The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel Page 20

  “Then, two years later, I had become pregnant with Alessandra.”

  “Checkmate.”

  “This kept her at bay for a while. She didn’t like it, but she had no choice. Then she started having falling episodes while she was alone in her house. Mario would go to visit, and she had black and blue marks on her legs and arms.

  “When he spoke to her, she was forgetting things. I told him she was probably doing it for attention, but he didn’t think so. He said you couldn’t argue with the bruises.”

  Billy took a swig of his beer. “You don’t think she was crazy enough to give herself the bruises, do you?”

  “Crazy, no. Motivated, yes. She saw how he reacted, getting upset and fawning all over her. She saw the opportunity. She started playing the frail old lady, poor old Mama Sophia. “

  “Holy shit. This lady’s twisted.”

  “Billy, you have no idea. Soon, Mario was spending less and less time with me and the kids and more and more time checking on Mama Sophia.”

  “So, what’d you do?”

  “I told him I saw what was happening. That she was manipulating him to get back at me. And then it happened, what I was dreading was coming.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He told her he wanted her to move in. None of the other family wanted anything to do with her, and for good reason. He said it was his responsibility as her eldest son.”

  “So what did you say?”

  “I told him that our house was too small. That didn’t work. I told him that it would be too much work. Mario had the balls to suggest that I stay home from the store to take care of her.”

  “Some fucking nerve,” said Billy, ever the sympathetic ear.

  “I told him to forget it. No fucking way.”

  “Two more beers, Joe,” Billy called to the bartender, pointing at their almost empty glasses.

  Marie was so caught up in her story, a runaway freight train fueled by outrage and bitterness, she didn’t protest. “Besides, in the off-season I was committed to my father’s restaurant. So, Mario said he’d take care of her.”

  “So, did he?”

  “I told him that if she set foot in our house, I’d divorce him and take the children.”

  “Good for you.” He slid a twenty across the bar as the bartender replaced their pints. “Did it work?”

  “Damned right, it did. He pissed and moaned about it to the bitter end, but he caved in. I even helped him find a nice nursing home to put her in. As nice as those places come, anyway.”

  “Wow. That was easy.”

  “Not really. He was bitter about it, and it came up in every argument, how I made him put his poor mother in a home.”

  “I bet she didn’t go quietly,” Billy snorted.

  “She didn’t, but she had played up the whole senility angle so much that even Mario started to think it was a good idea. She had committed to that role, and there was no going back then.”

  “Do you really think she was faking it?”

  “Definitely at first. Then, after a while, it was tough to tell. In the end, it really didn’t matter.”

  “She must hate your fucking guts.”

  “You have no idea. And now she’s sitting in the middle of my living room on my couch with my husband.”

  “Jesus, Marie. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing I can do. I’ve had the upper hand for a while. Now it’s her turn, I guess.”

  “Hey, maybe she’ll croak soon, and it’ll be problem solved.”

  “Nah. Old Italian bitches like her live on piss and vinegar. Flowers die, weeds fade, you know?”

  “What if she were to have an accident?”

  “Not with Mario around hovering over her every move, watching her like a hawk.”

  Billy paused, his look insistent, as if he wanted his words to hang in the air until Marie understood his implication.

  She did. “Oh, come on, Billy. I’m not going to jail over this bitch.”

  “I’m not saying you should. I was just thinking out loud.”

  “Well, think to yourself from now on.”

  “Is she medically healthy?”

  “Billy. Enough.”

  “Heart condition? Anything like that?”

  “She does have a heart condition, and high blood pressure. So what?”

  “So, maybe switch her pills or something.”

  “Billy, I’m not comfortable with this conversation. As a matter of fact, I think I’ve outstayed my welcome.” Marie stood. “Thanks for the beers. I shouldn’t have come.”

  He stood and stuck his arms out, pleading. “Oh, don’t be like that, Marie. I was only kidding. You know that.”

  “You know, for a second I thought you were just being nice for once in your life.”

  “Jesus, Marie. What’d I do? I’m on your side. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

  The abrupt change of topic to murder left Marie with a bad taste in her mouth, but the stirring in her nether regions didn’t allow her to stay angry for too long. “Apology accepted. I have to get back so I can start to prepare dinner for the dragon lady.”

  “Anytime you want to talk, I’m here for you, Marie. Anytime.”

  “Gee thanks, Billy. You’re a true gentleman.”

  “Don’t say that too loud. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

  “I’m outta here.” Marie walked to the back of the bar. She rounded the side-by-side basketball hoop shooting game and passed a change machine. She walked a small corridor and pushed open a door that read ‘Ladies’ across from the one that read ‘Gentlemen.’

  She pushed the stall door open and began to pull long swaths of toilet paper from the dispenser. She placed them neatly on the toilet seat, creating a barrier, pulled down her long beach skirt and panties, and plopped down to take a quick tinkle.

  When she finished, she pulled up her skirt and panties, washed her hands, and looked herself over in the dirty mirror. A gnat buzzed about her face, and she shooed it away absent-mindedly with her hand. She wondered if she was indeed capable of murder. She figured most people were under the right circumstances.

  One thing was for damn sure—she would protect her family at all costs.

  She pulled open the door and bumped straight into Billy. He immediately blocked her path in the short corridor by putting his left hand up on the wall.

  “Billy, what are you doing?”

  His right hand was all over her. It drifted from her shoulder, down her side, and onto her hip.

  “Billy, don’t.”

  He grinned and pulled her close so that their pelvises were pressed together. “C’mon, Marie.”

  “Billy, no.” She pushed him away.

  He pulled her close again, his hot beer breath wafting into her mouth. She tasted the skunk.

  “C’mon, baby. I know why you’re in here with me instead of with that shit-show you call a husband at home.”

  “No, Billy. You’ve got the wrong idea.”

  He pressed her against the wall with his body weight. His body was lean and hard against her soft curves. “Do I?”

  He kissed her.

  At first, her body went limp. His wet tongue probed her mouth, and she felt his erection through his shorts. She turned her head, and their lips parted with a wet smacking sound.

  “You hesitated,” he said in her right ear as his right hand slipped over her skirt and rubbed between her legs. His experienced fingers knew exactly where to go. This wasn’t Billy’s first rodeo.

  “Billy, stop it. I mean it.” She prayed someone in the bar heard her, but the music was very loud. She prayed someone else had to use the bathroom.

  His hand rubbed faster, pressing harder. She writhed against it as she squirmed to break free. “C’mon, Marie. You know you want it,” he breathed into her ear, reeking of tobacco and sweat.

  “Billy, No!”

  He pulled her hair to the side and sniffed her neck, inhaling the stench of her sweat, getting off on her fe
ar that radiated off of her in waves.

  “Mario’ll kill you.”

  “He’s at home with his mama. He don’t care about you, sweetness. Not like I do.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  “Funny, how you haven’t yet.”

  “I will. I’ll do it.”

  Billy backed away from her, hands in the air. “As you wish, honey.”

  Marie bared her teeth like a cornered animal and slapped him. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me. EVER.”

  Billy wiped his hands on the sides of his shorts. “Marie, you’re a drag.”

  She raised her hand to slap him again, but this time he caught it. He squeezed her fingers together until it hurt. “First one’s free, sugar. I wouldn’t push your luck.”

  This time, Marie got up in his face, seething with hatred. Hatred for Billy and hatred for herself for playing a dangerous game with a low-life predator like Billy Blake. “One of these days you’re going to get yours, Billy.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Billy squeezed her fingers so hard she wanted to scream, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  A tear ran down her cheek. “One of these days, Billy, someone’s gonna fuck you up.”

  They stared each other down as some hard rock song blared in the background. Finally, a man—a Benny—came walking down the short corridor. He paused when he saw Billy and Marie staring at each other. He saw that Billy was holding her hand. “Excuse me,” he said sheepishly, not wanting to get in the middle of a lover’s quarrel.

  Billy released Marie’s hand. “You forgot your tunes.” He shoved Marie’s MP3 and earbuds into her hand, and she stormed off back to the bar. Billy shrugged his shoulders. “Women.”

  The Benny chuckled and pushed his way into the men’s room. Billy sniffed the fingers of his right hand and smiled.

  Marie left the Jolly Roger with a light buzz, more from the adrenaline coursing through her veins than the alcohol. She popped her earbuds back in and stalked back to her little bungalow to make the pasta and gravy.

  As she approached the house, the buzz was killed by a new sense of dread that grew inside her as she walked up the path to the front door. She didn’t know which was worse—Billy Blake’s unwelcome advances or Mama Sophia taking over her family like a damned virus.

  She saw Mama Sophia on the couch peek at her through the bay window. Marie opened the front door and passed by the living room, walking straight into the kitchen.

  “That was some walk,” said Mario. He came over to her and kissed her on the mouth. He grimaced at the taste. “Is that beer?”

  “I grabbed one on the way back.”

  Mario was perplexed by this. “Jesus, hon, in the middle of the day?”

  “It’s been a busy day, and I just needed a beer. Is that okay with you? I didn’t think I needed your permission.”

  Mario was flummoxed by her irritation. “No, Marie. It’s fine.”

  “You go be with Mama Sophia. I’m going to start dinner.”

  “Sure…okay.”

  As Marie washed her hands in the kitchen sink, she looked over into the living room. Mama Sophia was wagging her finger in a tsk tsk gesture. Marie scrubbed her hands furiously, like she was prepping for surgery. She was washing Billy off of her, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, there was the residue of guilt.

  Mama Sophia shook her head in disapproval, as if she knew what had just transpired.

  Marie was ready for war. She fought off one asshole, and now she was ready to fight off another.

  Marie looked Mama Sophia in the eye and nodded.

  Game on, bitch. Game on.

  * * *

  “Are you going to take your son to see the clowns tomorrow?” asked Lenny. He took a bite of his pizza. This time it wasn’t Marco’s. It was Taste of Italy.

  “Yeah, I think so,” said Tara. “I hear there’s a whole parade and everything.”

  “It’s a big celebration. I go every year.”

  “With your mother?”

  Lenny winced at the word. He shook his head, but Tara knew it wasn’t in answer to her question. It was her usage of the title.

  “She is your mother, Lenny.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “Well, as far as I know, you weren’t hatched from an egg.”

  Lenny looked confused at the expression.

  “Lenny, you can be an adult, and she still be your mother.”

  “She doesn’t treat me like an adult. She always tells me what to do.”

  “She just cares about you.”

  “She needs to stop.”

  “Lenny, all parents care about their children.”

  Lenny winced again.

  “Lenny, I care about my son.”

  “Does he like the circus?” asked Lenny, happily changing the subject.

  “We took him to one once, and he loved it. His favorite was the lion tamer.”

  Lenny grimaced. “I don’t like lions. They make me nervous.”

  “Well, they’re in cages, and they’re well trained.”

  “I like clowns better. They don’t eat people.”

  Tara took a bite of her salad (if she kept eating boardwalk pizza she was going to look like a beached whale), and washed it down with diet cola. “No, they don’t.”

  Lenny looked over Tara’s shoulder and saw Officer Joann Campbell walking down the boardwalk. She was walking with another female officer, younger than herself. A smile crept across his face, and his eyes lit up. Tara thought it was relief over the harmlessness of clowns.

  “Look, it’s Officer Joann,” he said pointing. “She’s my very special friend.”

  ‘Very’ special friend. Tara noticed the additional modifier. In fact, it was the first time she ever heard Lenny refer to anyone this way. She figured he must’ve really liked Officer Joann.

  When Tara turned in her seat to get a good look, she saw why. “Ah, I see. She’s pretty,”

  “Yes, she is,” Lenny agreed, blushing.

  As they watched, Officer Joann’s attention suddenly shifted to something or someone in front of the Frog Bog. Lenny and Tara looked to the right to see what it was.

  Tara shook her head. “Holy smokes, Lenny. Never a dull moment around here.”

  Standing in front of the Frog Bog was a twenty-something, well-muscled Townie in his boxer briefs, swatting at something in the air. His hair was drenched, and his well-inked body glistened with sweat. The guy was stoned out of his mind and hallucinating. Passersby did their best to avoid him, giving him a wide berth.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Lenny.

  “He’s probably drunk as a skunk,” explained Tara, “or high as a kite.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Probably. How do you know about drugs?”

  Lenny’s expression became serious. “Drugs are bad, Dr. Tara. They’re no good for you.”

  Tara smiled. “You’re absolutely right, Lenny.”

  Officer Joann and her partner approached, hands on their batons. The underwear man saw them coming and dashed into a clothing store. Officer Joann and her partner followed, picking up the pace but not breaking into a run, her partner speaking into her shoulder mounted radio.

  “That’s Billy’s shop!” cried Lenny. “They need my help!”

  Before Tara could say a thing, Lenny had dashed out of the pizzeria and across the boardwalk to Billy Blake’s store, his Magma Man cape flowing behind him.

  Tara almost choked on her salad. “Lenny, no! Wait!”

  She jumped up out of her seat and followed after Lenny. Christ, he was her responsibility. How would it look if her first private practice patient was hurt during one of her sessions?

  Officer Joann held her hand out as underwear man backed deeper into the clothing shop. “Sir, I’d like to have a word with you.”

  “No! No! I’m okay! Leave me alone!” shouted underwear man.

  There was a teenage clerk behind the register gawking at the sight of underwear man and the
two cops in the store. “Oh, my God.”

  A couple of customers backed away, circumventing underwear man and the cops, giving them a wide berth (as much as the store would allow).

  “I just want to talk to you,” said Joann, as Officer Anne Breslin meandered through the racks to the right, flanking him.

  Suddenly, Lenny appeared at the front of the store. “Stop it! I’m Magma Man!”

  Joann and Anne both turned in reaction to Lenny’s outburst, and it was enough of a distraction for underwear man to capitalize on.

  There was an explosion of movement as underwear man rushed Joann and shoved her out of the way, sending her crashing into a rack of Smuggler’s Bay sweatshirts.

  “You don’t hurt Officer Joann!” shouted Lenny, pointing a damning finger at the juiced up, underdressed offender.

  “Lenny, no!” cried Tara from behind him.

  Underwear man made a move to shove Lenny aside, but Lenny latched onto the man, wrapping his arms around his neck.

  Tara put her hands up to the sides of her face in horror.

  It was like trying to catch a greased pig; underwear man slid out of Lenny’s grip, but not before tripping and falling to the boardwalk.

  “You’re under arrest!” shouted Lenny, scrambling to hold onto the sweaty man.

  The wind knocked out of her, Joann gasped for air. Anne dove at him, but she too slid right off him.

  Underwear man spat curses like mad and raised his fist to strike Lenny, when a fist hit him square in the face, right between the eyes. The sweaty punk fell backward and lay sprawled out on the boardwalk.

  Billy Blake stood over him, his right hand still clenched in a fist. “Jesus, Lenny. Are you all right?”

  Joann flipped underwear man on his stomach and knelt on his neck, as Anne cuffed his hands behind his back.

  “Yes, Billy,” replied Lenny, his eyes welling up.

  Billy and Tara helped Lenny to his feet as he brushed himself off. “Y-y-you saved my life, Billy.”

  “Lenny, what were you trying to do?” admonished Billy.

  “Officer Joann needed help.”

  “I had it under control,” snapped Joann, panting, “until you interfered.”

  Lenny looked down at his feet, ashamed at being rebuked and by the lovely Officer Joann, no less.

  “Aw, c’mon, Jo. He was only trying to help,” said Billy, feeling sorry for Lenny.