Angel Crawford #2: Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues (25 page)

“I think you did better when you were spouting incoherent babble,” Ed said mildly as he continued to scan the area.

“I think you’re right,” I muttered as I fed more quarters into the phone.

“Who are you calling now?” he asked with a frown.

“My dad,” I replied. “If the cops find my car on the side of the road they might call him or come to the house, and I don’t want him to worry.” I paused before dialing. What the hell was his cellphone number? I had him in my contacts as “DAD.” I never had to actually dial the damn thing. Cursing under my breath, I checked my watch. Nine p.m. I knew the home phone number but at this hour on a Sunday there was no way he’d be home. He’d be down at Kaster’s watching football with the rest of his buddies.

But at least I could leave a message for him.

I jerked in surprise as the phone rang before I could punch the first number in. Ed and I exchanged a wary look, then I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Angel? This is Pietro. I’m sorry for not answering, but I always screen calls from unfamiliar numbers. What’s going on?”

I frantically waved Ed over so that he could listen in. “Sofia’s dead, Pietro. We’re pretty sure that Walter McKinney killed her. Oh, and—”

“Hold on, Sofia’s dead? How do you know? And who’s ‘we’?”

“Yes. We went to her house and saw her body. She’d been shot. And ‘we’ is Ed. And me.”

“Ed Quinn?” he asked, shock and anger in his voice. “Angel, this is ridiculous. You’re not thinking clearly and now you want to get Marcus involved in—”

“Shut up and let me talk!” I yelled. “I’m trying to protect Marcus! Look, it’s complicated, but that’s not the important thing right now.” I quickly explained about Zeke the zombie who was beheaded and then grown back, and my theory that whoever was doing it was escalating their experiments using Sofia’s fake brain research.

He was silent for a long moment. “You’re absolutely certain Sofia is dead?” he said, voice so even that it was obvious he was holding back a great deal of emotion.

“Yeah,” I said. “She was shot in the head. I’m sorry.”

He let out a long exhalation. “I see. As to your dead zombie, I’ll admit that it does seem that he was somehow, as you say, grown back. But that hardly means there’s some sort of secret lab doing covert experiments.”

Somehow I resisted the deep urge to shriek in frustration. “Y’know, I’m not a fucking moron,” I told him, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. “Look, I’m real sorry Sofia’s dead, but it’s pretty clear that she was playing both sides, and I don’t mean that she was bisexual.” Then I shrugged. “Then again, I suppose it’s possible that she was, but that’s not my point.” I took a deep breath to get myself back on track. “You weren’t the only one she was giving info to,” I told him. “And then McKinney shot me several times earlier tonight during an attempt to kidnap me. Ed was the one who fucking saved me. He was duped into killing zombies and turning over the heads to whoever is doing this shit.”

“I’m relieved that Ed was there to assist you,” Pietro said. “But I have a hard time believing Sofia would do that. We had intel that the other faction was after Sofia’s research. And, clearly, tonight they chose to kill her rather than allow us to have it.”

Intel? Seriously?
I opened my mouth to argue then closed it before I could say something that would forever ruin my chances of getting any help out of him. He was up to something, the fucker. Meanwhile there was a thought trying to work its way loose from the back of my head.

“Angel,” he said before I could speak. “It’s obvious you’re in trouble. I can help you. Tell me where you are.”

“Nah,” I said absently, still trying to think. “I don’t trust you.”

He let out a low snort of amusement. “At least you’re honest. Are you still injured? Do you need brains?”

“No, I’m cool.” Injuries. Brains. Was that it? I covered the receiver and whispered to Ed, “Your mom—she was friends with Dr. Kristi Burke, right? Was she a neurologist too?”

“They worked in the same practice,” he said, still looking confused. “But she’s not Dr. Burke anymore. She divorced and took back her maiden name. She’s Dr. Charish now.”

I stared at him, suddenly feeling as if my brain was one of those old-fashioned boards at train terminals in old movies where the little tiles cascaded down to form words or a picture. Because, finally, a coherent picture was starting to form.

I smiled thinly. “She changed her hair color too, right?” At his nod I continued. “And did Pietro know her
as well?” I already knew the answer to this one since I remembered she’d been at his little soirée.

Now his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Most definitely.”

Grinning, I uncovered the mouthpiece. “Okay, Pietro, I’m pretty sure you’re full of shit. Well, maybe not completely full of shit, but I think that maybe Sofia wasn’t the only scientist on your payroll. Dr. Charish also works for you, right?”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “Yes, Kristi also works for me, but on a different project than the one Sofia was working on.”

I scowled into the phone. “Yeah, well I think your good doctor knew exactly what was going on in her lab. And I’m pretty sure she was the one who duped Ed into chopping zombie heads off.” But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. Was this whole thing really just about developing better fake brains to make money off zombies? Or was it some kind of zombie war? But if so, why the hell did they now need a live zombie? And why
me?

There was another extended silence on Pietro’s end. “There are dire consequences for harming or interfering with anyone under my protection,” he finally said, voice low and dark. “Whoever is responsible for these murders, you can be certain that I will deal with it.”

I didn’t trust Pietro, but I also knew I wouldn’t ever want to cross him. I was pretty sure that all of my comments about the Zombie Mafia were closer to the mark than most people suspected. So, in a way, this was almost reassuring. Almost.

“I have to make some calls,” he said abruptly. “Call me again as soon as you’re in a safe place.”

I scowled as the line went dead. “Asshole,” I muttered. I hung up the phone then blinked at the sound of quarters dropping into the change return. Oh, right, I’d been in the middle of calling my dad. I quickly put the quarters back in and dialed the house number, mentally framing what message I was going to leave, in the hopes that it wouldn’t be quite so much incoherent babble.

It picked up after the second ring. “Hello, Angel,” said a familiar voice that wasn’t my dad’s.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shouted into the phone. “Get the fuck out of my house, you cocksucking asstard!”

“My god, you’re a foul-mouthed thing, aren’t you.”

“Yeah, well, get over it. So what the fuck is this?” I said. “Is this where you have my dad and offer to trade us or some equally lame bullshit? Are you working from
Evil Plots for Dummies
or some shit like that?”

“That’s pretty clever,” McKinney replied. “I may have to write that someday. But yes, I have your father, and I’m willing to make a trade, him for you. Very simple: you cooperate or your dad dies.”

I felt my mouth twist into something not quite a smile. “Uh huh. First off, I don’t believe you really have my dad. Second off, go fuck yourself.”

To my surprise he chuckled. “Ah. You require proof. Fair enough.”

I heard some rustling, then, “Angelkins?”

“Oh my god, Dad,” I groaned. “What are you doing at home?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I live here, remember?”

“But it’s football night! Why aren’t you down at Kaster’s?”

“Because it’s a goddamn bar!” he shouted back. “And I’m trying to not go to bars any more, ’cause when I go to bars I drink, and I’m trying not to drink any more ’cause it’s pretty much the only way to get sober, goddammit!”

“Oh,” I said in a small voice. “Okay. That makes sense.”

I heard him take a shuddering breath. “What’s going on, baby?” he said in a somewhat more normal tone of voice. “Are you in some kind of trouble with these people? You can tell me, honey. I’ll love you no matter what.”

My chest squeezed so tight I wasn’t sure I could even breathe. “Daddy, it’s okay. I’m not in trouble. I mean, not like drugs or shit like that. This asstard wants some information I have. This’ll all be over real soon.”

“Okay, baby. I trust you. You do what you gotta do, y’hear?”

“Oh, I will, Dad,” I replied fervently. Damn straight I would.

More rustling, and then McKinney came back on the phone. “Enough jibber jabber. Here’s what you’re going to do.”

“Did you just say ‘jibber jabber’?” I asked. “Seriously? What bad guy says ‘jibber jabber’?”

He sighed. “You’re going to be a complete pain in my ass, aren’t you?”

“You started this.”

“So I did. Fine. You’re going to go to the East St. Edwards High School football field and stand in the middle of the fifty yard line. You know where that is?”

“I know it.” Did I ever.

“As soon as you are there—alone—I’ll release your dad, let you two wave to each other in passing, and then he will walk out the gate by the north end zone, where he can get into a car driven by your sidekick—”

“My sidekick?” I gave Ed a sidelong look.

“Yes, the knight in shining armor who rescued you from my dastardly clutches.”

“Dude, you read
way
too many romance novels. Fine. You let my dad go, my sidekick wonder boy takes my dad far away from cockwaffles like you, and then…what, I keep standing in the damn field?”

He chuckled. “Yes. Out in the open. And alone. I’ll give you half an hour to get your pieces in position.” The line went dead.

I hung the phone up. “Could you hear all that?” I asked Ed.

“I got the gist,” he said, voice quiet.

“So now what do I do?”

Ed was silent for a moment. I could almost see the thoughts ticking behind his eyes. “Your dad said, ‘these people,’ which tells me that McKinney probably isn’t working alone anymore. I’m betting that he’ll have a sniper in place who’ll simply shoot you until you can’t fight back, and then they’ll grab you.”

I nodded agreement. “And the stuff with my dad is to
get you out of the way and make sure that you aren’t set up to snipe
his
ass.”

“Sounds about right,” he said, grimacing.

“Why the hell does he want
me
?” I growled.

“Easy target? War between the zombies? Hostage?” he offered, shrugging. “Or perhaps it’s something completely unrelated to this power struggle between the factions, and these people somehow found out that you’re a zombie, and they need a zombie for some other nefarious purpose, ergo they’re after you.”

“Sofia knew I was a zombie,” I said, grimacing.

“She was definitely involved in all of this somehow.” He took a deep breath. “All right then, whatever the reason, somehow we need to figure out a way to make it where being shot won’t be so, um, debilitating for you.”

“I could wear your body armor,” I suggested.

He stepped back and sized me up. “We could try,” he said, but he sounded awfully doubtful.

“What’s the problem?”

“Well, you’re awfully skinny, and I can’t exactly put a couple of tucks in a Kevlar vest in order to make it fit you.” He shook his head. “I think it’ll be really obvious that you’re wearing it, which will only encourage a decent shooter to go for places that aren’t covered by the vest.”

“Well, that sucks,” I muttered.

Ed’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I have an idea that might help…but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“Lay it on me,” I said. “It’s not like I’m brimming with brilliance right now.”

I listened as he laid it out for me. He was right. I didn’t like it. I kinda fucking hated it.

But it was brilliant enough that I also loved it.

I lost my virginity to Randy on this football field, in this exact spot, though I didn’t remember it being quite so creepy back then. Tonight the lights were all off, and there was enough of a fog to make me jumpy as all hell, certain that any number of unnamed threats were about to jump out at me from the shadows.
I’m the monster
, I tried to remind myself. There was only one threat that I had to worry about, and his name was McKinney. And whoever he had with him, of course.

Didn’t help. Still completely freaked out.

On the other hand, I was tanked up on brains darn near as high as I’d ever been. Even though it was dark, I could see every blade of grass, hear the buzzing of the mosquitos, feel the low thrum of the engine of Ed’s truck from where it was idling farther down the street. A slight shift of movement from behind the bleachers caught my attention as surely as if the man back there had stood up
and waved a flag. He had a rifle pointed at me. I was definitely going to get shot again. But with any luck the combination of zombie super-speed and the reserve of brains I had on hand would be enough to counteract the damage.

I sure as hell hoped so, because right now that was the only plan we had.

A breeze swirled past me, and I lifted my head, nostrils flaring like an animal as the wind brought the scent of two people. They were by the south end zone, and I recognized both scents.
My dad and McKinney
. So Ed was right, the sniper behind the bleachers was a new player. How many others were nearby?

Turning slowly I extended my zombie super senses as far as they could go, seeking out scents and movements. At least one more—over by the opposing side bleachers, and also with a rifle. Possibly more but the light wind wasn’t cooperating. Probably one rifle trained on me and one on my dad to keep me from simply grabbing him and bolting. Even with zombie super strength and speed I wouldn’t be able to avoid bullets while also shielding my dad.

Which meant that I was back to depending on the Power of Brains.

I clenched and unclenched my hands. A creak of metal alerted me, and I spun toward the south end zone to see my dad and McKinney walking through the gate. They paused at the goal line, then my dad continued toward me alone, shuffling in his usual gait but clearly doing his best to hurry. I breathed shallowly, straining my ears for anything unusual—the click of a trigger or a muttered order to fire.