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She whisked off her belt. "Are you over this 'I should be more helpful' shit yet?"
"In general, no. In this case, as you may recall, I was done with it long ago. Then you convinced me to open Pandora's casket." I walked closer, skirting the zombie in case the spell broke. "We aren't getting this guy back in that box without a fight. Even if we manage it, someone could find him, and I'll be the only council delegate who's ever had to haul her own ass before a disciplinary committee."
"Molly Crane." I stared at Sava
"You remember Molly." She looped the belt around the zombie's ankles.
"Dark witch? Your mother's contact? You sent me to her for information, she knocked me out, dragged me into the woods, tried to torture me and dump my remains in a swamp? I vaguely recall her, yes."
"So what do you think?"
"About what?"
She untwisted her scarf. "Molly would love to babysit this guy for you. Not only does she get a slave, but the bits that fall off are gold on the black market. Then, when you've found that necro, he can de-zombify this guy, preferably after Mom's back to deal with him." Again, I could only stare.
"What?" she said as she gagged the zombie with her scarf.
"Last time you saw Molly Crane you were leaving her gagged and bound."
"I didn't gag her. And she'll be over it." She knotted the scarf. "If not, then this is the perfect olive branch. She'll be happy for the excuse. I'm Eve Levine's daughter. Having me in her contact book is almost as valuable as those zombie bits. Of course, there is an alternative. We can put him in my trunk, take him to your hotel..."
"Do you still have her number?"
"Right here." She took out her BlackBerry.
Chuck/Bryon leapt from his perch, where he'd been listening. "Am I hearing this right? You're going to sell my cousin into slavery?" He strode over to me, switching to his death body for effect. "You do this, and you will regret it. You think I was bad before? That was nothing compared to what's coming. I'll haunt you every minute of every day, and there's nothing you can do about it."
"Nothing?" I said softly.
He crossed his arms. "Nothing."
I took a slow step back toward the middle of the mausoleum.
A smirk rippled his defiant scowl. "So, Red, I'd suggest you start speed-dialing those contacts of yours."
"Uh-huh." I sca
"That's right. Find a place to get comfy. It's going to be a long night."
I stopped at a casket and my gaze settled on the plaque. Byron Carruthers. "Your name's Byron, right?"
"That's what I said. And you'd better start using it. No more of this 'Chuck' shit. Got it?"
I unlatched the casket.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Just getting a look." I heaved it open. "Seems you've rotted even worse than your cousin. That's not good."
"Yeah, so?"
I retrieved my Gucci makeup bag of necromancy supplies. "Sava
She pulled the phone from her ear. "Hmm?"
"Tell Molly we have a special today. Two zombies for the price of one."
I knelt beside the casket and started the ritual.
Mr. Bear
Joe R. Lansdale
For Michelle Lansdale
Jim watched as the plane filled up. It was a pretty tightly stacked flight, but last time, coming into Houston, he had watched as every seat filled except for the one on his left and the one on his right. He had hit the jackpot that time, no row mates. That made it comfortable, having all that knee and elbow room.
He had the middle seat again, an empty seat to his left, and one to his right. He sat there hoping there would be the amazing repeat of the time before.
A couple of big guys, sweating and puffing, were moving down the aisle, and he thought, Yep, they'll be the ones. Probably one of them on either side. Shit, he'd settle for just having one seat filled, the one by the window, so he could get out on the aisle side. Easy to go to the bathroom that way, stretch your legs.
The big guys passed him by. He saw a lovely young woman carrying a straw hat making her way down the center. He thought, Someone has got to sit by me, maybe it'll be her. He could perhaps strike up a conversation. He might even find she's going where he's going, doesn't have a boyfriend. Wishful thinking, but it was a better thing to think about than big guys on either side of him, hemming him in like the center of a sandwich.
But no, she passed him by, as well. He looked up at her, hoping she'd look his way. Maybe he could get a smile at least. That would be nice.
'Course, he was a married man, so that was no way to think.
But he was thinking it. She didn't look and she didn't smile. Jim sighed, waited. The line was moving past him. There was only one customer left. A shirtless bear in dungarees and work boots, carrying a hat. The bear looked peeved, or tired, or both.
Oh shit, thought Jim. Bears—they've got to stink. All that damn fur. He passes me by, I'm going to have a seat free to myself on either side. He doesn't, well, I've got to ride next to him for several hours.
But the bear stopped in his row, pointed at the window seat. "That's my seat."
"Sure," Jim said, and moved out of the middle seat and out into the aisle to let the bear in. The bear settled in by the window and fastened his seat belt and rested his hat on his knee. Jim slid back into the middle seat. He could feel the heat off the bear's big hairy arm. And there was a smell. Nothing nasty or ripe. Just a kind of musty odor, like an old fur coat hung too long in a closet, dried blood left in a carpet, a whiff of cigarette smoke and charred wood.
Jim watched the aisle again. No one else. He could hear them closing the door. He unfastened his seat belt and moved to the seat closest to the aisle. The bear turned and looked at him. "You care I put my hat in the middle seat?"
"Not at all," Jim said.
"I get tired of keeping up with it. Thinking of taking it out of the wardrobe equation."
Suddenly it snapped. Jim knew the bear. Had seen him on TV. He was a famous environmentalist. Well, that was something. Had to sit by a musty bear, helped if he was famous. Maybe there would be something to talk about.
"Hey," the bear said, "I ask you something, and I don't want it to sound rude, but..'. can I?"
"Sure."
"I got a feeling, just from a look you gave me, you recognized me."
"I did."
"Well, I don't want to be too rude, sort of leave a fart hanging in the air, though, I might. . . deer carcass. Never agrees. But I really don't want to talk about me or what I do or who I am___And let me just be completely honest. I was so good at what I do ... well, I am good. Let me rephrase that. I was really as successful as people think, you believe I'd be riding coach? After all my years of service to the forest, it's like asking your best girl to ride bitch like she was the local poke. So I don't want to talk about it."
"I never intended to ask," Jim said. That was a lie, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
"Good. That's good," said the bear, and leaned back in his seat and put the hat on his head and pulled it down over his eyes.
For a moment Jim thought the bear had gone to sleep, but no, the bear spoke again. "Now that we've got that out of the way, you want to talk, we can talk. Don't want to, don't have to, but we can talk; just don't want to talk about the job and me and the television ads, all that shit. You know what I'd like to talk about?"
"What's that?"
"Poontang. All the guys talk about pussy. But me, I'm a bear, so it makes guys uncomfortable, don't want to bring it up. Let me tell you something, man, I get plenty, and I don't just mean bear stuff. Guy like me, that celebrity thing going and all, I can line them up outside the old motel room, knock 'em off like shooting ducks from a blind. Blondes, redheads, brunettes, bald, you name it, I can bang it."