaking Alfonso and Pilar out the side door and tucking them in Alfonso’s minivan. The babies went with them, belted safely in little carriers and covered with blankets to keep the night air away. Bubba could see this because his mother and the housekeeper both carried Maglites and pretty much showed everything.
Bubba placed the bottle of ale next to his jaw. As it was still cold, it helped a little. He wondered if workman’s comp would cover that little issue and decided it didn’t impact his mechanicking skills so it probably wouldn’t.
Figures. He looked up at the skies. An array of brilliant stars glittered across a sea of darkest velvet. If all were going to the way it typically went, then a comet should streak in and demolish my truck. Or…there should be a dead body on it.
Bubba nodded to himself. A dead alien body from a comet. Mysteriously kilt by someone else and put on a comet headed for Pegram County, Texas. Then I git blamed for it. Some alien from a distant galaxy takes me away because they think I done did it and then he locks me up in an alien jail. Then I have to eat glow-in-the-dark grubs because they don’t make human food there. Yep.
The minivan backed out of the parking place and slowly turned around, all the while not turning on its lights. The two older women armed with Maglites waved as the dark shape of the van moved away.
Bubba would have checked his watch for the time but he wasn’t wearing a watch. He had an idea that it was after midnight. The day had slid away. Four a.m. had him up and fixing a Dodge Caravan. Five a.m. had him sitting down and being zombified. The remainder of the day had skated away from him, right up until the moment he’d seen Willodean at sunset.
And then I surely crapped on that like a hundred pigeons on a big statue in a park.
Screwing up his features, Bubba realized he could move his jaw a little more. It hadn’t been a good time to say anything to Willodean. She was nervous because of what she had said and there were zombies and his mother everywhere. To be perfectly precise, it had been a horrible time to say it. No woman in her right mind would have responded favorably asked at a time like that.
Mebe, just mebe, it had been blessed serendipity. Bubba should be relieved. He’d have another shot. Probably.
Suppressing a yawn, Bubba meandered over to where his mother and Miz Adelia were talking quietly to each other.
“—think they’re suspicious,” Miz Adelia said.
“Of what?” Miz Demetrice whispered back. “It’s not like it’s obvious.”
“We should be more careful. We need to get all the shipments through,” Miz Adelia said.
“What shipments?” Bubba asked and was pleased to see the two women jump. It was the little things in life that brought pure enjoyment.
“Bubba!” Miz Demetrice yelled. She fluttered a hand in front of her chest, nearly hitting herself in the face with the larger Maglite. “You nearly gave me a bad case of the all-overs!”
“Ma, the day that you’re nervous is the day I should go to Tahiti and live on the beach,” Bubba said.
“Did you see Bubba as a zombie?” Miz Adelia asked swiftly. She was nearly as adept at changing the subject as Miz Demetrice. In fact, she had probably learned the skill from the older woman.
“I almost didn’t recognize the boy,” Miz Demetrice said. “Shall we go to bed? I’d like to get a good night’s sleep.”
“Hard to sleep when you’re driving around,” Bubba remarked, “like a couple with two little kids.”
“That’s the best way to get a baby to go to sleep,” Miz Adelia said promptly. “A car ride is just the thing.”
“Uh-huh,” Bubba said. It was challenging to quash the suspicion from his tone.
“Shouldn’t you be getting some shut eye?” his mother asked pointedly.
Precious trotted up and nosed his leg. She was just as tired as she could be. She had been up with Bubba from the beginning and had only had five naps since that time. A dog could only go so far.
“I reckon,” Bubba said, thinking he should give Precious a break. “I’m working tomorrow, too. They’re filming something downtown. I’ll be gone most of the morning. Them movie people coming back here?”
“Not tomorrow,” Miz Demetrice said evasively. “However did they get you to agree to be in the movie?”
“I’m not exactly sure of that,” Bubba admitted. “Ya’ll in trouble, Ma? Is there something I should know about?” His mother was the queen of trouble-making. She didn’t wait for trouble to come to her; she went looking for it. In fact, she was the expert’s expert of locating inconvenience, danger, and affairs of woe. Bubba had gotten to be quite the professional of avoiding his mother’s more disorderly undertakings. However, sometimes they had a habit of sneaking up and biting him on the butt.
“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about,” his mother soothed him.
“That’s the part where it usually becomes the most worrisome,” Bubba said. He leaned over and kissed Miz Adelia on the cheek and repeated it with his mother. “Get some rest, because I reckon ya’ll are going to need it, being up to whatever it is that you’re up to.”
Miz Adelia shrugged and went to her car. Bubba watched as his mother went inside and watched as Miz Adelia started her vehicle up and drove down the lane. She turned on her headlights to do so. Alfonzo hadn’t turned on his and probably hadn’t until he had reached the main road.
Bubba shook his head and winced when he yawned. His jaw still wouldn’t quite work correctly.
Chapter 6
Bubba and the Distressed Director
Sunday, March 10th
Bubba did manage to go to sleep and when he woke up he could use his jaw again. He wasn’t looking forward to more of the same pain on this day so he took an antihistamine. He scrounged around his clothing from the previous day and found the piece of paper he’d been given and saw that he was supposed to be on Main Street at eight a.m. He would be just yards away from the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department and one never knew when a suitable opening might present itself. Things might be changing for the better.
A positive attitude, he told himself. He glanced at Precious, who was doing the Dog-Has-To-Go-Outside-Now dance. “A positive attitude, girl.”
Precious whined apprehensively and did a little twirl. Her tail waggled questioningly.
Bubba lurched downstairs and let his dog outside. He took care of his personal business and even shaved without cutting himself once. He let his dog back inside and fed her. She ate w
hile he poured himself a large mug of coffee. The mug was one of a set of six matched, oversized cups and had been a housewarming gift from Willodean’s parents, Celestine and Evan Gray. Apparently, locating one of their daughters who had been kidnapped by the brother of a murderer went a long way in their estimation. However, since Precious had been more instrumental in finding Willodean, the canine had gotten a Bone Bone Gift Basket from Doggies R Us. (An actual basket with a large red ribbon that Precious tried to chew to little bits before Bubba had taken it away.) Included had been carob treats, as well as organic, soy free snacks, and an assortment of chew toys. Precious’s present had been bigger than Bubba’s and Bubba had a sneaking suspicion that Celestine liked his dog better than she liked him.
It don’t matter. It’s what Willodean thinks about me that really counts. Bubba needed to hang onto that positive attitude. It was a bright, fresh new day with golden opportunity around every corner. There was lots to be done. And hey, he got to be in a movie. Willodean didn’t seem impressed by the movie itself, but maybe she would appreciate his can-do attitude. Is it possible that Willodean likes my dog better than me? Naw.
When Bubba walked outside he tried to shoo Precious away from his truck, but she was having none of it. She had been left behind one too many times and she was ready to ride. He had an idea that she knew exactly what day of the week it was and why she should be permitted to join him.
“I have to work, girl,” he told his dog.
Precious tilted her head.
“Ifin you come, you’ve got to stay out of trouble.”
She tilted her head the other way. Big brown eyes stared at him. Liquid brown eyes full of pleading and wistful longing looked at him. Looked…at…him. Until…he…folded.
“Mebe you kin stay with Willodean,” he said hopefully. It certainly gave him an excuse. He knew she had a short shift on Sunday and she would be around the department later in the day. Bubba brightened. Sometimes a fella has to make an opportunity for himself. “I’m goin’ to be on it like ants on a honey bun,” he swore.
Precious woofed expectantly. She knew a chance when she saw one and clambered up into the truck when Bubba opened the door for her. He had to give her derriere a helping hand, but she kept on eagerly pushing with her less than long legs. She scrambled to the passenger side of the bench seat and stuck her head out of the already opened window. She barked once at Alfonzo, who was already about and scraping some of the chipped paint from the columns in the front of Snoddy Mansion. Alfonzo waved leisurely with the scraper.
Bubba actually got to the downtown area of Pegramville without further ado. He parked well down the street from where the film crew was setting up. The streets were cordoned off with plastic sawhorses and yellow tape. Local police officers roamed around to ensure complicity. He paused to wave at Officers Smithson and Haynes, one of whom might have once kicked him in the head with a steel tipped boot. They didn’t look happy when the redheaded girl appeared and ushered Bubba inside the lines.
“He’s in the movie,” she called to Smithson.
“As what? The village idiot?” Smithson asked.
The redhead flipped him off.
Bubba was mildly surprised. He didn’t usually get immediate support from strangers.
She said, “He tried to grope Tandy North this morning. If it were up to me he’d be guarding a missile silo in the Arctic, but I suppose we can’t make the local police do that.” The redhead-Bubba wished he knew her name-guided him to a tent set up on City Hall’s lawn. Precious followed with her nose held close to the ground lest she miss any particularly inviting aromas. “Wait here. I’ll have Simone call you in when she’s ready.”
Bubba was also surprised to see several people he knew. Lloyd Goshorn was being turned into an emaciated zombie with one of his lungs dangling from his chest. He gestured halfheartedly at Bubba, a lackluster acknowledgement. Lloyd had been less than friendly since Bubba had almost run him down with a car. (Bubba had been trying to save someone’s life in the process and he had missed Lloyd by a country mile, but Lloyd tended to forget both of those parts.)
Kiki Rutkowski and Dougie, both back in zombie uniform, grunted at each other in zombiese. Dougie pointed at Bubba and said, “Braaaaaiiiiinnnnns.”
Kiki grinned at Bubba showing black and gray teeth.
Bubba waved.
Foot Johnson was also an extra and apparently not a zombie as evidenced by the lack of gore or wounds on his person. When he wasn’t hanging out around Main Street, he was usually a janitor for the city buildings. He also cleaned up in the sheriff’s department. He talked to Stanley Boomer while his children scuffed their feet in impatience. The Boomer farm was where the Christ Tree was located and where fainting goats were kept. Lissa Boomer, the youngest Boomer child, had a stuffed animal swiped by Precious when the hound had been stealing various items in preparation for parenthood.
Mary Jo Treadwell and Arlette Formica were decked out in authentic zombie gear, leaving one to wonder who was manning the desk at the sheriff’s department. Filbert Turberville, the principal of the local elementary school, chatted with Wilma Rabsitt, who allegedly cheated at the weekly poker games that Miz Demetrice held. The principal inexpertly twirled a shotgun while Wilma held a machete that was likely longer than she was tall.
It was a good crowd. Bubba hadn’t seen so many people together and covered with blood since the 1st Annual Pegramville Murder Mystery Festival. That had gone over so well it was expected there might not be a 2nd Annual Pegramville Murder Mystery Festival.
Willodean, Bubba was sorry to note, was not present. She was probably manning the receptionist’s desk and answering the 9-1-1 line. I should send her flowers.
For what?
Because I didn’t mind that she asked me about wanting kids. Because I couldn’t talk to her when I wanted to talk to her. Because I messed up the first time I said you-know-what.
Bubba answered himself. But Willodean don’t know that you asked you-know-what. In fact, she’s kind of freaked out that she said something about kids. It was like she had gone out of order in the rule book of dating. First, casual dating. Second, more serious dating. Third, total monogamy and a commitment to dating exclusivity. Fourth, discussion about family and/or moving in. Fifth, moving in together. Sixth, engagement. Seventh, marriage.
Scowling, Bubba realized he was screwing up the order, too. But he knew he was old enough to know his own mind. He’d given the matter a lot of thought; however he had second thoughts after the debacle at the cemetery.
Bubba looked around for the van to bump his head against. Instead he found a man standing five feet away staring at him. He was about five feet ten inches and wore thick black framed glasses. He was in his forties and wore a sappy smile as he studied Bubba. “Hey,” he said because one should say something to a person who was staring at you thusly, even if it was “Do I have boogers hanging?”
“Bubba,” the man said.
It certainly seemed as though Bubba should know the man. He looked familiar. Bubba couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps if he spoke some more.
“It’s quite a thing,” the man said waving at the varied crowd of zombies and non-zombies.
Bubba scratched the side of his head. It was too late to pretend that he knew the man. Bubba tilted his head to one side like Precious. It worked for the canine so perhaps it would work for him. It didn’t work with him. Finally it popped into Bubba’s head. All the man needed was a pipe or a purple mask or a pirate’s scarf over fake dreadlocks.
“David,” Bubba said, grateful that he hadn’t had to ask. David Beathard was one of the mental patients from The Dogley Institute for Mental Well-Being who had been one of the Christmas Killer’s patients. (It was a whole convoluted thing. You had to be there. There was a reason for revenge. There was a killer. There was a kid with a homemade Taser. Blah. Blah. Blah.) In any case, David had an interesting habit of developing new personas. Psychiatrists, super heroes, pirates, who knew what he was going to
be next? (Hadn’t there been a President’s wife in there somewhere? He thought it was Michelle Obama but possibly it had been Barbara Bush.) However, he had been very helpful to Bubba in a thinking-outside-of-the-check-here-for-mental-disability-box way. It was even possible that he was Bubba’s friend.
David smiled widely. “I know. I don’t look like I usually do. I’m taking a break from the whole schizophrenic personality disorder thing.”
“Okay,” Bubba said equably. David didn’t look like he usually did. He looked normal. It was rather disconcerting. “You in the movie?”
“I’m in the movie theater scene,” David said. “I have explosive blood packs strapped to my chest. It’ll be very exciting when they blow up. I’m supposed to be drenched with fake blood, but it’s washable, so it’s all gravy.” He touched his mouth. “Red colored gravy, but still gravy.”
Bubba’s eyes slipped to David’s chest. He was wearing the same kind of button-down cardigan he used to wear when he was David the Psychotrist. (Or had it been psychiatrist? Psychologist? Something like that.) The cardigan didn’t seem poufy or anything, but some of the special effects the film company were producing seemed very realistic. (There had been that split second in the cemetery when Bubba believed that the zombies were real, no matter what he knew deep inside, not that he would ever admit it aloud.)
“There’s a movie theater scene?”
“The scene is that people are inside watching the classic, The Shrieking Horror From Above, which is an inside joke, and zombies come in and eat the popcorn clerks. Cue the blood splattered popcorn. Of course, then the clerks go zombie-city on the patrons and chaos ensues. They’re using the old theater on Walter Street.”
Bubba and the Zigzaggery Zombies Page 6
