by Gary Jonas
“I see.”
“Not the answer you were looking for?”
Ryan appeared in the doorway, head bobbing to his music. Keeping an eye on his grandfather. Good guy.
I pulled out a business card and handed it to Walter. “I thought he was single.”
“Private investigator. Interesting.” He looked me up and down, taking in my jeans, sneakers, and button-down shirt. “More Magnum than Rockford, I see.”
“I thought about growing a mustache,” I said, “but it itched too much.”
He smiled. “No, Zach’s not single, but he evidently misses the lifestyle.”
“He and his wife having problems?”
“Not publicly. I don’t see her that often. Usually on Sundays when she goes to church. Her job sends her out of town a lot and, well, let’s just say Zach doesn’t like being alone.”
“I see. Pretty good with the ladies?”
Walter laughed and gave me a wink. “Escort services. If he were any good with the ladies, I’d have asked him to teach Ryan a thing or two.”
Ryan didn’t seem to hear the comment thanks to the tunes.
“Listen, if you see or hear from Zach, could you give me a call?”
“Sure thing.”
Miranda got out of the car and approached us. “Anything?” she asked.
“Wow,” Ryan said. Fortunately he didn’t drool too much as he watched her stride across the lawn.
“He and his wife are out of town,” I said.
“The son of a bitch isn’t married,” Miranda said.
“Sure he is,” Walter said. “His wife’s name is Gina.”
“He told me she was dead.”
I cut in. “Walter, this is Miranda.”
She extended a hand, and he shook it then yanked his hand free. He looked her up and down and took a step back. “Ryan, get in the house.”
“Something wrong?” I asked.
Walter didn’t take his eyes off Miranda as he shoved Ryan back inside.
“What’s the deal?” Ryan asked.
“Just get in there.”
“Walter?” I said. “Something you want to tell me?”
“Keep that thing away from me,” he said, pointing at Miranda.
“Thing?” Miranda asked. “Rude much?”
“What’s got him all balled up?” Esther asked.
“Miranda,” I said, “maybe you should go wait in the car.”
She started to say something, but saw the look in my eye. She sighed, spun around, and strode back to the Firebird.
I looked at Walter. “Care to tell me what that was all about?”
“She’s not natural.”
“Looks great to me,” Ryan said.
“Stay in the house, Ryan.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“You live here rent free, boy, so you do what I tell you. Understand?”
“Hey, man, is she single?” Ryan asked. “Bit old for me maybe, but I ain’t too picky.”
“Keep it in your pants, boy. Inside. Now. Or you’re on your own.”
I looked across the yard at Miranda, who now sat in the passenger seat, drumming her fingers on the door. She watched us but didn’t seem upset.
Ryan huffed and shook his head but went inside. Walter started to follow him, but I caught his arm.
“What the hell, Walter? Talk to me.”
“You need to stay away from that thing. She’s…”
“Not living?” I asked.
He stepped back onto the porch. “You know that?”
I nodded. “Her heart was removed.”
“Too many dead folks rising up,” Walter said.
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways. Why’s a normal man like you keeping company with a dead woman?”
“She hired me. How well do you know your neighbor? Do you know what he does for a living?”
Walter didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes on Miranda as if he expected her to bolt from the car and attack him.
“Come back tonight, Mr. Shade. Eight o’clock. We’ll talk then. But don’t bring that corpse around here again.”
CHAPTER THREE
“What a funny old bird,” Esther said as we returned to the car.
I nodded. “You got that right.”
Miranda didn’t look at me until I sat down and started the engine. As I pulled away from the curb, she slowly turned toward me. “Zach’s neighbor is an ass-hat.”
“He recognized you for what you are.”
She gave me a quizzical look. “What do you mean by that?”
“He knew you weren’t alive.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I am alive, Mr. Shade. Zach has my heart, and it must still be beating or I’d be in the morgue.”
I didn’t bother to tell her that wasn’t necessarily the case right now. “If you say so.”
“You said Zach was out of town?”
“Arizona.”
“Would he have my heart with him or would it maybe be at his house?”
“For all we know, he ate it.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“No doubt,” Esther said.
“Fact is, there’s no way to know at this point.”
“You could check inside his house.”
“That’s called breaking and entering and it’s illegal.”
“So is stealing a heart.”
“That’s called murder, but yes, that’s illegal too.”
“You think you’re funny.”
“Sometimes.”
“You’re not.”
“I thought it was funny,” Esther said.
I wanted to thank Esther, but I had to settle for giving her a grin and a nod in the rearview mirror.
“Before we go breaking the law, it’s best to exhaust legal recourse first.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just impatient.”
#
When we returned to my apartment, I bade Miranda farewell with the promise to call if I learned anything. She didn’t want to go, but I didn’t give her a choice. I watched her drive away in her white Ford Escort. Esther didn’t want to wait, so she popped away either to my place or to Kelly’s dojo.
As I turned to head up to the apartment, the air in front of me sparked and lit up. I jumped back and watched a rift open like a curtain between dimensions, and my friend Sharon stepped through. She wore a sharp business suit and had her dark hair pulled back in her usual ponytail. The rift folded shut behind her, and the air shimmered for a moment then went back to normal.
“Uh, hi,” I said.
“I can’t risk staying here for long.”
Sharon was the name she used, but that wasn’t her real name. Librarian used to be her title, but that was more of a hobby than a lifestyle. I owed her my life at least twice over—once from when I actually died and once when she helped deal with a problem that was too big for little ol’ me. I hadn’t seen her in months.
“OK. What’s up?”
“I saw reports that the dead aren’t staying dead in Denver.”
“They’re still dead but they aren’t staying down. I think they just love that old Warren Zevon song and their dreams of things to do in Denver when they’re dead are on their post-bucket list.”
Sharon rolled her eyes. “They’re looking for me, aren’t they?”
“You knew they would.”
“Be careful. They know you’re their best link to find me.”
“That thought actually crossed my mind. Aren’t you shocked?”
“I’m going to text you a message when I leave. If things get too bad and you need me, respond to it and I’ll be there. I don’t want you getting killed trying to cover for me.”
“They won’t kill me. They need me to find you.”
“Or they’ll think killing you is the best way to get me to show myself.”
“What do they want from you? You just not allowed to quit your job or something?”
“I’l
l text you.”
She turned away from me and ran her finger through the air from just above her head down to her thigh and the rift reopened. She glanced back at me as she stepped through; then the air shimmered closed. A few sparks danced for a moment then dissipated.
I shrugged and started up the stairs before the text came in. It read: Hi.
Not even an emoticon to help it out.
I barely glanced at it before the phone rang again. Caller ID showed it was Patrick O’Malley, one of my friends on the police force. I sighed and answered. “Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, how may I direct your call?”
“Get your ass over to Wash Park. Call about some jerk-off driving through a lady’s flowerbed just turned into your kind of weirdness. Driver turned out to be a dead fucker, and he just offed his wife.”
See what I mean about dead folks? They seemed to be everywhere.
CHAPTER FOUR
The dead man stood over the fresh corpse of his wife, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Jonathan Shade, I want to hire you.”
“You just killed your wife,” I said.
“She killed me first.”
That kind of logic was hard to argue with, so I turned to look at O’Malley. “What do you say to that?”
He shrugged but kept his gun aimed at the dead guy, who held a butcher knife in his right hand. “Two wrongs don’t make a right?”
I felt the neighbors’ eyes boring into me. They gathered like paparazzi at a celebrity rehab center. O’Malley wanted to get this resolved before the TV news crews showed up. A bunch of cops stood behind us, keeping the crowds back. I stood in one of the ruts the dead guy had made when he did a couple of doughnuts in the yard before he plowed into the corner of the house. The tracks went right through the neighbor’s flowers where he’d bounced over the curb.
Rather than go into how dead people are terrible drivers, I chose the personal route instead. “How do you know my name?” I asked.
“Good one,” O’Malley whispered.
Dead Guy scratched his head and looked at the crumpled corpse of his wife at his feet. “I’m not even sure how I got out of my grave.”
“You didn’t,” O’Malley said. “You were at the crematorium. They were getting ready to burn up your body. Gave those guys a ripe ol’ scare.”
Dead Guy looked at his late wife. His forehead wrinkled and his face contorted. “Trying to cover up the evidence, bitch?” He kicked the corpse.
“That’s enough of that,” I said. “She can’t really get any deader.”
“Deader?” O’Malley asked. “Is that even a word?”
“It is now.”
“But she murdered me! She has to pay!”
“I’d call that debt squared,” I said. “What’s your name?”
He looked confused for a moment. “Eddie.”
“Perp’s name is Edward Danforth,” O’Malley said.
“I’m going to get closer. If he comes at me with that knife, shoot him in the head.”
O’Malley shot me a look. “You’re gonna get closer? Guy’s been dead for a couple of days and he’s up and about. Shade, if this is the start of a zombie apocalypse—”
“Head shot,” I said.
“Just so you know, he bites you, I’m putting you down too.”
“Thanks.”
“What’re friends for?” O’Malley said.
I slowly moved closer to Dead Guy. “OK, Eddie, just take it easy. Can you put down the knife?”
Eddie glanced at the knife in his hand as if he didn’t even know it was there. “I don’t need this,” he said and dropped it.
The knife fell blade first and stuck in the body of the woman he’d killed with a little thoop sound. I grimaced but then figured she was dead so it’s not like she felt it.
“Uh, thanks. I think.” I stepped closer but kept enough distance so that I could block him if he attacked, I hoped. I kept my guard up. My hands were in front of me, so if the guy charged, I could catch him and flip him. The problem was that when someone charges, they’re usually a lot faster than you expect.
Eddie looked at me, tilting his head a bit.
“One more time. How do you know my name?” I asked.
“She mentioned you.”
“She mentioned me? Who is she?” I thought I knew, but didn’t want to let on.
“She needs you to find Sharon for her. I’m supposed to hire you.” He looked confused. I suspected it was the unfinished business that kept Eddie more or less in control of the body instead of the spirit sent to actually hire me to find Sharon. Spirits from the Underworld were pretty good with uninhabited bodies but not so good otherwise.
“I make it a rule not to work for murderers.”
“I didn’t murder anyone!”
I gestured toward the corpse at his feet. “Exhibit A?”
He glanced down at the body then gave me an imploring look. “She deserved that.”
“I don’t think so, pal.”
“I need to find Sharon. You have to help me find her!” he shouted and reached for me.
I jumped back to avoid him.
Gunshots echoed through the neighborhood, and bullets slammed into Eddie’s head. Brain, blood, and skull fragments splattered against the front door of the house.
He dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
I looked over at O’Malley.
He shrugged. “I just saved your ass, man. I didn’t want you to get bitten and turned into a damn zombie.”
“Thanks.”
“What did he mean by ‘find her’? You have any idea who this Sharon person is he wanted you to find?”
“Not a clue,” I said.
“I saw the look in your eye,” O’Malley said.
“What do you mean?”
“You knew what he was asking. I saw the look, Shade.”
“At first I thought I did, but I was mistaken.”
“That’s how you’re going to play it? Isn’t your librarian friend named Sharon?”
“Yeah, but she moved away.”
He sighed. “Fine. I think we got it from here. I’ll need a statement from you.”
I nodded. “Of course.” I started to leave then turned back. “Hey, O’Malley.”
“Yeah?”
“As a precautionary measure, you might want to make sure Mrs. Danforth’s body is decapitated.”
“Excuse me?”
“Or use something to scramble up her brains.”
“I was mostly joking with that zombie apocalypse thing,” O’Malley said.
“I’m just saying.”
“Shit, you don’t think...?”
I shrugged.
O’Malley looked up at the sky. He shook his head and motioned for me to go.
I went with a uniformed officer over to one of the police cars. He gave me a statement report and a pen. I wrote up a quick report about being in the neighborhood and trying to talk down a murderous, deranged husband who must have been on drugs. The Denver Police Department wouldn’t want to file anything about dead people killing citizens.
When I finished my statement, I thanked the officer and returned to my Firebird. As soon as I closed the door, I pulled out my phone and called Kelly.
She answered on the third ring. “Dojo.”
“Kelly, it’s Jonathan. O’Malley and I just put down another dead guy looking for Sharon.”
“They’re arriving faster. Sounds like it’s party time.”
“Coming soon to a neighborhood near you.”
“You OK?”
“Yeah. Also, I had a visit from Sharon.”
“She’s back?”
“No. I think we need to handle this for her.”
“Cool. If I kill someone who’s already dead, it’s not murder, right?”
CHAPTER FIVE
When I got home, I did a bit of research on the Net. I couldn’t find anything about dead people rising in Denver. Of course, Sharon could always find things with ease, so maybe
she knew of sites that wouldn’t show up on Google.
I considered other search methods, wondering if I should even bother, when someone knocked on my door.
I closed the MacBook, walked over, and looked through the peephole: Brand.
Great. Just what I needed. The guy was a Sekutar warrior, an assassin like Kelly. Six months ago, the bastard had tried to kill me and now he was sleeping with Kelly. It was still Tuesday, so I hadn’t missed a training session. He and Kelly were both working with me to get my martial arts skills elevated. For the first month, Brand had pulled his punches, but after that, while he claimed to be taking it easy on me, the bruises told a different story. He took me aside and explained to me that it would be disrespectful if he pulled his punches too much.
Open the door or pretend I’m not home? That was the question.
“I know you’re home, Jonathan,” Brand said. “Your car’s in the lot.”
“Shit,” I whispered.
I opened the door, and Brand proved he wasn’t a vampire because he just walked right in like he owned the place. The son of a bitch made a beeline for the refrigerator and pulled out a six-pack of Corona.
“Help yourself,” I said.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He gripped the bottle cap.
“I don’t think those are twist tops.”
“Whatever.” He twisted it off with no problem then chugged the beer, set the empty bottle on the counter, and grabbed the next. Since he’s almost as big a smart-ass as I am, he took hold of the second cap with his thumb and pinkie and pulled it off as if it were simply a piece of aluminum foil folded over the top. He flicked the cap at me.
I caught it and grinned. “It’s all in the reflexes.” It was my best Kurt Russell impression, but he didn’t pay attention. He was too busy slamming the beer.
He set the second dead soldier by the first and grabbed a third. “This is canoe beer,” he said. It was one of his favorite expressions. For the uninitiated, canoe beer was like having sex in a canoe—fucking close to water.
“Don’t drink them all.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re mine.”
“I’ll save the bottles and piss in them. Then it will be your turn to drink. That’s what you call being green. Recycling. All that crap.”
“No, that’s what I call disgusting. Don’t even think about drinking a fourth.”
