Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator

by Karina Fabian

LaCenta slammed her fists onto the table and pushed out of her chair. “You—” she let out a string of descriptives that would have to be edited out later. “You just think this whole thing is a big joke, don’t you? Why are you even doing this?”

  Roscoe grinned and studied his fingernails. “You know. The money, the glory, the women—present company excepted, of course. Oh, speaking of glory and women—Spud, how did you do?”

  Spud just grinned straight at the camera. “I blew it out of the water. I had motivation.”

  Roscoe snorted. “Boyfriend, a million dollars will motivate anybody.”

  Once Gordon and Nasir had come in and officially reported for the camera their impressions of how they did, and Ted had stowed the equipment, Roscoe turned back to Spud.

  “All right. Talk. What’s this ‘motivation’ that obviously beats out a million dollars?”

  “Yeah,” LaCenta added. “And what is with you, anyway? You’ve been acting different since we came back from our four-day break. You used to stutter around Neeta and me like Ca-ca-ca Staleman, but you’ve stopped since we came back.”

  “Have I?”

  “Yes, you have—and stop with that smirk. Look like a damn fool who got lucky.”

  LaCenta tossed her head, dismissing the notion, but the men around the table leaned toward Spud.

  He pressed into the back of his chair. “It’s not like that.”

  “What’s it like, then?” Roscoe urged.

  Nasir, however, cleared his throat. “Perhaps this is not a conversation for mixed company.”

  Spud’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing’s happened between me and Lacey I couldn’t tell my own mother.”

  Roscoe hooted. “So something did happen! No wonder we couldn’t reach you to go clubbing.”

  Spud replied firmly. “We were studying.”

  Gordon raised a brow. “For four days straight?”

  Spud’s steady gaze faltered. “There was...the whale watching...”

  “And?” Roscoe lilted.

  “Dinner.”

  “And ‘study breaks’?” Gordon suggested.

  Now Spud reddened. It wasn’t that he’d never been kissed by a girl, but he’d never been kissed by a girl. He didn’t want to share that with these morons. “We… looked at her scrapbooks.”

  For a moment, they all just blinked. Then Gordon sighed. “Go buy a ring, Spud.”

  * * * *

  “Oh, gawd.” Roscoe snickered confidentially to the audience of his vidblog. “You should have seen the look on that boy’s face. ‘Get a ring!’ The only tragedy is that I didn’t think of it first.”

  He paused, letting his smile grow conniving. “You realize, of course, just how much potential this has? Love is a strong motivator, true enough, but it’s a distracter, too. So...how to turn this to an advantage for Roscoe? Oh, darlings, there are so many delicious possibilities! Tell me your favorites in the comment section, and if I use it, I’ll send you an ‘I’d Re-Kill With Roscoe!’ t-shirt.”

  * * * *

  LaCenta glared at her computer as she recorded her blog.

  “Can you believe that Roscoe? He better leave poor Spud alone, or he’s gonna find himself distracted by a face full of Raid. That poor boy’s been nothing but a sweetheart since auditions, and if he’s found the love of his life here, then good for him.”

  * * * *

  “Bet he’s out pricing diamonds right now,” Gordon chortled. “Boy’s so whipped.”

  * * * *

  Nasir smiled, his eyes a little starry. “Actually, it reminded me of when Badria and I courted. We are no longer being together, but when we were young… Ah…Of course, we were not to having scrapbooks reading...”

  * * * *

  Spud gulped as he forced his eyes to meet the lens of the laptop camera. “Uh, m-m-Mom? It was just scrapbooks. Really.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Neeta turned the corner to her block. It’s been a good day, a normal day. With what Roscoe was calling the “Love Spudisode” airing this week, she’d had time to catch up on some of her regulars. Spraying for ants and checking cracks for roaches or termites wasn’t glamorous work, but she liked that a visit from her meant people didn’t feel the need to double-check the sugar bowl or cringe when turning on the kitchen light at night.

  “Sure they’re just vermin,” her mom used to say, “but that’s not the point. We make people feel secure in their own homes.”

  Some days, she missed Mom so much.

  Neeta reached up to press the button that would open the chain-link gate into her driveway but paused when her eyes caught a movement on her porch. Someone was messing with her front door!

  She parked on the street and studied the situation. The guy didn’t look like the average street thug. He had a light blue polo shirt over Bermuda shorts. Obsessed Zombie Death Extreme fanboy looking for a souvenir? Why couldn’t he just take the garden gnome? She hated that thing.

  She reached into the back of the van. A super-shot pistol full of roach kill in one hand and a mallet ax in the other, she eased out of her van and made her way to her house. When she got to the edge of her yard, she crouched behind the hedges. She felt incred-ibly stupid, even as her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest. Easy, she told herself. You take on the vicious undead—you can handle one live fanboy. Who breaks into a house at three in the afternoon, anyway?

  She eased open her gate, wincing at the creak. He didn’t even twitch.

  Captain Oblivious, apparently, she decided, as she ran the length of her sidewalk.

  “Hey!” she yelled as soon as she was within macing distance. If he pulled a gun on her, she’d give him a face-full.

  Instead the guy turned, screamed, and slammed himself against the door, hands in the air. “Easy, lady!”

  Lady? “Look, if you want something, take the gnome.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it.

  “What? No, no! I’m Franklin—with Dorwin Windows and Doors. See?” He pulled at the part of his shirt that had his name stitched above the Dorwin logo. “You’re boyfriend sent me.”

  “Brian? Why?” She lowered the ax she still held aloft, and he sagged with relief.

  “Yeah, Brian St. James. He’s got it for you bad, Miss. Gloria, our receptionist, said he didn’t stop talking about you the whole time he was on the phone.”

  “Why did he send you to my door?” she demanded.

  “He said it doesn’t open smoothly, and it was really annoying you, so I’m here to price replacements. Uh, I brought our catalog if you wanted to browse, or you can come into the store.”

  Annoying her? When did she say she was annoyed? “Um, Frank? Could you hold on for just a few minutes?”

  He held up his hands, smiling. “Hey, you’re the lady with the ax.”

  “Right. Sorry about that. I...” She didn’t know what to say. Did she actually offer him her garden gnome? She set the mallet ax on the porch railing and stepped out into the yard, pulling out her phone and dialing Brian’s number at work. She strolled along the hedge, keeping her back to the porch.

  He answered on the first ring. “Neeta, honey, what a surprise. Listen, I’m in the middle of a song.”

  “I’ll be fast. Did you send some door guy to my house?”

  “They’re there? Great. I wanted it to be a surprise, but that’s okay.”

  It is? No, no it wasn’t. “Why would you—?”

  “Oh, honey. I saw how annoyed you were at that thing—”

  “No, I wasn’t, I—”

  “You don’t need to put that tough girl act on for me. Listen, I advertise for these guys all the time. They’ll give me a nice deal. That’s how it works. Now you just pick whatever you want.”

  “But I don’t want—”

  “Let me do something nice for you. Anything you want, okay? Oh, oh. Song’s wrapping up. I’ll call you later. Anything goes, okay?”

  “Brian.”

  “We’ll talk later. Sorry I can’t watch Spu
d’s episode with you. ‘K, bye!”

  The line went dead.

  She forced herself to press the CALL END button gently and calmly return her phone to her pocket. Whatever I want? How about what I don’t want? She was glad Franklin could not see her face. She took a cleansing breath, careful not to let it out too loudly, and headed back to the porch in what she hoped was a non-threatening manner.

  Franklin was examining the top edge of the door but turned when he heard her on the steps. “Let me guess—anything you want, right?”

  She shrugged.

  “Yeah, Gloria said he made that very clear. Should have heard her sighing about it afterwards. You’re a lucky lady.”

  She supposed she was. Why didn’t she feel that way? She leaned against the railing. “Thing is, Franklin, I like my door.”

  Franklin glanced back at it and then turned a grin to her. “You know, me, too. Solid wood, heavy decorative glass...The peephole on the side is nice—was that added later? Thought so. It looked like custom work. It could use a paint job, maybe a little planing to make it close better?”

  That was a compromise she could agree to. “Can you do that? You don’t just sell new doors and stuff?”

  He shrugged. “Brian St. James says, ‘Whatever she wants.’ I give you whatever you want. My boss can figure out how to charge him. So if you could unlock it and show me what it’s doing?”

  At eight that night, Neeta signed the invoice and closed her “new” door. It was an inviting green and slid shut with a minimum of effort. She had to admit Franklin from Dorwin Doors and Windows had done a great job.

  Nonetheless, she turned off her phones and went to bed after watching the Spudisode, where she tossed and turned until she surprised herself by bursting into tears.

  * * * *

  BrainDeadHead

  Subject: Whoa! Spud the Stud.

  I am so nuked. Did you see Spud in “Unlikely Knight?” Then Lacey running up to those zombies and teasing them. That was like some kind of action movie. It wasn’t faked was it?

  I know LaCenta caught that murderer and all, but Spud was hero-tesimal, running in front of his fallen damsel and going to face the zombie horde all on his own. I don’t think I could have done it.

  StudleyWithSwords

  Brain, let me assure you personally. No script. No directors. No retakes. What you saw was pure StudleySpudly. I hate him for it, I really do.

  Rigormortis

  Including that deer-in-the-headlights look when Lacey kissed him? You’d think the man had never had a girlfriend in his life. Sweet, though.

  StudleyWithSwords

  Totally unscripted...though I’m sure there have been a lot of, shall we say, private encores since then. I know what you’re going to ask next and no, the scrapbook dialogue was not scripted or rehearsed. Last practice, I just said, “scrapbook,” and the man turned red.

  By the by, fanpeoples. Thanks to all who posted their Mess With Spud ideas on my blog. I especially liked leaving photos of Lacey and Spud around. If only I knew where that last challenge would be. Convincing the director to use Lacey as a damsel in distress? As if! She was a fully qualified exterminator when this show was just a twinkle in the producer’s eye.

  Tro111

  Give it a rest, Roscoe. You know as well as I that you’ve got an in with the director. You’ve been his favorite sence Mani-Pedi. We al know you were doing more than his nails.

  StudleyWithSwords

  Oh, my gawd. I’m being trolled—by none other than Troy LLame. Boyfriend, are you still upset about Mani-Pedi? Is it my fault I give better foot massages? And your nail art? I mean, sure, flowers are classic, but did you really expect to win with a 5-petal daisy?

  Bitterness is sooooo unbecoming.

  Tro111

  I dont know what your talking about. But as far as “massages,” I don’ think that’s the only thing you gave.

  And as long as were on the subject, RE: “studley Spud,” are you people that stupid? The one thing this show’s lacked is sex. Neeta’s an ice queen. Dot believe me; check out the K-RTH mourning show. It’s obvious Brian aint getting any. Nasir’s too Muslim; LaCenta’s to {word deleted by server}. Not even being a war vet is going to make up four Gordon’s personality. For that matter, StudleyWithSwords, despite your little “towel blog,” you aren’t seeing much live action. Loosing it, are we?

  Lets face it: the only hope the show had was Katie and Spud, and then Katie left like the coward she was. Or maybe they didnt offer her enough to do country boy on camera. Ratings were falling. Dave had too do something. Probably paid Lacey for that kiss. She looked like she’d be a happy {word deleted by server.}

  Katieforthewin

  Where’s the administrator? Troll, get off this list. You are not welcome!

  StudleyWithSwords

  Easy, Katiefor. It’s just the envy talking. BTW, did you see Katie’s new commercial? Oh, gawd, she’s just gorgeous when she isn’t screaming or crying. Her new website launched, BTW. Check it out.

  BrainDeadHead

  ‘Getting some?’ Look who’s talking. Troll, the only action you get is the action you give yourself when you’re insulting regular people. Make you feel more like a man?

  Katieforthewin

  Makes you less of a person.

  Wait a minute? Were you the guy on Mani-Pedi who threw the cuticle softener in that girl’s face? You have some nerve coming onto this site.

  StudleyWithSwords

  I don’t think he’s coming on to anything.

  BrainDeadHead

  ROFL

  Tro111

  You {word deleted by server}. What the hel wood you now? Wasting your worthless lives watching a reality TV show in stead of gong out and living? Probably none of you have had a {word deleted by server} since Junior Year of college when everyone was two drunk to be discriminatory.

  Al I’m trying to do is expose how fake and stupid these shows are. Run by ratings and catering to the intellectually lowest common denominator—you.

  Grow up, people.

  MANIC_MIND

  Well, considering that I’m working on my PhD in chaos theory and climatology, I take umbrage to your statement. Sometimes, people want to have fun. That’s what entertainment is, right, fun?

  Meanwhile, am I correct in assuming you are a manicurist who was on reality TV? And Junior year—specifically? Sounds like you’re speaking from personal experience.

  .

  .

  .

  ZDEAdministrator

  Tro111 has been removed from this server.

  BrainDeadHead

  Thanks, ZDEA. Thanks, Studley.

  StudleyWithSwords

  De nada, Brain. Told you I could get him off. You just have to know how to exploit the weakness. Just remember, when it comes to audience vote, Roscoe is Re-Kill Man.

  ZDEAdministrator

  This thread is being closed and deleted. Please feel free to resume discussing “An Unlikely Knight” here.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The heady scent of coffee washed over Neeta as she stood at the counter of the studio’s Starbucks, and she closed her eyes, breathing it in, hoping to take in some energy by osmosis until the man in front of her was done ordering.

  “Ah, the sweet scent of sugar and caffeine.” Ted’s voice sounded behind her. “You get your order yet, or are you just sniffing?”

  “Venti triple mocha latte,” she told the girl behind the counter.

  He eyed the package of chocolate-covered espresso beans in her hand. “Are we going to have to lock up the chainsaws today?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “For Dave’s sake, I hope so. Here, it’s on me.” He started to hand the cashier his card.

  Neeta slapped his hand down. “No! I can pay for my own goram coffee. Why do people keep wanting to do things for me?”

  A pocket of silence followed her outburst. Even the gurgle of the espresso machine stilled.

  She threw her head bac
k and stared at the ceiling to avoid the looks everyone was giving her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Smacking down the undead alone?”

  “No,” she moaned, feeling stupid all of a sudden. “Brian had my front door fixed.”

  “Oooh.”

  “’Oooh’?” she mimicked his understanding-but-not-really-understanding tone. “What does that mean?”

  The anger in her voice made the couple behind them step back, but Ted just shrugged, unaffected. “Nothing. Just kind of liked how you had to give it a little shove to close it. Felt more, I don’t know...”

  “Secure.” Even as she said it, she felt her eyes and nose sting. She turned her attention to pouring out a handful of espresso beans. She must be tired, ready to cry again over a stupid door.

  Ted didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah. Something like that. So, okay, then, you treat me. I’ll have what’s she’s having,” he told the cash-ier. “I think I’ll need it to keep up with her today.”

  Neeta almost choked on her espresso beans laughing.

  The studio cantina was across the parking lot from the Zombie Death Extreme offices. Lattes in hand, they headed to their meeting together. As they passed a line of cars in a row that was marked with a decapitated zombie head, Ted stopped.

  “Whoa. Idea! Come on.” He led her to a Kia Forte whose copper paint job didn’t quite manage to hide the rust. The surfboard strapped to the top gleamed in the sunlight, as if trying to make up for the state of its ride. He handed her his latte, dug in his pocket for his fob and unlocked the passenger side door. Then he bent into the passenger side, searching for something on the floor, tossing wrappers and beach gear into the back.

  Neeta leaned against the Nissan Cube parked next to it and admired the view, a bemused grin on her face. “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “You’ll see. It’s awesome! Ah, here we go.” He pulled out a ball hook and a u-shaped piece of metal and handed the two to her. “Don’t say I never gave you anything!”

  She set the lattes on top of the Cube and examined the gift. He kicked his door shut then pointed the fob at it. It chirped in cheery obliviousness to its abuse.

  “Isn’t this one of those door-stop thingies like you find in hotel rooms?” Neeta asked.