by Mike Resnick
After a few blocks Benny turned and headed toward Broadway, then turned again when he reached it and began walking north. He stopped two blocks later when he came to Salacious Sally’s Five-Star Burlesque Emporium, walked up to the cashier, and reached into his pocket. Suddenly he turned to Mallory. “They forgot to put my wallet in this suit,” he said. “Could I borrow a sawbuck?” “Hell, no,” said Mallory. “My job is to bring you back to where you belong, not treat you to a night on the town.” “I want that sawbuck,” said Big Benny ominously. Mallory pulled a revolver out of his trenchcoat pocket. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
“You’re threatening a dead man with a gun and you’re telling me not to do anything foolish?” said Big Benny.
Mallory suddenly felt very unsure of the situation and backed up a couple of steps.
“Not to worry,” said Big Benny. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.” He turned to the cashier. “I’m going in now, Miss. If you have any problem with that, call your boss, and if he has a problem, remind him that it was Big Benny Bernstein’s vote that got this den of iniquity its license back after Classic Night.”
“Classic Night?” repeated Mallory curiously.
“Leda and the Swan,” said Big Benny as he walked through the entrance before the cashier could say a word.
“How soon does Bubbles La Tour come on?” Mallory asked the cashier.
“Five or ten minutes,” she answered. “You’ll know by the cheers. You can hear ’em a block away.”
Mallory looked around and saw a coffee shop half a block down the street. “Come on,” he said, turning to Felina. “We’ll wait there.”
They passed four stores, which gave Felina the opportunity to point out twenty-seven things she wanted Mallory to buy her, and finally made it to the coffee shop, where he ordered a cup of coffee for himself and a saucer of cream for her.
A few moments later he heard the noise, and in fact was able to determine how many items of clothing Bubbles La Tour had removed by how many ear-shattering cheers he counted. When they had finally died down fifteen minutes later he paid his bill, and he and Felina made their way back to the theater, where he expected to see a very disillusioned Big Benny emerging. But there was no one there, so he posted Felina at the entrance, flashed his credentials at the cashier—most people equated “detective” with “policeman”—and entered the theater. He walked up and down both aisles, looking for Big Benny, but all he saw was a bunch of happily exhausted middle-aged men, their satiated faces glowing with content.
Mallory finally convinced himself that his quarry wasn’t there and walked out just as Lascivious Lezli and Her Educated Snake were taking the stage. Felina was staring at a poster of Bubbles La Tour in a jeweled g-string, and wouldn’t leave until Mallory semi-promised to buy her six hundred of them.
The detective spent the next couple of hours checking bars, strip shows, and gourmet restaurants. Big Benny had actually been to a couple, but had left each abruptly. Finally Mallory checked the time and headed back to the office to meet Winnifred.
She was sitting at her desk when he entered, her pith helmet hanging on the back of her chair, her rifle laid carefully across her desk.
“Any luck?” she asked him.
“I ran into him a few times,” replied Mallory. “I don’t know where he is now.”
“You let him get away?” she demanded.
“I don’t think ‘let’ entered into it,” said Mallory. “He’s five times as strong as a normal man, he feels no pain, and you can’t slow him down with bullets.” He stared at her .550 Nitro Express. “Well, my bullets, anyway.”
“What’s our next step, then?” asked Winnifred. “We only have ten hours left.”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” said Mallory, “and it’s my considered opinion that we let Nature take its course.”
Winnifred frowned. “I don’t follow you, John Justin.”
“All he wants to do is experience some worldly pleasures,” said Mallory. “Wine, women and song, as the expression goes.”
“So?”
“He’s a zombie now,” continued Mallory. “Those pleasures are denied him. He went to a deli. They don’t serve zombies. Then I found him in a restaurant for zombies. He wanted blintzes and knishes, but all they served was brains. Same problem in a bar. He wanted a vodka martini, they gave him a glass of blood—and I’ll lay plenty of ten-to-one that if they’d given him a martini he couldn’t drink it anyway. Next he goes to watch Bubbles La Tour. If you’re a man you’d sooner die than walk out when she’s shedding her clothes—but he’s not a man, he’s a zombie, and that’s exactly what he did.”
“That’s fascinating, John Justin,” said Winnifred, “but I don’t see what you’re leading to.”
“I don’t think we have to spend the night stalking him through the streets of Manhattan. There are thousands of bars and restaurants, dozens of strip shows, at least two political rallies. He could show up at any of them, and even if we luck out and find him, we can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do anyway.”
‘"You’re not suggesting we quit the case?” she said. “We’ve never given up on one yet.”
“I’m suggesting we’ve misunderstood the case from the get-go,” said Mallory.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s going to be disappointed every single place he goes. He wants a drink, but his body wants blood. He wants a knish, but his body wants brains. He wants to ogle a woman, but his body has no interest in women. I think the same thing will happen wherever he goes and whatever he tries.” Mallory smiled. “So now I know where we’ll find him.”
“I followed you right up to that last line,” said Winnifred. “Where?”
“Nightspore’s funeral parlor. It’s the only place he belongs.”
“The only place?” she replied. “What about all those zombies that stalk the streets at night?”
“Why do you think they keep on the move and look so unhappy?” said Mallory. “They can’t adjust—and unlike Benny, they don’t have a first-class funeral with Senators, Congressmen, and the Mayor waiting for them. Most of them dress in rags; he’s in a fifteen hundred dollar suit.”
“It sounds logical,” said Winnifred, frowning. “But I don’t know.”
“You’re welcome to stalk him all night if you want,” said Mallory. “Me, I prefer to wait for him.”
She seemed to consider it for a moment, then shrugged. “All right, John Justin. We’ll do it your way.” “What about my way?” said Felina.
‘You don’t have a way,” answered Mallory.
“Oh,” said Felina. Then: “Skritch my back.”
“Later.”
“How soon is later?”
“When cows dance on the Moon.”
“Okay, that seems fair,” agreed Felina.
They left the office and headed to the funeral parlor, with Felina staring so intently at the Moon that she walked into a lamppost and a fire hydrant, but after a few minutes they reached the doorway to Nightspore, Nightspore, Nightspore and Cohen’s Mortuary.
They entered, heard a recording of hymns being played softly in the background, and walked into the main chamber, where a truly magnificent—but empty— casket was displayed in the center.
“What now?” asked Winnifred.
“Now we wait,” said Mallory.
“Until nine in the morning?”
“My guess is that it won’t take that long.”
“I can’t see the Moon from here,” protested Felina.
“Go outside and look from there,” suggested Mallory.
“Thanks, John Justin,” she said with a purr. “You think of everything.”
She walked to the door, then stepped aside as Big Benny Bernstein walked in.
“Hi, Benny,” said Mallory. “I thought you’d show up here.”
“You were right, Shamus,” said Big Benny. “I went to headquarters, but all they wanted to do was discuss things that don’t interest me
any more.” He grimaced. “As I was passing by a store window, a fifty-inch flat screen that was on display was showing that old movie about Charlton Heston fighting a million safari ants, and I found myself rooting for the ants.” He shook his head sadly. “I bump into my best friend from the old days, Charlie Becker. He’s a vampire now. I offer him a little of my blood, just for old time’s sake, but when he bites my neck there isn’t any. I’d have asked for some of his brain, but he never had much to start with and he’s still using what he’s got.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mallory. “It sounds like you had a rough night.”
“That’s not the worst of it. I give a lady leprechaun a friendly but intimate pinch, the kind that usually gets my face slapped. Instead she calls me Cuddles and tells me I can have anything I ask for.” Big Benny winced. “And what I asked for was some brain on rye, with a little mustard and relish. Then she slapped me.”
“Poor baby,” said Winnifred sympathetically.
“Suddenly I got very tired,” continued Big Benny. “I went to my apartment, but I didn’t have the key. So I went to a flophouse to take a little nap, but I just couldn’t get comfortable on a mattress, and finally it dawned on me that there was one place I was comfortable.”
And with that, he climbed into his casket, lay on his back, folded his hands across his chest, and closed his eyes.
“Well, that’s that,” said Mallory. “He’s not going anywhere. I think we can call it a night, grab some sleep, and show up in time to get paid tomorrow morning.”
“You’re too trusting, John Justin,” said Winnifred. ‘You go ahead. I’ll spend the night here and collect our money from Mr. Nightspore when he shows up.”
‘You’re sure?” asked Mallory.
She nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
He walked out the door and almost bumped into Felina, who was peering at the Moon.
“I can’t remember what I’m looking for, John Justin,” she complained.
“Six hundred glittering g-strings,” said Mallory.
“Oh, that’s right!” she answered brightly.
“Psst!” came a hiss from a nearby alley. They both turned to find themselves facing a goblin holding a small satchel. “Did I hear somebody say they want six hundred glittering g-strings?”
“Go away,” said Mallory.
“Yes!” said Felina enthusiastically.
“I left my g-strings in my other suit,” said the goblin, “but how would you like two Mickey Mantles and a Willie Mays?”
“Are they good to eat?” asked Felina.
“Why not?” said the goblin with a shrug.
“Do you want half of a very dead pigeon?” she asked.
“Which half and how dead?” replied the goblin.
They were still deep in negotiations when Mallory lost interest and headed for home.
STALKING THE ZOMBIE
First Edition August 2012
Stalking the Zombie by Mike Resnick was published by American Fantasy Press, 919 Tappan Street, Woodstock, Illinois 60098. Five hundred copies of the trade edition and two hundred and fifty copies of the signed, limited edition have been printed by The Maple-Vail Book Manufacturing Company in York, Pennsylvania. The typeset is New Century Schoolbook and Bellrose Light JO, printed on 55# Glatfelter Offset. The binding cloth on the trade edition is Arrestox B, Field Green. The leather binding on the limited edition is Arizona Premium Bonded Leather, Brown.
