Bob Fingerman: Pariah

No lock on the entrance door, of course. He opened it and peeked out. The zombies still hadn’t made the mezzanine. There’s got to be a way out of here. Think . But without a floor plan it was just guesswork. The first wave of zombies had made it to the landing. Karl couldn’t see them yet, but he heard them shuffling, moaning, exuding pure need. Did they scent him, like hounds at the hunt? Maybe his odor was masked by the stink of char. His only option was the stall with the bolt lock. If he perched on the toilet and was very quiet, maybe they wouldn’t find him. Cripes . The moans were hungry. Purposeful. Oh Jesus . It sounded like there were a lot of them.

Tons.

Tons.

With a thunderous crash a large portion of the charred floor gave way.

It’s raining zombies. Hallelujah .

____________________

“Hey, Eddie,” Alan shouted across the roofs. “Can I tear you away from that for a minute?”

Eddie glared over at Zotz, then refocused on the struggler on his line. “The fuck do you want? Can’tcha see I’m busy?”

Alan approached with caution, staying one full rooftop away.

“Yeah, I can see that you’re busy, but this is important.”

“It’d better be,” Eddie snapped, cutting the line as it dipped. Stripped to the waist and glistening, Eddie strutted over to Alan. “The Comet hates letting little fishies get away, capisce ?”

“Yeah. Look, Karl’s stranded at the Barnes and Noble on Eighty-sixth, between Second and Third. You wanna go, maybe help him out? According to Mona, he’s kind of busted up.”

“Figures,” Eddie sneered. “Send a twerp out to do a man’s work, this is what you get.”

“You’re all heart,” Alan said, involuntarily flinching in preparation for retaliation.

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it,” Eddie said, removing his bandana and mopping his forehead. “Karl wasn’t eaten or some shit like that, right? How was he busted up?”

“He fell through a hole in the floor.”

Eddie laughed. “Fuckin’ testa di merda . So he wasn’t chawed on? Just his own stupidity got his ass broke? Figures. So, was it Mona kept him safe, or the drugs?”

“I dunno. All I know is what she told me, and she’s a woman of few words.”

“I heard that. This is good. I wanna put my theory to the test, know what I’m saying? Fuck yeah. I’ll play hero with Tuesday Addams.”

“Tuesday Addams?”

“Yeah, the bitch from The Munsters. Christina Ricci played her in the movie, before her titties blew up.”

“Oh, that Tuesday Addams,” Alan said, thinking, it’s Wednesday, you fucking moron. From The Addams Family? Hello? “ Mazel tov . I’ll go tell her.”

Fuckin’ Jew , Eddie thought as Alan headed back downstairs.

“ The Munsters ,” Alan groused. “Christ, I hope they eat that asshole.”

“You ready?” Alan asked the ever-more Rambo-like Eddie Tommasi.

“I was born ready,” Eddie said, eliciting smirks from Alan and Ellen. We know something you don’t know their internal singsong rejoinder.

Still shirtless, but now wearing urban camouflage pants and jump boots, Eddie dropped onto the roof of the DABNEY LOCKSMITH & ALARM van, his posture that of the stalwart hero of every action/adventure movie lensed from the eighties on up: knees bent, arms out and bent at the elbows, large hunting knife in hand. He even wore fingerless gloves.

Dave was too distraught to see Eddie off. Instead, feeling like an emotional coward, he sequestered himself in his apartment where he cried and began to drink heavily. Although Dabney had shared Dave’s current mindset when Karl set out, he very much wanted to witness Eddie’s departure. If the bastard returned a hero, so much the better, but if he were to get devoured right out of the gate, Dabney didn’t want to miss a single ligament-shredding second of it. “Good luck,” he murmured, toasting with a tumbler of bourbon. He mostly meant it, if only to ensure Karl’s safe return.

Once again, Mona created a clearing, then gestured for her companion to follow. With a defiant just-try-to-eat-me thud, Eddie dropped to the asphalt and glared roundly at the frothing skinbags. G’wan , he motioned, chin jutting. Wanna piece o’ me? C’mon. Nothing doing. Buoyed by their reluctance to encroach, Eddie stepped forward, following Mona’s pert, round behind. How long would he follow? Could he take the lead? He felt pumped. Even more pumped than on the roof. This was a major rush. Major.

Flanked by resentful spectators, the duo soldiered west on the main drag, their progress greeted by hissing and keening. Mona didn’t look back, just straight ahead toward their destination. Eddie didn’t care. She was nothing to talk to. He’d rather divide his focus between the crowd and the cleft of Mona’s ample, perfectly round butt. The seam of her pants emphasized the division between the cheeks. Oh yeah. Betwixt those orbs was pure, sweet honey. How many months had he wasted between Mallon’s flat Irish loaves? Mallon. Dave. His pasty potato-eatin’ keister, two slabs of lightly pimpled pancake, white as Wonder bread but not nearly as appetizing.

“So, you think Peewee is still alive?” Eddie said, breaking the silence.

“Huh?”

“Karl. You think he’s still alive?”

“Dunno.”

“He was getting’ kinda weird, there, clutchin’ that Bible kinda tight. You’d of thunk maybe he had God on his side. But maybe not.”

“Dunno.”

Dunno. Pfff. Always a pleasure talking to Mona . “You ever see that Ten Commandments movie? ‘ Mmmyaaah , where’s yuh messiah, now, see ?’ That shit’s funny, right? That’s what I’m gonna say to Karl when we catch up with him. All this …” Eddie gestured at the zombies, not that Mona saw, and continued, “I used to go to church, right? I mean, c’mon. Italian from Bensonhurst? Of course I’m Catholic to the bone, because of my moms. But this shit?” Another nod to the undead. “Who could believe in God? So I wanna ask Karl, where’s his messiah now?”

Nothing. No reply.

“What? You into God, too? Sorry to offend.”

“I’m not.”

“Not sorry or not offended?”

“I don’t believe in God.”

Even though they were in agreement, for some reason her response annoyed him. She probably never believed. It’s one thing to lose faith; it’s another never to have had it in the first place. That was kind of arrogant. Eddie didn’t believe in God, but atheists were assholes. Just as smug as born-agains, but colder. Like they were better than everyone else. Better not to talk. Better to just scope that pear-shaped ass. With each footfall one buttock would jiggle, then the other. It was hypnotic. As he allowed himself to be transfixed by Mona’s tush, Eddie started humming, then quietly singing, “ I see you baby, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass …” Eddie used to dance like crazy to that song. He’d hit the clubs, make with the gyrations and then bring a hottie or two home for some pelvic mayhem. The more focused his reminiscences the louder his singing.

“ I see you baby, shakin’ that ass, shakin’ that ass…”

“What?” Mona stopped walking and turned to face Eddie.

Woolgathering over, Eddie stared back into Mona’s fish eye.

“Nothin’,” he said. “Just singin’. Remember that one?” Mona shook her head. “It’s a good one. Groove Armada. That’s whose song it was. Yeah. I used to get kinda nice to that shit.”

Mona turned away and they resumed their trek. The second her back was turned Eddie stuck out his tongue, then embellished the gesture by flicking it back and forth between his splayed middle and index fingers. He’d never been big on cunnilingus, but he wouldn’t mind noshing on the delicacies in Mona’s undies. Not undies. Panties. Maybe she wore a thong. Oh shit . Or a G-string. Daaaamn . Eddie didn’t care. It was all good. And that ass. That fuckin’ ass. As they trudged on, slowly, deliberately, he felt the insistent surge of blood into his groin. Yeah. Like Moses’s fuckin’ staff.