Homemade Sin

by V. Mark Covington

  My disciples have eaten the sacred fish and now it is time to turn them into my minions, Stinky thought. He nosed the vial over the fish and let the powder sprinkle down upon the fish the cats were busy devouring. The vial tumbled down with the powder. “Chow down my minions,” he growled “my meowing mercenaries. You will be the first of a great feline army that will take over the world and rid this miserable planet of the tiresome humans.”

  “So this is where it went to,” said Dee Dee as she reached past the dozen or so munching cats and retrieved what was left of the Mambo powder. She found the stopper a few inches from the vial, re-corked it and shook it to see how much was left. “Enough for at least one more zombie,” she said.

  When she sashayed off, Stinky snarled after her, “You can take the magic powder away but already I have my first loyal soldiers, my terrible reign will begin. And I retrieve the magic powder. I know where you sleep.”

  Clint, the coulrophobic rodeo rider, sat at the bar at the Fugu Lounge, sipping a gin and absinth martini and hating clowns. Dee Dee slid onto the barstool beside him.

  “You look like someone ran over your horse, Tex”, Dee Dee said to Clint, employing a sexy, yet sympathetic, voice. “You look like a cowboy. I was always partial to cowboys.”

  “I ride with the rodeo,” Clint said. “At least I did until that damn clown started messing with my life.”

  “Clown problems?” She knew this had to be the bull rider.

  “Yeah, damned clowns, the sight of those people, all painted up with those big rubber noses and the fright wigs … just gives me the willies.”

  “I bet you’d feel better if you ate something,” Dee Dee said. “Let me make you a special dinner.”

  “You sure are nice, darlin’,” Clint said. “I’ve had a hell of a day.”

  “You grab a table and I’ll fix you something guaranteed to take the pain away.” Dee Dee smirked as she rose from her barstool and headed over toward her sushi station. On the way she stuck her head into the kitchen where Cutter was lurking over the oven and said “Got one ‘special’ coming up.”

  “Is the bull rider here?”

  “Yep, we’re back in business.”

  Dee Dee approached Clint’s table with a tray laden with exotic food. As Clint smiled and dug into his dinner Dee Dee winked at him and said, “Now, you eat up, honey, and when you finish, maybe we should have a drink together.”

  Deputy Jones drove toward the Santeria Hotel as drunken charcoal-gray clouds, in the shape of beer kegs, staggered across wine-purple sky like dark spirits coming together for a cloud coven. A storm was brewing. The wind churned the thunderheads until they glowed from within as luminous as black pearls. As he pulled into the parking lot, the sky opened up and began spewing projectile raindrops the size of cocktail onions. By the time he had made it across the parking lot, the pelting rain drenched his shirt and the clouds were varicose with fiery red gin blossoms of spider lightning.

  Deputy Jones dashed past the pool on the way into the Fugu lounge. As he passed, he noticed the old folks standing around in the pool staring at the Gulf through the pouring rain. “You folks better get out of the pool,” he shouted over the booming thunder “You’ll be struck by lightning.” Nobody responded. Something seemed odd about the pool population. They seemed to be in a trance.

  He stopped under the awning, out of range of the rain, and tried again. “Anybody got pictures of your grandchildren you want to show me?” No response came from the pool zombies; they continued to stare at the Gulf, rain dripping off their noses.

  “Anybody want to talk about their operations?” Jones said. The old folks in the pool remained silent.

  “I think they ought to do away with social security.” Silence.

  Damn, that should have gotten a rise out of them. There’s definitely something seriously wrong.

  Jones saw some large birds circling high in the sky through the driving rain. They seemed to be swinging lower and lower in concentric circles toward the pool. They looked too big and dark to be seagulls. “Buzzards,” he said. “A sure sign of something dead”. He turned back to the people standing in the pool. “I heard they were going to close down the Cracker Barrel,” he shouted through the rain to the floaters.

  They stood and stared. “Zombies,” he said. “Somebody has turned all these old folks into zombies.”

  As Jones neared the door he heard a commotion around the side of the building, near the dumpster. He stuck his head around the corner and saw Stinky addressing the clowder of cats that had now stopped fornicating and were sitting in the pouring rain, staring at him with wide staring eyes. Their fur was sodden and matted to their bodies. It appeared as though Stinky was meowing some kind of commands to the rapt beasts.

  Cats don’t stand in the rain like that, he thought, they hate water. What the hell is that feline up to now?

  “I think you got zombies in your pool,” Jones informed Roland as he stepped up to the bar, shaking the rain out of his hair.

  Dee Dee, cutting fish at the sushi table, picked up on the word zombies and pricked up her ears, trying to hear what the man was saying.

  “Zombies?” Roland stepped over to where the deputy had taken a seat on a bar stool. “You mean those old geezers? They’re old and kind of slow.”

  “Well, they’re standing there in the rain and staring and I tried to get them to talk but they won’t say a word.”

  Dee Dee thought quickly, “It’s the initiation,” she said to Jones as she approached the bar.

  “Initiation?” Jones said.

  “Yeah, they just joined the ‘Federation of Silent Snowbird Inanimate Loungers.’ It’s kind of an offshoot of the Grey Panthers.”

  “FOSSIL?” Jones said.

  “Sure … it has something to do with migrating south in the winter, and as part of the initiation they all take a vow of silence. They can’t talk for a week.”

  “Uh huh,” Jones said. Dee Dee’s explanation sounded dubious but he was here to investigate the strange toxins found in Rebel Buford and Dutch Lewis. He would look into the folks in the pool in due time.

  “What do you know about Rebel Buford and Dutch Lewis?” Jones said to Roland. “Rebel stayed here before he raced in Daytona, right? And I believe Dutch stayed here the night before the fight in Tampa?”

  “Yeah, they both stayed here. Rebel was a nice guy, had a couple of drinks at the bar, ate dinner. Then he wasn’t feeling well, so Dee Dee helped him to his room.”

  “And Dutch?” Jones said.

  “He had a couple of drinks at the bar and dinner and wasn’t feeling so good, so Dee Dee helped him to his room.”

  “Was that the last time you saw either of those men?” asked Jones.

  “Uh …well,” Roland said, “I saw them when they left the bar with Dee Dee and I saw them when they checked out the next day. I did see Rebel blow up on television and I saw Dutch get beat on Pay-per-View. Come to think of it,” Roland cocked his head seeing the connection, “Dee Dee went to the race in Daytona and she was at that fight.”

  The common denominator, thought Jones. “Did either of these men seem different when they checked out from when they checked in?”

  “Well, yeah, now that I think about it,” Roland said, “both of them seemed a lot more relaxed, more subdued when they checked out, not very talkative, sort of stared off into space. I just figured staying by the Gulf relaxed them. The waves do that. Those folks in the pool are probably just relaxed too.”

  As Dee Dee moved away from the bar, the Deputy reached out and touched her arm. “I understand you were with both Rebel Buford and Dutch Lewis the day before each had a serious accident. You were at the racetrack in Daytona and the boxing arena in Tampa. What was your relationship with each of these men?”

  “I can’t talk right now and we’re closing soon. So why don’t you come back another time.” She turned and looked over at the rodeo rider who was looking kind of green.

  Turning back to the deputy, De
e Dee saw Cutter peeking out of the kitchen door. Before Jones could object, she said, “Excuse me, I think something’s burning in the kitchen,” and pulled away from him. She made a bee-line into the kitchen, letting the door swing closed as she slipped through.

  “That Deputy is at the bar,” Dee Dee whispered to Cutter as he dropped a basket of battered, blue ring octopus calamari into the deep fat fryer. “He’s asking a lot of questions about Rebel and Dutch.”

  “Stay cool,” Cutter said. “He’s just fishing, he can’t prove anything.”

  “What about the bull rider?” Dee Dee said. “He’s already got enough fugu in him to zombie-ize ten people.”

  “He’ll have to wait until the cop leaves,” Cutter said. “See if you can get rid of him.”

  When Dee Dee emerged from the kitchen, Jones approached her again, “Look,” he said, “you can either talk to me now or we can talk down at the police station.”

  “What do you want to know?” Dee Dee looked sideways at the rodeo rider who was swaying in his seat. His head was dipping low toward his plate.

  “I know a little about voodoo, zombies and such,” Jones said. “I believe someone turned the folks in the pool into zombies. I also think the same someone turned Rebel Buford and Dutch Lewis into zombies and, since you were the last one to see either of those men alone, you’re my primary suspect.”

  Over Jones’s shoulder Dee Dee saw Hussey stroll into the bar. “You have the wrong girl,” Dee Dee told Jones loudly. “But I think I know who did it. Excuse me a minute.”

  Dee Dee slipped around Jones and stalked over to Hussey. She grabbed Hussey by the shoulder and brought her over to where Jones was standing. As Dee Dee spun Hussey to face Jones with her left hand, she slipped the vial of voodoo powder into Hussey’s pocket with the right.

  “This is the woman you want sheriff,” said Dee Dee, pushing Hussey toward the sheriff. “I saw her slip some strange powder in both of those men’s drinks and I saw her slip the same stuff in the drinks she served those folks in the pool. If you don’t believe me you can ask Cutter. He’s in the kitchen. He saw her do it, too.”

  Cutter was listening to the conversation through a crack in the kitchen door. “It was Hussey alright,” he said as he stepped out from the kitchen. “I saw her give that voodoo powder to Rebel and Dutch and turn them into zombies and she made money betting on them too. You can check her bank account. You’ll see that she made a deposit right after the Daytona race.”

  Hussey stared at him in shock. “What the hell are you talking about?” she screamed at Cutter.

  “I told you it was wrong when you did it,” Cutter shook his head.

  “I bet she has voodoo powder in her pocket right now,” Dee Dee said.

  “Could I ask you to empty your pockets please,” Jones said to Hussey.

  “These people are lying, Deputy. I don’t know what’s going on here but I didn’t even know the boxer and as for the folks in the pool, I have no clue what happened to them.”

  “What about Rebel Buford?” Jones said.

  Hussey looked guilty and shuffled her feet.

  “Your pockets please,” insisted Jones.

  Hussey reached into her left apron pocket and retrieved the vial of voodoo powder. Both Jones and Hussey stared at the vial of powder.

  “I don’t know how that got there officer,” Hussey said.

  “I’ve heard it all before. Hussey Paine,” Jones said, removing a pair of handcuffs from his belt and snapping them onto Hussey’s wrist, “I’m arresting you for voodoo in the first degree.”

  “What’s going on?” Roland came around the bar and saw Hussey in handcuffs.

  “She’s being arrested for making zombies,” Jones said to Roland. “She had this on her.” Jones held out the vial of voodoo powder he had liberated from Hussey.

  “That doesn’t necessarily prove—”

  “Roland, I can explain,” Hussey said.

  “Explain at the station,” Jones said.

  “Let me get my keys and I’ll follow you to the station,” Roland told Jones. To Hussey he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of this.”

  “No point in hurrying,” Jones said. “It’ll take me a while to get her processed and booked, and the judge won’t set bail until tomorrow. Your best bet is to stay here and see if you can find her a good lawyer.”

  As Roland stood in the middle of the lounge feeling useless, Jones took Hussey by the arm and escorted her out to his cruiser.

  When Jones had hauled Hussey away, Dee Dee sprinted over to the bull rider who was face down in his food, blowing little bubbles through his entrée. He was groaning and twitching.

  “Help me get him upstairs,” Dee Dee ordered Cutter. Each took an arm and dragged Clint out of the bar.

  “What now?” Roland said as they dragged Clint past the bar.

  “Got another one not feeling well, must be the sushi,” Dee Dee said.

  As they left the bar, Dee Dee turned to Cutter. “I wasn’t sure you were going to back me up back there. I know how you feel about Hussey.”

  “I guess it was like the old saying,” Cutter said, “you got two doors and you have to choose one. And you either get the lion or the tiger.”

  “That’s the lady or the tiger,” Dee Dee said.

  “Yeah,” said Cutter, shaking his head, “I figure either way I was fucked.”

  As the voodoo duo was helping Clint out the door, another man, carrying a duffle bag, entered the bar. He noticed the pretty girl and the young man on either side of Clint appeared to be holding him up. He strolled over to the bar and hopped up on a bar stool.

  “Where are those two taking Clint?” he said to Roland, who was thumbing through the yellow pages, looking for a lawyer who specialized in voodoo.

  “He wasn’t feeling too good so they are helping him to his room,” Roland said. He moved his finger down the list of attorneys. “It tends to happen around here a lot.”

  “How about a beer?” the man said to Roland.

  “Sure.” Roland turned away from the yellow pages, grabbed a frosted mug from the bar fridge and filled it from the tap. As he placed the mug on the bar in front of the man, he said “I haven’t seen you around here before. Tourist?”

  “I’m with the rodeo,” said the man. “I’m a rodeo clown. I knew my friend Clint was coming here so I figured I’d stop by and surprise him.”

  “He’s in room 204,” Roland said. “The sushi chef and cook are helping him to his room. Have a beer while they settle him in, then you can go up and surprise him.”

  “I just might do that.” A toxic grin spread across Cowpie’s face as he headed for the door.

  The storm had cleared, and steam was rising from the puddles as the brutal Florida sun had returned with a vengeance. The moist, tropical air was cloying. It glued Dee Dee and Cutter’s clothes to their skin as they dragged the rodeo rider past the pool. Dee Dee glanced at the floaters then widened her gaze to the area around the pool and her mouth dropped open.

  The old folks were standing in the pool, staring at the gulf as usual, but now there were about a couple of dozen soaked pussies sitting around the pool staring at Stinky who sat on a pool chair licking his paws and smiling. Dee Dee met Stinky’s glowing green eyes as he turned toward her. They exchanged the knowing looks of fellow travelers.

  “I have my minions now too,” purred Stinky, “I used your magic powder to create my own legion of zombies and soon my army will grow strong and multitudes of cats will take over this puny planet. I will be a god again.”

  “Let’s take Clint over to that deck chair,” Dee Dee instructed Cutter as she and Cutter dragged the rodeo rider across the pool deck and dropped him into a chair. “I have to get these folks out of the pool. The rain has made them more pruney than usual.”

  “It’s time to go in,” Dee Dee said to the floaters. “I guess you folks missed the early bird. Go and eat something and then go to your rooms. You can come back to the pool later.”
r />   The pool zombies crawled out of the water, leaving their floating noodles adrift and trudged en mass toward the parking lot.

  “Hey,” Dee Dee shouted. “Go to your rooms and change first!”

  The pod of geriatric, living dead turned as one and headed toward their rooms.

  Damn, thought Dee Dee, care and feeding of zombies might be tougher than I thought. Aloud she said to Cutter, “Let’s get this guy to his room.”

  “Oh shit,” Dee Dee said when Clint was splayed on to the bed, “I planted the vial of zombie powder on Hussey. We don’t have any more zombie powder. You go and get the master key from the front desk, then go to Hussey’s room and see if she’s got some more in her doctor’s bag.”

  “What if she catches me?”

  “She’s in jail, remember,” Dee De said.

  Cutter looked past the registration desk into the bar to make sure Roland was busy making drinks. Making sure Roland was distracted, talking to a man at the bar, he snatched up the master key from the front desk and headed for Hussey’s room. He let himself in and found her doctor’s valise in the closet. Opening the bag, he began examining vials of powders and liquids until he found a purple vial that looked like the same voodoo powder he had stolen before. Stuffing the vial into his pocket he ran back to Clint’s room.

  “Are you sure this is the right stuff?” Dee Dee held the vial up to the light.

  “Yeah,” Cutter said, “it’s the same color; it’s the same stuff.”

  “All right,” Dee Dee said, “I guess it’s the same stuff. Mix a little in water and hand it over.”

  Cutter retrieved a paper-capped glass from the dresser, filled it about half full from the tap, and sprinkled some of the powder into the glass. The powder turned the water milky lavender. He passed the glass to Dee Dee, who examined it.