Homemade Sin

by V. Mark Covington

  “Oh sure, I usually lead the pack until the panic sets in,” replied Rebel. “Without the phobia I’d win lots of races. I’ve tried psychologists, hypnotherapy, tranquilizers, meditation – everything short of a prefrontal lobotomy – but nothing helps.”

  “You haven’t tried everything.” Dee Dee grinned at him. “I’ll go make you some lunch.” She winked and walked over to the sushi bar and started cutting fish. A few moments later she brought a plate of food over to the table and placed it in front of Rebel. “On the house,” she said.

  “That’s mighty nice of you,” Rebel said. He looked down at the face of the fugu fish looking up at him from his plate. He could swear the fish was smiling at him.

  “He’s an ugly sucker isn’t he,” Rebel said, sipping the Zombie. “Ugliest fish I ever saw. Look at those big blubbery lips, and it’s got little ratty eyes. What, is it, part rat?” He looked over at the bartender to make sure he had not offended him. He didn’t want to come off as a verminist. He was relieved to see the bartender was human again.

  “It’s delicious,” Dee Dee said. “You’ll like it.”

  Rebel tentatively sliced off a hunk of the fish and chewed, chasing it with a gulp of his Zombie. “It’s awful,” Rebel said, “tastes like a hen’s ass. It’s worse than the damned toad.” He looked at Dee Dee to make sure she had not become the chicken woman again. Now he risked being a birdist with his hen’s ass remark, but she was still human. Rebel breathed a lo

  “My lips feel numb,” said Rebel chewing his lower lip, “and I don’t feel very good, I’m kind of dizzy.”

  “It’s the fish,” Dee Dee said coldly. “You’ll be good as new soon, better even.”

  Rebel made a choking sound and went face down into his plate.

  “Is he dead?” Cutter said as he approached the table.

  “Nah,” Dee Dee said. “I think he’s just out of it. He’s what they call ‘fugu fucked.’ He looks dead but he isn’t. There are lots of stories about being fugu fucked. There was a Japanese guy who ate fugu and dropped over like our friend here, and a doctor pronounced him dead. Then he woke up eight days later in a crematorium, about to be reduced to ashes; he had been aware of everything that happened the whole time, he was just physically comatose. In some parts of Japan when someone dies of eating fugu, they lay the body out beside the coffin for three or four days before they bury him, just to make sure he’s dead, kind of like a wake.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We have to get some of the voodoo powder in him to make him like the dog. We’ll tell him to win races and he’ll win” Dee Dee said. “Did the book say how we do that?”

  Rebel was aware of the fat bear and the chicken woman standing over him. He wanted to scream, jump up and run away, but he realized he couldn’t move. He was paralyzed.

  “Help me get him up to his room,” Dee Dee said. “Then we’ll see if we have the same old black magic Hussey has.”

  “Then we go to Daytona and clean up.” Cutter grinned like the dork he was.

  “First things first, let’s get him to his room.”

  “What happened to him?” Roland said, as Cutter and Dee Dee, each positioned under one of Rebel’s arms, dragged him across the bar.

  “He’s not feeling so good,” Dee Dee said. “We’re going to help him to his room.”

  Dee Dee found the room key in Rebel’s pocket and together she and Cutter dragged Rebel out of the lounge and deposited him on the bed in room 13.

  “Go over and open the safe,” Dee Dee instructed Cutter. “Try 1-2-3, most folks never change the numbers.”

  While Cutter opened the safe Dee Dee checked out Rebel’s luggage for women’s clothes, making sure he truly was staying there alone and then began removing his clothing. Cutter pulled a stack of money from the safe and brought it over to Dee Dee as she pulled the sheet over up to his neck.

  “Good,” Dee Dee said, stuffing the money in her apron pocket. “Now you tell me what to do and I’ll give him the voodoo powder.”

  “I think you pour the powder down his throat. That’s how Hussey did it.”

  Dee Dee poured some of the powder down his throat and stepped back to watch, she looked at her watch after a few minutes then looked back at the inert body of the racer.

  “It’s not working,” Cutter said. “The man is dying.”

  Dee Dee looked down at the sheet rising like a tent between Rebel’s legs. It conjured up the image of a ghost rising from a grave, rising up, and up and up.

  “Shit, let me see that vial of powder,” Dee Dee said. “You got the wrong fucking powder! This says ‘Ground Rhino Horn’ … Hussey was right, you are a fuck-up.”

  “I think you better get Hussey in here before this guy dies,” Cutter said.

  “OK. I’ll come up with some story and call her, but you have to get out of here, I don’t want her to suspect what we were doing.”

  “Just tell her you have a zombie emergency,” Cutter said as Dee Dee started removing Rebel’s clothes.

  As Hussy Paine stood behind the check-in desk watching the old folks floating in the pool, waiting for them to summon her, and seriously reevaluating her life, her cell phone started belching out ‘Voodoo Child.’

  “You gotta get your ass over here and help me,” Dee Dee said tearfully, over Hussy’s cell phone, “I think I fucked a man to death. I’m in room 13.”

  Hussy checked the pool to make sure the old folks weren’t beckoning and hurried up the stairs to room 13, her sandals slapping the concrete as she ran.

  “I think he’s dead,” said Dee Dee, as Hussey rushed into the room. “One minute he was pumping along, doing great and the next minute he just stops. I figured he came but he didn’t roll off, and when I finally pushed him off he kept rolling. He rolled off the bed on to the floor and just lay there. I think I have the minge of death.”

  “Who is he and where did he come from?” said Hussey.

  “I think he’s a NASCAR driver,” Dee Dee said as Hussey pressed her hand to the man’s neck.

  Rebel was aware of Hussey coming in, but to him she looked like a five foot six inch white rabbit whose blue T-shirt sported the same cartoon rat. She stepped around the chicken woman and bent down over him. Out of the corner of his eye Rebel saw the rabbit woman place a big white paw on his neck.

  “He was having lunch at the bar.” Dee Dee sobbed convincingly. “I thought he was cute so I came back to his room. We started fooling around and he said he was dizzy, his lips were getting numb; stuff like that. Then he passed clean out, I don’t think he’s breathing.”

  “Maybe you should advertise,” said Hussey. “‘For a killer time, call Dee Dee.’” Hussey looked closely at Rebel’s still body. She bent over and looked into his eyes. Through wide staring eyes Rebel saw the concerned look on the giant rabbit’s face. “Tetrodotoxin poisoning.”

  “Can’t you bring him back like you did the dog?” Dee Dee said.

  “No, no, no!” Hussey said removing her hand from the man’s neck. “I’ve never tried my Mambo powder on a human. I have no idea what it will do.”

  “If you can bring him back, you should,” implored Dee Dee. “I think he is going to die unless you do something.”

  “Call a doctor,” Hussey said. “Get his stomach pumped. I’m not using the Mambo powder on him.”

  “I don’t think there’s time for a doctor,” said Dee Dee, placing her hand on the man’s neck where Hussey’s had been and pressing her finger to Rebel’s jugular vein. “His heart’s stopped beating. I think you should make him better like you did the dog, before it’s too late.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Rebel could make out the giant chicken claw on his neck. Rebel was aware of the big chicken and the monster rabbit peering down at him, he wanted to scream but he could feel his mind getting fuzzy, slipping away.

  “That’s the point,” Hussey said. “He might not be better! It might not bring him back, he could be something else. He could be a zombie.”
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  “I don’t care if he turns into a unicorn as long as I don’t get blamed for killing him.” Dee Dee thought about a unicorn’s horn and the rise in the man’s pants.

  “It’s very strong voodoo I’d have to perform,” Hussey said.

  “You know,” Dee Dee wore a sly look, “if this guy’s found dead from eating in the bar the health department would close this whole place down. You’d lose your job and Roland could lose the hotel.”

  “OK, I’ll do it. I’ll be right back.” Hussey sighed, resigned.

  Hussey sprinted down to her room, grabbed her grandfather’s bag from the floor of her closet and sprinted back up to Rebel’s room. She found Dee Dee still standing over the bed looking at Rebel.

  Hussey dropped the doctor’s bag on the bed, popped the lock and pulled it open. She rooted around inside the bag until she found a glass vial of purple powder marked ‘Mambo’. She removed a wooden tongue depressor from the leather bag and tapped about a teaspoonful of the powder out on to the tongue depressor. “Hold his mouth open,” she instructed Dee Dee.

  While Dee Dee held Rebel’s mouth open, Hussey stuck the tongue depressor into Rebel’s mouth and dumped the powder down his throat. She started massaging his throat until he swallowed.

  “Let’s hope for the best,” Hussey said, stepping back and dropping the vial of mambo powder back into her medicine bag.

  They watched as Rebel’s body started to convulse. His muscles twitched and his eyes widened in terror, his back arched off the bed, his body tensed for a second, then he lay still.

  “Is he dead?” Dee Dee said.

  “Wait for it.” As Hussey had anticipated, Rebel sat up, his eyes still fixed and staring, a blank expression on his face.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “A very wise old lady taught me,” Hussey said.

  “Is he a zombie?” Dee Dee said, awed. “Look at the blank stare, the stiff movements.”

  “That’s the thing about most zombie powder.” Hussey explained. “It’ll bring them back to life but the combination of the tetratoxin and the hallucinogens might cause permanent brain damage. It paralyzes their pain and fear centers so they aren’t afraid of anything anymore. There is no consciousness, so there’s no pain. I was hoping this new stuff, my Mambo powder, would bring them back without the brain damage. The human brain is like a computer. The old zombie powder, Borko, was like erasing a hard drive; it wiped all of the programs. Mambo is like a soft boot, it starts the programs over like new, it erases only the bad stuff in the drive, like bad cookies and viruses. Things like traumas, fears and phobias the person developed over the years.”

  “Why is he sitting there staring?” Dee Dee said.

  “I guess the Mambo powder doesn’t work on humans,” Hussey said, shaking her head. “I was afraid of that. I have created a zombie.”

  “Shouldn’t he be wandering around looking for brains to eat or something?”

  “That’s in the movies,” Hussey said. “Zombies don’t crave brains any more than we do.”

  “Some folks eat calf brains, right?” Dee Dee said. But those are mostly French people. When somebody becomes a zombie do they become French too?”

  Hussey shook her head slowly. Dee Dee and Cutter are meant for each other, Hussey thought.

  “He’s still sitting there, staring,” said Dee Dee. “It’s kind of creepy.”

  “Mister, how are you feeling?” Hussey said.

  Rebel stared at the wall.

  “If you can hear me say something,” Hussey said.

  “Something,” Rebel said, mechanically.

  “Too early to tell,” Hussey said, clucking her tongue. “It had a delayed effect on Miz Zoller’s dog too. He seemed brain-dead for a week or so then he came out of it, went back to normal and he lost his fear of sheep. It may work the same way with humans, we’ll have to wait and see. In the meantime, you’ll have to tell him what to do. He won’t do anything when he’s like this unless you tell him to do it. He’ll sit there like a chicken standing in the rain. I’ve seen chickens stand there, looking up at a rainstorm, with their mouths open until they drown. You tell a zombie what to do and they go and do it, they follow orders to the letter. Tell him to do something,”

  “Stand up,” Dee Dee commanded.

  Rebel stood up, still staring.

  “Get dressed,” Dee Dee said.

  Rebel started pulling on his pants.

  “This is pretty cool,” Dee Dee said.

  Hussey stepped over the window and took a deep breath as she stared out at the pale green waves of the gulf lapping the coast. What have I done? she thought.

  Taking the opportunity, Dee Dee moved toward the medicine bag and slipped her hand inside. Her fingers closed around the bottle of purple powder. Smiling, she slipped the bottle into her apron pocket.

  “Thanks,” Dee Dee said to Hussey. “You’ve saved my life.”

  Even if it cost him his, Hussey thought, still staring at the waves.

  “Just remember,” Hussey said, “he’s your responsibility now. You gave him his first command so he’s imprinted on you. Like it or not, you are his master. And having a zombie looking to you for what to do every minute is a big responsibility. You have to watch them all the time and make sure they eat and everything. He now relies on you for everything.”

  “I think I can take it from here,” Dee Dee said. “You can go back to the front desk.”

  Hussey snapped her medicine bag closed and started for the door. She stopped and turned back to Dee Dee. “I’ll be watching,” Hussey said. “Make sure you take care of him.”

  After Hussey had gone, Dee Dee bent down in front of Rebel’s slack jawed, staring face until their noses were almost touching, “Go win races,” she said.

  “It was amazing,” Dee Dee whispered to Cutter as she joined him at the bar. “I mean the guy was like dead. No heartbeat, not breathing, nothing and Hussey just poured this powder in mouth and hey presto! His eyelids fluttered open and he sat up and stared straight ahead.”

  “Where is he now?” Cutter asked.

  “I left him in his room to rest, the Daytona race is tomorrow.”

  “I’m as dry as a persimmon stuffed with alum and rolled in a blue law,” Tony said as he waddled into the bar and lifted his girth on to a barstool beside Cutter.

  “Are you taking any action on NASCAR races?” Cutter said to Tony.

  “I am,” Tony said, smiling.

  “What are the odds on number 13, Rebel Buford, at Daytona?”

  Tony retrieved a cell phone from his pocket, punched a single digit for speed dial and spoke into the phone. He snapped the phone closed and slipped it back into his coat pocket. “He’ll pay ten to one,” Tony told Cutter. “But why don’t you save your money? The man has never won a race.”

  “Put me down for a thousand dollars,” Cutter looked cock-a-hoop.

  “Did you see what he did at the last race?” Tony said.

  “I saw the race,” Dee Dee chimed in. “Give me a thousand dollars on Rebel Buford to win Daytona too.”

  “It’s your funeral,” Tony said.

  Dee Dee smiled. “A little premature for a funeral, maybe a wake,” she whispered to Cutter. Cutter was smiling ear to ear.

  “Hey,” Tony grinned at Cutter with such a cat-like grin you could almost see feathers peeking out from the corners of his mouth, “maybe you got more inside information like you had with the dog?”

  “Yep, same sort of deal.” Cutter grinned. “You still going to take my bet?”

  “Sure,” Tony said, “I just might take a little action on it myself.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Sons Of Sicily

  “The monthly meeting of Sons of Sicily will now come to order!” announced the wizened man standing at the head of a large round table in the back room of the St. Petersburg branch of the Italian Club. The man banging his gavel, calling for order, was formerly called Vito the Viper of the Gambino family in New York.
He was now called Vito Viagra. In keeping with tradition, there were two retired or semi-retired representatives of each of the five families seated around the table. Also, in keeping with tradition, each member of the group had been given a new nickname by the other representatives when they retired from the family business and moved to sunny Florida. To get a seat at the table someone had to die. Of course, exceptions were made in cases where the retiree was a consigliere, or above, in rank. This rarely happened as the senior ranking members of “our thing” usually expired on the job or retired to a Federal prison.

  “Da first order of business as always,” Vito said “is ‘Whatta you hear, whadda you know? Who got whacked last month? Who’s gonna get whacked this month? And who we think will get whacked next month.’”

  Seated around the table in a clockwise direction was Crazy Carlo Cabrilla, also of the Gambino family, now known as Carlo Colostomy for obvious reasons. To Carlo’s left sat a retired member of the Bonnano family, a part-time bookie and frequenter of the Fugu Lounge, a man known by many names. To the members of the Italian Club he was known as Tony Tums, but back in New York he had been known as Tony ‘Cajones’ Bonnano. Beside Tony sat Gino the Greeter, formerly Gino the Gat of the Genovese family. Next to Gino sat Benito Beano, formerly Benny the Bone Crusher, and Angelo Angina, formerly Angelo ‘The Angel of Death’, both also of the Genovese family. Next to Benito sat Eddie Early Bird, formerly Crazy Eddie Columbo and Micky Mahjong formerly Mick the Knife. Micky’s new name came from his frequenting of Mahjong games at his retirement home, where he lost regularly and deliberately to the little old Jewish ladies. After a loss Mickey would sometimes get a sympathy shtup. It was said that Mickey had more old Jewess ass than an inflatable toilet doughnut. Nicky Nitro, the only member of the group who had kept his original moniker, was previously known for blowing things up; most recently his moniker stemmed from his explosive flatulence. Finally came Ricky Refill, formerly Ricky the Rat, now called Ricky Refill for his tendency to get more than his share of senior drink refills at local fast food restaurants. Beside Ricky sat Alfonzo Alzheimer’s, also of the Colombo family.