The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel (16 page)

Officer Breslin pushed her way through the crowd. She saw Marie kneeling next to Mario. She grabbed her radio. “Eleven forty-one. I need a med-evac from the boardwalk.”

***

It was the end of his shift, and Mike Brunello was about to knock-off. He passed the reigns of the carousel over to Randy and waved goodbye to the children bobbing up and down on their wooden horses.

He didn’t want to, but he felt compelled to make a stop past Nancy’s office on his way out. At his age he knew right was right, and he felt that she should know about Mario.

He saw the light on in her office, and her door was cracked open. He girded his loins and knocked firmly on the cracked wood warped from decades of ocean air.

“Come in,” he heard from inside.

Mike pushed the door open and saw Nancy at her desk working on her ledger. Most business owners in this day and age had computers that did this sort of thing, but Nancy was old school, like him, but for different reasons.

Mike was too old to start learning how to use smart phones and tablets and such. Nancy, on the other hand, enjoyed putting sharpened pencil to paper, accounting for every red cent in the black. She didn’t enjoy automation. It took her out of touch with her precious dollars. Most business owners hated bookkeeping. For Nancy, like any other bitter old miser, it was her favorite pastime.

“What is it, Mike? I’m busy.”

“I wanted to tell you about Mario Russo, you know, who owns the clothing shop with Marie up the boardwalk. He had a heart attack yesterday.”

“So, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I was just going to drop by their house on the way home and pay a visit to Marie and the kids. See how they’re doing and all.”

“I can’t get away, not even for a moment, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she replied rather tersely.

“Well, I just figured you’d want to know and that you might call Marie or send something over to the house. Mario’s one of us.”

Nancy looked up from her accounting. “Well, you be a good boy and send them my condolences.”

Mike looked down at Nancy, considering this woman who employed him. He hadn’t actually expected much, so he wasn’t sure why he felt so disappointed.

“Will that be all?” she asked impatiently.

“I guess it’ll have to do,” said Mike. He turned and left the arcade.

As he walked up the boardwalk, the orange ball of flame in the sky receding toward the horizon, he looked over at Marco’s Pizzeria. Vinnie was working.

Mike strolled over to the counter, skillfully evading lanes of tourist foot traffic, and waved to Vinnie. Vinnie looked up from ringing a young family up and smiled. He gave the man his change and slid four plain slices on thin white paper plates across the glass countertop. The man handed two slices to his wife, grabbed two, and the whole family went inside to find a seat in the air conditioning.

“Another damned hot day,” said Mike. “I don’t know how you can stand it next to those ovens.”

Vinnie wiped his brow with his forearm and wiped his hands on his stained white apron. His face glistened with sweat. “They say the heat wave’s going to break tomorrow.”

“Here’s to hoping, kid.”

“What’ll ya have, Mike?”

“Nah. Nothing. Going to pay Marie Russo and the kids a visit.”

“Yeah, I heard about what happened. Poor guy. Right in the middle of the boardwalk and all.”

“And right at the end of season. The home stretch. Marie didn’t need this. I don’t know who’s watching the store.”

“It was closed today,” said Vinnie.

“Well, I guess the kids are with her.”

“Hey, send them over a pie, on the house,” said Vinnie.

Mike smiled at his young friend. Perhaps there was hope for people after all. “That’s mighty decent of you, Vin. Will your father be okay with that?”

“Yeah. He’s friends with Mr. Russo. It’s no problem. Just hold on a sec.”

Mike stepped aside and watched man, woman, and child stroll by, eating cotton candy and ice cream, laughing, pointing at the various boardwalk fare. Smuggler’s Bay kept Mike young. When he went to work day today, he would forget how old he was.

Mario Russo’s heart attack was a stark reminder of Mike’s age and mortality, two things he cared not to dwell on for too long.

Vinnie returned moments later, sliding a pizza box across the countertop. “Tell them I said I’m sorry about what happened to Mr. Russo.”

Mike grabbed the box and smiled. “Will do.”

“This has been one crazy summer,” said Vinnie, looking at the foot traffic on the boardwalk. “The heat wave, rolling blackouts, Mr. Russo. Hey, did you hear about Frankie and Ted?”

Mike shook his head in disapproval. “Someone needed to do something about that Morning Star. I suppose it might as well have been them.”

“Yeah, but we all thought it was prostitutes. Ended up it was an identity theft ring, run by the Russian mob, no less.”

Another harsh reminder that things change. Mike sighed. “Well, I never liked all of this foreign exchange stuff. Importing kids to work as cheap labor in The Bay. They’re outsiders. They’re wild and they have no investment in this community.” He smirked. “Plus, they take away jobs from old folk like me.”

“Nothing stays the same,” said Vinnie. “You know that.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re working your ass off to restore that Mustang I gave you?”

Vinnie looked pensive. “I’m going to miss you, Mike.”

“Ah, hell. You’re going off to college. It’ll be the time of your life. You’d be crazy to miss me. I’ll be here when you come back on break.”

There was an awkward silence between the two friends. The truth was, Mike was going to miss Vinnie like crazy.

“Well, I’d better run this pizza over to the Russo’s. You taking Dharma out tonight?”

“Yeah. I knock off in a half an hour.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Okay, Mike.”

Mike strolled up the remainder of the boardwalk with the aroma of freshly cooked dough, sauce, and cheese wafting into his nostrils. He got off at Grant Avenue and walked the two blocks to the Russo residence.

He opened the gate with one hand and stepped up to the door. He pressed his finger on the doorbell and waited as he heard the chimes inside the house. He heard the two children stirring and footsteps approach the door.

The front door opened, and Marie smiled when she saw Mike. “Mike, how are you?” She opened the screen door. “Please, come in.”

Mike stepped inside. “Well, I can only stay for a moment.” That was his way of saying he didn’t want to impose. “I heard about Mario.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Marie solemnly.

“Is he all right?” Mike saw Salvatore and Alessandra watching him from the kitchen. He waved, balancing the pizza box on his hip. They smiled and waved back. They knew Mike from the carousel.

“Oh, how rude of me,” said Marie. “Can I take that from you?”

“It’s for you all, for dinner.”

“Oh, Mike, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s from Vinnie and Marco Cantone. They send their condolences. Vinnie figured you guys could use this.”

“Oh, he’s such a thoughtful boy. Marco’s been to the hospital already.”

“How is Mario doing?”

“The doctors said he’ll be all right, but he has to rest, and he has to change his diet. I’ve been telling him this for years, but he never listens to me.”

“Well, I bet you’ll have his attention now.”

Marie stepped into the kitchen, and Mike followed.

“Mr. Brunello brought us a pizza for dinner.”

“Yay!” the kids shouted and immediately took their seats at the table.

“Ah!” said Marie. “Not until you wash your hands.”

Salvatore and Alessandra scattered, dashing to the bathroom.

“This was really good timing,” said Marie, flipping the box lid open. “We just got back from the hospital, and I wasn’t even thinking about dinner.” She put her hand over her mouth as a tear streamed down her cheek.

Mike went over and placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. You’re doing everything you can for Mario, and you have to stay strong for your kids. They need you. They’re confused by all of this, and they’re looking to you to make everything okay.”

Marie sniffled loudly and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I don’t know if everything is going to be okay.”

The kids ran back into the kitchen and took their seats at the small kitchen table. Marie grabbed plates out of the cabinet and placed them in front of each child.

“You just said the doctors said he’s going to be all right,” assured Mike. “Mario’s a tough man. He’ll change his habits. Sometimes it takes something like this to put a scare into someone.”

“You think so?” Marie was wiping her eyes to conceal from her two children that she was crying. Fortunately they were preoccupied with their pizza slices. Marie smiled and silently thanked Mike Brunello.

“Marie, I had smoked for years,” he leaned in and whispered, “since I was fourteen.” He looked over her shoulder and saw that the kids weren’t paying attention to them. “When I was forty-four, they found a spot on my lung. So I stopped. Cold turkey.”

“Good,” said Marie, patting Mike on the shoulder. “You’ll live longer. Why don’t you join us? There’s plenty of pizza to go around.”

Mike looked at his watch. “No, thank you. I have to go. I just wanted to check on you and the kids.”

Marie smiled and gave him a big hug. “I’m glad you did. You said just what I needed to hear.”

“I’m glad to be of service. You let me know if you need anything.”

“I will, Mike. Thanks again. Tell Marco and Vinnie I said thanks for the pie.”

“I will.”

Marie helped Mike find his way to the door. As Mike stepped out the front door, he said, “Anything at all, you holler.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

He turned and walked back up the path to the sidewalk as he heard the front door close behind him. Mike opened the gate and stepped onto the sidewalk as he looked over his shoulder.

Through the large bay window he saw Marie join her children at the kitchen table. She grabbed a slice out of the box and took a bite as Salvatore and Alessandra giggled and ate. Mike smiled to himself.

As he turned to walk, he ran right smack dab into none other than Billy Blake. It felt like walking into a brick wall.

“Pardon me,” huffed Mike, the wind almost knocked out of him.

Billy smirked that signature smirk that betrayed lascivious thoughts and less than honorable intentions. “Old Mike Brunello, you sly dog.”

“I don’t catch your meaning, Billy.”

“The rooster is away for only a day, and there’s Old Mike Brunello raiding the hen house.”

“You’re a pig, Billy. I was doing nothing of the sort. I was just checking on Marie.”

“I bet you were.”

“Not that I have to explain myself to the likes of you.” Then Mike noticed that Billy was trying to slip past him to go to Marie’s house. “Wait a minute. Tell me you’re not going to bother that poor woman.”

“Mike, if you don’t have to explain yourself to me, what makes you think I need to explain myself to you?”

“You leave her alone, Billy. She’s a good woman.”

“I’m not denying that.”

“She’s not interested.”

“Mike,
all
women are interested. Being a good woman doesn’t change that in the slightest.”

Mike’s blood began to boil in his veins. Twenty years ago he would’ve laid out a punk like this, no sweat.

“Why, Mike, you look like you want to hit me.”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“Go for it, old man. But I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

Mike thought about it for a moment and then stepped aside. This asshole wasn’t worth it. Besides, he figured Marie would turn him away in short order.

“Well, well, well,” said Billy. “You’re not as stupid as you look, old man.”

“Apparently you are as stupid as you look, Billy, because you have no chance with that woman.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that. You run along now or you’ll miss
Murder She Wrote
.”

Mike reluctantly turned his back on the weasel and walked back up the street. His face burned with indignation as he turned the corner.

Billy rang the doorbell. The door opened, and Marie was licking her fingertips. Her face went white when she saw who it was. “What do you want?”

“I heard what happened, so I figured I’d drop by to see if you were all right, but I see Old Mike Brunello couldn’t wait till your hubby’s body was cold.”

“He’s a sweet man. He was worried about me and the kids.”

“Who is it, Mommy?” called one of the kids from the kitchen.

“Nobody, honey. Eat your pizza,” she called back over her shoulder.

“Nobody? Well, that just hurts my feelings,” said Billy.