Pariah

“Dude?”

“Don’t harsh my buzz, bro,” Eddie said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. “Just make some gull noises, okay? Humor me.”

Dave hemmed and hawed for a few, then let out a series of awful high-pitched squawks.

“Perfect,” Eddie said, even though the imitation was far from. “More, but vary the loudness. Make some sound far away.”

Dave had done some questionable things for Eddie, but this was pushing it. Still, he obliged. He felt childish, but that wasn’t so bad. It helped him get into it, and soon he was on his feet, padding around barefoot on the hot tar paper, fluttering his hands and screeching wildly.

Three roofs over, Dabney stood up and watched them, baffled. “The hell are those two fools doing?” He stepped over to the low dividing wall and took a seat, slinging one leg over the side as if mounting on a horse. He had a plastic cupful of Maker’s Mark and took a sip. Cocktail hour at Bar 1620. Dabney had witnessed some daffy shit in his day, but this won the blue ribbon.

As Dave caromed around the rooftop like a drunkard’s cue ball, Eddie’s line dipped violently, then bowed as he yanked it upward into a perfect half circle. “Fuck!” he yelled. Dave was oblivious, lost in his seabird impersonation. Eddie dug his feet hard against the wooden blocks and pushed back into the fighting chair, wishing he had a real one, secured to the deck with straps and all. The thing on the other end of the line was a fighter, or at least heavy. The line jerked and whipped around, but the butt remained fixed to the swivel. Dabney stood up and watched, making no move to help or to flee.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Eddie growled, loving it.

His shoulders gleamed with perspiration and tanning lotion, each muscle flexed taut, biceps bulging, knuckles nearly glowing white. The rod pitched forward, nearly toppling Eddie, but he righted himself and threw his shoulders back. Though he thought what Eddie was doing was deeply, profoundly, unfathomably stupid, Dabney couldn’t help but admire the moron’s tenacity. With obvious effort, Eddie worked the reel and slowly the line rewound, his catch brought ever closer. “Yo, Dave! Dave! Stop bein’ a fuckin’ bird an’ help me out! Dave!”

Dave snapped out of his playacting and once again threw his arms around Eddie’s waist, Heimlich-style. The two of them fought the rod and over the lip of the roof came two zombies bound together at the throat-a twofer! “Sweet baby Jesus!” Eddie whooped. As the two struggling bodies flopped onto the roof, Dave released Eddie’s waist and ran to grab a brick or two. Eddie gripped the rod with one hand as his catches clawed at the monofilament dug deep into their necks. With his other hand he retrieved from under the chair a ball-peen hammer and stalked closer to his prey. “You don’t look so tough to me.”

Dave hung back, the proximity of the zombies a bit harrowing.

Dabney watched, now swinging both legs to his side of the roof. “White boys want to get themselves killed, that’s their affair,” he whispered, ready for a hasty departure.

Eddie advanced on the strung-up twosome, one male, and one barely recognizable as female, any feminine characteristics eroded by living death. Eddie now used the line like a leash, jerking the rod to make them sit up and notice their captor. Distracted from their predicament, the zombies, upon seeing Eddie, began to hiss and slobber, thick ropes of opaque, grayish drool hanging from their slack jaws. Eddie laughed. “You think if I knocked all her teeth out she’d give me a hummer?” he asked, smirking.

“Dude, I don’t even…” Dave was at a loss.

“Maybe I should bone her till she snaps in two. Maybe I should just bust her up into pieces and see which ones keep twitchin’, then fuck ’em.”

“Dude…” Dave’s lower lip quivered with dismay and disgust.

“I’m just messing with you, Davis. Chill. Like I’d ever in a million years slip it to a skeezer like this. These are desperate times, but not that desperate.”

Dave recalled Eddie’s encounter with the Wandering Jewess and wasn’t so sure. Eddie stepped directly in front of the zombies. The line had cut deep into the male’s throat and thick, nearly black grue seeped out. His flaking, sun-baked skin was puckered around the incision, the edge frayed and ratty. His eyes were gray and hazy, but their direction couldn’t be clearer. Both zombies were intensely interested in Eddie and to a lesser extent Dave, who’d retreated a few feet. Only if his help were essential would he advance. The zombies dropped their claws away from the line around their necks and recoiled from Eddie. “You see this shit? You thought the drugs was barking up the wrong tree? Look at ’em, Dave. They’re backing away. See?”

“Yeah, ’cause they’re scared shitless. Doesn’t mean you’re immune, Eddie.”

“Killjoy,” he sneered, then swung the hammer in a graceful arc and knocked the jaw clear off the female. “Bull’s-eye!” He guffawed as the female’s hands jerked up to her ruined face in astonishment. “There goes your modeling career,” Eddie scoffed, well pleased. “And so much for that blowjob, too. Although…” The zombie’s tongue lolled stupidly in the jawless opening between her upper teeth and gullet.

Dave turned away and heaved.

“Fuckin’ killjoy,” Eddie repeated. He stepped over to the female and smashed out her remaining teeth. “Gummy bitch.” The male began to fight against the noose again. Brain-dead or not, he could sense what was coming and it wasn’t a tasty meal or fresh flowers. Eddie palmed the back of the female’s head and jerked it forward, severing the head altogether, giving the male more room to claw at the line. Eddie stepped back and watched as the male struggled to his feet and spat and growled.

“Gotta love this guy,” Eddie said. “He’s a fighter. A fighter who’s gonna lose, but still.”

The zombie stumbled back as it managed to free itself.

“Can’t have that,” Eddie said, and with a roundhouse kick sent the zombie spiraling off the roof back to its fellows.

“Yoink,” Eddie said, flashing his pearlies.

“Promise me you’re never going to do that again,” Dave said, straightening up from his puking position.

“Why make an empty promise, dude?” Eddie beamed as he popped open another brew. “I just found my new regular sunny-afternoon thing.”

Glancing at his lean-to and considering the vacant apartments below, Dabney contemplated a change of venue, thinking it might be time to move this party indoors.

34

“I want to go out with you,” Karl said, standing on the landing by Mona’s open door.

“On a date?” Mona stared at Karl, her eyes betraying no hint of derision, surprise, or even much in the way of general interest.

“No, no. Not on a date,” he stammered. “I want to leave the building with you next time you go out. On an errand.”

A passable facsimile of curiosity flashed across Mona’s face. “Why?”

“An experiment. I want to see if your zombie repulsion has enough juice to keep them at bay with a companion, if your umbrella of safety extends beyond just you. Remember the childhood game ‘Ghost in the Graveyard’?” Mona shook her head. “Okay, it was like a variation on tag, only there was a graveyard-the playground, your living room, wherever-and a base. The base was a safe zone. So, one kid is chosen to be the ghost. He’s out in the graveyard. Other kids are positioned around the graveyard and have to get back to base. If the ghost tagged you, you were the ghost. But the way we played it was if kids locked arms, or even tied clothing together, you could use ‘electricity’ and leave the base so long as you were tethered to it with a lifeline. The lifeline carried electricity. Not real electricity, you know, just the power of the base. So you could venture into the graveyard safely and taunt the ghost. Sometimes you all were on base and you’d mock the ghost mercilessly until he threatened to quit. Anyway, I want to see if your gift has electricity. You understand?”

“Bad idea.”

“Maybe so, but I need to know.”

“More like you need to die.”

Karl decided he didn’t like when Mona spoke in full sentences. He felt zoomy and his skin prickled. He actually