Pheromone and Rotten

by Dane Hatchell

  His body in balance with his spirit, he took an offensive position from the ancient art of Wing Chun, and leaped forward. With the cry of the falcon, his foot met the nose of the zombie feasting on Hank’s guts. Its head snapped back, still clutching a length of intestine in its mouth.

  The head launched clean from the spine and bounced off the window of Blue Lizard Chocolates, leaving a greenish-yellow skid mark, and then rolled down the sidewalk.

  The piece of intestine propelled forward and slapped Tutti on the backside, leaving a bloody stain on his white tights, and a stench that would gag a maggot.

  The Dyke removed the zombie that had munched its way up to Hank’s knee. Grabbing it by the ankles, she pulled it free and into the middle of the street. With a mouth of fresh meat still masticating in its jaws, The Dyke spun around in a circle, building enough centrifugal force to launch the savage carnivore high into the air and over rooftops.

  By this time, the zombie eating on Edna became aware of a fresh source of food in Tutti Frutti and reached for him with gore stained hands.

  Using Ch’i sao, Tutti grasped the wrist of the zombie and maneuvered its arm behind its back. The arm snapped at the elbow. Tutti found himself staring at the severed part in his hand.

  The zombie turned and struck out with his head like an angry snake, barely missing Tutti’s ear as he dodged to one side. Before it could strike again, The Dyke’s fist came from out of nowhere, smashing directly into its nose, shoving the front of its face into the back of its skull.

  An ooze of green-black like jelly shot out of its ears and eye sockets, splattering on everything within ten feet.

  Tutti used his rainbow colored scarf to wipe the mess off his face. “I won’t have the stomach to eat anything solid for a week after this.”

  The Dyke smeared some across her cheek as she attempted to wipe it with the back of her glove. “Eh, reminds me of potted meat.”

  The last zombie finished the remaining piece of Hank it deemed worth eating, and eyed the two heroes as its next victim.

  * * *

  “If we hurry, we might still have time to get in on the action,” Curtis said, and then donned the mint-green colored mask of Pheromone. Adjusting the mouth opening, he said, “If I wouldn’t have had to stop for gas we might have beaten those two super zeroes here. We need to show these guys what we can do. Earn some respect.” He reached over and unlocked the cage over Antoine’s mouth. “Don’t get any ideas on your own. Stay focused. There’ll be time to eat later.” He reached into the back seat and retrieved a Kevlar black and gold football helmet, complete with a bulletproof Lexan face shield. “Put this on, and get out.”

  The two stepped out of the black Chevy Suburban, the 24in gold spinners still turning, and met in front of the vehicle.

  “We’re looking for four dudes who’ve escaped from a mental hospital. I don’t know what they’re dressed like, or if they’re still grouped up, so be on the lookout for anyone acting strange.” Pheromone grabbed Antoine by the shoulders and turned him around. Then, pulled the Velcro ‘Brees’ nametag off the back of the jersey, revealing the name of his sidekick, Rotten.

  “Pheromone and Rotten. The dynamic duo. The twisted twosome. No crime too small, no thug too tall. We feed the knuckleheads knuckle sandwiches. We make them our bitches, all,” Pheromone laughed. “I’m a poet and didn’t know it,” and laughed some more.

  “Okay, Rotten. Let’s go on our hunt. And don’t eat anybody unless I say it’s okay.” Pheromone gave his partner a pat on the back, and the two went in search of adventure.

  * * *

  “How can that thing be alive?” Tutti wondered aloud.

  “It’s a corpse. It’s dead,” The Dyke said.

  “It may be dead but it’s moving.” Tutti put some lateral distance between The Dyke, keeping the zombie positioned in the middle and in front of them.

  The zombie turned its head from side, as if deciding which entree to eat first.

  “I say we rush him on the count of three.” The Dyke looked over to Tutti and received a nod of approval. “Okay, one . . . two . . .”

  A loud blast from behind made both heroes buckle at the knees and fall to the side. The zombie’s head grenaded into tiny shards of bone, ferrying bits of brain goo, splattering against the wall leaving the image of a sunburst halo.

  “Hollow point, 210 grain. Handmade by yours truly,” a voice said.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Josephus.” Tutti looked behind him and saw a dumpy looking figure wearing a mint-green unitard and mask, and another that looked like he was ready to take the field in the Superdome.

  “Naw, they ain’t here. It was Pheromone and Rotten that just saved your asses,” Pheromone said, securing his golden Desert Eagle 41 magnum in its holster.

  The Dyke brushed the street grime from her gloves. “We had the situation in control. The last thing we needed is a couple of nerds dressed up for Halloween firing a gun on city streets.”

  Tutti stood and puffed his hair. “We’s don’t like guns. Guns kill people.”

  Pheromone looked around and pointed. “Looks like you two don’t need guns to kill.”

  “They’s already was dead,” Tutti said.

  “Right, and the check is in the mail. Hey, there’s supposed to be four, where is the other one?” Pheromone said.

  “I took care of it, and it is none of your business anyway.” The Dyke took three steps toward them. “Say, how did you know that there were four?”

  Pheromone’s lips widened bigger than the space cut out in the mask, showing only his gold capped teeth through the opening. “Part of being a Superhero is being resourceful. I’m the brains of the team. I bring that certain finesse. Some suave sophistication, and I’m a pretty good shot too.

  “Rotten, is the brawn. He knows no pain. He knows no fear, and he is a very persuasive interrogator. We’re willing to join with you two and make the streets safe again in New Orleans. In fact, we were hoping that you could help us crack a drug case.”

  Tutti cackled with laughter. “My, aren’t we full of ourselves. Go away, boys. Let the mens do the mens job up in here. Shoo, go back home to your comic books. Leave the drug cases to the police.”

  “Man, don’t you dis’ me. I got powers you never dreamed of. And how come you claim to channel the power of Little Richard? He ain’t even dead yet for you to channel him. What up with that?” Pheromone said.

  “I express my inner Ch’i in the external form of my hero, Little Richard. It is life, it is love, but most of all, it is power,” Tutti said, his palms together by his chest.

  “Enough of this bullshit. You two leave now, or I’m going to make you leave,” The Dyke said.

  Pheromone crossed his arms. “I don’t think so.”

  “If you don’t leave I’m going to shove that giant cigarette lighter you call a gun so far up your ass that you’ll have to open your mouth to fire it.” The Dyke took another step forward.

  “I’d like to see you try that.”

  “Okay, buster. You asked for it.” The Dyke sprinted forward with fist reared ready to pound.

  Pheromone stood with his arms crossed and the most serene smile he could muster.

  When she hit the invisible cloud of pheromones it was like smashing into a granite wall. Her thoughts became a confused bundle, making her lost in time and space. Waves of sensual excitement rippled through her loins, making her stumble to her knees in front of the mint-clad hero. Then bursts of pleasure brought sexual release, over and over. Her body shuddered as the caress of hedonistic chemicals reduced her anger to orgasmic bliss.

  Some of the pheromones wafted over to Tutti. “Hmmmm, I believes I’ll have some of what she’s having. Mmm, Mmm, Mmm. What on Earth are you doing to her? I ain’t never seen no bitch come like that before.”

  “It’s a gift. One of many reasons why you need to make me and Rotten part of your team,” Pheromone said.

  The Dyke pulled herself up from the ground. With weak legs, she wa
lked over to Tutti and hung on his side. “That was . . . that was unbelievable. I didn’t even know coming like that was possible. I don’t know how to fight anyone with powers to do that.”

  Pheromone shook his head. “It ain’t about fighting. It’s about working together. The four of us, you’ll see. In time, you two will see things my way.”

  From around the corner a white van with NOPD painted in blue slowly pulled in front of Rotten and turned off the engine. A young man with sandy blonde hair wearing all white medical scrubs exited the van and called out.

  “My name is Barnes. The Mayor had me in the area waiting for your call. Are the packages ready for delivery?”

  Rotten was in front of the van. Pheromone was next to him and on the same side of the van as Barnes. Rotten let out a deep growl from within the helmet.

  “It’s okay, big guy. I got it,” Pheromone said. Turning to the man, he said, “You’ll find what’s left of three of them over there. She’ll tell where the other one is.”

  “Oh no,” Barnes said shaking his head. “The Mayor wanted the packages in working order.”

  “I wanted God to give me an eight-inch penis. You can’t always get what you want,” Pheromone said.

  Tutti chimed, “I can give you an eight-inch penis!”

  “Shut up!” Pheromone yelled.

  “You can find the other one a street over. He’ll be a crumpled mess implanted on the street or on a car or something,” The Dyke said, feeling strength return to her legs.

  Rotten grunted again and leaned into Pheromone, trying to push past him.

  “Not now, Rotten. Pull your horses back. Let me handle this,” Pheromone said. “Look Barnes, it is what it is. Deal with it. My partner and I have to leave. He gets a bit antsy when he gets hungry.”

  Pheromone turned his head toward The Dyke and Tutti. “We’ll be seeing y’all later. Keep it real.”

  Looping his arm around Rotten’s waist, Pheromone half pulled his cousin away from the van and back toward the Suburban. “Man, what’s got into you?”

  Rotten raised his hand toward the van. “Uhhhh . . . Uhhhhhh,” and then made a hissing noise.

  “Wait, are you saying that guy was one of the drug dealers?” Pheromone asked.

  “Uhh, Uhh.” Rotten flapped his arms in excitement.

  Pheromone scratched his head. “How about that?” Then, snapped his fingers and pointed at Rotten. “I got a plan. Get back in the ’burban. We got some detective work to do.”

  * * *

  Pheromone kept at least two or three vehicles between him and the white van as it sped down South Claiborne Avenue.

  Barnes drove with little regard for the speed limit. Turning on Highway 90, he followed the winding road for the next thirty minutes until taking a right turn at the Gentilly landfill. The forest of pines that fronted the city garbage dump concealed it well from the ever expanding urban population.

  Stopping at the security gate, he exited the van, unlocked the padlock, and removed the chain securing the two gates. The low glow of mercury vapor lights illuminated the remaining drive down the bumpy, asphalt road.

  On arriving at the unloading dock, Barnes backed the van to the edge and set the emergency brake. It had been a long day for him, having pulled ten hours on the morning shift, and now working overtime for the Mayor.

  A black Chevy Suburban with the headlights off pulled in front of his van interrupting his sordid task.

  “Hey, what the . . .” Barnes charged over to the SUV.

  The passenger side of the Suburban opened. A tall man wearing a New Orleans Saints football uniform and helmet walked straight toward him.

  Barnes stopped, reached in the waistband on his backside, and pulled out a pistol. “You, back in the truck. Now!”

  The pace of the black and gold clad figure did not alter. He continued in fast, jerky steps.

  “I’m a police officer! Stop or I’ll fire!” Barnes said, as he pulled the trigger on his Glock 27. Three bullets found its target directly on the number nine on the jersey. The figure continued unimpeded.

  Barnes managed two shots to the helmet before the ominous figure stripped the gun from his hand. A fist took him for a ride to dreamland.

  *

  Barnes awoke to find himself in the kitchen of a ransacked house. Overhead, the lighting fixture was missing. A single incandescent light bulb shone its pale light. The smell of mildew soured in his nostrils.

  He became aware he couldn’t free his arms, realizing he was tied to a chair, and his hands were bound behind the back of it.

  “Sleeping beauty awakes,” Pheromone said, as he and Rotten stepped from the shadows of the adjoining living room. “Lucccy, you got some ’splaining to doooo.”

  Barnes licked his lips and squinted to bring the duo into focus. “Oh, it’s you two fruits from earlier tonight. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you fucked up big time by messing with me.”

  Pheromone moved closer to Barnes. “The way I see it, you’re in no position to cop a ’tude. You can’t even scratch your own ass right now. Advantage: Pheromone and Rotten.”

  Barnes sighed. “Okay, what do you want?”

  “About three months ago some bad shit hit the streets. Over twenty people died from the bad blow. We want to know who’s responsible. We want to see that justice is served.”

  Barnes’ gaze dropped the floor. “Sorry, can’t help you. The illegal drug trade is a risky business. You pay your money and take your chances.” He lifted his head to Pheromone. “Sometimes you lose.”

  “My partner and I have a tip the police department was involved. You need to tell us about that. In fact, you need to tell us why you, a representative of the law, were one of the ones selling the drugs.”

  Barnes grinned. “Not a chance, bud. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. You need to let me go now or you’re going to stir up a shit storm stronger than hurricane Katrina.”

  “Well, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” Pheromone moved behind Barnes and threaded a plastic tie wrap around his left wrist and the chair. Then, cut the tie wrap that bound both wrists together freeing his right arm and returned in front of Barnes. “I choose the hard way. Rotten, your assistance please.”

  The Juju zombie removed the football helmet and stood next to Pheromone.

  Barnes gasped as he realized Rotten was no longer among the living.

  “My cousin here, Antoine, is named after one of New Orleans most famous restaurants, Antoine’s. It should not surprise that he is a connoisseur of our fine local cuisine. Before the main meal, Antoine, likes to eat a little finger food. Don’t you, Antoine?”

  Rotten nodded and peeled his lips back showing large, sharp teeth.

  “You’re a local aren’t you, Mr. Barnes?”

  Barnes rotated his right arm and hand, trying to shake out the numbness. “Yeah, so?”

  “Antoine!” Pheromone said.

  The zombie reached and grabbed Barnes’ right hand and bit off three fingers. Blood ran down Rotten’s lips and spilled to the floor from the mangled hand.

  “Sonofabich! What the fuck are you doing?” Barnes screamed.

  “It’s called good cop, bad cop. I’m the good cop. Antoine is the bad cop.” Pheromone smirked. “Antoine, swallow the fingers and follow with a hand sandwich.”

  With three fast chomps the whole hand disappeared in Rotten’s mouth, leaving a nub at the wrist.

  Barnes swooned.

  Pheromone placed a tie wrap on the bleeding wrist and pulled it tight, stopping the blood flow.

  “Right now the worst thing people can do is call you is Lefty. If you don’t start talking, you’ll be known as the Nut-less Wonder.”

  “Stop, okay, just stop.” Barnes shook as shock seeped in. “Some of us cops were selling dope. The Mayor needed cash for his re-election campaign. The bad stuff that hit the streets wasn’t our fault. We bought a tainted supply of coke. It had been cut with ground up Chinese drywall.”r />
  “Chinese drywall? That contaminated sheetrock they used to rebuild after Hurricane Katrina?” Pheromone said.

  “Yeah. We didn’t know about it until people started dropping. The Mayor got out of the dope business and came up with another plan.”

  “Another plan? For re-election? What would said plan be, pray tell?” Pheromone asked.

  “Some army scientist found a way to reanimate the dead. The army thought he was crazy and discharged him. The scientist was a supporter of the Mayor, and the two of them joined up. He’s reanimating the dead so they can vote in tomorrow’s election. He’s going to set them up in the 9th Ward at an abandoned school that’s still legally a voting location.” Barnes’ mouth went dry. He rolled his tongue around to find moisture. “They’re corralled in the old Brown’s Dairy Plant on Baronne Street. That’s it. That’s all I know. Plain and simple. Now, let me go, please.”

  “That’s a tall tale, I must say. But I do believe we got through to you.” Pheromone patted Barnes on the shoulder.

  “You’ll let me go?” Barnes asked, barely conscious.

  “Hell no. When you spilled your guts, you took your chances I could be trusted. This time, you lose. Antoine!” Pheromone turned and walked back into the living room. He did not want any of the blood splatter to get on his mint colored unitard.

  Barnes’ screams and pleas for mercy ended in less than a minute. Antoine had no thoughts of a swift merciful kill. His only goal was to satisfy his hunger.

  * * *

  Syncopated notes from a keyboard filled the room with energy. Tutti pulled the satin sheets over his shoulders, rolled over on his stomach, and put a pillow over his head.

  “Gloria, you’re always on the run now. Running after somebody, you gotta get him somehow. I think you’ve got to slow down before you start to blow it. I think you’re headed for a breakdown, so be careful not to show it,” the chartreuse phone chimed the gay anthem.