John Ringo - Under a Graveyard Sky

“This place is good, trust me,” Tom said. The traffic wasn’t that heavy, but the car was still having trouble making its way. More and more double parked cars were turning up abandoned on the streets. And the Streets Department couldn’t get them cleared fast enough. Apparently, people tended to not only strip but bail out of the cars when they went zombie. At least most did. Some just flipped too fast and ended up crashing. “And it’s still open.”

“Trust me like ‘Trust me you won’t get bitten by a zombie?’” Faith asked.

“Not fair, Faith,” Sophia said.

“Sorry, Uncle Tom,” Faith said. “That wasn’t fair. Especially after all the crap I got into on my own.” She stroked the Saiga she was toting and grinned. “But this time I’m fully prepared.”

“I’m a big guy,” Tom said, grinning back. “And if you use that you’d better make damned sure you only hit your primary target and that you have a valid target.”

“In other words,” Steve said, “ don’t use it. Your ID won’t hold up under scrutiny.”

“Spoil sports,” Faith said. “Truth is, I don’t want to take a shot. I’m still too woozy. But it’s a nice security blanket.”

“I hope you told them that they’re hosting ‘contractors,’” Stacey said.

“I did,” Tom said. “There were some issues to work out but it’s all good.”

“They didn’t want people with guns?” Sophia asked. She was in body armor and full covering but had settled for just a pistol and taser. Pistol on the right thigh, taser on the left.

“The restaurant is popular with a certain crowd,” Tom said. “The owner was twitchy because he didn’t want them getting…riled.”

“We’re here, sir,” Durante said as the limo pulled up to an unpretentious brownstone building on the upper east side.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Faith said, opening the door and stepping out.

“You’re supposed to let Durante do that,” Sophia said. “You’re never going to figure out how to make an entrance, are you?”

“Let me clear the way, first, Faith,” Durante said, holding out his hand. He strode towards the door, checking side to side for threats as the driver stepped out and covered the street side.

“The good ones rarely do,” Tom said. He was wearing just a business suit. Of course, he was also carrying under the suit. “Truth is this place is sort of used to this sort of arrival. Just not as openly armed.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “ That sort of crowd.”

“ What sort of crowd?” Faith asked, looking around.

“Mr. Smith!” the speaker was a short, rotund fellow with a thick Sicilian accent. “It is good to see you again!”

“Mr. Fattore,” Tom said, nodding. “I hope this isn’t a bother.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Fattore said. “We shall feel very secure, yes? Come in, come in.”

He ushered Tom, Sophia, Steve and Stacey into the restaurant like royalty. The restaurant was long but fairly narrow with booths down the right side and tables filling the middle. It was also surprisingly crowded. The conversation muted for a moment when Faith and Durante entered, then it picked back up.

“For you and you friends,” Mr. Fattore said, gesturing to a booth at the rear.

Faith found herself blocked in getting to the booth.

“Hem, hem,” Faith said.

“You is sitting at the table,” Fattore said in a whisper. There was an empty table by the booth which would only take four anyway. He clearly wondered why he had to explain.

“I’ll take the table,” Tom said, grinning. “This night out was Faith’s idea.”

“We can squeeze up,” Stacey said. “You and Faith on that side.”

“Works,” Tom said, then looked at Faith. “I don’t do inside.”

“ I’m the one with all the guns,” Faith pointed out. “I’m not sure I can slide in.”

“Gimme the Saiga, Faith,” Durante said.

“But what if somebody zombies?” Faith said, clutching it to her chest. “I’m really serious. I am not going through that again unarmed.”

“And I’m really serious that it’s my job to take care of it,” Durante said, holding out his hand. “Saiga. Then you can fit in the booth.”

“Okay,” Faith said, unclipping the semi-automatic, magazine-fed shotgun and handing it over. “But I’m totally hanging onto the pistols.” She had three. One in a fast rig and two on chest rigs. She was also, at Tom’s insistence, carrying a dual-fire taser X26 and spare cartridges. Since all those, in her opinion, might need refueling she was also carrying more ammo than Durante.

“You can hang onto the pistols,” Tom said. “Now slide in.”

“Smells good,” Stacey said, looking at the menu. It had been printed on paper and clearly was “this is what we could get today.” “What do you recommend?”

“Anything,” Tom said. “It’s all good. I usually get the Frutti di Mare.”

“I’m not sure I’d trust seafood in these conditions,” Steve said. “Supply chain is getting totally screwed up.”

“I think you can trust it,” Tom said. “He’s got pretty good suppliers.”

“I want appetizers,” Faith said. “And…stuff. I don’t even know what to order. All I ever get is spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Don’t get greedy,” Steve said.

“Let her,” Tom said. “It’s on expense account. And the money’s just going to turn to electronic trash. The meatballs are to die for.”

“How long?” Stacey asked.

“Depends on the model you look at,” Tom said. “If we’re going to enjoy a night on the town, better make it tonight is all I can really say. Don’t ask me about tomorrow night. Pretty much it things will continue limping along and then they’ll stop. When the tipping point hits, it will cascade fast.”

“Can we talk about something other than the end of civilization tonight?” Sophia said.

“How bout something interesting and peripheral?” Tom said. “They’re quietly evacuating all the major art museums to an ‘undisclosed’ remote site. Basically, even if things fall apart completely, they’ll have saved all the big artworks. Ditto classic manuscripts.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Stacey said. “I’d hate to see Titians burn.”

“What about stuff in private collections?” Steve asked.

“Not sure,” Tom said. “I guess if they find out and turn them in for protection, I don’t see the Museum of Art turning down a Van Gogh. Most of those ‘private collections’ tend to be associated with big corporations. And most of them have remote jump sites. We’ve already been doing that for the Board and the Corporation. I’m not sure if they’ll hold. Heck, I don’t know if the museum remote site will hold.” He shrugged.

“How’s your plan?” Faith asked.

“Solid,” Tom said. “Thanks in good part to Sophia. This is on expense report because of what you’ve been doing, not Faith by the way.”

“Well thanks a lot,” Faith said. “All I did was stop zombies from taking over you building and nearly die doing it!”

“That, too,” Tom said. “Just twitting you. Dr. Bateman said he appreciated both your efforts.”

“Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked.

* * *

“I don’t know what most of these are,” Faith said, looking at the load of appetizers. Tom had basically ordered one of everything on the appetizer menu.

“This is great,” Sophia said. “What is it?”

“Squid in ink,” Tom said.

“Oh, gross,” Faith said, setting the piece down.

“Try it,” Steve said. “Just a bite.”

“I’m not six,” Faith said, taking a bite. “Okay, it is good. I hate the texture though.”