Part 69: The Previous Night.
“I’m not going anywhere without a fight,” I whisper, pressing the muzzle of the gun to Zombie's cheek. “You might want to call this off.” Zombie’s eyes show now recognition.
“Wait in here, please,” Zombie says motioning the door again.
I holster my weapon and do as I’m told . He closes the door behind us. I look for any possibility of escape. Nothing but a desk beneath an vent-sized window. Zombie leans against the door, eyes fixed on me as I circumvent the desk and sit.
“Is this an old restroom?” I ask. “Did you convert a restroom for your office?” The pipes from sink and urinal still protrude from the wall. The phone sits to the side of his desk, receiver still nestled comfortably in the cradle. “Who’s coming for me?” I ask nonchalantly, picking up the receiver and looking it over. A dial tone reveals the set-up.
“Quiet please,” Zombie rumbles.
I shake my head. “I’m going to shoot up your bar really bad. You know that, right?”
He stares at me.
“This is going to be ugly.” I put the phone down.
Zombie stares at me.
Someone knocks on the other side of the door. Zombie’s eyebrows raise and he starts to turn, but groans and falls to the sound of a nail driven through wood. A small bullet wound is between Zombie’s shoulder blades, and a hole in the door about an inch wide. Blood spatter covers the broken door.
A figure in a black hoodie enters. It's St. Eva enters and the smoking gun is in her hand. She licks her lips. “You’ve got a big mouth,” she says We kiss and paw at each other’s backs before I push her away.
“You stole my notebook!” I stop short and take a step backward.
It’s tucked in her leather pants under the hoodie. She tosses it on the desk.
“Nepotism says he’ll kill you if you read it.”
“You’re writing an episode about cave men that built great cities. “Is that what you do in your spare time?’” She circles the desk and stands behind me, blocking me with her knee when I try and swivel. It’s a rare trait to go from entirely nude to completely covered and become sexier. No one does it like Eva Lorraine.
“We fought a Scrubber at you’re house, and it was already trashed when Nepotism arrived.”
“You have no idea who eradicated my furniture with shotgun blasts and automatic gunfire?”
“I may have seen some of that occur.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder and presses her groin against my leg. “I trashed that house,” she said. “I wanted you to think I was dead.”
“We fought a Scrubber!” I say. “It was there! It looked like Jack Kerouac!”
Eva puts her black leather gloves on my shoulders. “I’ve got a job for you.”
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