“This will have to do,” she said.
“Good enough.”
“Now I got to go back to Ned’s and put up with his bullshit.”
Cash’s curiosity got the best of him. “What’s with him? I mean, I thought you two had a strictly business relationship, but he’s acting like you’re his fiancée.”
“Honey, I don’t mean to brag, but I’m good at what I do.”
“You look like it.” Cash admired the woman’s figure, if not her morals. He had no intention of judging her beyond that; for all he knew, she could have been the proverbial “prostitute with a heart of gold.”
Neil Young would have had the time of his life had his search brought him to her house, Cash thought.
“What are you grinning about?” She asked.
“Never mind,” Cash said.
He felt embarrassed that his fantasy had jumped the fence straddling the world of wishful thinking to physical expression. Valerie was but four years older but had all the panache and guile of a woman twenty years her senior. She’d lived on her own since sixteen, forced to after her mother was institutionalized and an abusive stepfather preferred trying to pimp her rather than making her a ward of the state. On the street it didn’t take long for her to realize she could do well financially without a diploma, degree ir legitimate employment.
“So what’s with you and yours?” Valerie asked. “And before you fix your mouth to lie, let me tell you that I overheard you and Roy talking. I also know a man with your good looks has something on his plate, even if it ain’t nothing but a stale biscuit.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Cash mumbled.
“So?”
“She threw me out.”
“What are you going to do?”
Cash stroked his chin. “Hit the road with Grace, Roy and the kids.”
Valerie lifted the two bags of groceries off the floor. “Listen to us, sitting here yakking as only God knows what lurks outside.”
Cash held his gun at his side and peered out into the darkness.
“Looks clear,” he said.
Valerie stepped in front of him. “You asked me a personal question about me and Ned, now I’d like to ask you one.” She leaned back with one foot on the floor, the other against the door. “You and Roy are tight, so which of you is poking the white girl, or are you both hitting ‘em?”
Cash was amused by her bluntness. “She’s an old friend of Roy’s. Loyal as the day is long. I suppose they had a fling back in the day.”
“You guess?”
“What, are you interested in Roy?”
“Roy is the baby brother of my friend and neighbor,” Valerie said. “I’m interested in you.”
“Why?”
“I find you interesting.”
“Maybe that’s because you don’t know my whole story.”
“It’s because of what I do know. You’re not rich, and even if you were you aren’t the kind of guy desperate enough to pay me to fulfill your fantasies. You’re the sort I can look at across a candlelit table, converse with and not get bored. More important, you’re handsome, I’m pretty, and I’m horny.”
“Right now I’m in no position to make a decision about such things.” Cash forced himself to hold eye contact with her. “We’re battling two sorts of demons, the undead and the police, so right now it’s a little difficult for me to think of anything other than safety.”
Cash stepped close to her, where he inhaled the scent of her fear, perfume and perspiration and it served as the perfect aphrodisiac.
“When this is all over, then you and I should find a place where we can get into a deeper conversation,” he whispered.
Valerie’s pen light gave off just enough light to form a halo effect around her face. What fell upon them was that brief desirous and anxiety-filled pause; the gap in time when two minds debate in nanoseconds as to how they will make that first kiss unforgettable.
For Cash and Valerie, it didn’t happen.
They were distracted by the burst of light that hit Grace Owens’ apartment and the shout of officer Walter Mixon for everyone to come out with t heir hands up. Valerie flicked off her flashlight. Cash took her hand and they ducked along the front wall of the house. Through the blinds they looked on as the frustrated police officer kicked open the front door of Grace’s apartment.
N I N E T E E N
4:02 a.m.
The door of Grace Owens’ apartment was no match for Mixon’s size thirteen boot. When the jamb splintered and the door sprung open, Mixon expected the worst. He entered the dwelling with his gun drawn and squeezed off two shots that hit nothing but drywall. Cruz, who followed him into the dark venue, knelt at the door and shined her light around the room. Her gun was leveled at nothing in particular, but she reminded herself to exercise more restraint than her partner.
“This is Officer Walter Mixon of the Pittsburg Police Department! I order all inhabitants of this dwelling to come out with your hands up!”
There was a pause of roughly ten seconds before Cruz pointed out the obvious. “There’s no one here, Walter.”
“I’m not convinced of that.”
Mixon walked through the house and checked each room and closet, and afterward exhibited his displeasure by pounding his feet as if he was angry with the ground.
“Why did you come in here firing even though you knew there was the possibility of children being present?” Cruz asked.
“My gun discharged accidentally.” His tone was a mix of anger and sarcasm. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“There are a few other places I want to search.”
Mixon pushed past her, went outside and shined his flashlight on some of the neighboring buildings. Cruz noticed that once again his chest rose and fell rapidly and that his breathing was audible.
“Okay, these two buildings are vacant, but those black sons of bitches are around here somewhere.”
That was the hint Cruz needed to know that all bets were off. Their presence was no longer a matter of law, but a personal grudge. The pressure had broken him as sure as high pressure breaks iron piping. I’m probably going to have to draw down to keep Mixon from slaying someone… Maybe it’s the idea that two black guys kidnapped a white girl and it violates some sort of taboo, or my partner has a superhero complex.
“It’s been a while since we’ve eaten anything,” she said quietly. “We’re running on adrenaline and not thinking clearly.”
“Don’t patronize me! Like I said, if you don’t want to be involved in this, you don’t have to be!”
Mixon strode in the direction of Bob Goodman’s apartment and shined the light through one of the cracked windows. After a couple of minutes he decided the house was empty. Next he came to Valerie’s and shined his light inside.
***
4:29 a.m.
Valerie pressed herself close to Cash and they pushed up against the wall underneath the front window. Mixon was less than a foot away from them. After what seemed to be the longest two minutes of Cash and Valerie’s lives, Mixon went to her kitchen window and shined his light. Cash and Valerie continued to lie welded together. Cruz’s flashlight illuminated the other side of the house.
Finally the two cops rendezvoused outside Valerie’s front door. Before they could move on to the Lathan residence, Ned came outside with his hands raised and identified himself. Mixon kept his gun trained on the sweating black face as he fired his first question at him.
“Where did you come from!” Mixon yelled.
“I live in apartment nine,” Ned said. “Inside that apartment is a woman and another man. All of us are armed, but only to protect ourselves from those things that were here earlier.”
“Whose in the other apartments?” Cruz asked.
“No one. Those things slaughtered everything.”
“What about your friends from apartment six?” Mixon asked.
“They decided to make a run for it, to the police station.”
“They don’t know that,” Ned replied, unaware of how he maintained a level voice. “They promised to send someone for us if they found help.”
“You said there were three people in your apartment,” Mixon said stepping closer to Ned. “The man I spoke to earlier said there were a dozen of you.”
“The parents of the two teens came and picked them up.”
“Oh?” Mixon wasn’t sold on the story. “How’d they know where to find their kids?”
“They were the next-door neighbors.”
“Where’d the other six go?”
“You mean seven, and they left in the same vehicle. You have to remember that four of them were kids.”
“Tell the others to come out, with their hands up.”
Ned called over his shoulder, “Y’all come on out.”
Roy and Jenny came out with their hands raised.
Cruz looked at Roy and said, “This isn’t the man we spoke with earlier. Where’d he go?” Cruz asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie!” Mixon insisted. He stepped up to Nathan so that they were face-to-face.
Ned licked his lips and furiously searched his mind for an answer.
“You hear me talking to you, boy?”
“The apartment behind you.”
“There’s no one in there!” Mixon roared. He ripped his pistol from its holster and stuck the gun to Ned’s head. “You trying to play with my mind?
“Officer Mixon, relax,” Cruz said, as she drew her own gun. “Take it easy and allow the man to answer.”
“Shut up, Cruz!” Mixon yelled.
“I think he might have gotten scared and just run off,” Ned said quietly. Sweat ran down his neck, as if he’d participated in a long foot race.
“I’m giving you a count of—“
A gun shot that rang out and it came from behind Officer Cruz. It startled her to where she inadvertently fired off a shot of her own.
***
4:36 a.m.
Jayson had spent the last two hours calling local relatives and getting no answers. While he and Roy weren’t exactly chummy-chummy, he was family, and he believed his cousin deserved the chance to explain why he’d done something as stupid as rob a bank. On the other hand, Jayson was torn between family loyalty and his obligation to his employer.
Graham was an asshole, and probably a racist, too. Still, a crime was committed by two first-class fuck ups, one of whom possessed a talent for bringing shame upon the Owens family. Over the years he’d grown weary of people asking him if he was kin to Roy, and then following up their inquiry with some tale of Roy’s scandalous behavior.
Jayson was wired and kept his TV tuned to the news. After hearing of the blackout downtown and that the city’s emergency services were being managed by the local chapter of the National Guard, he bolted his doors. No sooner had he done so when his electricity went out.
He felt his way into the kitchen, found a flashlight, candles and matches. He lit the candles and placed them on kitchen table, then turned his flashlight out. Jayson rubbed his temples as he pondered what to do about the DVD. He was not what one would call hip to the goings on in the street. He’d chosen to abide by the law and took pride in doing what he could to combat crime. Snitching on a relative, however, was not an easy thing to do. As for asking for a cut of the money in exchange for his silence, that too, was ruled out.
“Shit!”
He uncapped a third beer and contemplated his choices. Tell Graham that he suspected his cousin and nogoodnik cohort Cassius Parker were the robbers, and then be dismissed; or he could let it ride, in which case his cousin would never learn anything. The solution hit Jayson like the sudden, unexpected glare from a police officer’s flashlight.
Jayson went back to his living room, grabbed the DVD and headed for the front door.
***
4:32 a.m.
Mixon grew rigid and his pistol fell to the ground. Seconds later Mixon pitched forward onto the damp concrete, Mixon’s eyes rolled back as blood gushed from the gaping hole in the back of his head. Cruz directed her attention to a prone Ned, who was writhing in pain as her errant shot ricocheted off the sidewalk and grazed his leg.
Roy and Jenny stared at Cash who was behind Cruz with his gun leveled at her.
“He was going to kill an innocent man,” Cash said coolly.
“I would have stopped it,” Cruz said, careful not to make any sudden moves, lest she be Cash’s next victim.
“You seemed a little slow on the draw, mama.”
“No shit,” Ned groaned.
“What was with him?” Roy asked, helping Ned to his feet.
“It’s been a long night,” Cruz said. She looked at Jenny. “Ma’am, mind helping the wounded man into the house?”
“That’s it?” Jenny cried.
“He was grazed. What, you suggest I call an ambulance?” Cruz figured the fewer present, the better her chances if Cash became belligerent. She faced off with Cash. “Sir, where did you come from?”
“I had gone to the parking lot to make sure my friend’s sister got off okay. When I came back I saw you and Mad Max, so I laid low.”
“I can’t ignore the fact you killed a police officer.”
“I don’t see where you have a choice.”
Cruz noticed that Roy was striking toward Mixon’s quivering corpse. In his hand was the machete, and the moment Mixon raised to a sitting position, Roy swung with everything he had and took off the officer’s head. Cruz turned away and fought back the urge to expel the contents of her stomach.
She caught her breath, licked her lips and looked at Roy, then at Cash.
“Mind lowering your gun?” She asked.
“Fuck that.”
“We can settle this quickly.” Cruz took a deep breath and bounced her eyes between Cash and Roy. “Last evening, two black men and a white woman robbed a bank. I suspect that was you two and your friend who just walked the wounded man inside.”
Cash never lowered his gun. “Maybe you think too much.”
“Maybe I take ten thousand dollars to make it all go away.”
“Keep talking,” Roy said.
“Whether you know it or not, the police department and all officers within were burned up or something. Needless to say, I’m probably the last cop within five miles. The PD probably had a copy of the robbery as it was captured on DVD.”
“I thought the FBI handled such matters?”
Cruz turned slowly so that she faced Cash. ”The first contact after a robbery is the local PD. The FBI would get a copy of the evidence from us, but not if I make it disappear.”
“How do we know it wasn’t burned up in the fire?”
“Why take chances? I know where such things would be kept, and no one would be the wiser.”
“The bank would have a copy,” Cash said.
“All copies were turned over to the PD,” Cruz lied. “Six cameras, six pieces of evidence. The FBI will be here in the morning looking for those tapes. You want to take the chance that they get lucky and find them?”
“How do we know they weren’t already sent out?”
“Come on, the robbery took place less than twelve hours ago, about the same time all this other madness broke out.”
“How can we be sure we can trust you?” Roy asked.
“Ride to the police station with me.” Fiona kept her composure, for she was serious. “Ten grand would be a nice haul, and I could verify that Mixon was attacked by those things and that after he was reanimated he was killed in self-defense.”
Cash shook his head. “Sounds good, but did you forget that we’re black?”
“This isn’t a racial matter.”
“To you it wouldn’t be. however it is a numbers game.” Cash stepped to his right and Cruz’s head turned in synch with each of his steps. “You said it yourself, you’re the last cop.”
When he and Roy were at a 45-degree angle, Cash fired a shot that hit Cruz between the eyes. She fell atop her partner.
Roy’s brow furrowed and his words came in a shriek. “Damn Cash, did you have to kill her, too?”
“She wanted ten grand.”
“That wasn’t a bad offer.”
“She wanted stolen money that she had no part in taking, and the one thing I can’t stand is a greedy muthafucka.”
“Fuck!” Roy threw his hands on his hip. “This is getting messy.”
“I think we should lop off her head before she comes back to life.”
Roy decapitated Officer Cruz and then stepped back and looked down at the two corpses. Cash stood next to him.
“Do you think she was telling the truth about the PD being shut down?” Roy asked.
“If she was, the National Guard won’t be far behind and that means martial law.”
“So what now?”
Cash sighed. “We might as well go over to Valerie’s place instead. We better get rid of these bodies and then take our things to Valerie’s and barricade the door.”
Valerie came out of her front door with the bags in hand. “Is it over?”
“Yeah,” Cash said without looking her way. “Take those bags back inside. We’re gonna hang at your joint.”
Roy was the only one who saw Valerie’s wide grin.
“This is going to be interesting,” he said under his breath.
He and Cash walked around the corner to get Grace and the kids, while Jenny helped a limping Ned along.
T W E N T Y
4:51 a.m.
“I’m not with puttin’ up wit’cha mean looks / fuck with me and you’ll catch uppercuts and left hooks / Ya gotta gold chain on, G, you betta tuck it / ‘cause I’m that one ya momma said don’t fuck wit’…”
A skinny Latino boy named Chuy, was clad in a black leather jacket bounced and rolled his shoulders in synch with every line. Another boy, Rafael, matched him stride-for-stride and bobbed his head rhythmically. They headed home from a party and both felt the effects of Sensimilla and the Hennessey they partook of earlier in the evening.
Zombie Factor Page 13
