by Gary Starta
“Humor was never one of his strong points. Couldn’t teach the bloke that jokes work best when timed properly. And trying to explain the use of absurdity in jokes-to a straight-laced academy boy-well…”
Whether the blue suited man with an insatiable thirst for whiskey actually listened to Finch was debatable. But the man did allow Finch to engage in role reversal for a moment. The barkeep got to pour some of his problems onto a customer, instead of the other way around. Because Finch had to endure the nightly laments of drunken men and love scorned ladies, it had prevented him from focusing on Burnham’s death, not to mention the unspeakable manner of his buddy’s demise. Blown to bits by explosion, there was nothing physically left of the cop to memorialize at the wake, just an empty casket save for a medal of honor.
The lingering memory of the empty casket enabled the tear in Finch’s eye to surge its way down his cheek. Nothing left of him. Not even enough to prove he existed to me as a friend… The tidal wave had finally been unleashed.
“Now look at what you’ve made me do, blue man,” Finch said, absently, wiping away the tear.
“Huh?” the drunk answered.
The man’s callous and unintelligible response made Finch’s grief take a side step. Anger had walked in.
“So, if that’s your reaction. Finish your drink and get a move on. I’m not getting paid to watch you commit slow suicide, mate.”
The drunk downed the shot, inhaling loudly, as if he might swallow the glass to boot. “No problem, Finch. I’ll be back for your set this weekend.”
The man’s offer to support Finch’s fledging career as comedian tempered the anger.
“I’m sorry for snapping. It’s just that Burnham was my best mate. And, I never really got to tell him that. And that in a word…” He paused to pick up a lemon slice from a bin. “Sucks…”
The drunk staggered out the door with Finch in tow. It’s good you’re walking and not driving… Well, if you call that walking…
After bolting the lock, the barkeep set about the task of wiping down the bar and returning cleaned pitchers to an overhead bar glass rack. All so he could afford to play standup comedian in a few days. I’m such a pretender… Finch belittled himself daily despite his friends" beliefs he would one day tour the country as a full-time comedian. Those voices had no weight anymore with the London born barkeep because the most outspoken voice of his support group had been Burnham’s. With Burnham gone, so was any tangible belief that his dream would materialize. Finch allowed that thought to saturate his mind. A barkeep/comedian…now how’s that for absurdity…?
***
With his pity party in full swing, David Finch didn’t hear the approaching footsteps of the booted women with long curly hair. Assured the key had locked the back entrance of The Too Blue Owl, Finch turned to find himself face to face with her blue-eyed intensity.
“Ah.” Finch groaned and placed a hand over his racing heart. “You frightened me, love. “He twisted a thumb in the direction of the locked door. “I just closed shop. Afraid your thirst is going to have to wait until tomorrow. Unless you’ve got something else in mind…”
Her intensity oozed not just from her eyes but her posture. She did not flinch. Long legs shifted weight on her booted heels. She folded her arms and pouted her lips.
Finch’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the alleyway. “You’re soaked to the bone. I can recommend a hotel…”
She cut him off. “I’ve got good news and bad news for you, Finch.”
“You know my name…?” His heart raced alongside scattered thoughts. Was this some drunken conquest he had forgotten about? No, he would have remembered her. She equaled, maybe topped his height, too stunning to forget.
“I’m here to reacquaint you with your friend.” She paused to place a hand on his shoulder. Finch’s eyes darted after it, spying it like a spider.
“What you got in mind…?” Suspicion tinged Finch’s voice now. Any thought of wanton suggestiveness was eradicated with the rustling of boxes to his left.
She continued. “Derek Burnham is still with us.”
A snarky grin washed over Finch’s face. “Are you some medium? Suppose you’re going to ghost whisper some jibe about my friend. Tell me something only I would know about him. Then conveniently charge my credit card for your supernatural swindling? Well forget it, mama. This bloke wasn’t born yesterday. I know you did some research, learned my name and all. Not convinced. Not even by the rustling boxes.” He made a thumbs down sign.
“Okay. I guess seeing really is believing… Come on out, I told you I wouldn’t be able to convince him…” Lorelei’s nonchalant tone gave Finch no chance to prepare for what happened next. Burnham emerged from a pile of boxes. Although from Finch’s point of view, his friend bore more resemblance to Moses than to a former officer of the law.
“How are you doing this?” Finch’s eyes darted to and fro, trying to locate equipment which might explain a projection.
“I’m here. I’m real. It’s me,” Burnham said, voice even and low.
Finch waved his hand as the figure approached. Finally, it struck solid matter with Burnham, the cop, the best friend, not a ghostly apparition dressed in prophet’s clothing.
“It’s you. It really is you!” Finch beamed. He grabbed a handful of Burnham’s baggy shirt and shook it. “You’re here. Not a ghost. Not some computer assimilation…” His smile waned. “But it makes no sense. You died.” Burnham’s shirt slipped through his fingers.
Lorelei stomped a foot and sighed. “You may as well tell him everything.”
Burnham shot Lorelei a nervous smile and cleared his throat.
“Finch, I did die. But I came back.”
“I’m back to being confused, mate. So, you are ghost…?”
“No. More like a zombie. I’m still flesh and blood. Only I was altered when… something…happened to me in an alleyway. The same thing happened to me friend here. We’ve been changed. We’ve been living in the streets because we obviously can’t tell anyone. I am trusting you Finch, to keep your wits about you; to keep this a secret. And I’m asking you…as a friend…to give us shelter.” Burnham held his hands up to Finch in stop sign fashion. He winked at Lorelei and mimicked her whisper scream. “Now, please. No more reactions. Just walk us to your car. Nice and quiet…” Finch’s hesitance dissipated in seconds.
“Sure. Yeah. Just glad to have you back.”
Burnham retrieved a backpack from some refuge.
Lorelei followed the reunited friend’s from behind, arms folded, head shaking. “I would have been a little more distrusting myself.”
Burnham put his fingers to his lips before whispering. “People live here. These are apartments. Keep the noise to a minimum.”
Burnham, happy his friend’s car had silent keyless entry, slid into the front. Lorelei took the back.” Her hand caressed the upholstery. “Mm. Soft as a kitten.”
Burnham turned his neck to peek back at her. “Hopefully civilization will have us back after all.”
“Speaking about back,” Finch interrupted. “One part of me is glad and the other is enraged. I hate what you’ve put me through. If you weren’t a friend, I might off you. That is…if you didn’t already…die.” He shook his head. “Bullocks, this is bloody weird.”
“I know. I know.” Burnham said. He tapped the dashboard. “It’s going to take some adjustment. And there are some concerns, but that can wait until later. I think Lorelei and me just need some time to reacquaint ourselves with the human standard of living.”
Finch eyed Burnham as he drove. The rag clothed man with the unkempt hair and beard growth spoke with Burnham’s voice, but his word choice was unrecognizable. Just what the bleeding hell are his concerns…? And human standard of living…? Can somebody please translate? Finch remained silent, eyeing the rearview mirror every now and then to peruse the wom
an passenger. He didn’t know her from Eve. He wondered if he hadn’t just picked up two rain sodden pod people. Suddenly, simple survival seemed a whole lot more important to Finch than career aspirations.
They arrived safely to Finch’s underground parking garage. No pedestrian or commuter was about at what even Finch considered an ungodly hour. Burnham once out of the vehicle, whispered.
“Let’s move quickly, Finch. I don’t want to be seen.” Finch could only think: no one who ever knew you, is going to recognize you in that get up.
Finch waved them toward an elevator where Burnham and Lorelei began to pace anxiously. To Burnham they appeared to behave as caged animals. God, you are changed…but into what…?
Once inside the apartment, Burnham egged Finch to bolt it immediately.
He complied with only momentary trepidation. If they’re going to do something to me, I won’t stand much of a chance, locked in here or not…
Lorelei began twisting her hands through her damp locks. Finch addressed her obvious but silent request.
“I’ve got a shower. All the way down the hall to your left. If you want to kick back the telly is over there.” He pointed to his extreme right. “And obviously, behind me is the kitchen. Serving drinks, 24/7 for your pleasure.” Finch opted to go with humor over sheer terror. Better to act calmly. If they are some kind of beasts and smell fear on me, they’ll react…
But Finch’s fear subsided a bit when Lorelei asked about clothing.
“I appreciate the shower offer. I really, really do. But my clothes are soaked. I have nothing to change into.”
Finch eyed the backpack dangling over Burnham’s shoulder. Then what’s in the backpack…?
Finch felt he caught Burnham’s stare as his eyes perused the blue tote bag.
Finch backpedaled. “Uh, I’ve got a robe though. Perfectly clean, never used. Gift from my Mum, you see. But I was never a robe man. More of a boxer and t-shirt kind of guy; ready for anything, always on the go.”
Finch wondered if Burnham caught his inflection. If this was the old Burnham, the cop Burnham, Finch was sure he had gotten his message across. Implying that he was prepared to run, Finch waited for a sign from Burnham to assure him everything would be okay.
“Finch, you’ll scare the morning commuters half to death if you plan to run out of here dressed in skivvies. As I said, things are weird. But we’re all going to have to adapt.”
Finch exhaled sure his old friend was underneath the baggy shirt and beard.
Lorelei nodded. “I guess now is my cue to shower. You’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Sure, love,” Finch called after her. “The robe’s hanging on the door.
Fresh towels are in the closet. In the morning, I’ll shop for some clothing.”
“I appreciate that,” Burnham answered. “We’ll write down our sizes for you. But right now…”
Finch interrupted. “You’ll tell me just what the hell’s is in that backpack?”
Burnham pursed his lips and opened the tote’s zipper once sure Lorelei was in the shower.
But when Finch peered inside to find bags and bags of blue capsules, he realized an answer had produced only another question.
“What are you doing, Burnsy. You freak in" dealing. Or wait a minute…is she a NARC, DEA? You two running a sting?” Finch slapped his hands together and whistled.
“No. Calm down, Finch. We’re not selling…These pills keep me, me.”
“Oh, shit. Then you’re using. You’re two junkies.”
“No, Finch. Remember I said we were changed. We woke up with a craving. These pills help us.”
Burnham recounted his story, how he had been bitten by Comiskey and subsequently put him down with bullets. Awakening in the ambulance, somehow reborn, and how his panicked reaction had instigated the accident and killed the EMT"s. The bizarre conversation with the religious lady, who strangely mimicked Finch’s reaction, and her attempt to kill him before she inadvertently killed herself. “The religious lady judged me just like you are, Finch. Except she had every reason to; but you, you know me, Finch. I’m not a junkie. I’m a vice cop, sworn to help them by taking down their dealers. And no matters what’s been done to me that will not change.”
“I see, mate. But what about the lovely bird there? She flies on the straight and narrow-or you would like to believe she does.” Finch cast suspicious eyes on Burnham.
“I have no reason to lie to myself. I’m not with her.”
“Mm hmm. The way you said that seems to imply that you might like to be with her. That’s just as bad. So tell me, are you trusting her because of her looks, or because of her character?”
Burnham took a seat at a bar stool in the kitchen. “I see I’ve got to give you the full tour.”
A half hour passed as Lorelei showered; apparently in no rush to leave the soothing warm cascade of heated water she had been sorely missing. Burnham utilized the time to recount her story of how the crime lord Amado James turned her more out of sick curiosity than purpose. Her eventual escape from the man she only lived to see die. Why she had cut off relations with her daughter because of what she had become. How her supernaturally enhanced eyesight allowed her to keep tabs on his patrolling. And why she had turned Comiskey in the first place, so their mutual friend could ultimately bring down the sick bastard who had infected them for some unknown purpose.
Finch digested the information, summing up the sick bustard’s purpose in one line.
“He’s out to create super people.”
“But we are carnally driven. I don’t think cannibals qualify as super people, Finch.”
“That must be a glitch.” Finch paused to sip some juice. Then he waggled a finger. “I’m telling you. You two are most definitely part of some agenda to create a super race. Look, there are always some sinister side effects to go along with these diabolical plans.”
Burnham rested his head in his hands. “Wait a minute. Are you quoting history or film?”
“If this Lorelei ever asks about my predilection to watch science fiction, you vehemently deny it. Got it? Can’t have her thinking I’m one of those geeks.”
“Don’t worry, Finch. You’re too good looking to be categorized as a geek.”
“Got that right, mate.” Finch arched his shoulders and exhaled. “I’d be a golden god if I had golden hair.”
“Maybe she likes dark and handsome.”
“Maybe who likes…?”
“Don’t be coy, so you have designs on Lorelei. I told you, I’m not with her. But I would tread very lightly. She has a tough exterior.”
Finch combed a hand through his hair. “Wonder if she digs the bad boy look, the ruffian without a comb. Now come now. What did you tell her about me? You must have said something.”
“I said you were a depressed bastard comedian who made us feel better about ourselves. All the officers would go see your act, not for just entertainment purposes, but for psycho therapeutic healing. Because at the end of the night, we all reasoned we could stick out another day no matter how bad; we knew we could come and see your act again, and we would somehow be transported away from the world’s shit for a few more hours. But all seriousness aside Finch, be careful what you wish for. In other words, if you think Lorelei is a potential mate, don’t let her beastly side daunt you.”
“Sounds like you’re daring me to make a fool of myself. Never mind then. What’s really important is that I wished you were back, mate. And here you are.” He paused to hold up his glass to Burnham. “I think a prayer has been answered. And because it has, I promise to lose all my cynicism.”
“What you? You’re cynical by nature.”
“Okay. I’ll cut back. Let’s say thirty percent less cynical in a week’s time.”
“I hope you’re not kidding because we’re going to need your support. In reality, I’m go
ing to need your support. Lorelei is in a bad way. She’s clearly distraught over her daughter. She can only see revenge, darkness. We’ve got find a way to make her see a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Wait. I heard the water stop. We better save this discussion.”
Lorelei popped in a minute later, toweling her hair. The blue robe about her had already transformed her new and exotic nature; at least in Finch’s eyes. “She still looks damn human to me,” he whispered in Burnham’s ear. “But if she’s a zombie…she can still have her way with me.”
Burnham stifled a laugh. Lorelei was clearly on to them.
“Sharing secrets, are we? You know men accuse women of doing that all the time.”
“No, we’re actually planning, love. Want to join us?”
“I for one would love to hear your thoughts. You see your friend here hasn’t been exactly a fountain of ideas. Other than turning us onto this much appreciated shelter.”
“That was a good idea, Burnham. And you two are welcome to stay as long as you like.”
Lorelei winced.
Right, cut to the chase. Finch inhaled deeply before talking, now fully aware the woman was all business. “I once had a problem with getting citizenship. I wasn’t U.S. born like Burnham here. I had to struggle for it. But with struggle comes ingenuity. It’s sort of like the old saying: necessity is the mother of invention. Anyway, I appealed to someone in power who could help me with that. I found once I was willing to be helped, it came to me a lot easier than when I resisted it.”
“Are you saying Burnham and I are resisting?” Lorelei asked, her brows furrowed into a V.
“I think the very fact you two lived day and night on the meanest streets of the city says that was pretty obvious. But I’m not here to judge. You see, I don’t do that Lorelei. You might be very different from me, but that wouldn’t prevent us from…”
Burnham yelled. “Stay on point, Finch.” Lorelei attempted to cover her smile with a hand, but it was too late.
“I wrote my congressman, Congressman Daniel Katz; in fact, I believe he still serves the good people of Tampa.”
