The Creeping Dead

Edward P. Cardillo

Copyright © 2015 by Edward P. Cardillo

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, events, and dialogues either are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Edward P. Cardillo

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my wife, Sandra, who has been my editor, coach, and agent. I would also like to thank Alan Basso for his extra set of eyes, his brain, his feedback, and his support. Thanks again to Gary Lucas at Severed Press. Thank you to my son, Alexander, who keeps my imagination wild.

This novel is dedicated to the Jersey Shore, my summer home away from home and the source of so many fond childhood memories.

Part I

Opening Pandora’s Box

Chapter 1

August 21

“This is Mark Altman here on the Jersey Shore, in the small resort town of Smuggler’s Bay, in the midst of two strong weather fronts culminating in what is becoming Superstorm Rodney.”

The cameraman followed him up a wooden ramp. As the camera jostled around a bit, Mark Altman’s hat blew off his head, and his raincoat and hair flapped madly in the wind.

“As you can see, we are now up on the Smuggler’s Bay boardwalk, and—right behind me (the camera pans and zooms past Mark’s shoulder)—you can see the surf encroaching up the beach, practically to the boardwalk.”

The sky was a dark gray, and the clouds raced by as if something chased them. The ocean surged up the beach, the sand no longer visible under the churning surf.

“Pretty soon the water will be washing up onto the boardwalk and eventually into the residential community behind it.”

Shouts came from behind the cameraman. A few police officers emerged into view.

“We have now with us members of the local law enforcement.”

One officer stepped in front of the camera and addressed Mark directly. “You can’t be out here right now,” he shouted over the howling winds, the boom microphone bouncing off of his blue cap. “It’s too dangerous!”

Everybody ducked and flinched as a wall of water hit the public restroom behind them, off to the right, splashing vertically into the air, sending foam and spray across the boardwalk.

“See what I mean?” shouted the Chief into Mark’s face.

The camera panned right, zooming down the boardwalk. Water surged over the edge of the boardwalk, through the green chain linked fence, and around potted palm trees and wooden benches. The sky ride chairs swung in the high winds.

“What’s that?” asked the cameraman, lowering the camera and pointing.

In the distance, figures shambled down the boardwalk. There were about a dozen of them, spread apart.

“Those…those are people,” said Mark in astonishment. “There are people walking down the boardwalk?”

“Jesus Christ,” said the Chief. He turned to Mark. “Get off this boardwalk, now!” He motioned to his officers, and they took off down the boardwalk toward the walkers.

Mark Altman didn’t miss a beat. “There you have it from Chief Holbrook, the boardwalk is no longer a safe place to be. The various businesses and shops are all boarded-up, sandbags forming what will likely be a futile barrier against the relentless surf now encroaching on the boardwalk.”

The camera was still focused on the police officers as they splashed their way toward the oblivious pedestrians.

Mark continued his commentary off camera. “They’re walking erratically…they appear to be…intoxicated. Don’t you worry, the Chief will make sure they’re escorted off the boardwalk to safety…excuse me.”

The camera wheeled back around to find Mark with his back turned toward a couple more walkers, a man and a woman, closing in on them.

“Excuse me,” Mark shouted at them over the howling wind, rain battering his face and fogging up his glasses. “It’s not safe on the boardwalk.”

The man and woman either were unable to hear him, or they just ignored him, and kept walking toward Mark, the rain and the camera lens fogging up, blurring their features.

“Mark, there’s something wrong with them,” said the cameraman.

Now only fifty or so feet away, the walkers’ features came into view. They both had dark circles around their eyes and a strange pallor to their skin. The girl walked as if her feet were shackled, and the man was dragging his right foot sideways on its ankle behind him.

“They don’t look so good,” said Mark to the cameraman. Then to the walkers, “Are you hurt? Do you need assistance? Larry, wait here. I’ll go get the Chief.”

“Okay,” answered the cameraman nervously.

Mark handed Larry his microphone and took off down the boardwalk toward the Chief and his men. The camera wheeled around again, the features of the closing walkers becoming more distinct. The man’s lip was curled up in a sneer, his eyes wide. The girl was…grinning, her eyes wild. They were reaching out for the camera.

The cameraman started to back away from them, the camera half-pointed downward, filming the walkers’ feet. A bone jutted out of the side of the man’s ankle, its sharp end scraping the wood of the boardwalk planks. It stuck out farther every time the man put weight on it, while the foot flopped around on the boardwalk, splashing in the water.

“Mark! Oh, Jesus…Mark!”

Suddenly, the camera jerked up as the cameraman collided with something behind him. Hands reached around, forearms blocking the view of the camera as the cameraman screamed into the howling wind.

There were wet ripping and growling sounds as the man and woman caught up, their faces popping in and out of view as the camera swung back and forth.

There was a loud crashing sound as water came rushing into frame, covering the cameraman’s feet. The camera dropped to the ground, and the picture went black.

The network cut the audio when the cameraman’s screams died down into gurgling and the growls turned into ravenous chomping.

Chapter 2

Three Weeks Earlier

“Do you have a problem with bodily fluids…blood, pus, urine…fecal matter?”

“No, I don’t. I’ve worked at a preschool, so I was frequently in the vicinity of all of that.”

“Yes, I can imagine. I’m sure you’ve built up quite the resistance to germs. This type of setting is different. It’s not like any other settings in the field. As a consultant, you would enjoy a generous sense of autonomy, but it won’t exempt you from the politics of the facility. And believe me, there are plenty to go around.”

“I understand. I like to think that I play well with others.”

“That’s only part of it. While you are there to service your caseload, you are also there to service the facility. Often the two can be reconciled, and sometimes they can’t be. You’ll be walking a tightrope between caring for your patients vs. keeping the administrator happy.”

Tara nodded. “In the preschool, what’s in the best interest of the children is not always what keeps the principal or assistant principal happy. I’ve walked this tightrope before.”

Dr. Loews smiled. “Dr. Bigelow, how do you believe your experience with preschool children relates to working with the elderly?”

Tara was prepared for this question and didn’t hesitate. “Preschool children, particularly the ones I worked with, have impulse control difficulties, behavioral disinhibition, and in some cases, limited language skills. Their impulse control and limited language can cause them to act out. Much like an elderly patient who’s had a stroke, or a dementia patient.”

“Yes, well, you won’t be seeing moderately or severely demented individuals as per Medicare/Medicaid regulations.”

“I understand.”

“Dr. Bigelow, your practice within the nursing home must adhere strictly to federal regulations. Your paperwork must be timely and accurate. You will be audited by our group quarterly and by the State annually. Any errors and money must be refunded. Patterns of errors constitute fraud, regardless of intent.”

“I understand.”

Dr. Lowes took a deep breath and held it for a brief moment before exhaling. “But that’s all the easy part. I want to talk to you about this particular facility we are going to place you in. It’s not really like a nursing home. You’ll be able to count the actual number of elderly patients on your fingers. It’s more like a psychiatric hospital.

“You’ll be working with many patients in their forties and fifties, maybe even younger. Schizophrenics, those with bipolar, and such. You will, of course, do your best to care for your residents, but you’ll be there for two major reasons. To reduce psychotropic medications and reduce psychiatric hospitalizations.”

“I get it,” said Tara. “By seeing them on a regular basis, I might keep them calm enough to reduce meds and prevent hospitalizations.”

Dr. Lowes nodded. “You bet. Thus, saving the facility money. There’s another matter…”

Tara waited expectantly.

“The administrator is an interesting character. She likes to think that she runs a tight ship. She’ll, of course, want to meet you and interview you herself before she’ll grant you privileges in her facility.”

Tara nodded. “Understandable.”

Dr. Loews shook his head. “Truthfully, she’s a bit of a nut. Very OCD, very concrete. It’s her way or the highway, and she’s clashed with a few of our male psychologists. I’m hoping that, as a female, you’ll be able to get along with her better.”

Tara knew this for a fact not to be true. She knew the type, the career superwoman who wore pantsuits and stomped around ramming her authority down everyone’s throats because it’s the only way she thinks she’ll be taken seriously. Very insecure and overcompensates with exhibitions of force, often at the expense of what’s professional or correct.

She smiled. “I’m familiar with the type. I’ll do my best.”

Dr. Lowes paused to evaluate her response, weighing whether or not Tara truly knew what she was in for or just offering up the yearbook answer.

He looked down at her crisp, newly printed resume on the table in front of him. “Well, it looks like everything is in order. I’d like to offer you a contract if you still want the position.”

He was hedging the offer quite a bit, which raised some alarms in Tara’s mind, but she had no other option. The pay was significantly better than her pay at the school, and her hours were much better. Oh, and she had been excessed in June. Laid off. Axed.

“Yes, I’d like to sign.”

Dr. Lowes smiled and passed a contract over to her.

Tara had seen it prior, so she only scanned it for any last minute changes slipped in at the eleventh hour, but there were none. It was all on the up-and-up.

She signed on the long line and passed the contract back across the table to him.

Dr. Lowes initialed the document as a witness. “I’ll have a copy of the countersigned contract for you tomorrow. Well, welcome to Oceanside Medical Group.” He reached across the table and offered his hand.

Tara shook it.

It was done.

Dr. Lowes passed over some applications to join Medicare and Medicaid. “Fill these out today and have them notarized. You can bring me them tomorrow. Don’t forget to include your NPI number.”

He gathered up all of the paperwork into a brand new manila folder. “You’ll start right away. Tomorrow, we’ll meet here at eight-thirty, and I’ll take you over to the facility in Stonewall, on Mariner Avenue. You’ll meet the administrator. Present as well as you did with me and I think you’ll be okay.”

Tara nodded.

“We’ll also need copies of your degrees and licenses for our records.”

“Of course.”

Dr. Lowes stood, and Tara followed suit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

She nodded, and he excused himself from the room.

Tara pulled out her cell as she walked to the car in the August heat and dialed her husband. She felt her outfit cling wet to her body.

“Hi, honey. How’d it go?”

“Well, I’m officially a member of the Oceanside Medical Group.”

“That’s great. See, I told you everything would work out.”

“I should be home in about fifteen minutes.”

“Tyrell and I are unpacking, but I’ll start dinner in a few.”

“Sounds good, sweetie. See you guys soon.”

She hung up the phone and slipped it back into her pocket. She pressed the unlock button on her keychain and slipped into her car. She turned the ignition, cranked up the air conditioning, put on the radio, and began her commute home.

Within ten minutes she was pulling into Smuggler’s Bay. Tara had to remind herself that once school started, the traffic wouldn’t be so light. Nevertheless, it was an easy commute to the Oceanside Medical Group. The nursing facility was located one town over and would be even easier to get to.

As she pulled down the streets of the small seaside town, she saw boys in shorts and tank tops skateboarding in municipal parking lots, teenage girls walking in small groups in bikinis, looking down at their phones, their thumbs texting like mad.

Seagulls stood atop streetlights laughing at passersby, on the lookout for dropped fired dough or French fries. Tara drove past the Smuggler’s Warf waterpark—complete with lazy river, and go-kart track.

She passed countless family-run motels, rental bungalows, liquor shops, a convenience store, and a pirate-themed bar named, ‘The Jolly Roger.’ She turned down Captain’s Avenue and pulled in front of the bungalow she and her family had moved into only a few days prior. She parked the car by a sign designating the spot for the ‘Resident of 14 Captain’s Avenue Only,’ and got out.

She immediately began to sweat as she hit the soupy summer air, and she wondered when the heat wave was finally going to break.

She let herself into their long, narrow bungalow and was immediately pounced upon by her five-year-old son, Tyrell.

Tara hugged her son, and he grimaced at the dampness of her clothes. “Hey, sweetie. Are you helping Daddy unpack?”

Tyrell squirmed until she put him down. He rewarded her with an answer. “I was, but Daddy’s cooking now.”

“Oh, I see,” she said as she put her things down on the small table in the living room. Some children’s cartoon was blaring on the television.

Tara stepped into the kitchen where her husband, Marcus, stirred whole wheat pasta in a pot. He leaned over and kissed her sweetly on the lips. “Hi, hon.”

Tyrell ran into the kitchen and latched onto Tara’s leg like a barnacle on a pier’s piling.

“Well, it’s a done deal. Looks like this is home for a while,” she said.

Tyrell let go and jumped up and down. “Yay!”

Marcus took the wooden spoon off the spoon-holder and stirred the tomato sauce. “We can finish unpacking after dinner.”

Tara shook her head. “Nah. Let’s hit the boardwalk after dinner. It should be cooler then, and I know this little man has been waiting patiently to have some fun.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus asked.

Tara waved her hand dismissively. “We’re almost done unpacking anyway. The summer’s flying by. We should enjoy this place while it’s peak season.”

Tara kind of liked the idea of living in a Jersey Shore town. Smuggler’s Bay was the type of town that families flocked to every summer from New York, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, and Delaware to hit the beach, walk the boardwalk, and ride the rides.

It was the perfect place for Tyrell.

Marcus stabbed a piece of penne from the pot with a fork and blew on it. Then he took a bite. “A few more minutes.”

“You didn’t have to cook in this heat,” said Tara, peeling off her damp suit jacket.

“Tyrell and I wanted to make a special dinner for you, to celebrate the good news.”

“I helped open the jar of sauce, and Daddy let me pour it into the pot,” said Tyrell.

“You did?” Tara picked up the little squirt. “Well, thank you, gentlemen.”

“We’re both really proud of you,” said Marcus.

Tara smiled, and she handed Marcus the pasta strainer. This job was a relief. She would make sure that she presented well at the facility tomorrow, even if the administrator was a super bitch.

Everything was going to be okay.

***

Old Mike Brunello watched as the children lined up in front of the gate, tickets in hand, squirming with excitement to ride the hundred-year-old carousel. A retired school teacher from Canarsie, Brooklyn, he lived for the children. He loved their wide smiles and their squeals of delight as their horses bobbed up and down to the calliope music.

Having run the Blackbeard’s Pier Carousel for about a decade, he got to see the same families over the years. He came to know them, some of them on an acquaintance basis, some a little better.

He relished watching the children grow. He saw some grow from toddlers to children, some from children to teenagers, and some of the teens came back with young families of their own.

“Okay, who wants to ride the horses?” he asked the fidgety throng of waiting children. They responded with a gleeful cacophony of shouts, cheers, and raised hands.

Mike smiled warmly at the parents as he opened the small metal gate. Children stampeded in, thrusting little blue tickets into his hand and racing to find the horse they picked out for themselves while waiting on line.

“Do I have to buy a ticket too?” asked a young mother holding a two-year-old in her arms.

“No. Go right ahead.”

The mother got on the carousel and strapped her daughter in. She looked to Mike, who nodded his assent, and she mounted the horse next to her daughter’s. “Now hold on tight to the poll, honey,” she instructed.

Blackbeard’s Pier policy was that parents of children aged three or over had to purchase their own tickets to ride, but ol’ Mike never enforced it. Management didn’t care much about it because they knew families came to see ol’ Mike almost as much as the carousel itself. Like the ride, Mike had become a Smuggler’s Bay institution.

After walking once around to make sure children wore their safety straps and held onto their poles, he came back to his control box and pressed the green button. The horses slowly sprung to life as the carousel began to turn, gradually picking up speed.

As was custom, waiting parents hung out by Mike, engaging him in small talk as they waved to their children passing by again and again.

“So, how’ve ya been, Mike?”

“Good. Can’t complain.”

“When do ya think this heat wave’s gonna break?’

Mike wiped his brow at the suggestion. “Supposed to break this weekend. At least that’s what the weatherman said, but what does he know? Nice to have a job where you can be wrong all the time.”

“Been back to Brooklyn at all?”

“This past Spring. Went to visit Mary’s grave. Put some flowers on it.”

Living in Canarsie, ol’ Mike was no stranger to the seaside setting. He had fond memories of fishing there with his buddies over a few beers after work. It was much simpler than Smuggler’s Bay. There weren’t any carny games or prizes or carnival rides, but it was nice.

“Mike, did you hear about the Ocean’s Gate Motel? Changed ownership.”

“Yeah, ol’ Bill O’Brien retired, and his kids didn’t want it. So, he sold it to the Fitzpatricks. You know, the ones who own the Sand Dollar Bar on the boardwalk.”

Many of the elderly population of Smuggler’s Bay shied away from the honkytonk of the boardwalk—the popping balloons, the blaring ’80s rock music, children laughing and screaming, the roar of the Albatross (the big wooden rollercoaster on Blackbeard’s Pier).

Mike, however, found it all to be quite soothing. Those were the sounds of happy children and families having fun. He didn’t have any children of his own, so he lived vicariously through these families.

He looked over the shoulder of a mother he was chewing the fat with—from upstate New York, if he remembered correctly—and saw Nancy stomping over to the carousel. She was dressed in her blue Blackbeard’s Pier tee-shirt, granny jeans, and sneakers, her hair pulled tight into a bun. She looked more like an older employee than the owner of Blackbeard’s Pier.

As she drew close, the parents circling Mike instinctively parted, like a school of small fish clearing the way for an incoming shark.

“Hi, Nancy.”

“Take your lunch, Michael. Randall’s coming to relieve you.”

‘Randall.’ Mike chortled at that. Everyone called him Randy. Hell, no one called Mike ‘Michael’ except his own mother, God rest her soul.

“Sure thing, Nancy.”

“And stop holding court with the parents. I pay you to run the ride, not chit chat.” She began to walk away.

“Nancy…”

She turned around, her expression that of barely contained patience. “Yes, Michael…”

“I still didn’t get my paycheck from last week.”

“I told you I’d send you a new one. It’ll come in the mail.” She started to walk away again.

“Would’ve been easier to hand it to me. Then I could pay the bills.”

Nancy’s lip curled into what was either a vicious sneer or the beginnings of a snarl. “Michael, if you’re unhappy with your employment situation, I’m sure one of the refreshment stands would take you. I hear Parks and Rec is looking for someone to scrub the toilets in the public restrooms.”

Mike never lost his cool. It was a defining characteristic of his. He just smiled sublimely, which he knew got under Nancy’s skin. “Nancy, maybe you oughta loosen that bun on top of your head.”

He was at the age where he no longer had to defend himself to anyone. Truthfully, he just didn’t give a shit anymore. He’d seen plenty of nasty individuals like Nancy before.

“What was that, Michael?”

“Oh, nothing. Here comes Randy.”

Randy waved to them as he made his way across the arcade, his shaggy hair wafting in the breeze of the air conditioning.

“Hey, Mike. Hey, Nancy.”

“You’re two minutes late in relieving Michael.”

Randy just shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry?” he managed.

Nancy viewed them both with what could only be contempt, and she turned heel and stalked off.

“What a bitch,” said Randy.

“Her husband was much nicer to work for,” said Mike. “Poor Wally.”

“What happened?” asked Randy. “Did she eat him alive?”

Mike stared into space for a moment as the carousel slowed, winding the current ride down to a stop. “No, Randy, cancer did that.”

“Was she like this before her husband died?”

“No, Randy. She was worse.”

***

Lenny Krueger hid in the supply closet on the second floor of the back building of the Ocean’s Gate Motel, wearing his black cape and black tee-shirt with some superhero frozen in an action pose on the front.

He didn’t hear Layla come in, because he had his headphones strapped to his head blasting some superhero movie score.

Layla smiled and shook her head. His back turned, acting out some superheroic monologue, she gently tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he whipped around with his hands up in surrender.

Layla reached out and snatched the tiny MP3 player out of his hand, disconnecting it from the headphones. “Lenny, you know you’re not supposed to be in here.”

Lenny shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, Layla.”

Lenny was hard to understand, but Layla was used to his garbled speech. “If your mom catches you in here, she’s gonna be pretty upset.”

“Please, don’t tell her, Layla.”

Layla’s stern expression melted away. “I won’t, Lenny. This time.”

He extended his hand, she took it, and he shook her hand vigorously. “You are my special friend.”

“What were you doing in here anyway?”

“I was fighting the evil Dr. Mayhem. He wants to destroy Supermetro City with his cosmic ray.”

Layla smirked. “Who are you today? Magma Man?”

“Nope.” Lenny put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, striking a heroic pose. “Nope. Captain Sonic.”

“Well, Captain Sonic, I need to get in here to refill my cleaning cart. We’ve got a whole bunch of checkouts this morning. Why don’t you see if your mom needs you for anything.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Okay, Layla.”

She handed him back the MP3 player. “Is this the one Billy Blake gave you?”

“Yes. He’s my special friend.”

Lenny referred to a great many folks as his ‘special friend,’ but in the case of Billy Blake, it was a dubious notion.

“You watch it around Billy. He’s a rough character.”

Lenny shook his head defensively. “No. My friend Billy is a nice person.”

“There are many who would disagree with you, Lenny. I’m glad he’s nice to you. Just be careful.”

Lenny ignored the remark, reconnected the MP3 to his headphones, and whisked out of the large walk-in supply closet, his plastic cape billowing behind him.

Lenny imagined himself flying over the parking lot as he tore through it, dodging cars and guests loading and unloading their cars. He splashed through a puddle and scattered a small throng of sea gulls as he dashed past the heated swimming pool, a stray cat eying him suspiciously from behind a large waste receptacle.

Lenny opened the side door to the motel diner behind the front office, waved to the pretty young college girls waiting tables for dinner, and slipped into the front office.

His mother, Alice Krueger (Fitzpatrick was her maiden name), was checking in a guest. “Hello, Lenny,” she said as she was handing a pink receipt over the counter.

Lenny slipped the headphones off his ears and down around his neck. He stiffened and saluted. “Captain Sonic reporting for duty.”

The guest smiled. “Hey, Lenny.”

“Hi, Mr. Mackabee,” said Lenny. “How are you and your family?”

“Very well. Making the most of what’s left of the summer.”

Alice smiled. “Already seeing those back-to-school commercials on the TV.”

“Tell me about it,” said Mr. Mackabee. “The kids hate it.” He took the room key from Alice. “Well, see ya later, Lenny.”

Lenny saluted Mr. Mackabee. “Okie dokie.”

Alice smiled to herself. She remembered the days when the sight of a young Down Syndrome child in the front office garnered uncomfortable looks from guests, even looks of disgust.

But, most of her guests became regulars over the years, and they got to know Lenny, see him grow up. Now, most never even batted an eyelash. In fact, he had become something like The Mayor, not just on the grounds of Ocean’s Gate, but in the greater town of Smuggler’s Bay. All ten or so blocks of it.

“Lenny, come here. There’s something very important I need to tell you.”

That was a cue. His expression became grave as it always did when his mother told him she had something very important to tell him. He turned off his MP3 and stood in front of the counter, waiting expectantly.

“Lenny, you’re going to meet somebody new tomorrow. A new friend.”

Lenny smiled at this. He always liked meeting new friends.

“Remember Dr. Jeff?”

“Yes. He moved.”

“That’s right, Lenny. So now there’s going to be a new friend who you’re going to meet with every week. Her name is Dr. Tara.”

“Dr. Tara,” Lenny repeated.

“That’s right. She’s new to Smuggler’s Bay. She just moved here a couple of days ago. It’s your job to show her around. Take her to the boardwalk. You are going to take her out for pizza. How does that sound?”

Lenny stood straight and puffed out his chest. “It would be my honor.”

“Dr. Jeff said she’s really nice. He thinks she’ll be a good friend for you, like he was.”

This was good enough for Lenny. He adored Dr. Jeff. If Dr. Jeff liked Dr. Tara, then he liked Dr. Tara. Plain and simple.

Alice was also encouraged by Dr. Jeff’s strong recommendation of Tara Bigelow. She, too, took his word as gospel. He had worked with Lenny since the boy was four years old. He had taught Lenny how to speak up for himself, trained him in proper hygiene, and helped Lenny to never be ashamed of being Down Syndrome. He taught him to keep his chin up, look others in the eye, and be friendly and helpful.

She was forever indebted to this great man, and she was heartbroken and distressed when she heard he was retiring to Florida. However, he didn’t hesitate in naming Tara Bigelow as his successor with Lenny, which offered her some small measure of comfort.

“Lenny, did you empty out all of the garbage bins?”

“Yes.”

“Did you help Layla load the laundry onto the trucks?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wanna hit the boardwalk?”

“Yes.”

Alice reached into the register and pulled out a twenty. “Here you go. Remember, pizza, pasta, or salad.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mom.”

“Be back by seven o’clock. No later.”

“Yes. I know.”

Lenny saluted one last time and left the front office.

There was a time when Alice would’ve never let Lenny go off on his own. But Dr. Jeff wanted Lenny to be as independent as possible. Little by little, he trained Lenny to look both ways before crossing the street, to be aware of his surroundings, and how to responsibly use money. Little by little, he also trained Alice to let go, albeit reluctantly.

It helped that Smuggler’s Bay was a little town with light street traffic. In fact, it was common practice for motorists to stop and allow pedestrians to cross. The genius of Dr. Jeff’s plan to train Lenny to make his own transactions on the boardwalk was that the more he bought things, the more the shop owners and employees got to know him. It wasn’t long before Lenny knew just about everyone. Even if Lenny made an error in paying for things, the shop owners and employees always corrected the situation.

Even Chief Holbrook and his officers kept a special eye out for Lenny. Lenny adored Chief Holbrook and his son. He also adored Officer Joann, but in the way that a young man adored pretty, young women. Officer Joann was well aware of Lenny’s crush, but she managed it gracefully, maintaining appropriate boundaries while still entertaining a friendship.

Alice was thankful for so many things. She was thankful for Dr. Jenko for operating on Lenny’s heart back in the days when surgeons wouldn’t touch a patient with Downs for fear of ruining their pristine stats. She was thankful for Dr. Jeff for helping her raise Lenny to be the wonderful young man that he was today. She was thankful to the residents and business owners of Smuggler’s Bay for looking out for him.

***

Dharma Ross was arranging the fake designer sunglasses, leaving one of each out on top of its box for customers to see.

She wiped the sweat off her brow as she arranged the display, not because it was grueling work, but because it felt as if her parents’ Sunglass Hut was on the surface of the sun.

However, her mind was elsewhere at the moment, mostly on Vinnie Cantone. During the school year she did her best to get him to notice her, but the kid was shy or something.

He didn’t look like the shy type. He was a little on the short side, but good looking. She liked his chiseled chin and his broad shoulders. He looked like he worked out, but he wasn’t one of those juicing gorillas she saw throwing weights around at the gym.

“How much are these?” asked a customer, holding up a pair of phony designer shades.

“Twenty.”

She was sure he was the type of guy who could’ve had any of the girls at school, yet he didn’t seem to make any real moves. There were even a few occasions where her friends met up with his on the boardwalk, and they all hung out together, but he never spoke to her once. There were only a couple of furtive glances, which were the only things that gave her hope.

“And how about these?”

“Twenty-five.”

She even made sure she frequented his father’s pizzeria, Marco’s Pizza, where he worked, almost daily. Each time she did her best to flirt with him, and each time he barely acknowledged her efforts.

“Why are the these more expensive than the those?”

Because they’re not real, you idiot.

“My mom makes the prices,” Dharma explained, shrugging casually. Dharma’s mother shot her a sharp glance over the register that was surrounded by a cheap tiki display. The girl put the glasses down, milled around for a few more minutes, and left the hut.

Dharma sighed and looked down at her watch. It had slid to the other side of her wrist, lubricated by a mix of sweat and suntan lotion. Almost noon.

“Mom, I’m going to grab some lunch.”

“Let me guess, Marco’s,” said her mother, smirking.

Dharma ignored the comment. She grabbed a pair of the display fake Ray Bans and put them on. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“You know, if that boy hasn’t noticed you yet, maybe he never will.”

“I haven’t tried this pair yet. I think this pair will do it this time.”

It was an inside joke between Dharma and her mother. Every time she would go to Marco’s for lunch, she’d wear a different brand of phony sunglasses.

“He seems like a nice boy and all, honey, but maybe he just doesn’t like girls. I’ve never seen him with any.”

Dharma pushed the sunglasses on the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and blew her mother a kiss. “Have faith, Mom.”

She looked into one of the little mirrors for the customers and made a pouty face, and her mother chortled. Dharma flipped her hair around a bit, checked her teeth, and decided she was ready.

“Into the breach. Wish me luck.”

Chapter 3

Mike waved goodbye to the children and their waiting parents, left the marginal comfort of the overworked air conditioning, and entered the hot soup outside. He walked over to Marco’s, his favorite pizza joint on the boardwalk.

Marco’s son, Vinnie Cantone, was rolling out dough.

“Hey, Vinnie.”

Vinnie looked up. “Oh, hey, Mike. How’re you doing?”

“I’m just dandy, but I don’t know how you toil back there by the ovens in this heat.”

“Oh, I’m used to it. The usual?”

“Yep. How’s the Mustang going?”

Vinnie smiled. “Slowly. I’ve been working all summer to get the parts. Just replaced the spark plugs and the ignition wires. Next is the alternator.”

“Rebuild?”

“Hopefully. If I have to replace, it may have to wait a while.”

“You’re doing the right thing. Always repair or rebuild before you replace. Helps maintain the value. Just like me. The doctor keeps injecting that gel into my knees. It’s working wonders, but one day I’ll have to get them replaced.”

Vinnie laughed. “You’re one tough dude, Mike. I hope I’m in your shape when I get to your age.”

“When do you start school?”

“The end of the month. Then my dad will be here to pick up the slack.”

“You excited?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What’re you studying again?”

“Communications.”

“You gotta go to college to learn how to communicate? What’s your older brother taking?”

“English.”

“His native language. Thousands of dollars a year to study his native language. What ever happened to kids actually taking useful things in college?”

“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring your two slices over to you?” said Vinnie, ending the conversation. But he was still smiling.

Mike wagged a finger at the kid. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to answer a question with another question?” He winked. “Don’t forget the unsweetened iced tea.”

“I won’t, Mike.”

Mike went and sat down toward the back of the pizzeria. Just like at his arcade, the air conditioning only really took the edge off the humidity. He pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his brow, and then the back of his neck. He loved Smuggler’s Bay, but he swore one day these summers would be the end of him.

Mike watched as the pretty young blonde from the Sunglass Hut strolled up to the counter. She was old enough to be Mike’s granddaughter, but he took no shame in drinking in her beauty—her long, golden hair, her bronzed skin, the way her clothes just clung to her body.

He smiled as he knew she was waiting for Vinnie, eyeing him the way a predator eyes a wounded gazelle. She came the same time, just about every day. The only problem was that Vinnie never took much notice of her. For the life of him, Mike didn’t know why.

There’s that old expression…about youth being wasted on the young.

One of Vinnie’s helpers took her order—a Cobb salad and diet cola from the fountain—but she was staring at Vinnie. “Hey, Vinnie.”

He looked up, smiled, and looked back down as he ladled sauce in circles on the dough, like his father had taught him. “Oh, hey, Dharma.”

Mike smiled at the name. He knew her parents. A couple of hippy types who were too young to actually be hippies, but they were nice folk. Do it, Vin. Talk to her.

“So, crazy heat wave we’ve been having,” said Dharma, leaning on the glass counter over the Sicilian slices as she twirled a lock of her hair with her head cocked to the side. Her right foot rose and twirled, snapping her flip flop.

“Yeah, I’ve been burning up back here all week.”

Jesus, Vin. Don’t you see it?

“So, you hear about everyone going to the Shore Club tonight?”

“Yeah, Ted and Frankie mentioned something about it.”

“You going?”

“Yeah, I guess I am. Probably,” he said with well-feigned or entirely genuine disinterest as he sprinkled the mozzarella on the pie.

Dharma smiled uncertainly, finding it difficult to read Vinnie. “Great. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay.”

The guy behind the counter, Juan, handed her the Cobb salad to go. He then filled up a large cardboard cup with diet cola and slid it across the glass counter to her. She slid some bills and a couple of quarters across the counter, grabbed her soda, and left.

Vinnie grabbed Mike’s slices out of the oven and slung them onto two paper plates, which he slid onto an orange plastic tray. He filled a large cardboard cup with ice, unsweetened iced tea, and placed a lid on top. He then added the cup to the tray and walked the tray over to Mike’s table.

“Here you go, the Mike Brunello Special,” said Vinnie, as he slid the tray in front of Mike. He began to walk away when Mike grabbed him by the arm.

“Did I forget something?”

“Sit down for a minute. I want to talk to you.”

Vinnie pointed a thumb at the counter. “I kinda have to get back…”

“Vinnie, sit your ass down. You can spare me a minute.”

“O-okay, sure, Mike.” Vinnie sat down in the booth across from Mike, looking mildly concerned. “Everything okay?”

“No, Vinnie, everything isn’t okay. I’ve been watching that girl, Dharma, from the Sunglass Hut down the other end of the boardwalk mosey up this way every day to come see you.”

“She comes here to get lunch,” said Vinnie. “What’s your point?”

“What’s my point? My point is that she can get a goddamned Cobb salad at a dozen other places on the boardwalk. Why do you think she always comes here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we make the best Cobb salads.”

“Jesus Christ, man. You don’t see the way she talks to you, the way she smiles, the way she twirls her hair…” Vinnie’s expression was vacant. “She likes you, man!”

“Yeah, so?”

“So? What’s wrong with you? You like guys or something?”

“No.”

“Well, what’s the malfunction?”

Vinnie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m a little shy.”

“You? Shy? Come on.”

“No, really. I’m shy when it comes to girls.”

“What are you talking about? You see girls every day. This boardwalk is one great sea of hormones.”

Vinnie looked down at the table, blushing.

“Oh, wait a minute,” said Mike softly. “I see. You actually like this girl. Correction, you actually like this girl a lot.”

“Yeah, so what if I do?”

“You gotta talk to her. Maybe take her out.”

“What, like on a date?”

“Yeah, like on a date.”

“People don’t date these days.”

“They don’t date? Then how the hell does anyone get together?”

“People hang out.”

“Date, hang out, whatever. Hang out with her at the movies, and then you can hang out at dinner.”

“Mike, you don’t just hang out just the two of you.”

“What, you want me to come along? What’s the difference?”

“We hang out in groups.”

“Groups.”

“Yeah, groups.”

Mike knew exactly what Vinnie was talking about. He saw them, groups of young people hanging all over each other on the beach and the boardwalk. “So how are you supposed to get to know her if you’re in a group? Doesn’t that get kind of confusing?”

Vinnie reached across the table and put a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Mike, you’re a great guy, but you’re a dinosaur. I gotta get back to work.” He stood up and left Mike with his two slices and unsweetened iced tea.

“I’m not a dinosaur,” he shouted after Vinnie, “but I used to ride one to school.”

Vinnie waved back at him and took his place toiling by the ovens.

Mike took a bite of his pizza and wondered if this generation was the end of the human race as he knew it.

***

Billy Blake was leaning on the counter by his cash register as he licentiously eyed two teenage girls. He watched them as they fingered through the short shorts rack, giggling wickedly at the messages inscribed across the rumps like ‘Like My Ass?’ and ‘Delicious.’

They weren’t aware of his leering eyes, which was okay by him. One girl was in cut off denim shorts and a hot pink bikini top. As she bent over to look at a lower rack, he admired her tramp stamp on her sun kissed skin. His eyes traced her body down to her flip flops and her hot pink toe nails.

The other girl wore a neon green bikini top and bottom, and flip flops as well. For a second she glanced over at him, their eyes meeting. But the girl, naïve and every year of sixteen, only smiled at him, not recognizing him for the old letch that he was.

That’s what he loved about the teenage girls…that and the small gap that they had between their legs, that women his age didn’t have, where their thighs didn’t touch.

“Can I help you ladies with anything?”

Both girls, slightly startled, although they didn’t know why, looked up at him.

“Just looking,” said the one in the hot pink.

Me too, thought Billy.

He pushed himself off of the countertop and strolled over to the two girls. The one in the pink held up a pair of shorts that read ‘SLUT’ on the backside.

“Is your boyfriend okay with you wearing that?” asked Billy playfully.

“He doesn’t care. He likes it.”

Billy flashed her friend a Can you believe her? look. Her friend shrugged.

“How ’bout you, sweetness?”

“Oh, she doesn’t have a boyfriend,” said the one in pink. Her friend blushed a bit. Billy tried to control the beginnings of a big, shit-eating grin.

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“He dumped her ass the end of school,” answered the one in pink again.

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” said Billy rubbing his hands together. “I’ll cut you and your friend a deal here, seeing as I like you gals…”

They both perked up, eyes wide.

“If you gals buy two pairs of those shorts, I’ll throw in two tank tops. All you have to do is pay for the print.”

They looked at each other, standing on their toes, giddy at the offer and the flirty attention this man was paying them. They were not unfamiliar with flirting for free things.

“Okay. Deal.”

Billy grinned wider, looking like a used car salesman. But they didn’t know what a used car salesman looked like, so they took it for sincerity.

“Come right this way, ladies, over to the counter, and you can pick out your prints.”

He stepped behind the counter, which was raised above the store floor, and the two girls stepped right up to have a look at the wide variety of iron-on prints behind him.

While they were looking up and over his shoulders, he took the opportunity to stare at their cleavage. “So, which college you gals go to?”

They looked at each other again and giggled. “We’re in still high school,” said the one in pink.

“But we’re going to be juniors in September,” added the one in the green bikini.

“Well, you ladies are certainly mature for your age.” They were putty in his hands. It was too easy.

By the end of the transaction, Billy had sold them two pairs of shorts for thirty dollars and two prints at ten dollars each, more than paying for the other two pairs of shorts and two tank tops that cost him two dollars in materials.

He stepped from behind the counter and escorted them out of the store as any gallant pervert would, watching their firm asses as they strolled down the boardwalk clutching their plastic bags.

“Y’all, come back now,” he called after them.

He looked out across the boardwalk and saw Lenny Kruger standing in the middle, eying the store. He waved Lenny over. Lenny smiled and whisked his cape behind him as he crossed pedestrian traffic. When he stood before Billy, he saluted him.

“Hey, Lenny. What’s happening?”

“Hi, Billy.”

“Whatcha up to?”

“Patrolling the boardwalk. Protecting the people.”

Billy smiled. “Ah, somebody has to. The police in this town don’t like to get off their asses.” Billy knew this wasn’t true. He just didn’t like Chief Holbrook. But he knew Lenny did.

Lenny wagged a finger at Billy. “Don’t talk about the police that way. They’re my special friends.”

Billy waved a dismissive hand. “Aw, I was just joking, Lenny.”

Lenny smiled, relieved, and shrugged his shoulders.

“So, I saw you checkin’ out my wares. Anything in particular?”

Lenny shrugged.

“C’mon, Lenny. I know you were looking at something? A tee-shirt?”

Lenny nodded.

“Which one?”

Lenny pointed.

“Ah, Magma Man. I thought you had every Magma Man shirt there was.”

“Not that one, Billy.”

“Well, why don’t you go and pick one out.”

“I don’t have enough money.”

“I’m not selling it to you, Lenny. I’m giving it to you. A gift.”

Lenny put his hands on his hips. “It’s not Christmas!”

“It doesn’t have to be Christmas for me to give a gift to my pal.”

Lenny wouldn’t argue with that logic. “Okay, Billy.”

He walked over to the rack, picked out a medium, and held it up to his body.

“Take a large, Lenny. They tend to shrink in the wash.”

Lenny gave Billy a thumbs up and traded the medium for a large.

“Let me get you a bag for that.” Billy walked behind the counter and snatched up a bag. He held out his hand, and Lenny handed him the Magma Man tee-shirt. Billy folded it neatly and placed it inside the bag. He handed Lenny the bag.

“Thank you, Billy.”

“Anything for my buddy. Where you headed now?”

“Going to get some pizza.” Lenny wore a mischievous grin.

“Really. Just pizza?”

“And ice cream,” Lenny added, his voice squeaking with glee.

“Don’t worry, pal. I won’t tell your mom.”

“Thanks, Billy.”

“All right, get on outta here.”

Lenny saluted, placed his headphones on his head, pressed play on his MP3, and glided out of the store to the opening track of Magma Man 3.

Lenny clutched his gift in his hands and was in heaven. As he often did, he receded into his fantasy world, where he was a superhero and evildoers lurked around every corner. He passed tourists walking the boardwalk—chomping on their pizza, fried dough, and fried pickles; clutching the stuffed animal prizes—pizza slices, ice cream cones, and doughnuts they won at the water gun race or frog bog (Lenny liked the smiley faces the stuffed animals wore); unaware that they had a protector from unseen villains; the good people of Smuggler’s Bay.

To Lenny, the Smuggler’s Bay boardwalk was a wonderland of food, games, and fun. He waved to Johnny Wong as he passed by on his way to Marco’s Pizza.

Johnny Wong wiped his face with his already very damp towel as Run To The Hills by Iron Maiden was wrapping up. The fact that he sat in a small booth under a roof did not provide much comfort from the oppressive heat. Even the breeze from the beach did nothing except blow hot air around.

He clicked around on his laptop, queuing up the next song, and clicked on his microphone.

“It’s another sweltering ninety-eight degree day on the boardwalk at Smuggler’s Bay, and I’m right there with you, on the boardwalk baking in the heat. This is Johnny Wong on H-H-Hot 96.1FM.

“Our weather department (the internet) says there’s no end in sight to the August heat wave. It’s going to be mid to upper nineties through the end of the week with no end in sight.

“So I think it’s appropriate that our next song reflect our plight. Yes, it’s Hotter Than Hell by KISS, on Hot 96.1 FM.”

He clicked and the song began to pipe through the speakers mounted above his head. Normally he was blissfully surrounded by young co-eds chatting it up with him, requesting songs, and asking for shout outs. But not today. It was too damned hot.

Marie Russo strolled up the boardwalk from the other direction, waving to Johnny Wong as she passed. She loved the ’70s and ’80s rock and metal that Johnny cranked out. In fact, that was exactly what she loved about Smuggler’s Bay. No matter how much time passed, the place always seemed stuck in the ’70s and ’80s.

That was part of its charm…that and the fact that the town didn’t become one of these hoity-toity havens for hipsters, yuppies, and their larva. Nope, no gourmet coffee shops or boutiques here. This was a rock n’ roll town for working and middle-class families.

Marie was heading to Blake’s Beachwear Store on the boardwalk to check out the merchandise. She walked up to the store and peeked in. No sign of Billy. Maybe he was off today. She sure hoped not.

Maybe if she lingered a little longer…

“Hey, Marie.” Billy was holding a bunch of blank tee-shirts on hangers as he made his way to the front of the store.

“Hi, Billy. How’s tricks?”

He placed the shirts on a rack next to pink and yellow short shorts with words like ‘Princess’ on them. She wore a sly grin. “Why, Marie, are you minding my business?”

She smiled back and shrugged. “I always keep an eye on the competition.”

Billy casually leaned on a metal rack and gazed at Marie, drinking her in. She was in her late forties, like him, but he thought she looked damned good, like one of those MILFs.

She smelled him. He wore his sweat like a sensual musk.

“Don’t you think your husband should be doing that?”

“He doesn’t think he needs to worry about you.”

“And what do you think?”

“I better get back to the store.” She looked over his broad shoulder. “That a new press?”

“Yup. And I got all new decals for the shirts, too. WTFN is big this summer.”

“WTFN?”

“Why the Fuck Not?”

“That’s a little too trashy for our store,” said Marie.

This time Billy shrugged. “I guess I’m a trashy kind of guy.”

Billy had a reputation. His was married once, and briefly, to a hot young thing about fifteen years his junior. She was a barmaid at the Wet Dock Bar. He always landed younger girls with daddy issues. He acted like a kid and had a good body for a guy his age.

But when you had very little in the way of responsibility and tons of free time to devote to yourself, you had time to work out and go to the gym. Marie’s husband, Mario, was a working family man. A real sweetheart, but chubby and balding like most husbands his age.

Billy was an overgrown man child with the luxury of leisure time and completely disposable income. He represented something that was lost forever when one got married and had kids.

Marie eyed him significantly, trading flirts like it was some kind of sport. Billy knew the game and never took it further than that. She didn’t realize that she was twenty-five years too old for his taste.

“Well, I gotta head back.”

“Hate to see ya go, but I love to watch ya leave.”

Marie sucked her teeth in half-hearted disapproval, and she kept walking up the boardwalk.

***

Meanwhile, farther down the boardwalk, Chief Holbrook was talking to Mario Russo in front of his clothing shop. He had his hand up to shield his eyes from the unrelenting sun.

“I’m telling you, Chief, every time I turn my back some punk walks up and pulls the tops off the mannequins. It’s unseemly. I have families with young children walking past and coming in to shop. The last thing they need to see is topless mannequins.”

“Mario, I’ve got officers walking up and down the boardwalk all day. How come nobody has ever seen anyone doing this? Maybe it’s someone working in your store.”

“What are you talking about? I only have my wife, Marie, working in the store now. I had to cut back on account of the recession. And I’m not the only one. Billy farther down has been complaining about the same thing.”

Holbrook felt sweat trickle down his neck. It was peak season, and Smuggler’s Bay had its share of thefts, public intoxication, fights, the occasional sexual assault, speeding, drugs…and this guy was breaking his balls about some wiseass kid pulling the tops down on female mannequins.

“Mario, I’ll have the officers keep an extra close eye out for your shop. I promise.”

“When you catch this pervert, I’m willing to press charges. In fact, it’ll be my pleasure.”

Holbrook reached back and wiped the sweat off the back of his neck with his hand. His skin was sensitive, like he was fixing on the beginnings of a burn. “Mario, he’s probably some kid thinking he’s being funny. If I catch him, I’ll give if a stern talking to. I’ll talk to his parents.” Changing the subject, “How’s Marie?”

“She’s fine, other than this,” said Mario waving his hands dismissively. It was the heat. It was making everybody irritable.

“How’s business?”

“It’s been a good summer. Good sized crowds this year. My kids can eat this winter.”

“Mario, your kids can eat steak every day this winter. Can I count on you to come to the Town Council Meeting to discuss preparations for the Centennial next year?”

“When is it?”

“October. Right before Halloween.”

“I’ll be there, Chief.”

“Great. You coaching soccer this year?”

“Yeah. I’ll be doing soccer again.”

“Maybe you’ll get Robbie this year.”

“I hope so, Chief. I’ve seen your son play. He’s good.”

“I guess we’ll see. I gotta run. Stay cool.”

“Ah-right, ah-right,” said Mario.

As Chief Holbrook was leaving, Marie was coming.

“Hi, Chief.”

“Hi, Marie. We’ll keep an extra eye on your store.”

“Great. Thanks. The sooner you catch whoever’s doing it, the sooner I won’t have to hear about it from Mario anymore.”

She entered the store and smiled at her husband.

“So how’s Billy Blake’s business doing?”

“Same as ours. He’s got a few new prints.”

“Does he have any idea who’s pulling down the tops on the mannequins?”

“For all we know it’s him,” she jested.

Mario snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised. A man his age living alone, drinking and shooting pool at the Jolly Roger every night, and cavorting with girls half his age…”

Marie chuckled, but she felt warmth in her nether regions.

“By the way,” said Mario, shifting gears, “I need you to run the store tomorrow. I’m going to visit my mother.”

“How’s she been?”

Mario sighed deeply. “She doesn’t always recognize me anymore, and when she does, she thinks I’m a teenager or something.”

Marie smiled sympathetically, and her mind wandered to her husband as a teenager. He was thinner and built back then. But no one looks like they’re seventeen forever. Billy Blake looked good for his age, but he didn’t have responsibility or obligations.

“Well, I’m sure she appreciates you bringing her food and cookies. She always had a sweet tooth, your mother.”

Mario suddenly looked very sad. “They won’t let me bring her cookies anymore.”

“What? Who?”

“The nurses.”

“Why?”

“They’re afraid she’s going to choke on them.”

Marie put her hand to her mouth. “Jesus, Mario, I’m sorry.”

He looked off into space. “Yeah, well…”

“Well, you visiting her is a good thing.” Marie put her arm around his shoulders. “You’re a good son.”

“Thank you for understanding. She never liked you,” he said sheepishly, “but thank you for being so patient with all this.”

“Come on,” she said, “whether she likes me or not, she’s still family.”

Chapter 4

“It’s a balmy night on the Smuggler’s Bay boardwalk, and it’s crowded with walkers taking relief from the sunset. The sun is down and the night is on as the temperature is at a cool eighty-five degrees.”

Johnny Wong called a young family over to his booth in the middle of the boardwalk. The husband and wife looked at each other tentatively and decided to approach with their little one.

“I have with me another young family. Little boy, what’s your name?”

The boy’s father reached down and picked his son up, placing him on the countertop. Johnny swung the microphone over to the boy.

“Tyrell.”

“Hello, Tyrell. My name’s Johnny. How old are you?”

“Five.”

“Where are you—”

“I’ll be six in March.”

“Oh, really? How nice.”

“I’m forty-five inches long, and I weigh forty-five pounds.”

“You don’t say. Where are you from, little man?”

“I live here.”

“Right here in Smuggler’s Bay?”

“Yes.”

“Are Mom and Dad letting you stay up late tonight?”

Tara glared at the DJ, and then she smiled.

“A little later than usual,” said Marcus.

“Really?” asked Tyrell. “Yay!”

“What’s the special occasion?” asked Johnny.

“My Mommy got a job today.”

Tara blushed. “All right, Tyrell. Let’s go play some games.”

Tyrell looked at his father for confirmation. Marcus winked. Tyrell jumped down from sitting on the countertop.

“You guys have a great night,” said Johnny waving goodbye to the trio. “This next song is dedicated to my new buddy, Tyrell, Youth Gone Wild by Skid Row.”

“Oh, jeez,” said Tara. “This place is so stuck in the eighties.”

“So what’s wrong with that?” asked Marcus.

“What year is this?” asked Tara sarcastically.

“I like eighties music,” declared Tyrell.

“What do you know about eighties music?”

“Daddy and I watch it on VH1 Plastic.”

“You mean VH1 Classic,” corrected Marcus.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Tara raised an eyebrow at Marcus. “So this is what you two have been doing when I’m not around?”

Tyrell tugged on Tara’s tee-shirt. “Mommy, Mommy, I want to play games.”

“You did promise him,” said Marcus.

“Okay,” said Tara. “What games do you want to play?”

“I wanna play that pop the balloon game over there!”

“That game’s a scam,” said Tara. “There are no large or medium prizes. Everything’s a small. You have to spend forty dollars to win a prize I could get you in a toy store for five or ten dollars.”

“What a buzzkill, honey,” said Marcus. “Hey, Ty, how about we play some racing games in the arcade?”

“I can get into that,” said Tara. “In fact, I think I can beat you and Daddy.”

Tyrell squealed in delight and looked at his father for his reaction.

“C’mon, little man. I work the pedals and you steer.”

“Yeah!” Tyrell grabbed his mother’s and father’s hands and led them into the arcade.

Race after race, Tara smiled as she looked over at her husband and son, her family. Marcus was right. Jobs come and go, as do the trials and tribulations of life, but they’d always had each other.

There was a time when she didn’t appreciate them like she should’ve…

But she appreciated them now.

After a few games, they went for some ice cream cones and sat on one of the wooden benches facing the beach. They watched the waves crash in the darkness, the sounds of the games and crowd behind them, as they licked their cones.

Marcus looked over his son’s head and smiled at Tara. It was a warm, loving smile, but there was something in addition…something different. There was an anxiety lying at the surface beneath the smile, a cautiousness.

Tara couldn’t blame him, not after what she put him through.

“Okay,” she said, placing her arm around Tyrell, “After this, let’s take a ride on the carousel!”

“Yay!” Tyrell had a dollop of vanilla ice cream on his little nose.

Tara took her napkin and wiped it off. “Jeez, Tyrell, try to get some ice cream in your mouth.”

After they finished the last of their cones, they continued down the boardwalk, Tyrell in the lead pulling both his parents by the hand.

Tara heard the familiar calliope music from her youth emanating out of the side of the Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade. Tyrell squealed with excitement and squeezed their hands tighter when he caught a glimpse of the horses whizzing by, bobbing up and down.

Tara smiled as she reminisced about her many rides on the Merry-Go-Round as a young girl, how she used to wave to her parents as she made each pass, the smell of popcorn and zeppoles wafting in her little nostrils.

“Let’s go!” Tyrell released his parents’ hands and dashed right toward the small line to the carousel.

“Hold on a minute, little man,” said Marcus reaching into his back pocket and producing his wallet. “We have to get tickets.”

This minor detail did not deter Tyrell in the least. He took his place in line, jumping up and down in anticipation, figuring his father was bound to catch up to him with the tickets before the old man running the ride opened the gate.

Tara and Marcus split up, Tara joining Tyrell on line to make sure that he didn’t push or cut in his enthusiasm, and Marcus purchasing the tickets from the automated machine.

Marcus pulled out two dollars and slipped the bills into the automated slot. The second bill was rejected twice, but after smoothing it out on the top edge of the ticket machine, it was accepted. Two small orange raffle-type tickets with the name and logo of Blackbeard’s Pier rolled out of the slot, and Marcus carefully ripped them free.

Tara eyed the candy stand across from where they stood on line, her mouth watering as she spied candy apples, a variety of fudge flavors, and chocolate covered pretzels.

Marcus joined them on the small line, handing the tickets to Tyrell. “Now, don’t drop these. You hand them to the nice man when he lets you in.”

Mike Brunello smiled at the reference to him.

“You didn’t get tickets for one of us to ride with him?” Tara asked.

“Don’t worry,” said Mike, “a parent rides for free. Not Blackbeard Pier’s policy, but it’s my policy.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Tara, smiling.

“Do you want to go on with him?” Marcus asked.

“No, you go.”

“Are you sure? I know how you like the Merry-Go-Round.”

“I have the rest of the summer to ride it,” said Tara.

Marcus shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

Mike pressed a red button, and the carousel began its wind down. “So, you folks rent a house, or did you just move here?”

Tara was a little startled by the astute but intrusive question. Then she saw the kind face of the old man and softened a bit. He was a townie, retired, and talking to the customers was probably his favorite pastime.

“We just moved here.”

“Where you from?”

“Bergen County.”

“Ah, nice county.” He looked down at Tyrell, who looked like he was picking out which horse he was going to ride. “And what’s your name, big guy?”

“Tyrell.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Mike. How old are you, Tyrell?”

“I’m going to be six.”

Mike chuckled to himself. “Going to be six! Wow!” Then to Tara and Marcus, “Funny how at their age they look forward to getting older.”

The carousel was slowing to a stop as parents lined up by the exit gate to greet their riders.

“So, Tyrell, have you decided which one you want to ride yet? We have horses, sea horses, a lion…” The carousel came to rest and Mike opened up the exit gate. Riders and some parents began to file through the exit. Mike smiled and nodded to each one as they left. A few said goodbye, referring to him by name.

Tyrell was frantically scanning the ride, his eyes bouncing from horse to horse. This was an important decision that had to be made quickly. Suddenly, he pointed, reaching through the slats in the fence that surrounded the ride. “That one! I want to ride the bunny!”

Mike nodded gravely. “Ah, yes, the Rabbit. He’s the fastest on this ride. Excellent choice, Tyrell.”

Mike opened the gate, and Tyrell grabbed his father’s hand and yanked him through. They made a beeline right for the Rabbit, and Marcus helped him up.

Mike closed the gate and said hello to some of the familiar parents, but he was interested in Tyrell’s mother. She was a new face, and there was something that he found interesting about her. Here she had this beautiful family and she had apparently just moved to Smuggler’s Bay at the peak of the season, yet there was this sadness about her.

“The kids love the carousel,” he remarked as parents strapped their kids to the horses.

Tara smiled, her mind half-wandering elsewhere to memories of her childhood. “It’s a classic. I don’t think one ever outgrows the Merry-Go-Round.”

Mike smiled at this. She got it.

“You are exactly right…”

“Tara.”

“…Tara. The bigger rides come and go, some of them new-fangled, but the carousel endures. It was here before I was, and it’ll continue to be here after I’m gone.”

“You’re not from Jersey,” said Tara, observing his slight accent.

“I’m from Brooklyn. After I retired and my wife passed on, I moved down here.”

“You have any children or grandchildren?”

Mike saw that all of the riders were properly strapped in. He pressed a button and a bell began to ring loudly, signifying that the ride was about to begin. Then he pressed the green button on his panel, and the ride sprung to life.

“No children, but I get to see these youngsters grow up summer after summer.”

Tara smiled at Mike, as there was something sad about him, beneath the grandfatherly demeanor. “It must be wonderful to watch.”

“It is, Tara. I get to watch young families like yours make happy childhood memories. Life can be so hard, but when families come to Smuggler’s Bay, it’s like the outside world vanished for a weekend or a week, and parents and kids alike just get to have pure fun. And they come back year after year.”

“Yeah, we found out about this place from a girlfriend who had been coming here with her family for years, and with her parents for years before that.”

Mike nodded proudly as he waved at young riders passing by. They waved as much to him as their own parents. The ride was in full swing now. “Smuggler’s Bay is a kind of institution, much like this ride.”

Tara looked around at the old-fashioned shooting gallery, the retro cabinet arcade games, and the skee-ball machines. “This place hasn’t changed much, has it?”

“That’s part of its charm,” said Mike. “I can do without the eighties style rock n’ roll, though.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” said Tara, returning his smirk.

After several revolutions the ride wound down to a complete stop, and Tyrell and Marcus came bolting out of the exit gate.

“Mommy!”

“Hey, little man.”

Marcus bent down next to Tyrell and pointed at the shooting gallery. “Let’s do that. I remember playing that when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, Daddy, let’s go!”

Marcus and Tyrell dashed over to the shooting gallery.

“It was nice to meet you, Mike.”

“Same here, Tara. You enjoy your evening, now. Come back again.”

Tara smiled and walked off to join her husband and son.

Marcus put a dollar bill into the change machine on the counter, and it spit out four quarters.

“Yay, we won!” declared Tyrell.

Marcus laughed. “No, buddy, that’s just the change machine. Daddy needed to get quarters so we can play.”

Tara smiled at her son’s innocence. She treasured it. Knowing that it was only temporary made it priceless.

Marcus popped two quarters in the slot (it was still only fifty cents after all these years), and he grabbed the rifle. He propped Tyrell up on one of the wooden boxes at their feet and helped him aim the rifle. After several shots they managed to make tin cans pop up in the air, a cowboy play the piano for a few seconds, and a rattle snake rattle.

“Good job, sweetie!” Tara looked across the arcade and back at Mike. She watched him admire the young children and their families, making their joy his. She admired him for that. Here was a man who lost his wife, yet he picked up and made a new beginning here at Smuggler’s Bay.

She smiled as her son cheered every time he hit something. She smiled at her husband, who was sharing something from his youth, this simple shooting gallery, with their son. She wondered if Tyrell would look back one day with fondness at the memories they were making from this point onward.

Mike inspired her, giving her hope that perhaps she could pick up the pieces and find happiness. Perhaps Smuggler’s Bay would be Tara’s new beginning as well.

***

Vinnie Cantone looked at his watch as he walked down the boardwalk with Ted and Frankie, toward the Shore Club. Ten after eleven. The club would just start to get hopping.

“It should be good tonight,” said Ted in his black button down shirt and matching black pants. “Lots of Benny snatch down here.”

“I don’t like it when you bash them,” said Vinnie pointedly.

Frankie put his arm around him. “C’mon, bro, you’re always defending the Bennies.”

“They’re a bunch of obnoxious hipster pricks from Northern Jersey and New York,” said Ted.

“They’re not sophisticated folk like us,” quipped Frankie. His rather generously-applied cologne made Vinnie dizzy.

Vinnie shoved Frankie away. “Yeah, well these hipster pricks from Northern New Jersey and New York support Smuggler’s Bay with their dollars. If this town only had Townies like you two assholes, it’d be in big trouble. Besides, they’re not all that bad.”

He, too, had originally hated the Bennies, until his father shared with him the small business owner’s perspective on them. Vinnie still hated Guidos, though.

“He’s right,” laughed Ted. “Remember that Benny bitch I met last summer, from Long Island?”

“The one with the big tits?” asked Frankie.

“Yeah. I fucked her in her hotel room and then on the beach. She wasn’t that bad.”

“You guys talk big considering you dress like them. You look like a couple of metrosexuals,” chided Vinnie.

“Oh, and you’re representing in your jeans and heavy metal tee-shirts.”

“I’m wearing a plain black tee tonight,” said Vinnie.

“That’s why you never hook up,” said Frankie. “Because you don’t have any style.”

“Why do you think he hangs out with us?” said Ted, implying that he and Frankie apparently provided enough style for all three of them.

“Because I don’t have any style,” teased Vinnie.

There was a gentle breeze on the boardwalk, a real relief from the scorching daytime. They reached Garfield Avenue and turned off the boardwalk, cutting through a thick line of parents, children, and strollers.

“So what about Dharma?” asked Frankie.

“What about her?” replied Vinnie, knowing damn well what his friend was getting at.

“I hear she’s going to be at the club tonight.”

“And?”

“When are you gonna make your move, bro?”

Vinnie tipped his head back in exasperation as they passed alongside the Cyclone Water Park. “Jesus Christ, you too?”

“What do you mean me too?”

“Mike asked me the same thing at lunch today.”

Ted stabbed the ocean air with a declarative finger. “The old man’s right, you know. He should know. I bet he’s snagged lots of tail in his time.”

“Jesus, Ted.”

“Ted’s right,” said Frankie. “Did he give you any advice?”

“I wouldn’t let him.”

“Well take some from me…”

Vinnie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because the tail you’ve snagged is legendary in Smuggler’s Bay.”

Frankie frowned at Vinnie’s sarcasm. “I’ve gotten laid more than you, you little chicken shit.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get laid.”

Ted laughed at the remark.

“C’mon, guys. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Listen,” said Frankie, “you haven’t gone out with anyone since that one chick…”

“Pamela,” said Vinnie, finishing Frankie’s sentence.

“And that was what…a year ago?”

“So, what’s your point?”

“My point, young Vinnie, is that all you’ve done since is work on that car of yours.”

“It’s my masterpiece,” smiled Vinnie.

“You need to get a piece,” said Ted.

“You’re a true poet,” replied Vinnie. “Why don’t you guys get off my back about this?”

Frankie jumped in front of Vinnie and started walking backward. “I’ll tell you what…if you make a move on Dharma tonight, we’ll get off your back. I won’t even care if she rejects you or not. All I want to see is a move.”

“Just a move?” asked Vinnie. “That’s all I have to do to get you two pricks off my back?”

“Hey, we do it because we love you, bro,” reminded Ted.

“I’m so lucky,” said Vinnie.

They reached The Shore Club in short order and lined up to go in. They were not of legal age, but it was Teen Night, and Ted’s older brother Russ was a bouncer working the front door tonight. After a metal detector, a few pat downs, and some brotherly insults from Russ, they were in the club.

It was starting to fill up, so Vinnie and company found a spot at the bar and ordered some drinks.

“Three shots of tequila!” ordered Frankie. “The bartender shot him the stink eye. “Oh, all right. Three energy drinks.”

Vinnie looked around the club. He liked arriving early. This way he could scope out who was who as they entered, get the lay of the land.

Frankie slid a drink over to Ted and Vinnie. “May this give Vinnie, here, wings so baby bird can finally fly out of the nest.”

“Really? Gee, Thanks. I haven’t even spotted—”

“There’s Dharma,” said Ted, pointing his finger toward the momentarily vacant volleyball courts next to the pool tables and the neon palm trees.

Vinnie rolled his eyes. “Can I finish my drink first?”

“Oh, here comes the excuses already,” said Ted to Frankie, as if Vinnie wasn’t standing right there. “Really, Vin, this must be a record.”

“You said I had to make a move tonight. You didn’t say I have to do it immediately. Besides, she’s by herself.”

Ted put his arm around Vinnie, and Frankie leaned in. “Vin, you know what’s going to happen if we don’t push you. You’re going to wait and wait for the ‘perfect moment,’ and you know what?”

“What?”

“The night’ll be over, and that ‘perfect moment’ will never have come. And then you’ll be kicking yourself all the way back for not having the balls to make your move.”

“How do I know if she really likes me?”

“Holy shit, bro, are you really that blind?” said Frankie.

“Dude, she’s been coming to see you at the pizza shop every damn day,” explained Ted. “I seriously doubt she likes pizza that much.”

“Cobb salad,” corrected Vinnie.

“Oh, Jesus Christ almighty.”

“All right, goddammit, I’ll make a fucking move already. Can you give me some room?” asked Vinnie testily.

Both Ted and Frankie stepped away from him, careful not to crowd him.

“When I finish this drink,” Vinnie reassured his wingmen.

He sipped the drink slowly, watching the club fill up with girls and guys, the usual 2:1 ratio that was never in his favor.

“It’s a goddamned sausage-fest,” complained Ted.

Vinnie had been watching Dharma from across the club. A bunch of her girlfriends found her, and they were watching some guys playing volleyball.

Dharma glanced across the bar and saw Vinnie. She whispered something to her friends, and they all filed onto the dance floor. Dharma stayed behind and was still watching the volleyball courts.

Shit. She was waiting for him.

Vinnie knew this, and yet he wasn’t emboldened. His knees felt like jelly, and his body was frozen. It’s like he was the Tin Man and his joints were rusted over. He had no heart.

I got fucking heart. He downed the last of his energy drink, wiped his mouth on his forearm, and pushed himself away from the bar, his legs creaking with reluctance.

Ted elbowed Frankie and chuckled.

“Is this it?” asked Frankie. “Is our boy about to make his move?”

The two guys giggled like a pair of Japanese schoolgirls, elbowing each other and pointing.

Vinnie was halfway to the volleyball courts, and he was reminded of his Mustang and how stiff the transmission was if he didn’t give it a proper warm up. But he’d had enough time to warm up. It was time to get in the game already.

A hot little thing in a yellow belly shirt that read ‘WTFN’ passed in front of him. Damned right. Why the fuck not? He got a whiff of her perfume, stirring his loins, which emboldened him.

He made his way through the meat market, the male sharks circling the hot little guppies. He hated this scene, but Dharma had invited him, and she was twenty feet away, alone, waiting for him to come over.

He decided he was a chicken shit, but he wasn’t rude.

He finally reached the volleyball courts and was only several feet behind Dharma when he suddenly felt the wind taken out of his sails. He shouldn’t have had the energy drink. His heart was beating out of his chest. He had to use his momentum and do something quick; she was turning around.

He quickly jumped to the girl standing several feet off to Dharma’s left and introduced himself.

“Hi!” He shouted partially out of nerves and partially to be heard over the thumping house music.

The girl looked surprised, but not exactly disappointed. “Um, hi.”

He leaned in to be heard and a curl of her long, brown hair brushed the side of his face. He felt his pants get a little shorter. “My name is Vinnie.”

He saw Dharma looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Shit. He pretended not to notice.

“What the fuck is he doing?” asked Ted back at the bar.

Frankie shrugged. “He’s making a move. Not the one I would’ve made, but he’s doing it.

What the hell am I doing? “I work at Marco’s Pizza on the boardwalk.”

“Oh. I’m Stacey.”

He felt her hot breath on his ear. “Hi, Stacey.” He wasn’t sure from her body language if Stacey was really into it or not. She hadn’t chased him away yet, but he knew he had a small window to make it work.

“Nice to meet you, Stacey. You play volleyball?”

“At the high school.”

“Oh, you’re on the team?”

“Yeah. Junior varsity. Are you a senior?”

“I just graduated, actually.” This small talk was beginning to feel like a job interview rather than a hookup. “Going to school in the fall.”

“Oh? Cool.”

He supposed he could’ve offered to buy her a drink, but that really didn’t work with non-alcoholic beverages. Go for broke. “Do you want to dance?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Surprised, and unfortunately appearing so, Vinnie led her to the nearest dance floor. He looked over and saw that Dharma was gone. Fuck my life.

He felt bad. He knew she was waiting there for him, but he made his bed and had to lie in it.

He and Stacey began to dance.

“Is he going to dance with that girl?” asked Ted, incredulous.

“It appears so,” said Frankie.

“Metal heads don’t dance.”

“This one does.” Frankie sounded like a proud father talking about his son. “Vinnie’s doing all right. Let’s go Ted. The Bennies await.”

“Why do we always go for Bennies, Frankie?”

“Because the Townies know us too well.”

Ted downed the last of his beverage, and both guys meandered through the crowd. They brazenly wandered onto the dance floor and each immediately found a girl to dance with. Just like that.

Vinnie was struggling internally about how to proceed next. He and Stacey had already danced to a few songs.

He leaned in. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Stacey nodded.

They left the dance floor, passing Ted and Frankie who were all too conspicuously winking and giving him thumbs up.

“What would you like?” asked Vinnie as they reached the bar.

“Diet cola.” Her hair tickled the side of his face again, a sensation he liked more and more.

Vinnie ordered the drinks and turned to Stacey. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to her. She wasn’t his normal type. She was the furthest thing from a rocker. She was more of a Guidette.

When the drinks came, Stacey made it easy for him. “I’m going over to my friends over there. Nice meeting you.” She took her diet cola and walked back across the dance floor.

Vinnie breathed a sigh of relief. That was it. He made his move for the night. Maybe now the guys would get off his case about it.

Exhausted from his futile effort and a bit embarrassed, he drained his ice cold soda quickly and made his way toward the men’s room. He figured he’d take a leak and work on his excuse for leaving early. Ted and Frankie would give him a hard time. That’s what buddies did. He knew it was for his own good.

He was weaving his way through the crowd when he suddenly came face to face with Dharma. Great, as if this night couldn’t get any more awkward.

She didn’t look upset. She was smiling at him.

“Hey,” she said, waving hello.

“Hey,” he said, feeling awkward and self-conscious.

“What happened to that sweet honey you were puttin’ the moves on?”

“Oh, that? That was nothing.”

A smile began to creep onto Dharma’s face, but she bit her lip to stifle it. “Oh, I see. So we’re just all interchangeable to you.”

“N-No, not at all. That’s not what I meant.”

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “So what did you mean?”

“I meant that I was only being friendly. It was just a little dancing.”

“So let me get this straight…I break my ass to try to get you to notice me—I drop by your pizzeria every day, I flirt with you every time I see you—yet you feel the need to be ‘friendly’ with a complete stranger, a Benny no less, and you think it’s completely okay to ignore me?”

“I-uh-I…”

She smirked at him. “You know I’m just breaking your balls, right?”

Vinnie looked relieved but embarrassed. “C’mon, give me a break. As you can see, I’m not great at this.”

“Well, at least I got your attention this time.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. He wanted to look down, but her eyes caught his, and he couldn’t look away. “I guess so.”

“Well, now that you have my attention, what are you going to do with me?”

Jesus, she was forward. She looked beautiful, too, now that he allowed himself to look at her. He drank in her golden mane of hair, sun-kissed skin, and athletic physique. She looked amazing in her short white shorts and pink halter top. Her belly-button ring glinted in the lights of the dance floor.

“Wanna dance?”

“Nah, that’s what you did with the last girl. I think I deserve something better.”

Vinnie swallowed hard. “What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s get out of here, and I’ll show you.”

Vinnie was terrified beyond all capacity for rational thought, but like good boy, he agreed. He followed her back across the dance floor, waving to his two buddies.

They waved back and elbowed each other, grinning like idiots at their friend. They gave him a thumbs up, and Vinnie’s face became hot. He turned back around and was relieved when he saw that Dharma hadn’t seen their sophomoric display of approval.

He followed her right out of the club.

Chapter 5

“So where are we going?”

“I figured we go up to the boardwalk and play some games, go on some rides.”

The boardwalk became a bit rowdier past eleven o’clock as some of the seedier elements came out to play. It was just past midnight.

“Uh, do you think that’s a great idea given the time?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, c’mon Vinnie. We’ll be fine.”

They walked the two blocks back to the boardwalk. Vinnie saw from the street that it was as packed as ever. They ascended the ramp and merged with oncoming traffic. He felt overdressed.

“I wanna play some video games first.” Dharma grabbed his hand and pulled him into Big Shot Arcade. She pulled him over toward the racing car games and threw herself into one of the seats in front of the steering wheel. “Go heavy or go home,” she said, winking.

Vinnie reached into his wallet, pulled out two dollars, and sat in the seat next to hers. He handed her a dollar, and they both fed their machines.

“Now you’re talking,” he said. “But don’t think I’m going easy on you.”

They selected their cars. He chose a yellow Corvette and equipped it with nitrous. She chose a Camaro and equipped it with neon underneath.

“Very useful,” he teased.

“You just worry about your car as you choke on my dust.”

A scantily clad girl appeared on the screen between their two cars at the start line.

“Hey, Vinnie, maybe you can ask her to dance.” She laughed wickedly.

“Do I win her if I win the race?”

Dharma playfully punched him in the arm.

Vinnie took advantage of her distraction and was first off the line. “See, violence will get you nowhere.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He bumped into another car that jumped into his way, and she pulled up right alongside him.

She jerked the wheel left and plowed her car into his, sending him crashing into a street lamp.

“Hey, no fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“Oh yeah, which is this?” He didn’t believe he had the balls to ask, but he was nervous and the game distracted him.

Dharma looked over at him with a playful look, surprised at his forward quip.

Vinnie hit the nitrous and zoomed ahead of her. “Ah, you have to keep your eyes on the road.”

Dharma bit her lip and weaved in between the other cars.

Vinnie looked at her tan, toned legs out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re one to talk,” she said, having caught his not so furtive glance.

They came around to the end of the final lap, laughing all the way, and Vinnie had one nitrous left. “It’s curtains for you, kitten.” He hit the button, and his car went barreling forward, the background blurring to imply his speed.

“Hey, Vinnie…” Dharma reached down, grabbing the bottom hem of her halter top, and yanked it up, exposing her white bra.

Vinnie looked, and his jaw fell open as his car careened off a wooden bridge.

Dharma pulled her shirt back down and flew ahead, taking second place.

“I beat you!”

Vinnie blushed. “That’s not fair.”

“Weren’t you the one who said you should always keep your eyes on the road?”

Vinnie looked around nervously. “This is a family establishment. There are kids here.”

Dharma jumped up out of her seat. “C’mon, I wanna ride the carousel.”

Vinnie got up as she grabbed his hand and yanked him out of the arcade, back onto the boardwalk. She didn’t let go of his hand as they walked.

“So, I hear you have a classic car you’re working on.”

“Yeah, it’s a 1969 Mustang.”

“Is it fast?”

“It’s got some muscle. Not the fastest car out there, but it’s a classic. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

“Cool, so do you drive it around? I’ve never seen you in it.”

“Right now I’m in the process of rebuilding the alternator, so at the moment, no.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“You know Mike Brunello?”

“Over at Blackbeard’s Pier? The guy who runs the carousel?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“He sold it to you?”

“Yeah. It’d been sitting in his garage for years. He stopped driving it and decided he wanted to unload it. Said he was getting too old for a car like that.”

“Wow.” She looked impressed that ol’ Mike once owned a car like that. “Can’t picture him in a muscle car.”

“Why not? He was younger once.”

“Oh, excuse me. So why did you get that car instead of a new Camaro or something?”

“He practically gave it to me. Besides, there’s something cool about keeping a classic on the road. I’ll tell you, that car is timeless.”

“Kinda like the carousel and Smuggler’s Bay for that matter.”

Vinnie smiled at this. This girl got him.

They practically ran into the Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade, Dharma in the lead, and Vinnie following right behind her. It gave him an opportunity to check out her ass.

Because of the hour, the carousel was less crowded. All of the little kiddies were snug in bed back at their motels. Mike probably was too.

Vinnie walked up to the ticket machine and reached for his wallet, but Dharma put her hand up. “I got this.”

She fed the machine four dollars, and she pressed the button. Four orange tickets slid out.

Vinnie put up his hands. “Oh, you shouldn’t have gotten me a ticket. You go. I’ll watch.”

“Oh, no,” said Dharma, grabbing his hand again. “Not after all of this talk about classics and why we love ’em. The carousel is a classic, and you’re going on with me.”

She let go of his hand and curled her right index finger, beckoning him to follow her, flashing him her best ‘come hither’ look.

Vinnie cursed himself silently for not being able to resist. He got on the short line with her and looked around, hoping no one he knew saw him.

Dharma started kneading his shoulders. “Loosen up, Vinnie. You’re always so nervous. You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“Unless you’d rather be back at the meat market asking Benny girls to dance?”

“That’s not fair.”

“C’mon, I’m only joking.”

“No, about the Bennies, I mean. They support this place.”

“I know. That’s what my mom says, too. My Dad think’s they’re obnoxious, though.”

“Well, some of them can be,” Vinnie conceded.

The carousel operator that Vinnie only knew as Ethel (she was a new employee, around Mike’s age, maybe a little younger) opened the gate, and Dharma went skipping through.

Dharma hopped onto the carousel and selected a blue seahorse. Vinnie chose the horse right next to hers. They hopped up and strapped themselves in. After a minute or two, the bell began to ring, and the horses slowly sprung to life.

As the carousel picked up speed, Vinnie enjoyed the cool breeze on his face and in his hair. He remembered riding the carousel as a kid with his mother, the lights and electronic sounds passing by as he waved to his father.

He looked at the pretty girl on the horse next to him and thought his mother would’ve been proud. Proud that he was out with such a pretty girl, and proud that she got him to ride the carousel again. He watched as the breeze tossed Dharma’s long, blond hair around. He marveled at her beautiful smile.

This night couldn’t have been more perfect.

The ride began to gradually slow until it came to a complete stop. Dharma quickly unstrapped herself and hopped off her horse. She waited for Vinnie, and they stepped off the ride and strolled out the exit, thanking Ethel on the way out.

“I want some ice cream,” announced Dharma. She took his hand in hers and they were off to the frozen custard stand next door. Dharma ordered a vanilla cone, and Vinnie a chocolate one.

“Let’s get a bench looking at the ocean,” Vinnie suggested.

“Okay.”

They walked, frozen custard in hand and Vinnie already sporting a brown mustache, over to the benches at the edge of the boardwalk on the side facing the ocean.

They picked a pink reversible bench with the back set up so that they would be facing the boardwalk. Vinnie switched the back, pulling it forward, so they would be able to sit facing the other way.

He gestured for her to sit.

“Oh, how gallant,” she smiled. She sat, putting her feet up on the chain link fence.

Vinnie sat beside her, leaning forward, digging into his chocolate frozen treat. It felt good going down, another little guilty pleasure in the midst of a brutal heat wave.

It was dark, so they weren’t able to see the water, but they heard the rhythmic crashing of the waves on the sand in the dark void before them. Vinnie found the black void ominous, a stark, dreary contrast to the hustle and bustle of the boardwalk behind them.

Dharma swallowed a mouthful of vanilla. “So, are you happy with how the night turned out?”

“Definitely.”

“So, does this mean that we’re friends now?”

Vinnie wasn’t quite sure how to react to the ‘F-word.’ He had actually hoped they were on their way to becoming more than friends. He felt something between them. Now he wondered if she felt it too.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess so? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…well, I like you…I mean, we’re definitely friends…”

Dharma leaned over and planted a kiss on Vinnie’s cheek. Her lips were cold from her frozen custard, which somehow enhanced the pleasure of the sensation of being kissed by her.

Now he wondered if that was a friendly kiss or…something else. Well, if there were feelings above and beyond friendship…if she really liked him, it was too soon for her to just make out with him. Wasn’t it? Or…

“Vinnie, I’d think by now you’d realize that I like you…a lot.”

Bingo.

“I-I like you too,” he replied rather awkwardly.

“Good. So does this mean I get the friends and family discount at Marco’s?”

That damned F-word again. No. He wouldn’t allow his neurotic doubt to creep back into his mind. She liked him. She said so herself. She came by the pizzeria every damned day, she flirted with him, she just kissed him on the cheek, and she just said she liked him…a lot.

“Well, you get the friend’s discount now…but the girlfriend’s discount is so much better.”

Dharma smiled, her eyes widened in surprise at his bold statement, and then they narrowed. “Well played, Vinnie. Well-played, indeed.”

She slid a little closer to him on the bench, almost imperceptibly, and they enjoyed the rest of their custard in a shared, comfortable silence. There was now an understanding between them where there was once confusion and doubt. The Smuggler’s Bay Boardwalk had worked its magic.

After they finished their custard, Dharma looked at her watch, which caused Vinnie to look at his. It was almost 1:15. The boardwalk was thinning out and businesses were starting to shut down for the night.

Vinnie was reminded of a time he and his friends walked the boardwalk at 3 a.m. It was eerie to see it completely dark and empty. It was off-putting.

“Walk me home?”

“Sure.” He just realized that he had no idea where Dharma lived.

They stood up as two police officers on bikes passed by, scanning the sparse crowd of pedestrians. Vinnie saw a staff member of the Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade getting ready to pull down the metal gates.

Dharma began to walk, and he walked beside her, but Vinnie was really following her. They stepped off the boardwalk at Ocean Avenue and walked parallel to the boardwalk for two blocks. A police car crept past, shining its light on the young couple. Satisfied there was no mischief or wrong doing going on, the cop moved on to a group of staggering Guidos farther down the street that was very loud. He flipped his lights on and they turned to look, hurling curses at the police car.

Vinnie was not interested in seeing how that was going to turn out. Dharma had them turn left on Nautilus Street. They strolled on until she stopped in front of a small bungalow with yellow siding.

“This is me.”

“Great. This was fun…maybe we can do this again.”

“I’d like that.” She leaned forward, closed her eyes, and gave him a quick peck on his mouth. Her full lips were warmer this time. “G’nite, Vinnie.”

“G’nite, Dharma.”

He watched her fish for her house key, enter her house, and close the front door behind her. He then turned back onto Ocean Avenue and headed north.

He wanted to skip home. This night was completely unexpected, and he felt a reluctant gratitude toward his two friends who cajoled him into going out tonight. The rest…well, that was pure magic.

Vinnie loved summers at the Jersey Shore. It was as if anything could happen, and often did. The beach, the boardwalk, the rides, the clubs…he couldn’t imagine spending his summers any other way.

He eventually came upon the Jolly Roger Pub. There was someone standing in front of the bar, leaning on the wall, smoking, the person’s face hidden by the darkness and puffs of smoke.

A coal glowed for a moment as the smoker took a drag. “Hey, Vinnie. You’re out late.”

Vinnie knew that voice. “Hey, Mr. Blake.”

Billy threw down his cigarette butt and rubbed it out with his foot. “If I told ya once, I told ya a thousand times, it’s Billy. Mr. Blake’s my dad. You make me feel old callin’ me Mr. Blake.”

Vinnie smiled. “Sorry, Billy.”

“That’s more like it. Where you comin’ from this late? That teen night at the Shore Club?”

“Nah. I was out with a girl. On the boardwalk.”

Billy arched a devilish eyebrow. “A girl, huh? Who? Anyone I know?”

The question made Vinnie as uncomfortable as who was asking it and how it was asked, which were all related. “Some girl.”

“You get some?”

“It wasn’t anything like that. We just played some video games, went on a few rides, had some ice cream.”

“Oh.” Billy stood next to Vinnie and put his arm around him. His breath reeked of tobacco and beer. “Well, don’t wait too long. There’s a small window when you first meet a girl, and when it closes, there’s no way you’re getting in her pants. Make hay while the sun’s shining.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Why don’t ya come in and play me a game or two of pool?”

“I have to get up tomorrow to go to work.”

Billy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell your dad you were with me. He’ll let you come in late.”

“I’m pretty beat.”

“One game. Whaddaya say, kiddo?”

“Okay. One game.”

“Damn bar’s closing soon anyway.”

They walked in through the front door. Whitesnake played over the sound system.

“Look what this cat dragged in from the street,” announced Billy. Heads turned.

“Hey, Vinnie,” said Jenny from the bar.

“Hi, Jenny.”

Everyone else, all four or five of them, went back to their drinks and conversations.

Billy slapped a bill on the bar. “Jenny, get my friend here a cold one.”

“You know I can’t do that, Billy. He’s underage. Chief Holbrook’d have my ass.”

“That’s not true,” declared Billy, “because your ass is mine.”

Jenny rolled her eyes, but there was a brief smile.

“How ’bout a cola then, sweetheart?” Billy was crass and brash, but he did have a way with women. Somehow, he always managed to snag some tail.

“See, kid. That’s how you talk to women.”

Jenny slid a pint of cola over to Vinnie. “Don’t listen to him. You’ll die alone.”

This remark seemed to cut through Billy’s bravado and hit him where it hurt. There was a moment where he looked as if he was going to say something truly nasty back, but he held his tongue.

“Let’s go shoot a game, before Jenny’s charm wins me over.”

They walked over to the nearest table, a seven-and-a-half-foot bar table. The felt was torn in some places and stained in others. Johnny Wong stood beside it, leaning on his pool cue.

Billy sniffed. “Johnny, take a break. Vinnie’s going to play a game.”

“Hi, Vinnie,” said Johnny, backing away from the table and taking a seat next to the table holding his pint of beer.

“Hey, Johnny.” Vinnie really didn’t know Johnny very well. He knew who he was. Hell, he passed his broadcast booth every day on the boardwalk.

He was a bit older than Vinnie. Having just graduated this past May from college with his degree in Communications, this was his first paid gig. Vinnie imagined it didn’t pay much, but everyone paid their dues in the beginning.

“You’re out late,” remarked Johnny.

Billy popped in four quarters and released the balls, while Vinnie took a gulp of his cola and placed it on the small bar table.

“Quit breakin’ his balls, Johnny.” Billy winked at Vinnie. “Rack ’em, Danno.”

Vinnie didn’t get the reference (and neither did Johnny, for that matter), but he grabbed the rack from its holder on the side of the table and started placing balls in it. “What time do you open tomorrow, Billy?”

“Whenever I goddamned please, I guess.”

“You’re not worried you’ll miss customers?”

“They don’t buy my kind of shit first thing in the morning. They’re either sleeping in or hitting the beach, tanning their fine young bodies.”

“How ’bout you, Johnny?”

“My show starts at noon, which is right around when I wake up.”

“You’re lucky. I gotta be in by ten thirty to help fire up the ovens and help my dad set up.”

Vinnie finished racking the balls. He replaced the rack and went over to the cue rack to select a stick. He chose one with a good weight to it. He rolled it on the other pool table, checking to see if it was straight.

Billy grinned. “Good, Kid. You’re daddy taught you well.”

It wasn’t perfect, but good enough. All of the cues were warped at the Jolly Roger Pub. It was only a matter of degree.

“Break my balls, Billy.”

“You know I will,” Billy said, smiling. He leaned over the table and broke the balls. It was a good spread. He got a high ball in. Billy always liked high.

Vinnie took a sip of his Coke and placed it back on the table. “Sales going good?”

Billy shrugged and shot the thirteen ball in the corner pocket. “It’s been a pretty good summer. You should come by and hang out sometime. There’s lots of hot teen girls who come by to check out my wares.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“You have no idea,” said Johnny. “I reel them in from Billy’s shop on the fly. They love getting on the radio. Sometimes I let them do shout outs.”

Billy lined up a bank shot around the four ball and sank the nine in the side pocket, gaining excellent position for a shot on the eleven into the same side pocket. Billy always worked the sides. It was his jam.

“They’re a little young for you, you fucking perv,” said Billy to Johnny.

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” said Johnny, the irony of Billy’s remark lost on him.

“Just cuz I look at the menu, doesn’t mean I order.”

“I’m the perfect age,” said Vinnie. “Both of you can live vicariously through me.”

Billy lined up his next shot. “Maybe you can pick up another girlie to take out for a night on the boardwalk.” He sunk the eleven and set himself up for a rail shot with the fifteen. He made the shot.

Vinnie smirked. “Are you sure you wanted to play me? It looks like you’re just playing with yourself.”

Billy smirked at the reference. “Your daddy know you talk like that?”

“I think everybody knows you like to play with yourself, Billy,” said Johnny.

Vinnie blushed a little. “Just shoot, Billy. You run the table and I’ll get to go home earlier than I thought. Then you can get back to sweeping the floor with Johnny, here.”

“Hey,” protested Johnny, “for all you know, I could’ve been wiping the floor with his ass all night.”

Billy leaned over the table, lining up his shot on the ten. He shot and missed. “Vinnie’s not as dumb as you look, Johnny.”

“You missed that on purpose,” said Vinnie.

“You wanted a shot, there you go.”

Vinnie scanned the table, sizing up his prospects. Billy was the type of player that you couldn’t miss with. If you missed twice, then he had you. He rarely missed. He wasn’t fancy, but he was consistent.

Billy took a straight shot on the four and sunk it in the corner.

“Nice shot, Kid. Just keep an eye on your cue ball control.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Billy rolled his eyes and hollered over to Jenny. “Three shots of whiskey.”

“I told you, Vinnie’s too young,” she hollered back.

“Who the fuck heard me say anything about Vinnie?”

She shook her head and poured the shots.

Vinnie lined up a shot with the two ball. He’d have to cut it. He sunk it in the opposite corner.

“Nice cut.”

“Thanks.”

Jenny brought the three shots over and placed them on the table next to Vinnie’s cola. Billy slipped her a twenty and pulled her close.

“Billy!” She hit him on his shoulders, but he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. She struggled, but there was that smile again.

Vinnie shook his head and took his next shot, missing.

Jenny broke free. “You old perv.” She bustled back to the bar while Billy leered at her as she went.

“Your shot, Billy.”

Billy was still watching her, as if he could pinch her ass from across the room by sheer will. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

He approached the table, leaned over, and sank a ball. And another. He ran all the way to the eight ball. “Corner pocket.” He sunk it. “And that’s all she wrote.”

Just then, the front door swung open, and Chief Holbrook came strolling in. He nodded to Jenny.

“Hi, Chief.”

Vinnie was downing his cola. Johnny threw back one shot. Billy downed one, wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, and then he threw back the second.

“Vinnie, what are you doing out so late?” asked Holbrook.

“He just got back from a date. I talked him into one harmless game.”

Holbrook eyed Billy with palpable disdain. “Well, it looks like that game is over. I don’t think your father wants you shooting pool at one forty-five in the morning with the likes of Billy Blake.”

Johnny, feeling awkward, looked down at his shoes.

Billy returned the glare. “Oh, Chief, if I didn’t know you so well, my feelings would be hurt.”

The two men never broke eye contact.

Vinnie downed the last of his cola quickly. The carbonation burned his throat. “I gotta run anyway. Thanks for the game.”

“Any time,” said Billy, still eying Holbrook.

“Later, Johnny.”

Johnny only nodded.

Vinnie hurried out of the bar, waving goodbye to Jenny. He took to the street, grateful to be released, and he was home in moments.

He let himself through the gate and then the front door. The house was dark. Thank goodness his father was asleep—one less awkward exchange.

Once in his room, he took off his shoes, pants, and shirt and threw himself on his bed. He was exhausted, the kind of exhausted from a good day and a sense of accomplishment. He was even too tired to brush his teeth.

He closed his eyes and thought about Dharma, but within minutes his thoughts turned into dreams. Vinnie was content.

***

Mike Brunello lay in bed, tossing and turning. He rolled over and stretched his arm across the bed. He felt his Ramona lying next to him. She was warm.

He snuggled close to her, feeling her body against his. It was a welcome feeling. He didn’t know why, but in that moment he felt so lonely.

He opened his eyes, and the feeling of Ramona next to him evaporated into the shadows of his bedroom. He rubbed his eyes as he realized his bed was empty, except for him. He looked at the clock. Two twelve in the morning.

Damned water pill. He got up to urinate for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night.

***

Tara sat up in bed in the dark of her new bedroom. The room felt strange to her, but it was more than the room. She felt strange to her. Nothing was as it should’ve felt like.

She looked at the lump in the sheets beside her and felt a wave of anger and resentment at Marcus, though she didn’t know why.

She slid out of bed and padded into Tyrell’s room. She watched him sleep from his doorway, watching his little chest rise and fall with each breath. The anger rose up in her, and she lowered herself onto his bed, kneeling next to Tyrell.

He rolled over toward her, his mouth moving in his sleep. She reached down and placed her fingers lightly around his neck. She watched him breathe some more as the anger welled up inside her and burst into rage.

She closed her fingers tightly around his neck with a strength that felt strange, even to her. His eyes opened, and he tried to scream, but no sound was allowed to escape in her grasp.

He began to pull at her hands and then claw, flopping around the bed, but she held him fast. She was on auto-pilot now. No feelings, except rage. No thought except to end her son’s life…

Tara Bigelow sat up in bed, trembling in a cold sweat to the white noise of the air conditioning. She thought she might’ve screamed, but she wasn’t sure.

“You all right?” asked Marcus.

“Yeah,” she said, catching her breath. “I’m okay.”

“Another nightmare?”

“I’m okay, Marcus. Go back to sleep.”

“Maybe you need to go back on the Zoloft again. You know, to even you out a bit.”

Even her out. That’s what she thought happened while she was on Zoloft for a year-and-a-half after Tyrell was born. “I’m okay,” she insisted. “Really. It was just a dream.”

It was just a dream. Memories, really, of when the postpartum possessed her, planted thoughts and feelings in her head that weren’t hers.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m fine.”

She got up and shook, but it wasn’t all from the crisp air conditioned air. She left the bedroom and looked in on Tyrell. He was in a deep sleep, the kind children have after a busy day of playing hard.

She went to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. She slashed cool water on her face and looked in the mirror at herself. She figured the dream was because of some mild nerves about the interview tomorrow.

She had worked with women like the one Dr. Loews had described. She knew how to handle them. She just preferred not to be around them at all.

She went back into her bedroom and slid back into bed. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to have any more nightmares. She needed to bring her A-game tomorrow, and she needed her rest.

The only problem was the subconscious took orders from no one.

***

Billy rolled his tongue around inside Jenny’s mouth as he lay on top of her, sliding in and out of her. She closed her eyes and moaned with each thrust, clutching the sheets in sweet agony.

He pulled out of her. “Turn around and grab the headboard.”

She gasped, caught her breath, and rolled over. She pushed herself up onto her knees and grabbed the headboard. He quickly slid up behind her and reinserted himself. He put his hands in the hollows of her hips and fucked her some more.

When they had finished, they lay there side-by-side panting in the bed as the old window unit pumped out semi-cool air.

Suddenly, a wave of guilt passed over Jenny. Billy wasn’t her type at all, or at least that’s what she told herself. However, one thing had led to another and here they were.

“You’re clean, aren’t you?”

Billy smirked. “This’s a hell of a time to ask a question like that.”

“Well, are you?”

“Honey, if I were clean we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

“Just get out.”

“With pleasure.”

***

Marie Russo lay restless in her bed next to Mario. She had been in the mood before they went to bed, but Mario had said he was tired. He’d been tired a lot these days. Working and taking care of his mother was no bargain.

Marie felt guilty for thinking so, but she just wished Mama Sophia would croak already. The woman had been in a decline for two years now, and it was taking its toll on her husband.

He was going to see her in the morning after picking up some donuts along the way. She would’ve gone too, but someone needed to run the store. Besides, it was true that Mama Sophia didn’t like her.

Maybe it was just as well. The last time Marie joined Mario on a visit, Mama Sophia acted as if she didn’t recognize her, as if she had no recollection of Marie whatsoever.

Marie wasn’t sure if this was legitimate or just an act. For not having recognized Marie, Mama Sophia was still awfully cool toward her. Either the old bitch was faking, or perhaps she was picking up on whatever she detected when she first met Marie.

There were remarks about Marie’s Sicilian heritage.

“Why couldn’t you find a nice Napolitano girl, Mario?”

“Don’t turn your back on her, Mario.”

“Just remember, Mario, when Sicilians hug you with one arm they stab you in the back with another.”

“Mario, what if your babies come out dark?”

Mama Sophia almost didn’t come to their wedding, which was fine by Marie at the time, but her absence would’ve been like a knife in Mario’s heart. He was able to convince her to attend the wedding in the end after much begging and pleading.

The reception reminded Marie of a grade school dance. The Napolitano side and the Sicilian side each stuck to their side of the banquet room with little to no interaction with the other half. Marie remembered that when she and Mario went from table to table to greet their guests (which took all goddamned night because there were four hundred guests), when she was at one side’s table, the other side shot them dirty looks, and vice versa.

Marie’s family was no bargain either. Poor Mario, when they were dating, Marie’s father insisted on chaperoning them. Two grown adults requiring a chaperone—but that was the Sicilian way.

She remembered her father, a stern man, sitting through the movie Black Rain with them. He kept sucking his teeth and shaking his head every time Michael Douglas cursed or someone got killed.

Any other man would’ve run screaming the other way, but not Mario. Maybe it was because he was Italian, raised in the old school. He understood. His patience paid off because he eventually grew on her father. When he asked for her hand in marriage, her father was impressed by the gesture and granted his blessing.

Mario was a good man. He was a peacekeeper in both families, and she admired him for it. He deserved time with his mother, and she would be patient. Mario would go and keep Mama Sophia company, recount memories, and talk about the old days. She seemed to remember fifty years ago better than fifty minutes ago, but the doctor had said that was the normal pattern of senile dementia.

Marie lay there and wondered if her children would be so good to her one day. It wasn’t easy when her mother died. Mario was right there at her side at the hospital. Her mother had tripped on the edge of a carpet and fallen, breaking her hip on the coffee table.

When she was recovering in the hospital, she had become so confused. She mistook Mario for Salvatore, Marie’s brother. Mario didn’t correct her. He only smiled and played the role. “If it makes her smile,” he always said.

Marie would be patient. Her base needs would have to wait until Mario was less distracted. She reached down and slipped her fingers beneath her pajama shorts and tended to her hunger.

***

Lenny lay in his bed with the air conditioning straining to cool his small room in the hotel. He wore a half grin as he dreamt of riding on the Magma cycle with Billy sitting in the sidecar. The boardwalk was crowded with life-sized pizza slices and ice cream cones wearing contorted faces that tried to eat the tourists.

Lenny nodded gravely to Billy, who began firing the magma cannon at the ravenous food monsters. With each hit there was an explosion, and pieces of pizza, cotton candy, and taffy plastered the frightened tourists. When all was said and done, and everyone was covered in sugar and nougat, Lenny and Billy were praised as heroes and given the key to the city.

Lenny rolled over on his side and squeezed his pillow tightly, reveling in the glory of a super job well done. Smuggler’s Bay was safe…

…for now.

***

Chief Holbrook walked home from The Jolly Roger. He enjoyed this time of night. Smuggler’s Bay was quiet. The Bennies were back in their hotel beds with their families and friends sleeping peacefully. The Guidos were out of the bars and clubs and in their beds as well…or someone else’s if they were lucky.

He was looking forward to taking Robbie on the boardwalk this weekend and going on some rides. This time of year it was difficult for Holbrook to break away and spend time with his son. There was always some kind of emergency or pressing matter.

Robbie never complained though. Holbrook was grateful for that. He was a good kid. Despite growing up in Smuggler’s Bay, the kid never grew tired of the attractions, and he never took them for granted.

Holbrook supposed it wasn’t just the games and the rides. It was time they spent together doing ‘guy stuff.’ Racing cars in the arcade, riding the water slides, driving the go karts…Holbrook relished these moments with Robbie.

After Labor Day, when things slowed down to a crawl, he would have plenty of time to hang out with Robbie. Even though school started, they always had the weekends. The boardwalk was still open and there were no lines for anything. It was like they had the whole boardwalk to themselves.

Holbrook strolled up to his front door, weary from the day’s work. It was a long, hot day, as was every day during peak season. He and his officers had their fill of public intoxication, fist fights, underage alcohol poisoning, and storeowner complaints. They’d wake up in a few hours and start all over again.

But, for the moment, Smuggler’s Bay was quiet.

Chapter 6

August 21

Chief Holbrook struggled to pull the man off his deputy, but his jaws locked on his deputy’s arm like a pit bull, and the driving rain made him slick. It was like trying to catch a greased pig.

“Jesus, Jim, get this crazy fuck off me!”

The man with dark circles under his eyes ripped off a chunk of Gary’s forearm with his teeth and began to chew it.

Holbrook grabbed Gary and dragged him away from the cannibal, as Gary clamped a hand over his wound. Blood squirted between his fingers, and he groaned in pain.

As the entire town of Smuggler’s Bay had inexplicably degenerated into rioting, the other officers were grappling with other attackers who were snapping their jaws at them like a bunch of land sharks.

“Use the Tasers!”

Officer Pike shoved a very sickly looking woman off of him and unsheathed his Taser. He aimed and fired the barbs right into her chest. The Taser clicked as it sent 50,000 volts into the woman.

She didn’t even flinch.

She lunged forward and grabbed the officer, closing the circuit. His body went stiff, and he fell to the ground, taking her with him.

“Help him!” Gary shouted at Holbrook.

Holbrook lowered Gary to the boardwalk and ran to his fallen officer, extending his baton. He began to swing, connecting with the woman’s arms, but she showed no indication of pain. Instead, she was rather intent on trying to bite Pike’s face.

Her arms broke from Holbrook’s blows, which brought her closer to her target as she collapsed under her own weight. Pike palmed her forehead and pushed her teeth away from his face, bending her head backward at what should’ve been a painful angle. Her putrid breath made him want to puke.

“Help me, Jim!”

Holbrook didn’t know what drug this girl was on, but he’d never seen anything like this. The smell was beyond disgusting. He swung at her head, and he felt her skull crack under the force of his blow, but she kept snapping at the officer beneath her.

Screw the civilian review board, and screw the mayor. This was now a matter of self-defense. Holbrook brought his baton down on her skull repeatedly until her head actually caved in. The woman gave one final death rattle and became still.

Pike threw her lifeless body to the side, and Holbrook pulled him to his feet. “You okay, Joe?”

“Yeah. Thanks. What the fuck’s going on?”

Holbrook looked around them. There had to be at least a dozen of these attackers.

“Where’d they all come from?” asked Joe.

“Probably a damned drug party. I’m thinking bath salts.”

Holbrook drew his gun and aimed it at the assailant lunging at Officer Joann Campbell, a middle-aged man with glasses askew on his face, dressed in khaki pants and a tropical shirt.

Joann sent him flying backward with a well-placed front kick. She hit the man square in the chest, but the man appeared unfazed.

He looked at Joann and snarled as he staggered his way back over, reaching out for her.

Remembering the girl whose skull he caved in, Holbrook aimed for the man’s head and fired. The man dropped immediately and lay still, bleeding out on the boardwalk.

“Shit! Gary!” shouted Joann over the thundering surf. She splashed through the brine in time to pull an old woman who had tripped over her own walker and was crawling toward Gary. Gary was kicking her reaching hands away with his feet, but she just kept coming.

“We need some backup on the boardwalk,” shouted Holbrook into his radio. “We have multiple assailants biting our officers.”

His radio clicked, and there was a voice, but he wasn’t able to make out what it said over the wind and thrashing surf.

Joann grabbed the old woman by the ankles and pulled her away from Gary.

Holbrook started to walk over to them to help, but there was the crash of a wave and a wooden bench slid across the boardwalk with the surge of water, taking his legs out from under him.

He dropped his gun, which got washed up against the roll-down metal gate of Billy Blake’s shop. He crawled toward it, sea foam and salt water splashing his face and blurring his vision, as he felt something large wash up against him.

He turned around to see Joann shoot the old woman in the head, when a hand reached out for his face. He rolled sideways and out of the grip of a young blonde haired woman reaching out for him, her dark eyes feral with hunger.

He kicked her away as another wave crashed, the surge sending the both of them crashing against Billy Blake’s metal gate. He splashed around in the water, his hands frantically searching for his gun.

The rush of water had rolled the young woman so that she was facing away from Holbrook. The back of her wet shirt read ‘Zombie Patrol.’ He took the opportunity to try and scramble away from her, but another surge of surf sent a heavy decorative flower pot across his path, crashing into Billy’s gate and crushing it inward.

The young woman was thrown up against the metal gate. She saw Holbrook, her eyes wide with rage, her mascara running. She looked like a monster.

Holbrook saw his gun just inside Billy’s store. He reached underneath the bent-in gate as she splashed in the water, struggling to get him.

His fingertips touched the barrel of his gun, pushing it farther into the store. He felt fingers grabbing his legs, and he kicked wildly, pushing the woman away.

He looked over his shoulder as he saw Joann dragging Gary over, the water helping her move him. She let go of Gary and grabbed the young woman’s ankles, pulling her away from Holbrook.

There was another crash of a wave, and Joann lost her footing as water took her legs out. She and Gary slid toward the bent in gate, where Holbrook lay kicking, trying to get to his feet.

Joann reached out and pulled at the woman’s blouse as she lunged at Holbrook. Gary was yelling something, but the storm was drowning him out. Holbrook saw the other maniacs flailing about on the boardwalk, knocked down by the raging surf.

The young woman with the black eyes turned around and reached out for Joann as Holbrook kicked the assailant in the head. The bench that took Holbrook out before came crashing into the woman, pushing her underneath the bent-in gate and into Billy’s store.

Holbrook got to his knees as Joann crawled over to him. “Are you all right, Jim?” she shouted over the wind.

“Yeah. Thanks. That was close.”

Holbrook looked around Joann and saw Gary, who was pale and looked like hammered shit, but gave him a thumbs up.

There was another crash as Gary and Joann braced themselves against the metal gate. The rush of water swept Gary right under the bent-in gate and into Billy’s store.

The whole thing had happened so quickly that the horror of what had happened took a minute to register on Holbrook and Joann.

They heard Gary screaming inside.

Holbrook pulled Joann close. He grabbed her gun from her. “Watch my back!” he shouted into her face.

She nodded as he went down on the boardwalk and slid himself in a commando crawl under the gate. She produced her baton and extended it with the flick of her wrist as she took in the bedlam all around her.

Inside the store, Holbrook saw the woman biting into Gary’s neck as he convulsed on the floor. Clothing racks were toppled and thrown all over, and water was everywhere.

Holbrook took aim at the woman’s head as she crouched in front of Gary, chewing on his flesh, blood running down her chin and the front of her blouse. Gary screamed silently as he lay there helpless, a rack of short shorts reading ‘Succulent’ on the backs falling across his chest.

Another rush of water swept Holbrook farther into the store and right at the girl. She reached out for him, still chewing, as he shot her through her left eye socket, blowing her brains out the back of her head.

She fell limp over Gary’s body as Holbrook washed up against them. He grabbed his fallen officer and pulled himself over his friend. He rolled the inert woman’s body off and gazed into his friend’s wide eyes. He lay there completely still, blood still spurting out of the mortal wound on his neck.

Holbrook buried his face into Gary’s soaked shirt, crying. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t have been happening.

Holbrook looked up when he heard gunfire outside the store. He saw Joann’s face appear under the gate. “Are you all right?”

“Gary’s dead!”

Another rush of water flowed into the store, and Holbrook felt Gary’s body move under the current. He wiped his eyes and looked at his friend.

Gary was looking at him.

Holbrook froze as he gazed into Gary’s wild eyes. Gary screamed as he reached out for him. He sat up and grabbed Holbrook, pulling him close. He opened his jaws.

Holbrook pulled his right arm, his hand still clutching Joann’s gun, out of the water and jammed the gun inside Gary’s mouth.

Gary bit down on the metal, and Holbrook pulled the trigger.

***

Three Weeks Prior

Vinnie came out of the shower feeling like a new man. He threw on his Marco’s Pizza tee-shirt, a pair of boxer shorts, and a pair of cargo shorts.

He barreled into the kitchen to find his father pouring a bowl of cereal. “You want some of this?”

“No thanks. I’m meeting Mike at the Breakfast Shoppe.”

“Oh, right. It’s Friday. You were out late last night.”

“I was out with a girl. Then I ran into Billy Blake and we shot a game of pool.”

“Was it that girl from the Sunglass Hut?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“She’s had her eye on you all summer.”

“God, am I the only one who didn’t know this?”

“Apparently. She a nice girl?”

“She’s cool. We had a great time.” He remembered her warm mouth on his.

“So, how’s Billy doing?”

“Okay, I guess. He whopped me good on the table.”

“Yeah, he was always a shark.”

“Dad, why does Chief Holbrook hate Billy so much?”

Marco hesitated. It was the first time his son noticed the tension between the two men, or at least the first time he talked about it anyway. He figured Vinnie was old enough to hear about it.

“Billy messed around with Chief Holbrook’s wife once, or at least that was the way it appeared. He walked in on Billy trying to kiss her. She swore he told him no and was trying to get away from him.”

“Holy smokes.”

“Yeah. Chief Holbrook broke Billy’s nose and almost lost his badge over it. The whole thing almost destroyed his marriage.”

“Can’t blame him. Dad, why are you friends with Billy, anyway?”

“We grew up together. He’s really not a bad guy.” Vinnie arched a dubious eyebrow. “He’s just bad company around women.”

“Sounds like it. I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay. Tell Mike I said hi.”

Vinnie left the house and walked down Ocean Avenue. The sun was bright in the cloudless sky, and he immediately began to sweat. So much for the shower.

He checked the outdoor patio of the Breakfast Shoppe, but it was empty. He opened the front door and was greeted by cool air as he entered. He saw Mike sitting in a booth looking at the menu.

Mike looked up and waved him over. Vinnie sat in the booth across from him and smiled. “Why do you always look at the menu? You always get the same thing.”

“Force of habit, I guess.”

Justine shuffled over to the table with her pen behind her ear. She took her order pad out of her apron pocket and the pen from behind her ear. “Hey, guys. What’re you all having?”

Vinnie gestured to Mike. “Age before beauty.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have a toasted bran muffin with a side of butter. And a cup of coffee.”

“You got it,” said Justine writing it down. “How about you, hon?”

“Two sunny-side up eggs, corned beef hash, and buttered white toast. And a coffee too, please.”

“Milk or half-and-half?”

“Milk.”

“Milk.”

“Comin’ right up.”

“Jesus,” said Mike. “I remembered when I used to be able to eat like that. You’d better be careful or you’ll become a fat old man like me.”

Vinnie chuckled. The large, antiquated wall unit was cranking out cool air, the white noise drowned out by Twisted Sister on the sound system (which consisted of a CD player and two small speakers on either side of the small shop).

Mike arched his eyebrow again. “You look tired. Been out late?”

Vinnie grinned. “As a matter of fact, I was.”

“Did you run into that sweet young girl?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Mike, intrigued, leaned forward. “All right, spill it.”

Justine came by and slid two cups of coffee on the table. She grabbed a handful of little milk creamers and dumped them on the table between Mike and Vinnie.

Vinnie waited for her to shuffle off again. “I met her at the club. I almost made a complete ass of myself.”

Mike laughed. “Hey, that’s how I met my wife. Hell, I think that’s how all guys meet their wives.”

“Well, she wanted to get out of there so we went to the boardwalk.”

“Smart girl. Those clubs are no good, especially for kids…people your age. The boardwalk’s loads more fun, anyway.”

“We…we had a great night.”

“Did you kiss her goodnight?”

“She kissed me, actually.”

Mike clapped his hands and slapped the table. “Hot damn! It’s about time.”

“That’s what everyone’s been saying. How’d I miss the signs?”

“I think you saw them. I just think you didn’t want to admit it.”

“Yeah, I guess. But you would’ve been proud. I was joking around with her, teasing her, and everything.”

“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Mike looked like his mind was drifting elsewhere. “Pure magic.”

“I’m going to take her out tonight, too. After work.”

Mike was beaming. “I knew you had it in you.”

“Yeah, well, now I want some breakfast in me.”

As if on cue, Justine came by and dumped their orders on the table. “You gentlemen need anything else?”

“No, thank you,” said Mike.

Vinnie poured some milk and sugar into his coffee. Both men dug into their meals.

“The parts to the alternator should be arriving today,” said Vinnie, chewing on a mouthful of toast. “Maybe I’ll tackle it this weekend.”

Mike took a sip of his hot coffee. “Let me know if you need a hand.”

“I think I got it, but I’ll keep your number on speed dial.”

“So where are you going to take her tonight? Hopefully not to a bar?”

“No. I was thinking of that Tex-Mex place on the boardwalk.”

“Gaucho’s?”

“Yup.”

“That’s a good place.”

“Yeah,” said Vinnie, wiping his mouth. “They’ve got a live mariachi band tonight.”

“I bet she’ll like that.”

“Mike…”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Did you know about Billy Blake and Chief Holbrook’s wife?”

Mike’s expression became grave. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Nothing. My Dad told me about it this morning.”

“That was a horrible mess. Jim almost lost his job and his marriage over it.”

“Do you think Mrs. Holbrook messed around with Billy?”

“No one but Ellie…um, Mrs. Holbrook and Billy know that for sure. Billy threw it up in Jim’s face to burn his ass, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I shot pool with him last night at the Jolly Roger.”

“You shouldn’t be associating with the likes of him, Vin.”

“That’s exactly what Holbrook said.”

“Chief Holbrook,” Mike corrected.

“Yeah, Chief Holbrook.”

“He’s right, you know, and not just because he doesn’t like Billy.”

“I know. Billy doesn’t bother me at all.” Vinnie took a sip of his coffee and dipped his toast into the yolk of his eggs.

Mike took a bite of his muffin and washed it down with coffee. “Well, knowing what you now know, maybe he should.”

Vinnie swallowed. “Good point.”

***

Tara sat with Dr. Loews in the nursing home’s conference room behind a suite of offices, waiting for the administrator. The air conditioning was powerful and felt exquisite.

“She’s running a bit late,” explained Dr. Loews. “Her secretary said she’s in the middle of a phone conference.”

“No problem,” said Tara, but she knew this woman’s game. She was setting up a power differential from the get-go. The principal of the school she used to work in always did the same thing. Set up a meeting time, sent in the secretary to say she’s running late because she’s doing something more important at the moment, and then waltzed in like you were inconveniencing her.

Tara was sure Dr. Loews was already aware of this. He seemed to have the administrator’s number.

The door opened and a short but fit-looking woman in a pin striped pant suit marched through. She was attractive but severe looking, and her eighties hairstyle with massive bangs was an anachronism given the rest of her appearance.

Both Dr. Loews and Tara stood.

The woman shook Dr. Loews’ hand first. “Hi, Phil. How are you?”

Tara noticed her failure to use Dr. Loews’ title. Another power move.

“Hello, Ms. MacAteer. Fine.”

“And this must be the new candidate?” said Ms. MacAteer, extending her hand to Tara.

Tara shook it. “Dr. Bigelow.” She purposely left out her first name so it wasn’t accessible to MacAteer; she’d have to use Tara’s title. Two could play at this game.

“Formal,” remarked MacAteer. “Please, have a seat.”

They all took a seat. Tara and Loews sat to the right of the head of the table and, quite predictably, MacAteer sat at the head.

“So, does she have a resume?”

She? She still refused to use Tara’s title.

Loews pulled papers out of his briefcase and slid them across the table to MacAteer.

MacAteer took out a pair of squared oval reading glasses and rested them low on her nose as she processed Tara’s resume, which only made her look even more severe, like one of those draconian librarians from Catholic school, the kind that was always shooshing the children.

Tara was trying to guess her age. Either she was in her mid-forties or she was a well-preserved early fifties.

“So, I see you have no experience working in skilled nursing facilities.”

“That’s correct,” said Tara. She didn’t want to appear defensive. She wouldn’t give this bitch the satisfaction. “But, I’m a cognitive-behavior therapist, and I could easily adapt Rational-Emotive Therapy to the residents here to address their presenting problems.” She dropped the term ‘Rational-Emotive Therapy’ because she knew MacAteer wouldn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

“How would you adapt your treatment from preschool children to adults, some with heavy psychiatric diagnoses? There’s a significant difference between a three-year-old tantrum and a verbally agitated schizophrenic.” Her condescension was apparent.

“I would employ a functional behavior assessment to determine the antecedents to the problematic behavior and what in the environment is reinforcing it.” Bring it, bitch.

Dr. Loews observed the exchange quietly. Tara wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but for the moment her focus was on MacAteer.

“Then what? I hope you don’t think you’ll be burdening my nurses with token economies and the like. They already have enough to do and will be expecting you to help alleviate their burden, not add to it.”

“I believe in helping my patients self-advocate,” replied Tara. “So, I would help the resident become more self-aware about their triggers, and how they can properly react to them. I believe that if you build an individual’s skill set, he or she will be less likely to engage in inappropriate behaviors.”

“Speaking of inappropriate behaviors, I hope you’re not easily frightened by a psychiatric population. Some of our residents can be kind of rough. We’ve had nurses who’ve been scratched, punched, groped, and spit at.”

Tara smiled. “I am a psychologist. Psychiatric conditions don’t frighten me in the least.”

MacAteer took off her glasses and put them back in her breast pocket. “Well, we haven’t had a great track record with Oceanside psychologists.”

Dr. Loews, ignoring the obvious barb, leaned forward in his seat. “Well, we have a lot of faith in Dr. Bigelow. She comes highly recommended.”

MacAteer sized Tara up with her eyes quite obviously, appraising her and making quite a show of it. “So, why did you leave the preschool?”

Dr. Loews interjected before Tara could respond. “I’d like to remind you, Ms. MacAteer, that you are not hiring Dr. Bigelow, you are simply granting her privileges here. She’s been vetted by Oceanside.”

“It was a simple question,” said MacAteer. “Your reaction, quite frankly, has me concerned.”

“It’s all right,” said Tara. “I feel more than comfortable answering that question.”

Loews nodded his assent.

“It was a simple matter of budget cuts. The school’s pool of students has been constricting over the past few years, and I was newest in the department. It was a simple case of ‘last hired, first fired.’”

“I see,” said MacAteer. “She’s all up to date on the Medicare/Medicaid regulations?”

“She’s going to be oriented and trained this afternoon,” answered Dr. Loews. MacAteer was now talking about Tara as if she wasn’t in the room with them, yet another power tactic.

“Well, I’m okay with her if you are, Phil.”

“We’re ready to go ahead with this.”

“When can she start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Excellent. We need someone to pick up Monroe Hetz’s caseload. He was a disaster.” MacAteer looked at Tara and smiled. “We need more women in healthcare. I like you. You remind me of me when I was your age.”

Tara almost threw up in her mouth.

“Great,” said Loews. “Would it be all right if Dr. Bigelow had a quick tour of the facility?”

MacAteer rose. “I think that could be arranged. I’ll have the director of social work paged. She can show you around.”

“Thank you,” said Loews, standing. Tara followed suit.

“You two can wait in here. I’ll send her in.” MacAteer extended a hand to Tara. “It was nice meeting you.”

Tara shook her hand. Then MacAteer shook Loews’ hand and briskly left the conference room, closing the door behind her.

“You weren’t kidding about her,” said Tara.

“I think you handled her quite skillfully,” said Loews. “Don’t worry. After this, you’ll have very few dealings with her. Just keep her happy and stay out of her way.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They heard a name, Renee Washington, paged over the intercom.

“That’s the social work director,” said Loews. “She’s harmless. Hides in her office most of the time.”

Within ten minutes the door opened, and Renee Washington, a thin forty-something African-American woman, walked into the conference room. There were quick introductions. Renee addressed Tara as ‘Dr. Bigelow.’ Points for her. Dr. Loews excused himself, and Renee crossed the lobby with Tara.

“I would never use the elevators to get around the building,” said Renee.

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’re slow as molasses and you never want to get caught in a closed space with our residents. Last year one of the social workers was assaulted in the elevator. She got cornered by Helen, one of our aggressive residents with a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, who went manic. She had bruises, swelling, and bite marks on her. She walked off the job the next day.”

Renee entered a code into the keypad to the door to the stairwell. “One-two-three-four, for every door in the facility.”

“Got it.”

They stepped into the stairwell and began to climb the steps. Renee’s voice echoed in the small space. “I don’t mind it. I think of it as part of my physical fitness regimen. I walk up and down all day long. There’re eight floors, so it’s quite the workout.”

“I bet.” Tara started to pant a little. The stairwell was not air conditioned, and she was quickly reminded of the relentless heat wave just outside the facility.

They got off on the second floor.

“This is one of our short-term rehab floors,” said Renee. “There are two residents per room. The short-term floors have just finished renovation, so they look nice and new.” They walked over to a high countertop with wheeled shelves of big paper charts behind it. There were two nurses sitting at computers.

“This is the nurses’ station,” said Renee. “Those are the charts where you’ll be entering in your notes. We’re in the process of converting to a computerized database, but for now you’ll stick your notes in the ‘Consults’ section of the chart. You can either hand your notes to the unit clerk or place them in the chart yourself.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Ladies,” said Renee to the two nurses, “This is Dr. Bigelow. She’s a new psychologist who’ll be starting…”

“Tomorrow,” said Tara, finishing Renee’s sentence.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor,” said once West Indian nurse, smiling, failing to give her name.

The other simply nodded, only looking up from her computer for a brief moment.

Tara saw that the culture of a nursing home was much different than that of a school—less warm and fuzzy. She made a mental note to make an effort to get to know as many nurses as possible.

There were residents in wheelchairs being pushed to and fro, and a middle-aged man walking with a cane waved to Tara. She waved back.

“Most of these residents are here because they sustained an injury or suffered a stroke. About one third get discharged to home after rehab, and the rest go to floors five through seven for long-term placement.”

“Sounds ominous.”

Renee smiled. “The residents think so. Most of your hardcore patients will be on those floors. You’ll have a few on the short-term floors, mostly adjustment disorders. Upstairs we have the real behavior problems, particularly floors six and seven. Eight is rehab—physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech/feeding therapy.”

A young, well-dressed Hispanic woman rounded the corner and headed toward the nurses’ station.

“Oh, there’s one of our social workers. Alina, come say hi to the new psychologist.”

Alina came over and offered her hand.

Tara shook it. “Hi, I’m Dr. Bigelow.”

“Nice to meet you, Doctor. Welcome aboard.”

“She’ll be taking over Dr. Hetz’s cases.”

Alina looked like she winced at the mention of Dr. Hetz. Things must’ve gotten ugly between him and MacAteer. “Good. You have some good ones. If you have any questions regarding any of the residents, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks.”

Alina took off past the nurses’ station.

“She’s relatively new herself,” said Renee. “Social workers don’t last long around here.”

“How long have you been here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Too long. It’s been about four months.”

“So you’re relatively new yourself.”

“Actually, seven months is the current record.”

“Wow. Is it because of the population?”

“There’s a lot of politics around here. You’re a consultant, so you’ll be above most of it. Just don’t piss off the administrator, and you should be okay.”

“Is that what Dr. Hetz did? Did he piss off Ms. MacAteer?”

“That would be an understatement. We haven’t been able to hold onto many psychologists either, but they’ve all been males. Maybe you’ll get along better with the administrator.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Tara.

Chapter 7

Renee held the door for Tara as she entered the sixth floor. It was immediately apparent that the environment was in stark contrast to the short-term floors. There was an odor that greeted Tara as soon as she stepped out of the stairwell that she surmised to be a combination of body odor, feces, and urine. The floor was worn and dirty, and the wallpaper was stained and peeling.

“This is where all of our behavior problems go,” said Renee. “On the other side of the unit, we have a locked dementia ward, but you won’t be referred anyone in there. Too demented for therapy.”

“Got it.”

They walked around to the nurses’ station, which looked identical to the one on the prior floor. Same high counter, same computers, same racks of paper charts. Tara heard the sounds of people wailing, screaming out for attention, and curses.

“Follow me to the dayroom.”

Tara did as she was told, and they both stepped into the dayroom. There were residents scattered throughout, some in wheelchairs, staring into space, talking to themselves, or watching television. Some looked to be seventy years old, others only forty-something.

“I think that the differences from the residents on the short-term floor are obvious,” said Renee.

Tara took them all in. It was quite the departure from her preschool. “This population must be heavily psychiatric.”

“That’s right. Here we have your schizophrenics, bipolars, and such.”

Tara was able to tell from their poor hygiene, which is a hallmark of mental illness. There was long, greasy, unkempt hair; long, untrimmed fingernails; brown, half-missing teeth.

“We don’t expect much here,” said Renee, “but when a resident is about to boil over, you can communicate with the psychiatrist, who can then adjust the medication. Our goal is to reduce psychiatric hospitalizations, if possible.”

One older woman with scraggly hair and a closed eye turned and looked at Tara. “Fuck you! Lick my cunt, you bitch!”

Renee smiled. “Now, Helen, is that any way to treat our new psychologist?”

“I don’t need her. Fuck her cunt. Nasty bitch,” replied Helen.

“There you have it,” said Renee. “We’ve got it all up here—the hitters, the biters, the scratchers, and the paranoid. Helen, here, likes to pull up her dress in the middle of the dayroom and masturbate in front of everyone.”

Tara was immediately reminded of Reagan in the Exorcist. She was beginning to think some of these residents needed a good bath in holy water rather than a psychologist.

“She’ll be one of yours,” added Renee matter-of-factly.

“I can’t wait.”

Renee left the dayroom, and Tara followed as a vehement argument broke out at their backs.

“You’re coming through my radiators at night and choking me, you bitch! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re playing at!”

“I’m not bothering you! If I did, you’d be dead, you nasty hag!”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, I kiss your mother’s pussy with this mouth, and she loves it!”

The nurse sitting on a stool watching the dayroom sprang into action, inserting herself between Helen and the other resident. Helen proceeded to strike the nurse with a closed fist.

“How soon are you starting?” asked Renee half facetiously.

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“Good.”

Tara wasn’t so sure about that. She was wondering what she’d gotten herself into, but she immediately chased all doubts out of her mind. She needed this job. It paid very well. Her family needed this job. Marcus needed a break, especially after what she put the poor man through.

Renee took Tara past the elevators, past rooms where residents cried out and shouted, mostly expletives. One elderly man kept shouting, “Help me. Help me. Help me.”

“Does that man need help?” asked Tara, concerned.

Renee turned around, smirking. “Who, Mr. Klaus? Watch this.” She walked into Mr. Klaus’ room. “Hello, Mr. Klaus. What can I help you with?”

The man went silent and looked expectantly at Renee like a child looking at a parent. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mr. Klaus. Do you need any water? Do you have to use the restroom?”

“I love you.”

“Yes, I know Mr. Klaus. Have a nice day.”

As soon as Renee left the room, Mr. Klaus went back to shouting, “Help me. Help me. Help me…”

“I’m sorry,” said Tara, embarrassed.

“Don’t be. You’ll get used to it. You’ll learn who you can talk to and who you can’t. Some of them will surprise you. You have one on your caseload, Mr. Franklin. Bipolar, very manic, rants and raves, curses at the nurses, but he had a Ph.D. in economics. He used to be a professor. When he’s less manic, if you can get him to talk about the economy, he’ll go on and on.”

They walked over to the locked dementia unit. There were two doors with small glass windows in each and an electronic keypad to the left of the doors.

“This is where we have our significantly demented residents. They’re kept here for their own protection. These are the wanderers who shuffle into other residents’ rooms and steal personal property, assault them, or just lie in their beds.

“It’s best they’re kept away from the other residents, especially the psychiatric ones. Before we had a separate unit for them, we were breaking up fights left and right, sending half the residents out to the hospital.

“Ms. MacAteer was the one who came up with the idea for the locked unit. It was a good one, if you ask me.”

Tara stepped up to the doors and got on her tip toes to peer through the glass. There were horrible sounds from behind the doors. Guttural, primitive sounds—grunting and growling.

Tara nearly jumped out of her skin as a face popped up to the glass, directly in front of hers. It was an old man with blank eyes, heavily clouded with cataracts. Yet, he appeared to be looking right at Tara with his face pressed up against the glass, making a low growling sound, like a bobcat.

“Renee, we don’t need to trouble our new psychologist with the locked dementia ward,” said Ms. MacAteer, startling both Renee and Tara. Tara backed away from the doors, feeling like a child who just got caught looking into her parents’ closet. She silently chastised herself for allowing this woman to make her feel that way.

“I figured it was part of the tour,” said Renee defensively.

“She has no business with the residents behind those doors,” said MacAteer. “Why don’t you make better use of your time and show her how our computerized database works?”

“Yes. Good idea,” said Renee, a little bitter about the condescension in MacAteer’s voice.

MacAteer stood there waiting for the two women to leave the area.

“Follow me,” said Renee.

“Show her in your office,” said MacAteer. “This way you’ll have some peace and quiet, and you won’t be preventing the nurses from entering their notes.”

Renee nodded. “My office is on four.”

“Let’s go,” said Tara, happy to leave MacAteer’s overbearing presence.

MacAteer watched them go down the hall and turn the corner toward the stairwell. Then, she peered into the window and saw Mr. Yost, the Assistant Director, directing the CNA to take the male resident back to his room. The old man tried to scratch and bite her, but he was slow.

MacAteer watched as the old man was taken into his room, and she and Yost traded knowing looks. There was an understanding between them, which is why she chose him for the unit.

As MacAteer walked back toward the elevators, the doors opened and Mario Russo stepped out holding a large, filled grocery bag.

“Good morning, Mr. Russo.”

“Good morning Ms. MacAteer.”

“Your mother’s been sleeping a lot better. Her appetite’s improved as well.”

“That’s great. I brought her some zeppoli from the boardwalk, but only after she has some soup.”

“She’s very lucky to have you. You’re a good son to her.”

“Thank you for saying so.”

“Well, I have a meeting to attend. Don’t hesitate if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Ms. MacAteer. I won’t.”

MacAteer got onto the elevator, and Mario walked down the hall to his mother’s room. He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he heard a nurse say.

He opened the door and stepped into his mother’s room. A nurses’ aide was brushing his mom’s hair. It looked like she had just been dressed, and she was now sitting in her wheelchair.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” said the aide, placing the brush on a small, adjustable table on wheels.

“Did she eat yet?”

“Yes, but I’m sure she’ll like the treats you brought her,” said the nurse, smiling. She left the room, closing the door behind her so they could have their privacy.

“Hi, Ma.”

“Mario, is that you?”

Mario beamed. This was going to be a better day; she recognized him.

“Why aren’t you in school?”

“I graduated years ago, Ma. I have a wife and kids. I have my own store now, remember?”

Her expression soured at the mention of his wife. She remembered Marie, all right.

“Look, Ma, I brought you some soup and some zeppoli for after.”

“What kind of soup?

“Minestrone, your favorite.”

“I hate minestrone.”

“Since when? It’s always been your favorite.”

“I like a good pasta fajole.”

“I’ll bring that next time.”

“That doesn’t help me now.”

“Ma, if you don’t want the soup, I’ll give it to the nurses.”

“There’re people starving in Africa, and you’re going to give soup away to those black bastards.”

Mario’s face flushed in embarrassment. “Ma, c’mon. Don’t talk like that. They’re very good to you here.”

“You say that, but you don’t have to live here. You get to go home to that witch you married.”

“Ma, what did I say about talking about Marie that way? She’s the mother of my children and the mother of your grandchildren.”

“How are the children? Are they teething yet?”

Mario pulled up a chair and sat. He lifted the container of soup out of the bag and began to set his mother up with a spoon on the small rolling table. “Alessandra’s eight and Salvatore’s ten, Ma.”

“Oh, my, how time flies. You going to church every Sunday?”

“Yes, Ma,” he lied, “and I wash behind my ears every day.” He lowered the table and rolled it so the surface was over her lap.

Mama Sophia Russo glared at her son. “Well, there’s no need to be disrespectful about it.”

“I wasn’t being disrespectful, Ma.”

“Don’t sass your poor mother.” She took the spoon in her right hand and dipped it into the soup. She took a mouthful. “Mario, it’s cold.”

He was beginning to wish this was a day she didn’t recognize him.

“Are you teaching the children Italian?”

“No, Ma. They’re American. They speak English.”

She took another hearty mouthful, chewed, and swallowed. “I don’t know why you hate your own people so much.”

“I don’t hate my own people, Ma.”

“Then why don’t you teach your own children Italian?”

“Because there’s no point. Nobody speaks it anymore.”

“Madonna mia, so I’m nobody now?”

“Why do you put words in my mouth, Ma?”

“I’ve got a new roommate.”

Mario looked over to the other side of the room. The curtain was drawn around the bed for privacy. Maybe she was sleeping. “Oh, how nice,” he said softly. “You two getting along?”

“She’s all right. Another tutsoon, though.”

Mario winced. “Ma, please. Why do you talk like that?” He prayed the roommate was sound asleep.

“What? I didn’t say anything bad about her. She’s okay.”

“You really shouldn’t use that word.”

“But she is a tutsoon. What else do you call it?”

“Jesus, Ma.”

“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain, Mario Russo.”

There was a sudden fit of coughing from behind the curtain.

“See, now you’ve woken her up,” said Mario.

“She sleeps all damned day because she’s up all night. It’s indecent.”

The coughing got worse. It turned into gurgling.

“Is she all right, Ma?”

“She always does that, especially when I’m eating. No decency.”

Mario got up and walked over to the curtain. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

More gurgling. Then silence.

***

Renee pulled up a chair in her small office next to her desk, and she flipped on her computer. It looked like it belonged in a museum. “Have a seat.”

Tara sat next to her. “So where will my office be?”

“Consultants don’t get one. You’ll enter your notes at the nurses’ station.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You had an office before this?”

“Yeah, and a pretty nice one, too.”

“Well, let me put it to you this way, Doctor. If you don’t have an office, people won’t know where to find you.”

“I see.”

“You’ll appreciate it once you start.”

“Ms. MacAteer.”

“Amongst others. The assistant director of nursing is no bargain either.”

The computer booted up and went to desktop. Renee clicked on the database program. It opened up on the screen.

“First thing’s first. We’ll need to get you a screen name and password.” She dialed up the IT department and then an announcement rang over the loudspeaker.

“Code blue, sixth floor. Code blue, sixth floor.”

Renee looked at Tara. “Shit, we were just up there. Wait here, talk to the IT person about getting a screen name and password. When you’re done with that, we’ll work on getting you an ID to wear.”

Renee jumped up and left her office, closing the door behind her.

Tara sat there alone with the phone receiver to her ear as it rang on the other end.

It picked up. “Jason.”

“Hi, I’m Dr. Bigelow. Renee, the social work director, told me I need to get a screen name and password for the database.

***

Renee entered the sixth floor and immediately ran to the nurses’ station. “Who is it?” she asked a nurses’ aide.

“Henrietta Scott. Sophia’s son told us.”

She walked to the room and peered into the open doorway. There were nurses standing over the body of Henrietta, bubbles forming around her mouth. Mario Russo stood to the side with his mother, who was now digging into the powdered zeppoli.

“She’s expired,” said Ms. Chatterjee, the nurse manager for the floor. “Call—”

Before she could finish, Henrietta Scott reached up and grabbed a nurse by her forearm. Everyone jumped, startled by the sudden movement.

“She’s alive!”

Henrietta Scott’s eyes had dark shadows around them. As she bared her teeth and growled, she began to pull the nurse’s forearm to her mouth. The nurse pulled it out of her grip, and Henrietta turned her head slowly.

She looked right at Renee standing in the doorway, and her expression was…less than human.

Henrietta began to thrash around in her bed as the nurses and aides tried their best to restrain her. A black, viscous liquid oozed from her mouth, dripping down her chin as she continued to make a low-pitched guttural sound.

“I’m not getting any vitals,” said Chatterjee. “Get Yost in here! We need to take her vitals!”

An aide ran into the hallway. Within minutes, Yost darted into the room. “Give me the sphygmomanometer! Hold her still!”

Chatterjee wheeled the apparatus over to Yost, who took a cuff and quickly slipped it over Henrietta’s right hand. An aide quickly grabbed her wrist and forced it down to the bed, while a nurse held her shoulders—preventing her from biting the aide and Yost.

Yost quickly slid the cuff up her arm and pressed a button on the apparatus. It began to rumble in tune with Henrietta’s growling as the cuff filled with air. Then, it slowly began to deflate, taking her pressure.

“Give me some room, Chatterjee!”

She backed away from him and helped hold Henrietta down. Yost looked at the reading. “Pulse is on the high end of normal. Cancel the code blue. Get the psychiatrist on the phone and get a telephone order for Haldol, stat. She’s okay, but she’s agitated. We’ll need to mover her to the dementia ward, room six thirty-seven.”

Renee looked at Mario and his mother. “Mr. Russo, you and your mother should go downstairs to the lounge for a bit. Have a cup of coffee till this gets straightened out.”

Mario gawked at Henrietta, horrified.

“Mr. Russo…”

He looked startled. “Yeah. Yeah, Ma, let’s go downstairs.”

“I don’t want to go downstairs. There’s a better show in here.”

“Let’s go, Mrs. Russo,” coaxed Renee. “You don’t want your son to see all this.”

“He should see it, so he knows what kind of place he stuck me in.”

Mario’s face was white. He looked like he wanted to get out of there very badly.

“You can bring your zeppoli,” added Renee.

“Oh, all right,” said Mama Sophia stubbornly, “but I ain’t sharing these with anyone.”

Renee nodded, and Mario wheeled his mother out of the room as Henrietta Scott watched them go with hungry eyes that would haunt Mario Russo for nights to come.

***

MacAteer sat in her office with the door closed, soaking in the cool air conditioning, her phone to her ear.

“So the code blue resolved…she’s in the dementia ward. Excellent. Debrief the staff, so they can go on with their day. Thank you, Yost.” She hung up the phone.

She sat there deep in thought to the white noise of the air conditioning. She remembered the first time they had a code blue who…came back.

Census was low, and the owner was giving her grief about filling beds.

“I don’t care who you fill these beds with, just fill them,” said Mr. Levitz.

“It’s not that easy to find appropriate residents,” said MacAteer.

“Empty out the local psychiatric hospitals. There’re plenty of derelicts and misfits who need a place to stay.”

“It’s not good for business. That’ll increase hospitalizations, and we’ll get a reputation for being a dumping ground. No one will want their relatives to come here.”

“We won’t stay open unless we start filling beds,” Mr. Levitz insisted. “Your plush bonus depends on it, MacAteer.”

These patients who were coding, expiring, and coming back started to appear right around then. MacAteer snickered at the word ‘expired.’ As if the residents were like milk that went bad. Ironically, when they ‘expired,’ they developed a stench like something rotten.

They didn’t show any vitals, but they were awake and moved around. They became very aggressive and animalistic, but these were already demented residents.

Their behavior just looked like severe dementia, and they began to blend in with the rest of the sixth floor. However, the staff was beginning to ask pointed questions. MacAteer recruited Alan Yost to help cover up for their complete lack of vitals, promising him a kickback for concealing this little fact from the other staff. He was an opportunist and he loved money, so the pitch wasn’t all that difficult.

She created the locked dementia ward, placing Yost in charge, to isolate these special cases from the other residents and staff. He was solely in charge of taking vitals, feeding the residents, making sure they were cleaned (which didn’t take much because they never ate and therefore never voided their bowels or bladder), coming in at the appropriate hours to do so, taking time off in between. It was a round the clock job, but for the kind of money she was promising, he was up to it.

To make it official and keep the other staff at bay, she promoted Yost to assistant director of nursing, allowing him the authority and hands-on ability to manage the unit and the undead residents. The director was an empty suit who never left her office. She relied on Yost’s reports, which was convenient.

Neither MacAteer nor Yost had the slightest clue why their demented residents were falling prey to this strange condition. She half-attributed it to the developers breaking ground in the lot behind the facility to create an expanded unit with more space for the rehabilitation department, which had become big money, and short-term residents. Perhaps there was some environmental toxin that was released.

Regardless, for the time being, the situation was perfect. It kept beds filled, because no matter what happened to these residents, it never warranted a hospitalization. They were dead. What was the worst that could happen? There was no dilemma of keeping bed-holds because they never left the facility, and the facility just kept charging Medicaid for the beds.

There was the small matter of how to handle the staff assigned to the unit. Yost took care of the measuring of vitals (or lack thereof). The fact that the residents were animated…or reanimated…made them appear alive. The fact that they were aggressive kept staff at arm’s length.

There was the matter of staff getting bitten or scratched, but thankfully the elderly reanimated were too slow and weak to ever find purchase with their attacks. Additionally, the staff on the unit was highly trained in universal precautions and infection control, always conscious of avoiding breaking the skin and contact with bodily fluids.

It was initially unclear if the illness these residents contracted was transmittable. One fine day, the question was answered when a careless nurse’s aide, no doubt distracted, was scratched on her forearm.

She immediately fell ill, exhibiting a high fever. She requested to go home, but Yost kept her in one of the physician’s examination rooms used for staff (the residents were treated on the units). She declined quickly under Yost’s supervision, and he administered an inoculation to the back of her neck, putting her reanimated body at rest.

An autopsy later identified the mercury poisoning that was attributed to her living conditions. Fortuitously, her apartment was in proximity to a garbage dump where waste was frequently burned. The coroner attributed the death to inhalation of mercury fumes.

There hadn’t been an incident since, Mr. Levitt was happy, MacAteer was receiving her fat bonus, Yost was receiving his kickback, and both she and Yost had become accomplices to a murder. If you could call dispatching an undead nurse’s aide murder.

The way MacAteer figured, you couldn’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs.

Chapter 8

Vinnie strolled up the boardwalk, passing Dharma’s Sunglass Hut. As soon as she saw him, she waved him over. He casually crossed a line of pedestrians and was inside the hut.

“So are we still on for tonight?” she asked, biting her lower lip.

“You bet. What do you want to do?”

“The town is showing Jaws on the beach.”

“How romantic.”

Dharma was incredulous. “Whaddaya mean? It’s a classic.”

“Sure. I was only kidding. Nothing like watching an eating machine terrorizing a beach town to spur tourism.”

“I think the irony’s delicious, almost as delicious as your pizza.”

“You gonna drop by for lunch?”

Dharma’s mother smiled as she lingered close by, pretending she wasn’t eavesdropping on their conversation.

Dharma put her finger to her lips thoughtfully. Vinnie remembered how those lips felt on his. “I don’t know…now that I have you, I might be free to pursue other venues. Shit, I’ve been eating at your pizzeria every damn day this summer.”

Vinnie smirked. “Like you’re really going to try something different. You’re just going to get a salad somewhere else.”

She smirked back. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I guess I’ll drop by the same ol’ pizza joint and get the same ol’ salad.”

“You really should try our pizza,” said Vinnie. “It’s the best on the boardwalk, and I say that objectively with no self-interest whatsoever.”

Dharma narrowed her eyes. “Sarcasm looks good on you, Vinnie.”

Vinnie looked at his watch. 10:20. “I gotta run. My dad’s opening up. See you tonight.”

“Not if I see you first, Vincenzo.”

As Vinnie left the store and continued his stroll up the boardwalk, Dharma’s mother bumped elbows with her. “You know, you really shouldn’t torture that nice boy so much.”

“Oh, he can take it. In fact, I think he likes it.”

“He’s a quiet one, Dharma. You don’t want to scare him off.”

“That’s why we work so well together. I do all the talking. He likes a take charge kinda gal like me.”

“So, Jaws, huh?”

“Not you, too. It’s a friggen classic, Mom.”

Her mother just shot her a look and went back to manning the register.

Marie was walking up the boardwalk as well, but farther down. She walked up to Johnny Wong’s booth as he set up his broadcasting equipment.

“Johnny, what’s the forecast? Is this heat going to let up?”

“Not from the report I got. In fact, the town’s going to start doing rolling blackouts.”

“Great. I’m sure the various food establishments are going to love that. They’re going to lose some inventory.”

“Yeah, they’ll be pissed.”

“All right. Catch you later, Johnny.”

He nodded as he plugged cables into his equipment.

She continued her stroll down the boardwalk, shaking her head at the tourists sizzling on the beach like strips of bacon, when she heard someone calling to her.

“Well, well, well, I think the only thing hotter than that damn sun today is you, Marie.”

She turned around, suppressing a smile. “Hey, Billy. Getting an early start on being sleazy today, I see.”

He leaned on the half-open gate in front of his shop as he leered at her. She stood in the heat, dripping with sweat. “I’m just trying to get the worm.”

“Oh, I believe you probably have worms already, Billy.”

“Why don’t you come on in and have something cold to drink? I got beers and diet colas in the fridge.”

“No thanks, Billy.”

“You’re breakin’ my heart, Marie. C’mon. I just got new inventory in, and I’m sorting through it. Don’t you want to check out what the competition is hocking?”

Marie looked like she was mulling it over in her head, from the slightly pained and thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, I don’t suppose a little espionage would be out of line.”

Billy perked up and made a grand sweeping gesture with his right hand. “Step right into my parlor.”

Marie ducked her head as she passed under the rusted security gate. The shade of the shop was an immediate relief from the blazing fireball in the sky.

Billy slipped inside and passed her, brushing her with his left arm. He stunk like body odor and sweat, but Marie thought it was a manly smell.

“What’ll ya have, my lady?”

“I’ll take a diet cola.”

He reached into his little fridge behind the counter and pulled out a can. He slid it across the countertop. Marie took it and popped the tab on the top. She guzzled the cold soda, and it felt like heaven sliding down her throat.

She belched from the bubbles and quickly covered her mouth. “Excuse me.”

“Shit, better out than in’s what I always say.”

He pulled out a beer and popped the cap off on the edge of the counter to show off. He took a hearty slug and slammed the bottle down on the counter.

“You’d better drink ’em all quick,” said Marie.

“Why’s that?”

“Because Johnny Wong said the town’s doing rolling blackouts today, so drink ’em if you got ’em.”

“Well, I never turn down an excuse or an opportunity to refresh myself.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. So, what about all of this inventory you’ve been talking about?”

He pointed his index finger into the air. “Ah, straight to business. I like that. I’ve got some new shit that came in. I think it’s going to be all the rage with the kids this year.”

He walked over to a stack of large boxes in the back and pulled out a pocket knife, unfolding a rather large blade. Marie wondered what Chief Holbrook would think of his knife. Billy slid the blade across the packing tape, and then he folded his knife back up, slipping it in the rear pocket of his jeans.

He tore open the top, pushing the cardboard flaps aside. He pulled out tee-shirts and tank tops advertising various brands of e-cigarettes.

“This is going to be all the rage. I bought a small supply because summer’s almost over, and I want to test out how they’re going to sell.”

“Billy, you can’t target teens with that stuff.”

“Who say’s I’m targeting teens?”

“You know they’re going to buy it.”

“Hey, I’m just providing the product. I can’t stop them from buying it. Besides, it’s not like I’m selling them the e-cigarettes.”

Marie shook her head, partly in disgust at the depths to which Billy would sink to sell his wares, and partly in disgust over the acknowledgement that he was right and the shirts would sell like hot cakes.

“You’re some piece of work, Billy.”

Billy laughed and sauntered over to Marie, grabbing her arm to pull her close. “And you’re some piece of ass.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” she said, pulling away.

“Then what are you here for? To check out the competition? C’mon, Marie, you and I both know why you’re really here.”

“I have to go now. Thanks for the soda.”

Billy maintained his grip on her arm and looked her in the eye. Marie’s heart was practically in her throat.

“Let me go, Billy.”

He smiled, ogling her, and then he let her arm go.

Marie took her soda and quickly ducked under Billy’s front gate. The brightness of the sun and the heat beat down on her, but it was a relief compared to the crucible she’d just left.

***

After gazing at some bikini-clad girls on the beach, Frankie and Ted switched to skateboarding on the boardwalk, something Chief Holbrook frowned upon, in the hot morning sun. They were toward the end of the boardwalk and kept between storefronts by an exit ramp between a closed up pizzeria and Shoot the Star booth.

Ted pulled a Caballerial while riding fakie (doing a 360-degree spin while riding backward) down the ramp. He almost bought it, but he recovered quickly.

“Nice one,” Frankie laughed.

Frankie backed all the way up. He took off as fast as he could and popped up, attempting a railslide down the metal handrail. He landed wrong, falling flat on his back on the ramp while his board flung out in front of him.

“Oh, shit,” said Ted. “You okay, bro?”

Frankie sat up struggling to breathe, the wind knocked out of him.

“I told you, you can’t make it,” said Ted.

After a few moments, Frankie was able to fill his lungs with air. “I’m…okay.”

“Let’s grab some food,” said Ted.

Frankie stood slowly and walked the rest of the way down the ramp. He walked over to where his skateboard lay upturned on the street, and he slowly bent down and picked it up. “Sounds like a good idea.”

The two boys walked over to the mini-mart and stepped inside with their boards under their arms.

“What’s this?” asked Tyler Jordan, one of their classmates. “A couple of half-assed surfers?”

“Nice job, Tyler,” spat Frankie. “If you’re a knob gobbler.”

“Yeah, well at least I’m making some money, unlike you two slackers.”

“We just graduated, we start college in three weeks…I’ve got the rest of my life to make money,” said Frankie. “I’m enjoying the last gasps of summer.”

Tyler just shook his head.

“Hey, Tyler, where you going to school?” asked Ted.

“Fordham University. Why?”

“The boogie-down Bronx,’ teased Ted. “Very classy.”

“It’s a good school,’ insisted Tyler, sounding a little too defensive. “Where’re you going? Ocean County Community? Very impressive.”

Ted grabbed a chocolate milk and a pack of donuts. Frankie grabbed a candy bar and was fixing a cup of coffee.

“Relax, he’s only kidding,” said Frankie. He grinned mischievously. “Hey, Tyler, when are you going to introduce me to your sister?”

“How ’bout never, you fucking chud.”

“She’s looking good, Tyler,” taunted Frankie as he placed the lid on his thoroughly creamed and sugared coffee. He and Ted approached the register where Tyler stood.

“She’d never go out with your ugly ass,” said Tyler.

“He’s right, you know,” agreed Ted.

Frankie elbowed Ted in his side. “How would you two know if my ass was ugly? Have you seen it? Tyler probably dreams about it at night.”

“I know I do,” quipped Ted.

Tyler looked at their breakfasts sitting on the counter. “Together or separate?”

“I got this,” said Ted.

“Why, thank you,” said Frankie.

Tyler punched some numbers into the register. “That’ll be seven thirty-seven.”

“So professional.” Ted threw some bills and change on the counter. “I think I want to be like Tyler when I grow up.”

“Screw you, Ted.”

“That’s what your mom said,” replied Ted. “By the way, tell her I said hi. Is she walking again?”

“Out!”

Frankie and Ted grabbed their sumptuous feast and dined in the parking lot.

Officer Pike passed by on his police-issued bicycle. He saw Frankie and Ted and pulled into the mini-mart parking lot.

“You boys aren’t planning to skate in this parking lot, are you?”

“Look, Ted, it’s Officer Pike. How are you today, Officer Pike?”

“I asked you boys a question…”

“No, sir,” replied Ted. “We weren’t going to skate in the parking lot of this fine establishment.”

“Well, you just finish your snack and move right along,” said Officer Pike. “I’ll be swinging back a little later to check.”

“You do that, Officer Pike,” said Frankie. “Nice bike you’ve got there, Officer Pike.”

“I can’t wait for school to start up. You’ll be away busting someone else’s balls.”

“I’ll actually still be local,” said Ted. “I’ll still be around to bust your balls.”

“That’s right, you’re going to OCC. You’ll be quieter when you’re not playing sidekick to this one here.”

“I told you,” said Frankie, elbowing Ted, “you’re the sidekick.”

“Screw you. You’re my sidekick.”

“Well, as much as I’d like to stand here and chat, I have patrol,” said Officer Pike. “Remember, I’ll be back.”

“Now he thinks he’s Ah-nold,” said Frankie.

Officer Pike rolled his eyes and rode away.

“So what do you want to do now?”

“Let’s check out the Morning Star Motel,” said Frankie.

“I still say you’re wrong about that place,” said Ted.

“Let’s ditch our skateboards and find out.”

“What do you mean find out?”

“I mean we investigate,” said Frankie.

“You’re crazy.”

“You’re chicken.”

“I’m not fucking chicken, bro.”

Frankie shrugged. “I don’t understand a thing you’re saying. I just hear clucking.” Ted shoved him. “C’mon, Ted, haven’t you been curious? We’ve been talking about it all summer.”

“What if the fuzz is watching that place?”

“C’mon, Ted, it’s been going on all summer. Nothing’s happened.”

“Which means there’s probably nothing going on,” said Ted.

“I’m going to check it out, with or without you.”

“Really?” asked Ted. “No, you’re not.”

“I am too.”

“All right, but how are we going to do this?”

“You leave that to me,” said Frankie, winking.

Frankie’s winks always made Ted nervous, and with good reason.

***

Mario walked into his store sweating like a pig. He had sweat stains around the collar and under his arms of his shirt.

Marie looked up from her folding of tee-shirts. “Mario, are you all right? You’re white as a ghost.” She wondered if he found out about her parley with Billy.

“I had one hell of a visit at the nursing home.”

“Mama Sophia giving you a hard time again? After all you do for her, all the food you bring…”

“No, it’s not that. I mean, yes, she was being difficult today, but that wasn’t it.”

Marie looked perplexed. “Then what is it?”

“A woman…my mother’s roommate stopped breathing.”

“What? Oh my God, Mario.”

“We heard these gurgling sounds, so I went to check on her, and she looked like she was dead.”

Marie came over and hugged him. He stunk of body odor. “Oh, that’s terrible, honey.”

“That’s not the worse part. I got the nurse, and a bunch of them came in to take a look, see what they could do. Well, not only wasn’t the old woman dead, she started attacking the nurses, trying to bite them while they worked on her.”

“Oh, my God. That’s terrible. Was she crazy?”

“The one nurse said she had severe dementia and that she had gotten a lot worse recently.”

“Jesus. You’re there all the time. Did you notice her getting worse?”

Mario shook his head. “No. I mean, she was brand new. It was the first time I ever saw her.”

“Is she all right now?”

“They put her in the locked dementia unit, to protect my mom and the other residents.”

“Is your mom okay?” Marie tried to sound convincing.

“She didn’t care one way or another.”

Good ol’ Mama Sophia. Marie smiled bitterly at this. Mario shook his head in exasperation and returned the smile.

“Well, why don’t you go for a walk and relax. I’ve got the store under control.”

“Marie, it’s one hundred degrees outside.”

“Go get an ice cream. Go sit in the shade somewhere. Calm down a bit. I don’t like seeing you upset like this.”

“Maybe you’re right. Goddamned heat wave.”

“I spoke to Johnny Wong. He said the town’s going to do rolling blackouts.”

“Great. I’d better go get that ice cream now.”

Marie smiled at her husband and kissed him softly on the lips. “Go enjoy. I’ll call you on the cell if I need you.”

Mario looked at her pensively. “Marie, I hope you would always need me.”

Marie felt a pang of guilt as soon as he said it. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong. She’d never go outside of their marriage. She loved her husband. What she was doing with Billy was harmless flirting. It’d been a long time since anyone besides her husband looked at her that way.

Mario sensed none of this, and he left her to mind the store. He grabbed a vanilla cone and walked the boardwalk, looking for a shady spot, trying to lick his melting ice cream before it became a soupy mess.

Blackbeard’s was open, and it was air conditioned, so he decided to step inside. He was immediately greeted by cool, stale air and calliope music. He saw a bench free by the carousel, so he took a seat and watched the kids and a few parents go around and around.

He accidentally dripped liquefied ice cream on his shirt. It took its place amongst the other stains, but Mario didn’t quite care. All he could think about was Ms. Scott trying to bite the nurses. And those eyes.

Those eyes.

Mario nearly jumped out of his skin when the calliope music abruptly stopped and the entire arcade went dark. Some children screamed, and he heard parents consoling them.

“Don’t worry, everyone! Just a rolling blackout!”

Mario recognized the voice. It was Mike Brunello’s.

“Please be careful getting off the ride! I’ll give you free tickets so you can come back on when the power comes back! Not to worry!”

Parents helped small children off their horses. The older children dismounted unassisted. Fortunately, it was almost midday, so the arcade wasn’t completely dark.

Parents and children exited the ride, talking to Mike and receiving their free orange tickets, and left the arcade. After everyone had emptied out, Mike looked over and saw Mario sitting alone on the bench, finishing up his ice cream cone.

Randy walked up to the gate of the carousel. “Blackout?”

“Yeah,” said Mike. “Don’t know for how long. Why don’t you take a break. I got it covered. I’ll call you if the power comes back. Just don’t go far.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

Mike watched Randy go, and then he walked over to the bench and stood before Mario. “Is that you, Mario?”

“None other. Hi, Mike.”

“May I join you?”

“Of course.” Mario shifted over, and Mike slowly lowered himself into the bench, knees and back creaking.

“How’ve you been, Mike?”

“Oh, can’t complain. Some heat wave we’ve been having.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m wearing half of my ice cream on my shirt.”

“How’s Marie?”

“Oh, she’s good.”

“How about your mother?”

“I just saw her this morning. She’s fine. A pain in the ass, but that’s nothing new.”

Mike chortled. “Well, getting old ain’t for sissies.”

“Mike, I almost saw someone die today. My mother’s roommate. But then she tried to bite the nurses. Hell of a thing. They ended up putting her on a locked ward.”

“Well, she wasn’t quite so dead after all.”

“Maybe she’d be better off dead.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” said Mike. “Life is such a precious, wonderful thing.”

“The nurse said she had severe dementia.”

“Oh, well I guess that’s a different story. A terrible thing, to have your mind gone but your body persisting.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well, Jesus Christ, Mario, I didn’t come over here to sit in the dark with you and discuss death.”

Mario looked sheepish. “Sorry, Mike. I didn’t mean to be a downer.”

Mike looked around the arcade. “It’s always a downer to see this place so quiet. Even in the morning, when we first open up, it’s a bit disconcerting. When all of the games and the carousel get fired up, it’s always such a relief.”

“You really love this stuff.”

“Damned right. Smuggler’s Bay and this arcade are a little slice of heaven for me. I get to stop and watch the young families come and make memories without exactly realizing they’re making memories.

“These young folks live in the moment, and the younger folks have their whole future ahead of them. Before I retired here and started working at Blackbeard’s, all I had were the past and memories. Now I’m a part of these young folk making theirs.”

“You know, I never thought of it that way.”

“Sure, Mario. You’re a part of it, too. When a kid comes into your shop and buys a tee-shirt, that tee-shirt becomes a memento of the fun summer they had. Every time they put on that shirt, they’ll think back to this summer. As they come back, year after year, they’ll collect more mementos.”

“Yeah, but tee-shirts don’t last forever. Memories fade.”

Mike thought about his Mary. He remembered her, but it was true, the memories had faded. They were most vivid in his dreams, like she was actually there with him. However, when he woke they were like faded pictures of a bygone era.

Mike and Mario looked up as they saw a dark silhouette stalking across the arcade toward them. The hair on the back of Mike’s neck stood up.

“Mike, what are you doing sitting on your duff?”

“Good morning, Nancy.”

She barely regarded Mario with a cursory look, and then she turned on Mike. “When did we lose power?”

“A few moments ago.”

“And the place cleared out that quickly?”

“Well, there’s not much for them to do with the carousel and the games turned off.”

“Dammit, these blackouts cost me money.”

“How ’bout I treat you to an ice cream, Nancy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mike. By the way, this little bit of down time counts as your break. Where’s Randy?”

“I told him to take a break and that I’d call him when we got power back.”

“Do you think you run this arcade, Mike? So now you’re in charge of Blackbeard’s? Well, I might as well go home then. You obviously have the situation well in hand.”

Mario looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling very awkward.

Mike didn’t appreciate her sarcasm or her condescension. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea, Nancy.”

“How dare you? Call up Randy and tell him to get his pimply ass back here. When he does, you go home.”

“Nancy, I didn’t mean—”

“You haven’t begun to see mean, Mike Brunello.” She stormed off to the office in the back.

Mario exhaled as if he had been holding his breath throughout the whole exchange. “I’m going to get going, Mike.”

Mike smiled. “Always good to see you, Mario. Say hi to Marie for me.”

“You got it.”

Mario stood and left the arcade. Mike was alone.

He stood, gripping the back of the bench for support, and dusted off his lap. He didn’t have anything on his lap, but it was one of those many old man gestures he’d adopted of late.

He walked around the dead carousel and straight back to the office. The door was half-closed. He knocked twice.

“Who is it?”

“The boogeyman. Who do you think?”

The door swung open and Nancy was sitting at her desk in the dark. “What do you want, Mike? I’m busy.”

“Doing what, Nancy? You’re sitting here in the dark.”

“Well, that’s what I found you doing a moment ago, and you called it work.”

“Nancy, why do you have to be so mean sometimes?”

“I’m not being mean. I pay you loafers to work, so when I find you loafing, it makes me angry.”

“For crying out loud, the arcade’s lost power. I sat to talk to Mario Russo for a moment. There was no harm done.”

“Mike, I work my ass off for this place even though I never asked for it. I could’ve loafed around, too, and watched it go down the tubes, but I understand the importance of personal responsibility.”

Mike shook his head. “Nancy, I don’t think you realize how seriously I take this job. I love this place, and I love it when the kids come in here and have a good time. Just before, when the power went out, I gave everyone on the carousel free tickets so they could come back and enjoy the ride they paid for.”

“So now you’re giving away free rides. It’s a wonder I’ve managed to keep this place in the black. Maybe I’ll take it out of your pay.”

“But they’ve already paid for the ride. Not giving them free tickets would be cheating them.”

“Well, I suppose it’s better than giving them a refund. What you don’t seem to realize is that this is a business, not your own personal retirement theme park. If I don’t make money, we don’t stay open. If we don’t stay open, you don’t have a job. Comprende?”

Mike felt his patented cool begin to melt away. “Nancy, why do you insist on talking to me like I’m less than human? I work hard for you. I have feelings.” He began to sway a bit and gripped her desk for support.

“Wh-what is this? What are you doing?” she asked looking startled by his sudden disequilibrium.

“My blood pressure,” said Mike, putting his hand on his forehead.

Nancy jumped out of her chair and lowered him into it. “Sit down, you old fool.”

Mike plopped down into the chair and gripped the arms while the room spun around him. He was on the hypertension-go-round, and he felt like he wasn’t fully strapped in when the ride started. He took a few deep breaths, and the ride began to slow to a stop.

“Jesus, Mike, do I need to call you an ambulance?”

Mike held up a hand. “No. No, I think I’ll be all right. I forgot to call Randy to come back.”

Nancy frowned. “I’ll do it. Why don’t you take a few moments to collect yourself and then go home? I’ll take it from here.”

“I said I’ll be okay,” insisted Mike. “I’m always okay when I’m here. What the hell am I going to do at home?”

“I don’t need you getting hurt and you suing me.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Nancy, why would I sue the place I love?”

Nancy didn’t appear to acknowledge his declaration of love for Blackbeard’s Pier. “Yeah, well…take your time and see how you feel.”

She began to leave the office, but Mike grabbed her by the hand. Her hand was warm and sweaty, like his. “Nancy, I’m a widower, too. I know how it feels. I know you miss Wally. Any time you want to talk…”

Nancy snickered. Mike let go of her hand, and she stalked out of the office. He sat alone in her office pondering her situation. He had a sense that there was someone decent underneath all of that anger and loneliness. He knew there was.

Nancy, as bad as she was now, had actually softened since Wally’s death. She was vulnerable. While people like her interpreted vulnerability as weakness, people like Mike saw it as opportunity.

Opportunity was knocking for Nancy. She only had to answer.

Part II

Choppy Waters…A Storm Is Brewing

Chapter 9

August 21

Joann shimmied under the bent gate and splashed her way into Billy Blake’s store, where she found Holbrook lying with his gun in his right hand and his head resting on his arm. Gary lay next to him motionless with the back of his head blown out.

“Jesus, what happened?” she gasped, eyes bulging.

Holbrook picked up his head. “He turned on me. He became like one of those things out there.”

“Did you have to shoot him?”

“He would’ve killed me, Joann.” He sounded weary and dejected. Almost eighteen years in law enforcement and he only had to fire his piece four times. Never in his wildest nightmares did he ever think he had to take down one of his own men.

His radio crackled, “Chief, it’s Breslin. You there? Copy.”

He rolled his eyes in a ‘what now?’ manner and picked up his radio. “Holbrook, here.”

“Old Carl Fitzpatrick is up on the second floor of the Sand Dollar, and he won’t come down.”

“So get him down. I don’t care if you have to drag him kicking and screaming. We’re in the middle of a damned super storm, for Chrissake.”

“Sir, he’s blocked the entrance to the second floor. There’re people trying to get to him, but he’s dug in like a tick, sir.”

“Ten-four, we’ll be right there. Over and out.”

“What about Gary?” asked Joann.

Holbrook hoisted himself up. “He won’t be causing any more trouble. Let’s go get Carl down.”

They both crawled back onto the boardwalk that was now partially submerged as waves surged over it, hurling water and debris through security gates and doors and into storefronts.

Joann looked around and saw dead rioters strewn all over the boardwalk. The officers had won this battle, but not without casualties. “Jesus, Jim. What the hell’s happening?”

“Call an ambulance and tell them to pick up Gary’s body,” Holbrook shouted to one of the officers. “The rest of you come with me. Carl Fitzpatrick’s refusing to leave the Sand Dollar.”

It took them quite an effort to reach the Sand Dollar Bar down the boardwalk, slogging through angry surf and dodging planter pots, garbage pails, and wooden benches.

Officer Anne Breslin was calling up to Carl, commanding him to come down and evacuate. Carl was pointing emphatically to the barricade he constructed across the entry way. He was shouting, but it was drowned out by the surf.

Anne was a rookie on the force, wet behind the ears. In this raging storm she was wet just about everywhere else, too.

“Goddammit, Breslin, why didn’t you get him down yet?”

She squinted as horizontal rain assailed her pretty young face. “I was waiting for backup, sir.”

“For Carl Fitzpatrick?”

Joann pointed to the people trying to get to him. “Look.”

Anne nodded. “They’ve been trying to get to him, but he’s being awfully stubborn.”

Holbrook watched the Samaritans climb the steps and toss aside the debris littering the stairs thrown down by Carl and compounded by the surging water. A roof tile from the lifeguard’s station slapped Holbrook in the face as he watched their uncoordinated movements. He caught a glimpse of a pale face with raccoon eyes.

“Something’s wrong…”

“Look at them,” said Joann, picking up on what Holbrook was seeing.

“Jesus, Breslin, they aren’t trying to help him! They’re trying to get at him!”

“Sir?”

“Okay, men. Spread out. I’ll distract them from Carl and draw them to come to us. Joann, Pike, and Lawson, take the flanks. Head shots only.”

“Sir?” Anne looked unsure of what was happening.

“For cryin’ out loud, Breslin, stay back!”

While Joann, Pike, and Lawson took their positions, creating a firing corridor, Holbrook walked into the Sand Dollar and began hollering at the things on the stairs. “Hey, assholes, fresh meat! Come and get me!”

A few of the monsters turned and looked at Holbrook with those glassy eyes. They turned and began to stumble toward him, arms outstretched. One fell down the steps and landed on his face.

The other two pursued Holbrook as he slowly backed out of the bar, keeping a safe distance between him and the snapping jaws.

When he was back on the boardwalk, he stumbled a bit as water slammed against his shins and ankles, almost causing him to lose his balance. The two fiends lurched forward, but there were two pops heard over the wind, and one monster dropped face down into the salt water and lay motionless.

The other was struck in the neck, but it kept coming. Anne Breslin, confused as all hell and uncertain of what to do, drew her firearm and pointed it at the unrelenting attacker.

It reached out for Holbrook, who backed into Anne, nearly tripping over her. He took aim and put one right between its eyes, putting its lights out for good.

“Jesus, Chief, what in the hell’s going on?”

“We’ve got us an outbreak of zombies, Breslin.”

She just gawked at him as a wave washed over the boardwalk, the rush of water splashing up the side of her body. Holbrook reached out and grabbed her arm, holding her against the current as the rest of the undead throng began to stumble back out onto the boardwalk.

Joann, Pike, and Lawson began taking shots, dropping them one-by-one. Holbrook helped Breslin to her feet, almost falling himself in the process.

All of the zombies on the stairs had been dispatched.

Something within the bar caught Holbrook’s eye as Breslin regained her composure. One of the things was inside the bar.

Almost as if it knew it had been seen, it slowly backed into the bar, disappearing from view.

“Did you see that?” he shouted over to Joann, who was backing away with Pike and Lawson to where he and Breslin stood.

“Yeah, I did.”

“I want you and Breslin to go upstairs and get Carl. Pike, Lawson, and I are going in to investigate. Get him down as quickly as possible, and get him out of here.”

Joann nodded, and she and Breslin ran inside to the right and quickly climbed the staircase.

Holbrook nodded to Pike and Lawson, and they began to enter the bar as water and shards of boardwalk thrashed about their boots.

Holbrook took the lead, Pike covered him, and Lawson took the flank. They slowly made their way under the half-closed roll-down metal gates and into the bar.

When Joann and Anne reached the top of the stairs, they found tables and chairs piled on top of each other, blocking the entryway.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick! Mr. Fitzpatrick!” shouted Joann, but Carl didn’t hear them.

Carl was leaning over the balcony, shouting down to Holbrook, Pike, and Lawson. The crazy bastard was going to fall off the railing and break his neck.

“Cover my back,” said Joann, and she began to pull the chairs and tables down, tossing them down the stairs while Breslin kept her gun trained at the base of the stairs.

Carl turned around, startled by the sudden movement. He came running toward the crumbling barricade, looking frantically between the upturned furniture.

Joann managed to create a gap, but upon seeing her, Carl panicked and ran for the railing.

“Carl, no!” she yelled as she slipped through and splashed across the deck after him. She caught up to him as he mounted the railing to throw himself off. She grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt.

As Holbrook began clearing the darkened bar with Pike and Lawson, his son Robbie popped into his head. He quickly cleared the image from his mind. He needed to stay focused.

Wooden barstools were strewn about the bar from the surging water. Holbrook looked down at the salt water and shook his head. It was a damned shame. The bar was going to be ruined.

Why hadn’t Carl closed up sooner? Maybe these things stopped him from closing, which is why he barricaded himself upstairs.

They heard splashing from behind the stage.

“Did you hear that?” whispered Lawson.

“Yeah. It came from the office behind the stage,” whispered Holbrook.

The driving rain was restricting Joann’s eyesight. Carl hollered something and swung at her, connecting with her jaw. She saw stars, but she never let go. She slipped an arm around his throat and reeled backward, falling on the wet deck and taking him with her.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him like a boa constrictor and held him in place as he bucked and flailed about. He quickly became fatigued, and his efforts waned as he surrendered to her.

She threw him off of her, and he hit the wet boards of the deck hard. She rolled over and pushed herself to her feet. “Just what in the hell did you think you were doing?” she shouted as she rubbed her jaw.

Carl Fitzpatrick stopped fighting, but he was trembling, and Joann didn’t think it was because of the chilled wind and rain.

Breslin came running onto the deck. “Are you guys okay?”

“I thought I told you to cover our exit!” rebuked Joann.

“The stairway’s clear,” insisted Breslin. “I saw you two rolling all over the deck.”

“We’re fine. Help me get him out of here.”

Both officers reached down and hooked a hand under each of Carl’s arms, and then hoisted him up. “Come on, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Let’s get out of here,” said Joann.

Carl nodded like a small child being consoled by his parents after a scare. “They’re down there.”

“The stairway’s clear,” said Breslin. “The Chief is downstairs with a couple of officers to make sure we get out safely.”

Carl allowed the two women officers to escort him off the deck. When they reached the staircase down to the first floor, Joann nodded to Breslin, who shifted the bulk of Carl’s weight onto herself.

Joann let go and drew her firearm, training it at the bottom of the stairs. She took the lead and signaled for Carl and Breslin to follow behind her.

Holbrook, Pike, and Lawson, were right outside the office door. It was opening and closing with the ebb and flow of the intruding water. Holbrook looked down and realized that the water level was rising.

The three men nearly jumped out of their skin as a stool abruptly washed up against the bar. Their eyes and guns quickly returned to the swinging door and what might be lying in wait on the other side.

Holbrook signaled that he was going to push the door open. Pike and Lawson nodded silently. He slipped his retractable baton out of its pocket with his free hand as a small wave of water lapped at his shins.

They turned their heads briefly as they heard Joann and Breslin taking Carl Fitzpatrick out onto the boardwalk. Joann nodded to him, and Holbrook nodded back before she slipped under the metal gate.

Holbrook quickly turned his attention to the small splashes coming from behind the door. Pike tried to peek around the edge of the door when the water pushed it open, but he shook his head. He wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of whatever was hiding in there.

Holbrook extended his baton and pushed the door open, training his gun inside with his other hand. The office was dark.

He shook his head at Pike and Lawson. He put his baton in his mouth, biting down with his teeth on the cold metal, and slowly reached inside, fumbling on the wall for the light switch. Terrified that something was going to reach out and take a bite of his hand, Holbrook quickly found the switch after what seemed like an eternity, and he flipped the lights on.

He quickly pulled his hand out and grabbed the baton out of his mouth. They saw a desk with papers on it, a bulletin board behind it, and a stack of cardboard boxes to the left of the door. The water receded, pulling the door closed, but Holbrook held it open with his baton, only it wouldn’t open all the way.

Something was behind the door.

Holbrook peeked in between the door and the jam where it was hinged and saw something there. He pointed to the door with his gun, indicating that there was something behind it.

Pike and Lawson nodded as Holbrook braced himself. “This is the police department! You need to evacuate immediately!”

Silence.

Suddenly, Holbrook stepped into the room and began firing into the wooden door, aiming high for a headshot. A couple of hands grabbed him as the thing behind the door slammed it shut.

“There’s two of them!” shouted Lawson.

Pike and Lawson threw themselves against the door, pushing the hiding zombie into the desk. Holbrook had spun around, and he was holding his baton horizontally with both hands in front of his face. The zombie that had grabbed him bit down on it. His gun was on the floor.

Pike double-tapped the other zombie in the head, and it fell, sprawling across the desk.

Holbrook pushed the zombie back into the wall as it chomped down on his baton, its fingers pulling at his uniform.

“Get ready!” he shouted.

Holbrook ducked, and Pike and Lawson fired at its head, splattering its brains on the wall. It dropped to its knees and fell on Holbrook, who quickly threw it off of him.

He stood and backed away from it. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“Zombies?” Pike asked more than answered.

“I don’t want to believe it, but what else could they be?” said Holbrook. It all made sense, why the good citizens of Smuggler’s Bay suddenly took to violence in the streets. “Let’s check on Joann and Breslin outside.”

The three officers slipped under the gate and found Joann and Breslin with Carl Fitzpatrick shivering in the rain.

“Are you guys all right?” asked Joann.

“There were two more of them hiding back in the office.” Holbrook looked around. The surf was really getting wild now. “There’s no time to pick up the bodies. Carl, do you have locks for these gates?”

Carl nodded and pulled three fat Master padlocks out of his pants pockets. “I was trying to lock up, Chief, when those people attacked me.”

Holbrook reached up and pulled the roll gate completely down. Pike and Lawson pulled down the other two gates. They each took a padlock from Carl and locked the bar up.

“That’ll have to do until the storm lets up,” said Holbrook to Joann.

“Look,” said Breslin pointing to a few scattered figures stumbling in the rushing ocean surf down the boardwalk. “They need help.”

“Negative,” said Holbrook. “You need to get Mr. Fitzpatrick out of here and to safety. Pike, go with her. Call the State Police and the National Guard. Tell them we have rioting going on, which is impeding the evacuation. Joann, Lawson, and I will do one last sweep of the boardwalk in case there are any others trapped.”

Breslin nodded eagerly, and she and Pike escorted Carl off the boardwalk.

Lawson looked at the figures in the distance. “How many of these things do you think there are?”

“The storm’s really picking up now,” said Holbrook. “It’s getting too dangerous to be on the boardwalk. Let’s finish our last sweep quickly.”

“But what about the zombies?”

Holbrook winced at the word. It seemed so ridiculous to be talking about zombies in the middle of a super storm. “We avoid and only engage if we have to. Hopefully, they’ll get washed out to sea,” he said. “We just can’t deal with them right now.”

“But, Jim—”

“That’s an order, Campbell. We focus on the evacuation.”

There was too much going on, and the storm was escalating. Jim Holbrook had to make an executive decision, and he made one: search and rescue. If they decided to go toe-to-toe with these things in these conditions, more officers would get hurt.

The town needed them, and it was all hands on deck. Jim had already lost one officer, and he was wondering what in God’s name he was going to tell Gary’s wife.

***

Three Weeks Prior

Frankie and Ted stashed their skateboards behind Ted’s house and were around the corner from the dilapidated Morning Star Hotel, a long, narrow, one-floor building.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ted was biting his fingernails.

“We do a walk-by first to see if the girls are out there.”

“Then what?”

“First, let’s see if they’re outside.”

They rounded the corner, and immediately they saw two young, blonde girls and one brunette sitting outside the hotel on resin summer chairs with laptops open. One was talking on the phone.

“They’re out today,” muttered Frankie excitedly.

As they passed, they heard the one on the phone speaking Russian. They knew the accent because last year there was an influx of Russian exchange students who flooded the town, working as housekeepers in the mom-and-pop motels and working the games and rides on the boardwalk. Prior to that year, it was Irish exchange students.

As it ended up, there were so many complaints about the Russian exchange students that after last year, they were no longer hired. The hotel guests complained that their rooms weren’t properly cleaned, and there were even a few accusations of articles being stolen from suitcases.

Ted overheard a conversation between his mother and Irene Bissel, the owner of the Surf n’ Turf Motel, that one guest walked in on a young Russian housekeeper wiping the sink and faucets…with the same rag that she wiped the inside of the toilet.

Other guests complained about their luggage being opened and small electronics going missing. On the boardwalk, the Russian exchange students were showing up late for shifts, some intoxicated, others high on God knew what.

This year there was an influx of Asian exchange students. Frankie and Ted had no idea of which precise nationality, but they were clean-cut, quiet, and professional. The complaints ceased and everyone, businesses and clients alike, were happy.

The Russian wave had crested and receded. There was only one problem—not all of the Russian exchange students left town. In fact, all summer, right outside of the seedy Morning Star Hotel, sat a bevy of various girls on their laptops and cellphones. Occasionally a girl would run into her room and a man in a car would drive up, park, and disappear into the same room, only to resurface a half-an-hour or so later.

“What if they’re not hookers?” asked Ted after they went to the end of the block and rounded the corner.

“Oh, they’re hookers all right,” laughed Frankie. “Look at them. Every single one of them is hot.”

“So? There’re lots of hot girls in Smuggler’s Bay.”

“Not a lot of hot Russian girls. Ted, do you see any more Russian girls working in the hotels or on the boardwalk?”

“Frankie, I don’t know every single person working in Smuggler’s Bay.”

“Well, I do. Open your eyes, dude.”

“You’re so full of shit, bro.”

“So if they’re not working here, then how are they paying for the Morning Star?”

“C’mon, man, everybody knows the rents are dirt cheap there. It’s a roach motel.”

“And everybody knows that only real scumbags stay in that roach motel,” added Frankie.

“They don’t look like scumbags,” said Ted.

“You’re such a bleeding heart,” said Frankie. “I can’t believe that the local fuzz hasn’t picked up on any of this yet.”

“Maybe it’s because there’s nothing illegal actually going on there. Seriously, get professional help, man. Like, as soon as possible.”

Frankie gave him a mischievous grin. “Listen, I’m going to need a lookout.”

“A lookout? For what?”

“I’m going to sneak through these backyards until I’m around back of the Morning Star. You’re going to text me when a guy pulls up and disappears into one of the rooms, and you’ll tell me which room.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to peek and snap some shots with my phone.”

“You’re crazy, man. There’s no way I’m doing that.”

“C’mon, dude. Maybe I’ll get some prime shots of these hot Russian bitches with their clothes off. For evidence.”

“Evidence? Get the fuck out of here. What do you need evidence for?”

“If there’s really a prostitution ring set up in the Morning Star, this is something the authorities need to know.”

“No way, man. Why don’t we just call in an anonymous tip?”

“Because they’ll think it’s some kid with a screw loose playing games.”

“And they’d be right.”

“I’m sneaking back there, so you might as well do it. Unless you want me getting hurt.”

Ted shook his head. “I’m not doing shit…How would you get hurt?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s a pimp lurking around in there somewhere. A pimp with a knife. No, a gun.”

“Well, make up your mind. Does he have a knife or a gun?”

“He has a gun. Okay?” Frankie sounded exasperated, but he also knew how to play his dumb friend like a fiddle.

Ted sighed. “All right. I’ll wait across the street. I’ll run into the convenience store and look at some magazines or something.”

“See, now that’s the spirit.”

“Gimme a couple of bucks.”

“What? I’m not giving you money.”

“Frankie, if I go into the store, I have to eventually buy something.”

“Oh, all right, you fucking grub.” Frankie reached into the pocket of his shorts, pulled out two dollars and some change, and shoved it into Ted’s hands. “Buy yourself something nice, princess.”

“Thanks.”

Ted started to walk back around the corner from whence they came, and Frankie dashed down a driveway for a condo development.

Ted rounded the corner, but he quickly crossed the street. Maybe if he was on the other side of the street, they wouldn’t notice him walking back. That is, if they noticed him the first time, which he didn’t think they did because they were staring at their laptops.

Except for the one on the phone. She might’ve noticed him. Hopefully she was too preoccupied with her phone conversation. Besides, he walked past them with Frankie, and now he was returning alone. Maybe she’d think he walked him home or something.

He ducked into the convenience store across the street and began eying the magazine rack, which faced away from the window looking out onto the street. He looked over his shoulder and saw the three girls sitting out front.

The one that was on the phone was now off. He looked up in time to see her fold up her laptop and stand. She said something to one of the other girls, who smiled and nodded in reply, and then she disappeared into a room, the second room from the right to be exact.

Ted didn’t like this plan. Not one bit. He pulled out his cell phone and texted Frankie: ‘girl went in second room from the right.’

Frankie silenced his phone before he forgot. He hopped the fence of a back yard when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and retrieved Ted’s text. Good boy.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and crept along the back of the Morning Star until he reached the second to the last room from the end.

The bathroom window next to a rear exit door was pushed up, and Frankie heard a thick Russian accent. She must’ve been talking on the phone.

“Room two twelve. Yes. How close are you? Fifteen minutes. Good. See you then, sweetie.”

Frankie crept very quietly up to the window, and he was just about to peek in when he heard the toilet flush. He ducked back down as he heard the faucet running and then closing.

He raised his head up to see the brunette walking out of the bathroom. She wore shorts and a tee-shirt. Not very provocative for a prostitute.

He heard her padding around in the bedroom. She turned on the television. She was watching…a children’s show. He heard a character talking, and then he heard the girl repeating everything the character had said.

Frankie covered his mouth to stifle a laugh and bit down on his fist while the young Russian girl repeated everything she heard, exactly the way the character had said it. No wonder why these Russian girls sounded funny when the spoke English. They had cartoon characters as teachers.

Frankie looked at his phone when it buzzed again. He retrieved another text message from Ted: ‘man parked.’

Great. It was show time.

Frankie heard a knock at the door. The girl turned the television off and there was a pause. She was talking on the phone. “Yes. Larry? Yes.”

Frankie heard the chain being slipped off, and the door creaking open, letting in the sounds of the street.

“Svetlana?” It was a man’s voice.

“Hi, sweetie.”

Frankie heard a wet sound. She must’ve kissed him hello.

“On the dresser,” he heard Svetlana say. Svetlana. That was a sexy name.

That must’ve been the money. Her payment. There was a moment of silence. Was she counting the money?

“Come here,” he heard her say. Then there were more wet sounds. “Sit on the bed.”

“You look beautiful,” he heard the man say. Christ, the guy was actually complimenting a prostitute. C’mon, man. She’s a sure thing.

He heard a zipper and then clothes rustling.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week,” the man said.

Ah, a regular.

“Aw, you’re so sweet. I missed you, too,” said Svetlana. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“So how’ve you been?” asked the man.

“Bored. There’s no work in this town. They don’t seem to like Russian girls here.”

“Not even on the boardwalk?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t worry, honey. Something’ll turn up.”

Wait a minute. Was this hooker complaining to her John that there was no work? That was strange.

“The money?” he heard Svetlana ask.

“Always straight to business,” he heard the man say. “It’s all in the duffle bag. Do you have the flash drive?”

Flash drive?

“Yes. Right here.”

Frankie wheeled around as he heard crunching in the dirt to his back.

“Frankie Martinez, what the hell are you doing back here?”

It was Officer Pike.

“What was that?” asked the man in the room. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Frankie made a motion with his fingers across his throat, gesturing for Officer Pike to cut it out.

“I asked you a question, Martinez,” demanded Pike, now standing in front of Frankie.

“Are you trying to pull a fast one?” asked the man inside the room, his voice panicked.

“No. I don’t know what that is,” pleaded Svetlana.

“Are you wearing a fucking wire?” he heard the man ask. Svetlana cried out, there was a loud thud, and something broke.

Pike heard the ruckus inside the room.

“I would never!” Svetlana insisted. “Please, no!”

More thrashing around.

“What the hell’s going on in there?” Pike asked Frankie, who only shrugged in response. “Ma’am, are you okay in there?” Pike shouted. No response. Then a gunshot.

“Get out of here,” Pike told Frankie, and then he ran around to the front of the building.

However, Frankie didn’t run. He was frozen in place, horrified that he might’ve been responsible for Svetlana being killed. Maybe she wasn’t a prostitute after all. Maybe she was a drug dealer. Maybe the man in the room was her supplier.

He heard rustling in the room, and then he heard a zipper closing. He heard the door creak open, and he heard Pike. “Police officer!”

There was a gunshot and a lot of yelling. Frankie couldn’t tell if it was Pike or the mystery man yelling. Hell, it could’ve been both of them.

Then Frankie heard a struggle in the room. There was more thumping, and he heard both men breathing hard and grunting. Frankie’s heart was in his throat.

He heard Pike yell, “Oh, Jesus! Wait! Please!”

“Are you alone?” asked the mystery man.

“Please, no! Don’t!”

“Are you by yourself?”

Frankie figured that Officer Pike lost the struggle. The mystery man wanted to know if he was alone so he could make his escape. Yeah, he’d run away, and Officer Pike would be fine. Then a grisly thought entered Frankie’s mind.

If Officer Pike says he’s alone, he’s an only witness. A loose end. Frankie realized that he hadn’t heard Svetlana’s voice. At all.

Frankie’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up. It was Ted: ‘what’s going on?’

This was it. Frankie decided he needed to do something. One more moment, and Pike was going to be murdered, and it would be his fault.

Frankie tested the back doorknob. It wasn’t locked.

“You are alone, aren’t you?” he heard the mystery man say.

Frankie took a deep breath, turned the knob, and pushed into the room. He saw Pike lying on the floor, his face bleeding, and the mystery man turned and pointed his gun at Frankie.

Frankie dashed into the bathroom to his right as a bullet whizzed by, just missing his head.

“What the fuck is going on here?” shouted the mystery man.

Frankie heard Pike grunt and moan in pain. He peeked out of the bathroom and saw the man holding Officer Pike in front of him, his one arm under Pike’s throat, the other hand pointing a gun to Pike’s head.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” said the man. He was a tall, thin, Caucasian man. He had an accent, but it wasn’t exactly like Svetlana’s. He had a black duffle bag slung around his shoulder.

“I’m just a kid,” said Frankie. “Don’t hurt him.”

“I’m going to back out of here, get in my car, and leave. You do anything, and I’ll blow his brains out. I swear,” said the man.

“Frankie! Get out of here!” shouted Pike.

“Anything you say, Mister,” said Frankie to the man.

The man reached back with his gun hand and spread his fingers to turn the doorknob, dragging Pike with him. He pulled the door open awkwardly and kicked it all the way ajar with his foot.

Frankie’s eyes went wide when he saw who was in the doorway.

Ted grabbed the man’s gun hand and tried to wrestle the gun away from the man. The man dropped Pike and grappled with Ted. Frankie rushed the man, tackling him, and all three tumbled to the ground in a heap.

Ted was holding the man’s arms back while Frankie wailed away at him. Ted finally wrested the gun from the man’s grip, and it slid outside onto the pavement.

Pike slipped his retractable baton out of his pocket and extended it. He threw himself on the heap, pushed Frankie out of the way, and brought the baton down on the man’s skull twice. After the second blow, the man stopped struggling.

Ted squiggled out from underneath the man and crawled away from him. Frankie stood and backed away as Pike collapsed on top of the unconscious mystery man, panting.

“Are you okay, Officer Pike?” asked Frankie.

Pike rolled onto his back. “Yeah. Help me up.”

Frankie reached out his hand, and Pike took it. Frankie helped him to a kneeling position and then to standing. Pike groaned with the effort.

“Who was that guy?” asked Ted.

“I don’t know,” said Pike. “The bigger question is, ‘what the hell were you boys doing here to begin with?’”

Chapter 10

Frankie and Ted sat in Chief Holbrook’s office squirming in their seats. Officer Pike had just taken written statements from them, and they still weren’t sure what kind of trouble they were in.

Frankie knew they weren’t under arrest because when Officer Pike wanted to take their statements, Frankie demanded a lawyer. He saw it on a cop show once. Officer Pike laughed and told them they weren’t under arrest.

Chief Holbrook had placed calls to both of their parents. Frankie’s parents were both out of town, but Ted’s were right outside. Holbrook was talking to them.

“We’re in deep shit this time,” said Ted. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”

“Hey, I didn’t hold a gun to your head,” said Frankie. “Besides, we’re not the bad guys.”

“Yeah, right. Your parents aren’t waiting outside to skin you alive. Christ, I hope Holbrook locks us up. It’ll be safer that way.”

“Will you relax, Ted. You’re such a pussy about these things.”

“Pussy? That guy had a gun, Frankie. He tried to kill Officer Pike. He would’ve killed you.”

“He was just some crazy pimp tweaked up on God knows what. It wasn’t like he was a marksman or anything.”

Ted shook his head in exasperation. “In that tiny hotel room, he didn’t need to be a marksman, you jackass.”

Frankie pointed a finger at Ted. “You could’ve stopped me at any time. This is your fault. You know me and my stupid ideas.”

Ted was clutching his right hand into a fist when Holbrook and Pike barged into the office. Holbrook stepped around the boys and took a seat behind his desk, while Pike closed the door. Ted caught a glimpse of his parents and swallowed hard as the door closed them off from view. Pike stood behind the boys.

Holbrook regarded both boys with a gravity that made Ted’s blood run cold.

“Frankie…” Most cops would address the teen by his last name or Mister so-and-so for the sake of intimidation, but Smuggler’s Bay wasn’t that kind of town. Here, everyone knew everyone on a first name basis. “…what in God’s name were you doing behind the Morning Star Motel?”

“I was just cutting through. You know, a short cut.”

Holbrook arched one eyebrow. “Ted,” he said while still eyeing Frankie, “what was Frankie doing in back of the Morning Star Hotel?”

Frankie glared at Ted.

Ted twitched a bit. “Frankie thought it’d be a good idea to check out those Russian girls that always hang out in front, to see if they were…prostitutes, sir.”

Frankie buried his face in his hands.

“So what if they were?” asked Holbrook, addressing Frankie. “You thought you’d get a glimpse of two people having sex? That would make you a peeping Tom, which incidentally, is against the law.”

Frankie slouched in his seat and threw his hands up in the air. “C’mon, Chief. You know there’s been a lot of talk about that place. All of Smuggler’s Bay knows what’s going on at that dump.”

Holbrook shook his head. “So, what, you and your sidekick thought you were going to crack the case for us and save Smuggler’s Bay from the scourge of prostitution?”

“I’m not his sidekick,” demanded Ted.

“If I saw or heard anything strange, I was going to call you right away, sir. Honest.” Frankie offered up his best genuine smile.

“So you boys think you cracked a prostitution ring…”

Frankie shrugged. “Frankly, someone had to, sir. My parents are tax payers, and no one wants to see the town go down the toilet. We’re a family town.”

Holbrook cracked an ironic smile and quickly wiped it off of his face. “What you two chuckleheads don’t realize is that you weren’t spying on a prostitution ring.”

Frankie sat up in his chair, and Ted leaned forward in his. “What do you mean?” asked Frankie. “The pimp came running in with a gun and almost killed Officer Pike.”

“That wasn’t a pimp,” said Pike from behind them.

“So what the hell was he?” asked Ted. “A terrorist?”

Holbrook sat back in his chair. “What you two did was stumble upon an identity theft ring.”

“What?” said both boys simultaneously.

“They were lifting credit card numbers, PIN numbers, you name it, from the wireless in the hotels all around them and selling the stolen information. We believe this leads all the way back to the Russian mob. The FBI has been contacted and will be taking over the investigation.”

“So, you mean we’re heroes?” asked Frankie in utter disbelief.

Holbrook rolled his eyes and sighed, as if the next words out of his mouth were going to literally cause him pain. “While it is true that you both saved Officer Pike’s life and assisted him in arresting an armed perpetrator,” Frankie and Ted both smiled at this, “you both could’ve gotten yourself killed. In the future, it would be wiser to call us if you see anything else suspicious or out of place in Smuggler’s Bay. Understood?”

Both boys nodded.

“When do you go away to school?”

“Three weeks, sir,” said Ted.

“I’m staying local,” said Frankie.

Holbrook sighed in exasperation. “Do try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the summer. Now, if you don’t mind, I have other business to attend to.”

That was their cue to leave. Both boys stood as Pike held the door open for them. They nodded to Pike, who nodded in response, and they left the office.

“That was close!” said Frankie.

“Too close,” said Ted. “Let’s just skate from now on. We’ve both got school coming up.” He saw his parents waiting for him. They looked both concerned and angry. Great.

“I’ll catch you later,” said Frankie, who bolted out of the police station, waving quickly at Ted’s parents.

They only glared back. They knew Frankie well, and they knew this whole mess was likely his idea.

It was always his idea.

Ted felt like a dead man walking as he stepped over to his parents. They looked like they were both going to ream him out publically in the middle of the police station when Ted felt a hand on his right shoulder. He turned around.

It was Officer Pike.

“Ted, I just want to thank you again for saving my life.”

This stopped both of Ted’s parents in their tracks. Their outraged expressions melted away and were replaced with what could only be shock and awe.

“Mr. and Mrs. Salvatori, I’d like to apologize because this was largely my fault. I was in the process of arresting a perpetrator, and I lost control of the situation. The perp was armed and resisted arrest. He tried to kill me, but your son and his friend were both walking by and saw what was happening, and they came to my assistance.

“I know they both should’ve called for help instead of interceding in a dangerous situation, but to be honest, if they didn’t intercede, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you.”

Both of Ted’s parents looked at Ted in utter disbelief.

“Well, I’m glad something was finally done about that eyesore,” said Mr. Salvatori. “We’ve all kind of suspected there was something going on at the Morning Star.”

“And we’re certainly glad nothing happened to you,” added Mrs. Salvatori quickly. “We’ve always taught our son to do the right thing, Officer.”

Pike nodded solemnly. “Well, thanks again, Ted. I’ll see you around.”

Pike left the police station, and Ted was left alone with his parents. He still wasn’t sure if he was out of the woods quite yet.

“Well, let’s go get something to eat and put this all behind us,” said his father.

His mother put her arm around him, and they all walked out of the police station together. Crisis averted. Ted smiled to himself. Officer Pike wasn’t such a hard-on after all.

Things were different between them after that.

***

“Hey there, headbangers, it’s Johnny Wong bringing you the best in hard rock and heavy metal at the Shore. Another boiling hot day in this August heat wave, and there’s still no relief in sight. Smuggler’s Bay has been experiencing rolling blackouts. You know what that means, folks, no air conditioning.

“But, the temperature isn’t the only thing heating up in Smuggler’s Bay. Police raided the Morning Star Hotel earlier today and made some arrests. Residents say that shots were fired, but Chief Holbrook went on the record saying that no one was hurt, except an identity thief who sustained a gunshot wound to her shoulder; she’s expected to make a full recovery. Chief Holbrook, one. Bad Guys, zilch.

“Just another day in the pressure cooker. Here’s Into the Fire by Dokken.”

The blazing sun was now drifting in the West as the day was winding down. Mario was in his back office placing orders and managing inventory on his laptop, his little wall unit spitting out cool air. Marie was at the register.

Mario couldn’t get his mother’s roommate out of his head. She was like a monster. He was overcome with pangs of guilt for leaving his mother in such a place.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. The heat was getting to him. His mother was getting to him. He stood, flung the door to his little office open, and walked up to the register.

Marie was bagging some tee-shirts she had just rung up for a couple of teenage boys. She handed the bags to the boys and smiled. “Thank you.”

She saw Mario standing there with a worried expression on his red face, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck with his handkerchief.

“What’s wrong, hon?”

“I’m not sure I should be leaving Ma in that place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I don’t know if that’s the best place for her.”

“Why, because of that woman? Her roommate?”

“Jesus, Marie, who knows who else she’s trapped in there with?”

“Oh, she’ll be fine. That place has nurses everywhere.”

“What if they can’t get to her in time?”

Marie knew where this was going. They’d been down this road before. “We can’t take care of her, Mario.”

“Why not? I’ll run the store.”

Marie put her hands up. “There’s no way I’m waiting on Mama Sophia hand-and-foot. She hates me.”

“Okay, so then you’ll run the store, and I’ll watch her.”

“And what if there’s an emergency? What will you do that a nursing home can’t?”

“I’ll be there, so I’ll know right away if she needs help. I can call 9-1-1.”

“So, what, you’re going to stay in the house with your mother all day and night? Mario, we have a store to run. We have two children.”

“It’ll be good for Ma to be around her grandchildren. It’ll be good for them, too.”

“We talked about this before. This is not possible. She’s in a good place where she’s well taken care of.”

Mario, his blood pressure rising, pointed an accusatory finger at his wife. “You actually like that she’s in that place, don’t you? You never liked my mother.”

“How dare you? She hated me from the moment she met me. I’ve done nothing but reach out to her to try to show her I care. I take pretty damned good care of her precious son, too. But she’d never say so.”

Mario saw a flash of movement over Marie’s shoulder. It was a kid. He reached up to one of the mannequins and pulled its tube top down.

“Hey! Stop, you little punk!”

The kid saw Mario and took off down the boardwalk.

“Mario, what is it?” asked Marie, startled.

“It’s that punk kid! I got him,” shouted Mario as he ran around her and out of the store.

He saw the kid dashing away, weaving between pedestrians, nearly knocking over a baby carriage. Bastard. He had a good lead on Mario, but Mario was pissed off.

He pumped his fat legs as hard as he could, panting in the heat. His eyes didn’t have enough time to adjust to the brightness outside. Tourists jumped out of his way as he collided with a garbage can, knocking it over and spilling hot, stinking garbage on the boardwalk.

“I got you, you little punk!”

The kid was putting more and more distance between him and Mario. He looked back and saw the hefty man struggling, so he slowed to a stop.

Mario was about to give up. His heart was beating out of his chest. His body couldn’t take it, and he knew it. He looked up at the kid as he clutched his chest.

He saw the kid, and the kid knew he had been seen. Mario wouldn’t forget that face. Not in a million years.

The sun suddenly became brighter, whitewashing his vision as his heart pulverized the inside of his chest, beating faster and faster. Mario felt pain everywhere…

Marie ran down the boardwalk and found her husband lying face down on the boardwalk. There was a crowd of tourists around him. A couple of them were on their cell phones. A couple were pointing the cameras in their phones at him, taking video.

“Somebody call 9-1-1!” Marie shouted. She got down on her knees next to her husband. “Oh, Mario!”

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.

Marie opened the storm door and slipped outside, closing the front door and screen door behind her. “Listen, I don’t know why you came here…actually, I do know why you came here, but you’re wasting your breath. I’m not interested.”

Billy put his hands up in front of him defensively. “Hey, I’m just trying to be neighborly.”

“Well, you’ve done your good deed. Now it’s time to get lost, neighbor.”

“Well, okay. How are the kids?”

“The kids are fine. We’re all fine, thank you.”

“Do I make you nervous, Marie? Because it seems to me that I make you nervous.”

She clasped her trembling hands together. “It’s cold out here.” That was a lie. It was eighty-some-odd degrees outside. Marie cursed herself silently. It was an admission that he did make her nervous.

“Well, if there’s anything you need, any company—”

“We’re fine. Good night, Billy.”

He looked into her eyes. “Fine. G’night, Marie.”

He turned and left her front yard as she slipped back into her house.

“Who was that, Mommy?” Salvatore asked, nearly causing her to jump out of her skin.

“I said he was nobody, sweetheart.”

***

Tara approached the front office of the Ocean’s Gate Motel not quite sure what to expect. This was her first foray into anything resembling private practice. What made it seem even stranger was that her first private practice session was not going to occur in some dimly lit office lined with shelves of esoteric textbooks. There’d be no armchair for her to sit in, and there’d be no couch.

Her mentor, Jeff, had referred Lenny Krueger to her, saying he’d be a great first patient. He’d known Lenny since he was four years old and had advocated for him over the years. Lenny was special to Jeff, so when he passed him on to Tara, Tara took it as a huge compliment.

She opened the door to the front office and entered. There was a young girl behind the counter. “Checking in?”

“I’m Tara Bigelow. I’m here to pick up Lenny Krueger.” Was ‘pick up’ the right terminology? Take out? She’d never done a session like this before.

The girl smiled. “Oh, I’ll go get Alice.”

The girl disappeared into a back room, and Tara heard her name mentioned in a muffled voice. Alice appeared behind the counter, smiling tentatively. “Hi, you must be Tara.” She stepped around the counter and eagerly shook Tara’s hand. “Or do you prefer Dr. Bigelow?”

Tara smiled. “Tara’s fine.” That’s what Jeff told her. After all, he was Dr. Jeff or Jeff to his patients. No one called him Dr. Abramowitz.

“Lenny’s excited to meet you. I told him that any friend of Dr. Jeff’s is a friend of ours. He spoke very highly of you.”

Tara smiled. “He’s a great guy. Taught me a lot.”

“If it wasn’t for him, Lenny’s life would’ve been much more difficult. He helped Lenny become a polite, confident young man.” Alice looked at the clock. “Not a punctual young man, though.”

“I’ve heard so much about Lenny. He sounds very high functioning.” She regretting saying that second part the minute it crossed her lips. Too clinical. No parent thought of their child as ‘high functioning.’

“He’s quite the character, as you’ll soon see. He loves women, too, and you’re very pretty, so fair warning.”

Tara chuckled. “Thanks for the heads up. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, Lenny’s quite the gentleman. His biggest issue—and I’m sure Dr. Jeff filled you in on this—is that he can get a little lost in his fantasy world.”

“Yeah, I hear he likes superheroes. So does my son.”

“How old is your son?”

“He’s five. His name is Tyrell.”

“So, Dr. Jeff told me you’ve just moved to Smuggler’s Bay.”

“Yes. We’re still unpacking boxes.”

“So, where are you working? In the area?”

“I used to work in a preschool, but now I’ll be consulting in a nursing home one town over.”

“Oh, that’s quite the change.”

“Yeah, but it’s a more flexible schedule. It’ll allow me to be around my family more.” That was partially true. That and that she was laid off from her old job, but her first private practice client didn’t need to know that.

Lenny came bounding into the office from the small motel restaurant, black cape billowing behind him. He saw his mother talking to Tara, and when he saw Tara, he smiled.

“Lenny, this is Dr. Tara. She’s here to take you out to dinner.”

Lenny extended his hand. Tara took it. “Hi, Tara. My name is Lenny.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Lenny.” Tara was immediately impressed by Lenny’s presentation. He was in his twenties, and for a young adult with Down Syndrome, he was nicely dressed in dress pants, a white dress shirt, a blue tie, and a black blazer. His hair was neatly combed. He was also relatively svelte for a guy his age. Usually in adulthood, or even before, those with Downs had stocky builds and were frequently overweight.

“I hope you didn’t get all dressed up for me,” said Tara. “It’s kinda hot to be all dressed up.”

“Oh, Lenny doesn’t feel heat like other people,” said Alice. “Now, Lenny, Tara’s a married woman. She has a young son who likes superheroes, too. So, this isn’t a date. Dr. Tara is like Dr. Jeff.”

“He’s my special friend,” announced Lenny.

“Yes, well, Tara’s going to be your special friend, too.” Under other circumstances the reference would’ve sounded creepy. “She’s going to be someone to talk to. Someone who can help you.”

“Sounds good,” said Lenny.

“Okay,” said Tara, wanting to move things along, “let’s go, Lenny. I’m new to Smuggler’s Bay. You can show me around the boardwalk. You can even pick out where you want to eat.”

Lenny smiled and took his place next to Tara.

“You two, have a good time,” said Alice.

“We will,” reassured Tara.

Tara and Lenny left the office, and Alice stood there lost in her thoughts. She hoped Dr. Tara was as good as Dr. Jeff had said she was. She didn’t want to suddenly have to hunt for a new psychologist after all these years.

* * *

Vinnie and Dharma had just finished their dinner at Caliente!, the Mexican restaurant above Fortunato’s Arcade. Dharma noticed that Vinnie had been quieter than usual throughout dinner, like something was eating him. Now they were holding hands, walking down the boardwalk, and he seemed as if his mind was elsewhere.

She had a feeling that she knew what it was about.

“What’s eating you, besides that super burrito you scarfed down?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“No you’re not, Mr. Silent-But-Deadly.”

He managed a smile. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

Dharma pulled him over to the edge of the boardwalk and sat him down on a bench. She sat next to him, putting her arm around him. “So what is it? Another woman?”

“No, of course not.”

“So what is it then? You’re all mopey tonight. Did what happened to Mr. Russo make you worry about your friend, Mike?”

“Well, no…actually, now that you mention it. But that’s not all of it.”

“So, why don’t you tell me about all of it?”

“Why did it take me four years of high school to grow the balls to talk to you?”

“Well, I don’t want to nitpick, but technically I’m the one who spoke to you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She leaned into him, gently shoving him. “C’mon, Vin. I was only kidding.”

He was looking out at the waves crashing on the beach. “I know. It’s just that everything stayed the same for years, and it sucked. I fucking hated it. The same shit, year after year. Then I meet you, and just when things get good, everything’s going to change.”

“Ah, I see. You’re not going that far away, Vin. We’ll see each other on breaks.”

“Yeah, but I wish we had more time.”

“So do I.”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean I wish I had more time to cement our relationship more before I go away. We’ve only been going out a little bit, and I go off to school in two weeks. You’re going back to high school. There’ll be other guys…”

“Cute guys.”

“Memories of our time together will begin to fade…”

“I do have a short attention span.”

“Can you be serious for one second? I’m pouring my heart out to you, and you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you. I just think that you’re worrying about nothing. I think it’s sweet that you wish we had met sooner and that we had more time, but things happened the way they did.

“I’m not going to forget about you, Vinnie Cantone. It’s not like I have to have male romantic companionship every waking moment or I’ll shrivel up and die.”

He looked into her eyes. “I just don’t want this to end. I don’t want any of this to end.”

“Vinnie, things change whether we want them to or not. It doesn’t mean that it’s always for the worse. If this relationship is meant to be, then it will work out. Let’s take it one day at a time. Besides, I’ll probably be going away to school next year. This’ll be practice for being apart.”

“Yeah, I know. It just burns my ass, though. Why did I have to be so damned shy?”

Dharma smiled. “I’m glad you’re shy.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because that means you won’t go chasing all of the hot little coeds around and cheat on poor little me.”

Vinnie leaned in and kissed her, tasting her mouth like it was going to be the last time and he wanted to remember it forever. So this was what he was missing as Frankie and Ted chased girl after girl. This was what it was all about. “I’m just going to miss it all.”

“Vin, you need to experience other things. You need to see the world.”

“I’m going to New York, not Japan.”

“It’s still something different. It’s not Smuggler’s Bay. Do you know how many here never leave? I mean, ever. Besides, you’re acting like it’s not all going to be here when you come back on break.”

He smiled.

“Oh, look I made you smile.”

“Mike said something like that. He said he’d be here when I’d come back to visit.”

“And?”

“After what happened to Mr. Russo, I’m not so sure.”

“Mike would want you to branch out into the world, too. There’s more to life than Smuggler’s Bay.”

“Not to him, there is. I feel kinda guilty I’m leaving him behind.”

“Mike’s in a different stage of his life. You don’t want to end up like Billy Blake. That guy’s never going anywhere.”

“He’s not so bad,” said Vinnie defensively, “but I get your point.”

Dharma leaned in. Her breath felt warm on his cheek. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll keep an eye on him while you’re gone. I like Mike.”

“That’s true. You can keep an eye on him.”

She kissed him on his cheek. “See. We have a plan. There’s only one question?”

“What’s that?”

“Who’s going to keep an eye on you in New York?”

“Don’t you know any nice old ladies in New York?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

He put his head in his hands and frowned. “Well, now we have a whole new problem.”

“And here I thought we were making headway.”

Vinnie stared out at the beach. “You should hang out with Mike and me sometime. He’s a great guy.”

They both watched the waves crash on the sand as seagulls stood watch, their feathers blowing in the warm breeze.

* * *

Lenny gave Tara the grand tour of the boardwalk, showing her the arcades, the Frog Bog game (his personal favorite), and various candy shops. Here and there passersby and shop clerks would say hello to Lenny, and he would wave back, grinning from ear to ear. They finally settled on Marco’s Pizza.

“What would you like, Lenny?” asked Tara.

“Two plain slices, please.”

“That’s what he always gets,” said the clerk, a short, Hispanic man. “We know Lenny well.”

Lenny reached across the counter and extended his hand. The man shook it.

“This is Hector. He’s my friend.”

“I see,” said Tara, noticing the absence of the prefix ‘special.’ “I’ll have the same.”

“Anything to drink?” asked Hector.

“Chocolate milk,” said Lenny.

“You know what, I’ll have the same,” said Tara.

Lenny was positively tickled by Tara ordering the exact same meal as him.

Tara knew this would be important. In order to build rapport, she had to show Lenny that they had things in common. This was a simple start.

“You can grab the chocolate milks from the fridge,” said Hector. “I’ll bring the slices when they’re ready.”

“Thank you,” said Tara. She began to reach for her purse.

“Sixteen,” said Hector.

She handed him a twenty, and he handed her back for singles from the register. Then she and Lenny sat in a booth. Lenny arranged the salt, pepper, and garlic shakers so that they were in a neat row.

“I see you like to keep things neat,” remarked Tara.

Lenny nodded.

“So, do you have a job at the motel?”

“I make beds and bring extra towels.”

“Really? That’s great. Do you like it?”

“Yes. It’s a very important job. I’m a professional.”

Lenny’s speech was a bit garbled, but having worked with preschoolers, some with special needs, Tara was used to it.

“So, I see you have a cape. Are you are superhero?”

“I’m Magma Man.”

“Oh, I see. You mean you’re dressed like Magma Man.”

Lenny wrestled with this slight correction, but he wanted to be polite. He swallowed hard before speaking. “I wish I was Magma Man.”

“Why’s that, Lenny?”

“He’s special. He has powers. He’s a hero, and people like him.”

“Well, Lenny Krueger seems to be pretty popular around here. Maybe even more than Magma Man.”

While Lenny smiled at the first part, he frowned at the second. “Oh, no. Magma Man is more important. He’s a hero.”

“Oh, I see.” Tara remembered that Jeff told her that superheroes were Lenny’s ‘religion.’ His mother was not a religious woman, and he was not raised with religion, so superheroes filled the gap.

“My favorite is Ultra Girl. I think she’s cool.”

The smile returned to Lenny’s face. “She’s very special. Her and Magma Man.”

“So, who gave you the cape?”

“Billy Blake.”

“Who’s that? A Friend of yours?”

Lenny nodded. “A special friend. He works at the store we passed down the boardwalk. He’s a nice man.”

There was that qualifier again. ‘Special.’

“I have a son who likes superheroes. I think Magma Man is his favorite, too.”

Lenny sat up straight, as if she had just imparted a surprising piece of information. “Really? What’s his name?”

“Tyrell. He’s five years old.”

“Wow. That’s great. Does he read Magma Man comic books?”

“Not yet. He’s a little too young for comic books, but he reads very well for a kid his age. One day he’ll get into comics.”

Hector came over with the four slices. Lenny chittered with delight. Tara probably figured he must’ve had Marco’s pizza a hundred times before, yet he appreciated each time as if it was the first. In fact, as they chatted over their pizza, she noticed that Lenny seemed to treat everything as if it was new and special.

It was an admirable quality. Like that old man at the carousel had. She felt more optimistic about the move to Smuggler’s Bay, the new job, and was eager to wipe the slate clean.

After some small talk, it was time to broach a meatier topic. “Lenny, your mom seems very nice. You’re very lucky to have her.”

Lenny’s expression suddenly became grave. “She likes to boss me around. I don’t like that.”

Tara knew she’d get this reaction. Jeff had filled her in about this evolving dynamic between Lenny and Alice. As Lenny matured and became more independent, he began to resent his mother. Jeff said this was common with those with Down Syndrome as they grew up.

The unfortunate reality was that, even for the highest functioning ones, they’d never be completely independent, and they knew it. While they knew and appreciated all that their parents did for them, it also became an ugly reminder of their limitations and frequently soured relationships with their parents.

“She only cares about you, is all,” said Tara. “My mother still worries about me.” Tara’s mind drifted to a desperate conversation her mother had with her in the throes of post-partum depression…

“Tara, honey,” she reached across the kitchen table and held her daughter’s hand, “Marcus tells me you’ve been having a hard time.”

Tara yanked her hand away from her mother’s. “Well, I think Marcus should mind his fucking business.” So this is why Marcus disappeared with the baby.

Her mother winced at the cursing. Tara wasn’t normally one to curse. She hadn’t raised Tara that way. “Honey, it’s okay. Sometimes pregnancy messes with a woman’s chemistry. Maybe you’d feel better if you saw a doctor, got some medication that would even you out.”

Tara stood up and backed away from the kitchen table, her expression that of sour resentment. She turned and faced the cabinets, staring at nothing. “So you, too. You think that I’m crazy, too.”

Her mother stood and walked around the table to stand behind her. She placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Tara, no one’s using that word.”

Tara whirled around, her mother’s hand thrust off her shoulder.

Startled, her mother took a few steps back until she backed into the table.

Tara advanced upon her mother. “No one’s using that word, but that’s exactly what they mean, isn’t it?”

“We just want you to be all right. Tyrell needs you. Marcus needs you.”

“What about what I need?”

“We’ll get you whatever you need. Just say the word. What do you need?”

“I need Marcus to stop fucking around with other women.”

“Tara, you know he’s not doing that. He’s a good man. He’s the father of your child.”

“Where do you think he is right now? What do you think he’s doing at this very moment?” Tara accused more than asked.

“Tara, he’s with your father and the baby.”

“He dropped the baby off and is rolling around with one of his whores.”

“Tara, you need to stop it, this instant! Do you hear yourself?”

“Maybe he’s fucking you too, Ma.”

Tara’s mother slapped her so hard she left a red handprint on her daughter’s face. Tara was speechless. Her mother slapped her again.

“Mama, what are you doing?”

“You wanna talk like some gutter trash, I’ll treat you like gutter trash,” said her mother. “You’re going to get some help, or so help me God…

…Tara remembered the resentment she had toward her mother that day. She remembered how she had hurt her mother. Her family. She was ashamed that her mother had apologized for slapping her, but she still couldn’t bring herself to apologize for the way she spoke to her mother.

“There’s no shame in needing help, Lenny. My mother helped me when I needed it, and I was mean to her.”

Lenny looked at her quizzically. “You’re not a mean person.”

“And neither are you,” said Tara. “But sometimes we can act mean when someone’s trying to help us.”

“Well, you can help me, Tara. I’ll never be mean to you.”

Tara smiled. “I appreciate that, Lenny. But we need to work on you appreciating your mom.”

Lenny nodded. First blood had been drawn, therapeutically-speaking, and it was okay. They ate the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence.

* * *

Holbrook stood next to Lena as they watched Robbie in line for the swinging chairs. Robbie looked over his shoulder and smiled at his parents. A year ago he would’ve waved and called out their names. He was getting older, and soon they’d be lucky if they received a nod of acknowledgement.

Holbrook loved and hated his job. He loved Smuggler’s Bay, and he loved that he played a real part in preserving its charm through law and order. However, being Chief was demanding and frequently took him away from Robbie. From Lena.

He thought of Billy Blake, and his blood turned to ice. Holbrook would never let his job come between him and his family again. He was there more. He made sure of it. Although his job was to protect and serve, he’d protect his family first, and at all costs.

Lena took his hand in hers. “Remember when he used to go on the little boats and the Merry-Go-Round? Now he’s going on the swinging chairs.”

“Next’ll be the Albatross and the other coasters.”

Lena shivered at the thought. She wasn’t much for fast rides. “Do you think we can still get him to go to Circus Faire?”

“Ugh. Those damned clowns.”

Lena looked up at her husband, amused. “Why do you hate those clowns so damned much?”

Holbrook kissed her on the forehead. “Because you don’t know them like I do. They breeze into town for the parade, get drunk, trash their motel rooms, and steal anything that isn’t nailed down.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s a small minority.”

“Alice Krueger at the Ocean’s Gate had to redo the carpeting and replace the bedding in several of her rooms. Those clowns are animals. Last year there were complaints about some of the clowns groping some of the young girls.”

“Yeah, I remember you telling me. It’s still a fun tradition, though.”

Holbrook grinned sardonically. “You don’t have to clean up the mess. Do you know what it’s like having a jail full of drunk, belligerent clowns at the station?”

“It must be a real circus,” said Lena, grinning wickedly.

“You’re a real comedian, Lena.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m just clowning around.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Holbrook still loved his wife, even after the whole incident with Billy Blake, whatever the hell happened between them. She was his best friend. She always made him laugh.

He forgave, but he never really forgot about it. It was like a stain on their relationship that never went away no matter how you scrubbed it. It just faded over time, and eventually you put a coffee table over it and move on with your life.

“Well, there’s supposed to be a big storm rolling in the day after the parade. Some kinda nor’easter. Hopefully they’ll all clear outta town, and I’ll keep my jail empty.”

“Jim, you know your jail’s never empty. Not in the summer.”

“I’ll take Bennies and Townies over them damned clowns any day.”

Lena waved to Robbie as the ride attendant strapped him into his chair. His slipped off his flip flops and let his toes swing in the air (the ride would stop so that his chair would be precisely where it started, and he’d recover his flip flops). “Where do those clowns come from, anyway?”

“Hell if I know. Not from around here.”

He remembered Sunday school where the teacher talked about plagues of locusts.

Chapter 11

The next morning Bonnie May Tutlidge lay there helpless, weak from an illness that came on quickly. She was so wiped that she was unable to summon the strength to reach the call-bell, even if she wanted to.

She figured it was no use anyway. The nurses never came to check on her. When she hit the call-bell in the past, it would just stay lit until a nurse or aide came into the room to turn it off. They never asked her what she wanted, or if she was all right.

She’d wait until her daughter came to visit again. Boy, oh, boy would…what was her name…boy, would her daughter get an earful. She’d set things right.

The administration always took family seriously. That imperious bitch…the administrator…what was her name…the one that looked like Nurse Ratchet in a cheap pantsuit.

Heaven forbid they lose a resident, causing the census to drop. Their precious census.

Bonnie felt an alien kind of pain radiate from her sinuses to the rest of her head, like thunder crashing inside her skull, battering her brain.

It reminded her of Henry, her dear Henry, who suddenly fell ill and passed fifteen years ago. She remembered it as if it was yesterday, but she’d be damned if she could remember what she had for breakfast.

Poor Henry. She could see him so clearly in her mind’s eye, a strapping young man, like on the day they were married in Arkansas.

Pain radiated inside her skull, behind her eyes, practically shoving them out of her sockets. At least that’s how she felt it. Her blood burned in her veins. She scratched her arms absent-mindedly in response to the tingling from within, an itch she’d never reach.

Bonnie turned her head on her drenched pillow…was that from her? Was it sweat? She looked at her roommate. What was her name? Nice Italian lady, despite the fact that the woman referred to her as a ‘colored.’ There were a couple of Italian words that Bonnie didn’t understand, but she had a feeling about their meaning.

It wasn’t the first time she was treated differently because of her skin color. Heck, when Henry passed and she moved up north to be near her daughter, she’d expected things in that department to improve.

As it ended up, people weren’t as vocal about her skin color. They were quiet about it, but she sensed the same sentiments were there.

She didn’t know why. She was from another generation. She saw how the youth of today dressed, with their pants down to their ankles. Like anyone wanted to see their drawers! How they grabbed their…member, as if it would jump off their body and run away. The music! Don’t get her started on the music. She remembered when her parents gave her heck about Elvis Presley.

“Don’t you watch that white man, shakin’ his hips on that stage,” her mother admonished. “It’s unseemly. We’re church-goin’ folks.”

The truth was, compared to today’s music about bitches and hoes, that handsome man shaking his hips was nothing.

The Italian woman said something to her, yanking her out of her private reverie. Her head was a furnace. “What?”

“I said,” repeated the woman, “you don’t look so good.”

“I-I…”

Bonnie couldn’t find the words to finish her thought. Yet, she knew exactly what she wanted to say. She was pretty sure she knew what she wanted to say.

Frustrated, Bonnie turned her head so that she was gazing up at the white ceiling and closed her eyes. When she re-opened them, the Italian woman was standing over her, clutching her call-bell. “What?” was all she could manage.

The Italian woman pressed the call-bell, and the light above Bonnie’s bed lit up as a haze drifted over her vision. It was as if her brain fogged over.

Bonnie reached over and clasped the Italian woman’s hand in hers. She wanted to express her gratitude for this stranger’s concern for a ‘colored’ old woman from Arkansas. She’d be sure to tell her daughter…what was her name again…about this kind old woman…

Mama Sophia smiled at Bonnie, a smile that was more pity than concern. However, her smile faded into disgust as Bonnie pulled her hand to her mouth as if to kiss it.

Mama Sophia thought the gesture was unnecessary and almost regretted interceding. Her disgust turned to fear when the colored woman sank her teeth into her hand.

Mama Sophia yanked her hand away, clutching the bite with her other hand, rubbing the pain away. The other woman began to growl like an animal as Mama Sophia shrank back, clutching her hand.

Then the woman let out a banshee wail. “Screeeeeeee!”

Mama Sophia tripped over her walker and fell backward, her walker landing across her chest.

Bonnie rolled out of bed and onto her feet, standing unsteadily like a drunk. Her eyes were all white and had dark circles around them. She looked more animal than human.

Bonnie suddenly lunged at Mama Sophia, landing on top of the sideways walker. She leaned her head in as Mama Sophia did her best to push her away, screaming on the top of her seventy-eight-year-old lungs.

Bonnie snapped her jaws wildly at her, the force sending her dentures dropping out of her mouth and onto Mama Sophia. The walker kept the rabid woman at enough of a distance that her jaws never found purchase.

A nurse appeared in the doorway and screamed when she saw the two elderly ladies struggling on the floor. “I need help in here, NOW!”

Two aides came running inside the room, and all three staff pulled Bonnie off Mama Sophia. Bonnie tried to bite their forearms as they struggled to grab hold of her, but without her dentures, she was just gumming.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Russo?” asked the nurse.

Mama Sophia looked down at her hand. “I-I fell.” She swiped her hand to push the slimy dentures off her face and wiped the thick drool off her mouth and cheek with the back of her hand.

The two aides placed Bonnie back on her bed, and the nurse, Ms. Honeywell, ran over to Mama Sophia. “Oh, goodness. Norton, help me get Mrs. Russo up off the floor. Charlie, call a code blue on Ms. Tutlidge.”

Ms. Norton came to assist while Ms. St. Charles leaned out the doorway, shouting something to the ward clerk. Bonnie sat on the bed as if in a trance, her chest heaving as she hyperventilated. There were names being called on the intercom out in the hallway.

Ms. Honeywell and Ms. Norton placed their hands under Mama Sophia’s arms and lifted her slowly to a standing position. Mama Sophia was a hair under five feet tall and weighed only one hundred and eight pounds, so the lift was relatively easy.

They sat her gently on the bed.

“Are you hurt?” asked Ms. Honeywell.

Mama Sophia was staring at Bonnie, who was hyperventilating, her chest rising and falling in quick, staccato motions.

“Mrs. Russo?”

Mama Sophia held out her hand to Mrs. Honeywell.

Ms. Honeywell took her hand and turned it, palm facing down. There was a small abrasion on the back of her wrinkled, spotted hand.

“Did she bite you?” asked Ms. Norton.

Mama Sophia couldn’t take her eyes off her roommate. There was something gravely wrong with her. Not medically. She’d been touched by the malocchio. She had the devil in her now.

“Tutlidge didn’t have her teeth in,” answered Ms. Honeywell. “It’s probably from the fall. We need x-rays on Mrs. Russo.”

Mr. Yost came barging into the room. He looked at Mrs. Russo, then Mrs. Tutlidge, then at Mrs. Russo again. “What happened?”

“We have another one,” said Honeywell.

“Was she bitten?” Yost asked, pointing to Mrs. Russo.

“She has an abrasion on the back of her left hand, but Mrs. Tutlidge didn’t have her teeth in. I think it’s from the fall.”

However, it appeared Yost didn’t want to take Honeywell’s word for it. He crossed the room, slipping on latex gloves, to where Mama Sophia sat on her bed and took her left hand in his. He turned it over to look at the back.

He leaned in close and ran a gloved hand over it as Mama Sophia winced, finally tearing her gaze away from Bonnie Tutlidge. She shot Yost daggers.

“It looks like she cut it on something when she fell. Maybe the walker,” he said to Honeywell. Then to Mama Sophia, “Did she bite you, sweetheart?”

Mama Sophia never liked Yost. Who ever heard of a male nurse? He must be a real mama’s boy, and an arrogant jerk to boot. She simply pulled her hand away from his and cradled it in her lap.

Yost shook his head in disapproval and turned to Bonnie, who had at some point stopped hyperventilating like a dog in a hot car at noon in August. She was sitting still on the bed in her trance, looking at nothing with those blank eyes. “Cancel the code blue.”

“But Mr. Yost—”

“Cancel it, Honeywell. Now. Mrs. Tutlidge has stabilized.”

Stabilized? Mama Sophia laughed at the word. She pointed a gnarled finger at her roommate. “Diablo!” She flashed devil horns at Bonnie, aiming her right index and pinkie fingers at the sick woman.

“That’s not nice,” admonished Ms. Norton.

Yost shook his head. “It’s an Italian thing. She’s protecting her. From the evil eye.”

Norton looked at him, incredulous.

He shrugged his shoulders. “My best friend growing up was Italian. His grandmother did it to us all the time before we went outside to play.” He sighed. “Okay, let’s get x-rays on Mrs. Russo, here, and let’s move Mrs. Tutlidge to the locked dementia unit.

Honeywell nodded and left the room to contact the physician to expedite the x-rays.

Norton ran out into the hallway and returned with a wheelchair. She and St. Charles lifted Bonnie Tutlidge, lowered her into the wheelchair, and wheeled her out of the room.

It was the last time Mama Sophia would ever set eyes on Bonnie Tutlidge again.

“We’re very sorry,” Yost said to Mrs. Russo. “She won’t be back in this room. I’ll have the psychologist drop in to talk to you, make sure you’re okay.” He paused for some kind of acknowledgement from Mama Sophia, but she only glared at him.

“Well, okay then,” he said and left the room.

“Faccia brutta,” Mama Sophia muttered to herself.

Yost strode over to the nurses’ station and picked up the phone, dialing zero. The receptionist picked up. “Hi, Yolanda, it’s Mr. Yost. Can you page Dr. Bigelow for me?...Thanks.”

***

Tara stepped into Mama Sophia’s room, where she found her sitting on her bed watching daytime television. It was one of those talk shows that did paternity tests for trashy people, often ending in a fist fight on the stage.

Mama sat on her bed, a look of profound disgust on her face, but Tara wasn’t sure if it was about the television show or the incident that had just occurred.

“Mrs. Russo?”

Mama Sophia looked up at the doctor. Great. Another colored girl. But this one was pretty. “Yes.”

“My name is Dr. Bigelow. I’m a psychologist here, and I heard what happened.” Mama Sophia grimaced at the reference. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

This doctor had a kind way about her. Mama Sophia decided she’d answer her questions. “Please. Sit.” She gestured to an empty metal chair.

Tara smiled and sat across from Mama Sophia, who picked up her large remote with the over-sized buttons for the sight-impaired and turned off the television.

Tara nodded thanks at the courtesy, as it was one she rarely received from the other residents. She usually had to shout over the television as the resident partially attended to her questions.

“Thank you,” said Tara. Mama Sophia nodded back. “What happened?”

“That colored woman,” she said, oblivious to whom she was speaking to, or just not caring at all, “she attacked me.”

Tara ignored the racial reference. “Did you two have an argument?”

Mama Sophia shook her head. “No. She looked sick, so I pressed the button to bring the nurse. She needed help.”

“Oh. That was nice of you. You were looking out for her.” Mama Sophia nodded. “Then what happened?”

“She grabbed my hand, like this…” she grabbed Tara’s hand in hers, holding it tightly. “Then she tried to bite me. Like animale.”

“Oh my goodness. So what did you do then?”

“I pulled my hand away and fell on the floor. She came on top of me and attacked me.”

“Well, she was very sick. I’m sorry that happened to you, Mrs. Russo. She won’t be coming back to this room again.”

Mama Sophia nodded solemnly. “She had the malocchia.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“A curse. The touch of the devil.”

“Ah, I see. Well, you’re safe now. Do you feel safe?”

Mama Sophia nodded.

“Good. How about I come and check on you every so often? See how you’re doing.”

Mama Sophia shook her head. “No. That’s not necessary.”

Tara had a sense of this woman. This was one tough, old Italian lady. She was probably the matriarch of her family, probably raised her children single-handedly, and cooked pasta and gravy for her entire clan every Sunday.

“Do you have any children, Mrs. Russo?”

She nodded. “My son, Mario. He takes care of me. He’s a good boy.”

“Good. Sounds like you did a good job with him.”

Mama Sophia beamed proudly. “Do you have any children?”

“One son. Five years old.”

The old woman smiled. “I like you. You have a nice face. You’ll come back and visit me?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Yes. Come back. Bring a picture of your son.”

Tara smiled. “Sounds good. One quick question. Please don’t get upset. It’s my job.”

Mama Sophia nodded, looking somewhat tentative after an introduction like that.

“Are you going to hurt yourself or someone else?”

Mama Sophia grimaced again. “Oh, no. It’s a sin.”

“Good. I’ll come visit again, soon.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Yes. A psychologist.”

“You’re a nice doctor. You’re the first one I met since I’ve come to this dump.”

Tara smiled sadly, knowing the woman was probably speaking the truth. “Well, I’m a different kind of doctor. No needles.”

Mama Sophia smiled and even let a chuckle slip out. “No needles.”

“That’s right. Well, I’ll see you soon.” Tara extended her hand, and the old woman shook it.

Tara walked to the door. She paused in the doorway and looked over her shoulder.

Mama Sophia was pointing devil horns at her back, muttering to herself.

***

“Are you sure no one was bitten?” demanded MacAteer.

“As far as anyone can tell,” answered Yost.

“There’s no margin for error on this, Alan.”

“Listen, Linda, there’s something weird going on with our demented residents.”

“Ms. MacAteer,” she insisted.

“Oh, come off it. Your high and mighty bullshit doesn’t work on me. I know your damned secret, and that makes you vulnerable. So don’t think you can wave your title or position over me. We’re in this shit together.”

“Let’s both calm down,” said MacAteer. “We need to figure this thing out, not cannibalize each other.”

“No, we’ll leave the cannibalism to the residents on the locked dementia ward.”

“That’s not funny, Alan.”

“I didn’t mean it to be funny. This is getting out of hand.”

“I know. I know. Tell it to Mr. Levitz. He wants full census. Period. Or we’re all history.”

“Maybe you should tell him,” Yost suggested. “Maybe he needs to know.”

“He’s not a clinician. He doesn’t care about what’s going on medically with these residents. This nursing home is real estate to him. Nothing more.

“Besides, they behave locked in the dementia unit all by themselves. They don’t attack each other. That’s why we don’t staff it anymore.”

“Members of the staff are starting to notice that. They’re also starting to notice that the food trays are leaving the unit full of food.”

“I thought you were rotating them frequently.”

“I am, but they’re not stupid.”

“Maybe you’re not keeping them busy enough, Alan, if they have the time on their hands to make such observations.”

“This…illness we’re seeing is going to be a lawsuit. I’ll tell Mr. Levitz. He’ll listen to me.”

MacAteer chortled at his bravado. “Give me a break, Alan. What, he’s going to listen to you because you’re a man, and I’m a poor, weak, little woman?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I guess you haven’t grown too accustomed to your nice little kickback you get monthly.”

“One of these days this is all going to fall apart. The money’s nice, but there are people dying.”

MacAteer turned away from Alan. She could no longer look him in the eye. “Who, the demented residents? They’re half-dead already. They just don’t realize it. They don’t realize anything at this point.”

“That’s cold, Linda. Even for you. We’ve got to get a handle on this. What if this is the beginning of an epidemic?”

MacAteer wheeled around to look at Yost. “Epidemic? So far it hasn’t spread out of the facility.”

“That’s not true. There was that nurse who attacked her family.”

MacAteer waved her hand dismissively. “An isolated incident.”

Yost pressed. “So far we’ve been lucky. Luck eventually runs out. There’ll be pissed off family members. Our incidents are on the rise, and you know that all has to be reported to the State.”

MacAteer looked distracted for a moment.

“Linda?”

“Speaking of family, who’s the social worker for Ms. Tutlidge?”

“Renee, I think.”

“Oh, Christ. Get her in here. I want to talk to her before she calls the son. NOW, ALAN.”

Yost shook his head and dashed out of MacAteer’s office.

She sat back in her seat and exhaled deeply, allowing her façade of clinical cool to crumble for a moment.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think they were doing something unethical. This problem was that the situation was a ticking time bomb that was about to blow up in her face.

It was just that Mr. Levitz had insisted on a full census. At first she directed admissions to take in anyone and everyone—drug addicts, vagrants, criminals. However, it just led to an increase in reportable incidents, which looked bad for the facility, and an increase in hospitalizations, which led to a decrease in revenue. Medicaid only paid for occupied beds.

She’d been drummed out of four facilities in three years, not a very good track record. This was it. She had to make it work. If she screwed this up, she’d be almost unemployable as anything more than a unit clerk.

She was just barely keeping up with her jumbo mortgage, and her deadbeat ex-husband was dodging alimony payments. Now that she thought of it, her entire life had become a ticking time bomb.

The truth was no one knew what this new illness was. The afflicted residents showed no vitals, yet they were awake. Kind of. They became hyper-aggressive, but they were manageable in the locked unit. Why not hold on to them while they figured it out? In the meantime, they’d keep beds full.

There was a knock at the door. MacAteer put her armor back on. “Come in.”

Yost entered with Renee. They both took seats in the chairs in front of MacAteer’s oversized mahogany desk.

“Have you contacted the family yet?”

“Yes. I reached Mrs. Russo’s daughter-in-law. Mr. Russo’s in the hospital. He had a heart attack.”

MacAteer waved that information away with her hand, as if it was completely irrelevant. “Don’t you think you should’ve waited before calling the family?” It was an accusation more than a question.

Renee was used to the third degree from MacAteer. She was also acutely aware from prior experience that MacAteer didn’t always fall on the side of what was ethical or good practice.

“I didn’t see the need to wait. Frankly, it’d make us look like we were hiding something.”

“How did the daughter-in-law react?”

“She took it well.”

“I’m glad you got her and not the son on the phone. Sophia Russo despises her daughter-in-law. That much is plain to everyone. Her reaction will be tempered. It sounds like the son, what was his name?”

“Mario.”

“Yes, Mario is too preoccupied to kick up a big stink,” MacAteer said.

“Did she tell her husband yet?” asked Yost.

“No, she was on the way to the hospital to visit him.”

“If he calls you, you direct to him me,” said MacAteer. “Am I clear, Renee?”

“Yes, Ms. MacAteer.”

“You’re a good social worker,” MacAteer lied. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

As Renee rose and left the office, Yost and MacAteer traded knowing glances.

* * *

Mike Brunello was waiting outside of Blackbeard’s Pier, keys in hand, for Randy, Vinnie, and Dharma. Funny girl, Dharma. She was a nice girl, a bit capricious, but then again most girls her age were.

Vinnie always helped Mike put out the Halloween decorations in August. Smuggler’s Bay rolled up the sidewalks after September, so Halloween made an appearance early. It was tradition for Vinnie to help drag out the old spider webs and creepy statues and such.

Mike was suddenly struck with a kind of depression. What would it be like when Vinnie left for school? He felt guilty about it, selfish. He knew it was good for Vinnie, to get out of Smuggler’s Bay for a bit and broaden his horizons, but that wouldn’t soften the blow of the sudden void in his life.

The end of summer was always a period of mourning for Mike. It meant that the kids were back in school, parents were back at work, and that insidious chill began to creep into the air. He’d hunker down. The holidays kept him busy—Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. After January, his life in Smuggler’s Bay came to a screeching halt and time dragged until Memorial Day.

Maybe he’d become friends with Dharma. They’d both be missing Vinnie when he would go off to New York. It was something Mike and this girl had in common, and they might even bond over it.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Dharma, startling Mike out of his thoughts.

“Only by a few minutes.”

“Where’s Vinnie and Randy?”

Mike smiled. “Randy always arrives when he means to.”

Dharma smiled at the reference. “Well, let’s get started.”

Mike winked. “That’s the spirit.”

He fished his keys out of his pocket as the ocean breeze tussled his gray hair. It was a warm breeze, and just before noon it was going to be a hot breeze. He opened the door and flipped on the lights.

Dharma followed him inside the arcade and drank it all in. “Kind eerie, isn’t it?”

Mike looked around the dormant arcade, his eyes resting on the darkened carousel. “I’ve been doing this for years, and I never can get used to seeing it all dark and empty like this.”

“So where are the decorations?”

“They’re in Nancy’s office.”

Mike gestured for her to follow him, and they made their way behind the vintage shooting gallery. Mike flipped on the light switch, and a lone, hanging, bare bulb illuminated the short corridor.

Mike toggled through his keys and found the one to open Nancy’s office. He opened the door and flicked on the lights. Nancy’s office was filled with cardboard boxes labeled ‘Halloween.’

“I think it’s really cool she does this for the kids.”

Mike snickered. “Trust me. It’s for the tax deduction more than anything else. Plus, it’s a captive audience to pump more money into the rides and games. It’s win-win for her.”

“Still, it’s pretty cool. I remember going to this when I was a little kid.”

Mike strained his memory to see if he could remember a younger Dharma, in costume, eyes wide, holding out her plastic jack-o-lantern to receive all kinds of goodies. He was disappointed that he could not.

“Grab a box and bring it to the carousel. We’ll start decorating once we’ve got them all out.”

“Hey, guys!” said Randy, causing Mike and Dharma to jump out of their skins.

“Jesus, Randy, you trying to kill me?”

“Sorry, Mike. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Randy, this is Dharma. Dharma, Randy.”

They shook hands. Mike saw the look in Randy’s eye. “Don’t get any ideas, Randy. This one’s spoken for.”

Randy looked confused.

“Vinnie’s girl.”

“Oh, cool. Nice to meet you.”

“Right back atcha,” said Dharma.

“Bwahaha!” shouted Vinnie, jumping out from behind Randy, startling all three of them.

“All right,” said Mike, “the gang’s all here. Enough bullshittin’. Grab a box and make yourself useful.”

Vinnie shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, and all three kids grabbed a large cardboard box to haul out to the carousel. With three strong backs, it only took a few trips to empty the office of all the boxes.

“Okay,” said Mike, “Randy and Vinnie, you decorate the arcade. I’ll decorate the carousel.”

“What about me?” asked Dharma enthusiastically.

“You, my dear, will decorate the Classics Room.”

“Cool.”

Randy grabbed a box and dragged it over to the games behind the carousel.

Mike opened a box and began to pull out decorations, stringing the plastic skeletons, skulls, and spider webs on the railing.

Dharma carted a box to the back right of the arcade, under an elaborate doorway fashioned in 1980s futuristic style, and into the Classics Room.

She flicked on a light, which revealed a labyrinth of original cabinet arcade games and pinball machines. She recognized some old favorites. There were others that she’d never heard of, but she knew her parents must’ve.

She opened the top flaps of her box and began to pull out bags of used, dusty spider webs. She sneezed from the dust as she removed the gray cottony clumps from their cellophane.

“God bless you!” she heard Randy shout from just outside.

“Grassy ass!” she hollered back.

She began to adorn the fossils, these ancient monoliths from a bygone era, with ratty-looking spider webs, strategically placing the small, plastic spiders throughout. When she was finished with the webs, she began to take out the rubber bugs and plastic monster heads and scatter them over the glass surfaces of the pinball machines.

Before long, her box was empty, so she left the Classics Room and returned to the front of the carousel to grab another box. She found the boxes, but no Mike. She didn’t see Randy or Vinnie either, for that matter.

“Vinnie? Mike? Randy?” she called out.

The place was silent.

“Guys? Where are you?”

No response. Maybe they were in the back retrieving something else from the office.

Dharma suddenly had the feeling that she was being watched. She turned around and saw two dark silhouettes standing perfectly still, statuesque even, in the shadows at the back by the air hockey tables.

“Guys?”

They were ragged, uneven shapes, and the faces were concealed in the shadows. It looked like Randy dragged out a couple of life-sized Halloween statues. She walked around the railing of the carousel to take a closer look.

They were two zombie statues, with torn, raggedy clothes and decayed faces. They were almost movie quality. Dharma figured they must’ve cost a pretty penny.

Suddenly, both figures moved, and Dharma let out a shrill scream that echoed around the empty arcade.

There was muffled laughter as both Vinnie and Randy pulled off their rubber zombie masks. “Gotcha!” yelled Vinnie.

Dharma was pissed. “You two assholes almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“Whoa, nice mouth on you,” replied Randy.

“C’mon, Dharma,” pleaded Vinnie, “we were only playing.”

“Yeah, well, you guys scared the shit out of me,” she said, her hand on her chest.

“That was kinda the point,” said Randy.

“We do it to a volunteer every year,” added Vinnie to soften the blow. “It’s tradition.”

“Yeah, we even did it to Mike one year,” said Randy.

“You did what to me?” asked Mike carrying out a cardboard box of more decorations. He saw the look on Dharma’s face. The poor girl was white with fright. “They get you, hon?”

“No wonder why you have a hard time finding volunteers every year,” said Dharma, regaining her composure.

“Well, we haven’t killed anyone yet,” said Randy. “Yet,” he added for emphasis.

“Don’t you think those getups are a little too intense for the youngins’?” asked Dharma.

“Nah,” said Randy, “we put the getups on wire frames. They’re going to be dummies.”

“I don’t know,” quipped Dharma, “you two were doing a fine job of it.”

“Ha-ha,” said Vinnie sarcastically. “We dress them up to look more silly than scary.”

“Jesus, I’d sure hope so.”

Mike looked at his watch. “We’ve been at it for, oh, an hour or so. Why don’t you say we raid the concession stand?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Dharma.

“What about Nancy?” asked Randy, looking a bit concerned.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” said Mike.

“But she takes inventory.”

“Yeah, but these are for the kids. She’ll never miss ’em.”

“Great, so we’re taking candy from children,” said Dharma sardonically.

“Nancy’d be proud,” quipped Mike.

“You guys make this Nancy seem like a real monster,” said Dharma, joining Vinnie and Randy at the glass counter as Mike stepped behind and started rummaging around. “She can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, she’s worse,” said Randy.

“Yeah? How?”

Mike popped up holding out several candy bars in his hands. Dharma and Randy each took one.

“Let me put it this way,” said Mike. “I’d rather deal with zombies than our Nancy, any day of the week.”

“Watch what you ask for,” said Dharma eerily, the corners of her mouth curling up in a wicked grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Randy unwrapping his own candy bar.

“It means I’m going to get you two back. You won’t know when it’s coming or how it’s coming, but it’s coming. Believe it.”

“I think we ignited a war,” Vinnie said as he chewed chocolate and nugget.

“She’ll never get me,” declared Randy.

“Oh, I’ll get you first,” said Dharma.

“I might want in on that,” said Mike.

“Game on,” said Randy, smiling so Dharma could see chocolate stuck between his teeth.

“Game on,” promised Dharma.

* * *

Marie Russo hung up the phone. She debated whether or not to tell Mario what had happened. The poor man just suffered a heart attack. He didn’t need this kind of stress. Not now.

As she peeked in on him sleeping on the couch with a light afghan draped over his lap, a chill went down her spine. Mario wouldn’t be able to make any visits to the nursing home any time soon, but he’d be back on his feet at some point.

She’d volunteered to visit Mama Sophia until he felt up to it, and she would keep doing so for at least a while longer. In time, the incident would fade away, as if it never happened. The social worker told her the woman who assaulted Mama Sophia was moved out of the room. Problem solved as far as Marie was concerned.

Then there was Mama Sophia. She never forgave, and she never forgot. That old bitch stored things away in her memory for months, years even. She stored them away so they could be brought up as she saw fit, for her needs at the moment.

She’d use the incident to make Mario feel guilty for putting her in a nursing home. Then Mario would become conflicted and actually entertain the notion of bringing Mama Sophia home to live with them. They’d been down this road before many times.

There was no way Marie was going to allow that hateful bitch to live in their house, poisoning their marriage. They had a happy home, and Marie wanted to keep it that way.

Yet, there was the danger that, if she told Mario about it now, he’d overreact and demand that Mama Sophia be discharged to their home immediately. The social worker would surely talk him out of it. In fact, if she was signed out against medical advice, Mama Sophia would lose her health benefits. They’d been told as much the last time Mario had an attack of guilt and tried to pull his mother out of there.

That settled it. Marie decided she’d break it to him once he woke up. She was going to do it as gently as possible. First she’d pour him some hot herbal tea. Then she’d offer to make him some grilled fish with avocado.

He hated his new diet, but the heart attack put a scare into him, and he changed his eating habits for Marie and their children, Salvatore and Alessandra. Besides, a full man was a happy man. This, her mother taught her when she was younger.

“Marie, who was that?”

Shit. “Who was who, honey?”

“On the phone. Who was it?”

So much for waiting for after dinner. If she held off, he’d be pissed at her. Plus, it would just be weird that she wouldn’t tell him about it.

“It was the nursing home. There was a minor incident, but Mama Sophia’s okay.”

He stood and entered the kitchen. “Incident? What incident?”

Mama’s Little Meatball. Here we go. “Now, Mario, it’s nothing to get worked up over. Remember your heart condition.”

“What incident, Marie?”

“There was a conflict with her roommate.”

“Conflict? What kind of conflict?”

“It was no big deal.”

“Marie,” he insisted.

“It was a disagreement.”

“Was she hurt?”

“She banged her hand on the furniture, but it’s fine. The social worker said it was only a small cut.”

Mario’s eyes went wide. “Only a small cut? How the hell did she bang her hand on the furniture? Was there a fight? Did someone strike my mother?”

“Mario, you promised. Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Marie. Tell me what happened.”

“Your mother went to help her roommate with something, and the woman…mouthed your mother’s hand.”

He looked perplexed. “Mouthed?”

“Yeah, and your mother pulled her hand away. The other woman went after her, but the staff intervened.”

“Mouthed? Why the hell would anyone mouth Mama?”

“I don’t know, Mario. Maybe she’s bat shit crazy or she has the dementia.”

“My poor Mama.”

“The important thing is that everyone’s okay.”

“I hope to God that woman still isn’t in the room with my mother.”

“No. The social worker said she was moved.”

“Who, Mama?”

“No, the roommate.”

“I want to see Mama.”

“Not until you’ve eaten.”

“Dammit, Marie.”

“No, damn you, Mario. You remember what the doctor said.”

“But Mama.”

“Do you hear yourself? But Mama. But Mama. You sound like a freaking baby. Your mama’s fine. You’ll be no good to her if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“But, it’ll be too late when we finish eating.”

“Then we’ll see her tomorrow.”

“I want to see her tonight.”

“Dammit, Mario.”

“I’ll eat fast.”

***

“Hurry up,” Mario demanded. “By the time you pull in, she’ll be gone.”

“I told you this was a bad idea. She probably went home for the day.” Marie pulled into a parking spot. Mario had his seatbelt off and his car door open before she put the car in park. “Jesus, Mario! You’re going to kill yourself! Hold your horses!”

Mario was a few spots away as Marie dashed to catch up, pressing the button on her keychain to activate the alarm. She ran up alongside him and locked arms with him.

“You’re gonna give yourself another heart attack.”

They marched through the sliding front doors and up to the security desk. “Is Renee the social worker in?” blurted Mario. “It’s important I speak with her.”

Marie stood there looking sheepish.

“Yes, she’s in her office. I’ll have her paged.”

“Thank you,” said Mario.

In ten minutes Renee entered the lobby. Her face fell when she saw Mario’s wild eyes and Marie clutching him by his right arm. However, she recovered quickly. Dammit. She only needed a few more minutes to finish up some discharge plans, and she would’ve been out to lunch.

She strode over to the Russos, managing a smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Russo, how are you?”

“How’s my mother? I want to see her.”

Renee looked nervously around the lobby and then at the security guard. MacAteer would have a shit-fit if she saw family members carrying on in the lobby. It was a violation of HIPAA and just bad for business.

“Let’s discuss this is my office. Don’t worry, Mr. Russo, you’ll be able to see your mother. She’s just fine.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“I tried to explain it to him,” apologized Marie, “but he wouldn’t hear it.”

“Follow me,” said Renee, turning to the elevators. She hit the button to summon a car and waited. Christ, these things were slow. The three people stood there awkwardly, waiting.

“I told you she was okay,” muttered Marie, taking Renee’s cue to keep her voice down.

“I still want to see her.”

“You will,” said Marie through gritted teeth.

At long last the elevator doors opened, and all three stepped into the car. An aide escorting a resident in a wheelchair and two other ambulatory residents moved over to accommodate the new riders.

“Mama’s Little Meatball,” muttered Marie under her breath.

“I really wish you wouldn’t say that. It pisses me off every single time you do.”

“She should be finishing up with her dinner,” said Renee, trying to change the subject. “I believe it was fish tonight with veggies.”

“She hates the fish here,” said Mario. “Said it was like cardboard.”

“Mario!” rebuked Marie, losing a bit of her hushed tone.

“Well, from what Sophia tells me, she was quite the cook,” said Renee, “and nothing compares to home cooking.”

“She was the best,” proclaimed Mario. “She made everything. Pasta and gravy, lasagna, fish—you name it, she made it.”

Marie burned with resentment at Mario’s proclamation. It always burned her ass. She liked to think she was no slouch in the kitchen. In fact, she tailored all of her recipes to Mario’s liking. Mama Sophia only cooked her way; she didn’t give a rat’s ass if you liked it or not.

The doors opened on each floor on the way up. A couple of residents got off, but there were always more to replace them, and in short order the elevator became quite cramped, making the trek upward to the sixth floor feel like an eternity to Mario. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Marie squeezed his arm tighter.

At last, when they reached the sixth floor, Renee took them past the day room where the residents were still eating their lunch.

“See,” said Renee pointing inside, “she’s still eating her lunch. Let’s talk in my office and let her finish.”

Marie began to pull Mario by the arm when Mama Sophia caught a glimpse of her son. “My son! My son!” She had an anguished look on her face and put her hands out, as if reaching out to place his face in her hands.

On cue, Mario shook free of Marie’s grip and walked across the day room, squatted next to his mother, and placed his face in her hands. Mama Sophia kissed him on forehead and began complaining to him.

“Look at what they serve me for lunch. A scoop of old egg salad and a slice of lettuce. I might as well be in a Turkish prison!”

“Ma, don’t say that.”

“They serve pasta, but they don’t know how to make a good gravy. Instead, I get tomato paste. They need some Italians down in the kitchen, Mario.”

She looked over her son’s shoulder and saw Marie rolling her eyes.

Marie realized she was caught, so she crossed the dayroom to greet her mother-in-law. “Mama Sophia, how are you?”

Mama Sophia wagged a finger in the air. “You know damned well how I’m doing!”

“She’s concerned about you, Ma. That’s why she came here with me to see you.”

“If she cared so much, why did she make you put me here in this jail with these crazy people?”

Marie sucked her teeth.

“Ma, she didn’t make me put you here. It was the best thing for you.”

“Why don’t we let your mother finish and we can visit with her in her room when we’re done talking?” said Renee.

“Okay, Ma. We’re going to talk with your social worker. We’ll be back in a little bit. Finish your lunch.”

Mama Sophia spit on her plate. “Mierda!”

“Ma, please. We’ll be right back.”

Mama Sophia reached out for her son, her face desperate. “Don’t leave.”

“No, Ma. We’re not leaving. We’ll meet you in your room after. I promise.”

“You’re such a nice boy, Mario.”

Marie followed Renee out of the day room, and Mario backed out of the room spouting assurances.

“That’s my son. He’s gonna take me outta here!”

Renee held her office door open and Marie and Mario entered the tiny workspace. It was about the size of a large broom closet. They took seats in the metal chairs in front of Renee’s tiny desk.

Renee squeezed in between the edge of her tiny desk and the wall and took a seat, her modest office chair banging against the small metal filing cabinet wedged between the other side of her desk and the wall. A dilapidated window unit belched out slightly cooled air.

“Mr. Russo, I spoke with your wife on the phone about what happened. I assure you, your mother’s all right.”

“What happened to the woman that attacked her? I surely hope she’s not in this facility any longer.”

“We’re not even sure your mother was attacked, Mr. Russo. Her roommate mouthed her hand.”

“What does this mouthed mean, anyway? Was she bitten?”

“Not that we could see. The woman has exhibited a cognitive decline. She probably didn’t even know what she was doing.”

“Well, she’s not still here, is she?”

“She’s in the locked dementia ward, Mr. Russo. She won’t be bothering Sophia again.”

“So, she can’t get out?”

“What part of ‘locked’ don’t you understand,” snapped Marie.

“Don’t start with me, Marie.”

“Your mother has been examined by the physician, and we even sent the psychologist to speak with her.”

Mario snickered at that second part. “A head shrink? My mother would never talk to one of those.”

“She needs to,” muttered Marie.

“On the contrary, Mr. Russo, your mother has been speaking with her. She even appears to like her very much.”

Mario looked shocked.

“Really? That’s great, I guess,” said Marie.

“How’s that great? My mother’s not crazy. She gets mouthed by her roommate and she has to see a shrink?”

“Sophia’s roommate is currently too demented to benefit from psychotherapy,” explained Renee. “We sent Dr. Bigelow in to see Sophia to make sure she felt safe and there wasn’t any residual anxiety. We want her to feel comfortable.”

“Well, she didn’t look very comfortable, Ms. Renee. She looks very unhappy here,” accused Mario.

“I think she’s playing it up to gain your sympathy, Mr. Russo.”

“Yeah, I bet she was fine before she saw Mario,” said Marie.

“Quite so,” said Renee.

Mario couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What, so you both are saying I shouldn’t visit my mother? I’m all she has.”

“No one’s saying that at all, Mr. Russo. It’s not uncommon for our residents to get a bit dramatic when family visits.”

“Can I see her now?”

“Sure. She should be finished with lunch by now.”

Renee stood up, squeezed around her desk, and saw Mario and Marie out of her office. She took them to Mama Sophia’s room, where she sat watching the television. The news was on—something about two storm systems approaching Ocean County.

“Sophia, I brought them back to you as promised,” said Renee.

Mama Sophia huffed and made a big show of not regarding Renee.

Renee’s smile never waned. “Well, I’ll leave you to your visit.”

“Thank you, Renee,” said Marie.

Mario simply barged into the room. He pulled over a chair and sat in it.

Marie stood behind him feeling awkward. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll be in the car waiting. Take your time.”

“Thanks, hon,” said Mario, never looking back.

“Ma, what happened? Are you all right?”

Mama Sophia launched into what happened between her and ‘the colored lady,’ laying on the drama thick as Sunday gravy, and Mario ate it all up.

“That’s terrible, Ma. But you’re safe now. That woman is locked in the dementia ward.”

Mama Sophia hesitated for a moment to wipe her tears. Suddenly, her face became hard, her expression grave. “I don’t want you to come see me.”

“Don’t worry, Ma. It wasn’t any trouble.”

Mama Sophia shook her head, waving her hands in front of her as if she were physically erasing his words. “No. I don’t want you to come here no more.”

Mario didn’t know what to make of this. “Of course I’ll come, Ma. I’ll bring you some food, and we’ll sit and talk like we always do.”

“No. No more. I don’t wanna see you no more.”

“I-I-I don’t understand. I’m your son. I love you, Ma. Of course I’m going to come see you.”

Mama Sophia shook her head insistently. “You don’t love your Mama. I want to be left alone so I can die in this prison, my only crime being good to my son and raising him right.”

“Ma, don’t talk like that. You know I love you.”

“I raised you from little boy to big man, then you turn your back on me and put me in this jail, like a criminal.”

Mario took his mother’s hands in his. “You’re not a criminal, Ma. They take care of you here.”

She pulled her hands out of his. “I took care of you. I fed you, changed your diaper, wiped your ass, and you don’t take care of me when I need you. You’re not my son no more.”

“Ma, it hurts me when you say that.”

“It hurts me to be here. Your wife wants me here. She doesn’t love me like you do. She doesn’t love me at all.”

“Marie loves you very much,” he lied. “She has nothing to do with you being here.” Another lie.

“You go home, and don’t come back. I want to die in peace.”

“Ma, don’t let anyone hear you say that. They’ll put you in the crazy house.”

“I don’t care. I’m not loved by anybody. I have no son.”

“Ma, please.”

“Take me out. I can come live with you. See Salvatore and Alessandra. I can make gravy.”

“Ma, you’re in no condition to come home and cook. You need to be taken care of. It’s your turn to be taken care of.”

“Then I don’t want to see you anymore. I tell the colored social worker. No more.”

Mario sat there, his heart breaking into a million throbbing pieces. The truth was he never wanted her to be in this place where people waited to die. It was Marie’s idea. They had to run the store. There was no way anyone could stay home to look after Mama Sophia.

However, he was home now. Doctor’s orders. Marie was running the store, restocking inventory for next season. It was August and things would be slowing down. In October Marie would be helping out at her father’s restaurant in Haddonfield, but Mario would still be home. Her father would understand.

He had to recuperate. He’d go back once he got some help with Mama Sophia. He could find one of those home health aides.

Mario came bounding over to the car.

Marie got out to help him. “Jesus, Mario, what took you so long?”

“I’m signing Ma out.”

It took a moment for Marie to register what he had just said. Her eyes widened in horror. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I told the social worker. She’ll come home with us in a few days. I insisted. She tried to talk me out of it, but in light of recent events I threatened to call the State on them.”

“Mario! What have you done? I should’ve never left you alone.”

“The treatment team will sign off on it tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“It’s not fine, Mario. Who’s going to look after her? I’m going to be at the store, and in October I’ll be picking up hours at the restaurant.”

“I’ll be home. I can’t work at the restaurant yet anyway.”

“But you’re in no condition to care for your mother.”

“If I’m that bad off, then why are you leaving me home alone while you work at the restaurant? I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine looking after yourself, but now you’re talking about bringing an elderly mother home. She requires lots of care.”

“No she doesn’t. She’ll be fine. It’ll be good for the kids to see her. Who knows how much longer she’ll be around? This might be their last chance to be around their Nana. It’ll give you two a chance to get to know each other better, maybe even become friends.”

Marie stood there in the middle of the parking lot dumbfounded. This was devolving into a real nightmare. She didn’t know what Mama Sophia said to Mario, but she knew one thing for certain: she didn’t want that nasty old bitch moving in with them.

“We’re picking her up on Friday,” said Mario. “Marie, it’ll be fine. I promise.”

Marie believed that Mario believed that it would be fine, but she knew for a fact that it wouldn’t be. It wasn’t that Mama Sophia needed all that much care. That much Marie acknowledged. The old witch was in a nursing home because no one else wanted her. No one was able to stand her.

Marie felt like she’d been conned, conned by that old bitch, and now she was going to be letting something evil into her home. An evil she had thought she had dealt with and no longer had to worry about. An evil she had purged from her marriage and her life, except for the occasional visit to the nursing home. She was able to stomach that. A small price to pay for peace of mind.

But now the evil had somehow charmed its way back into her life with guilt, drama, and feigned sorrow. Marie felt violated and trapped, with no one to turn to. This long-buried evil had resurrected itself. Marie’s blood boiled with hatred and resentment.

Mama’s Little Fucking Meatball.

On the sixth floor Mama Sophia shuffled into the tiny bathroom and shut the door. Her stomach twisted inside her gut, stabbing her with pain. She pulled up the toilet seat and vomited the egg salad into the toilet, nearly falling over from the exertion.

She fought to steady herself as the small, tiled room spun around her. She closed her eyes until the sensation abated. When she opened them, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on the wall. She had dark circles around her eyes, and her image grinned wickedly back at her.

There was a knock at the door.

“Mrs. Russo, are you okay?”

One of the nurses.

“O-kay,” she sang through the door, trying to belie her predicament. She reached down and flushed just as the door opened. It was one of the Indian nurses. Mama Sophia couldn’t recall her name.

“I’m okay, Ms. John.” They were all called Ms. John. Their actual names were gibberish the way Mama Sophia saw it.

“Just checking, Mrs. Russo.”

Mama Sophia smiled appreciatively and envisioned ripping the nurse’s throat open with her teeth.

Chapter 12

Friday

When Mario went to the sixth floor with Marie to bring Mama Sophia home, he found an attractive young woman sitting with her.

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Mario.

The woman stood and faced him, smiling, only this smile was different from the forced smile of Renee the social worker. “You must be Mario.” She extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Bigelow, your mother’s psychologist.”

Mario was taken off guard, but he quickly shook her hand and smiled. “Yes, Dr. Bigelow. This is my wife, Marie.”

Marie nodded without smiling, looking absolutely defeated.

“So, I hear you’re taking Sophia home today.”

“Yes, I am. How long have you been meeting with my mother?”

“I only met with her a couple of times, since the incident.”

“And she talks to you?”

“Sure. She’s told me all about you, your wife, and your two children…Salvatore and Alessandra.”

Marie rolled her eyes from behind Mario. She could only imagine what that old witch must’ve told this shrink in the confidentiality of their sessions. She just wanted to collect the old bag and go.

“Yes, they’re looking forward to spending some time with Nana,” Mario said. “I must say, I’m impressed. Ma doesn’t open up much to anyone, and that’s me included. You must be very good at what you do.”

“Well, she’s a sweet lady,” replied Tara. “She made it easy.”

Both Mario and Marie gawked at Tara. Even Mario, who loved his Ma more than life itself, would never refer to her as ‘sweet.’

Tara turned to Mama Sophia and put a hand gently on her shoulder. “I wish you luck, Sophia. You have a good family. They’re going to take good care of you.”

Mama Sophia looked from her son to Marie, and holding her gaze on Marie, put her hand on top of Tara’s and squeezed it, smiling warmly. Marie was waiting for her face to crack.

Mama Sophia wanted to tell this nice doctor what she had growing inside of her, making her sicker by the hour, but there was no time and she was certain this psychologist had no understanding or appreciation for the evil eye. Besides, if she did, she might not let Mama Sophia leave. No, Mama Sophia would handle it through prayer once she was home with her son. Nothing several novenas wouldn’t cure.

“You’re a good doctor. Bless you.”

Mario shook his head in disbelief. “Thank you for helping my Ma, Dr. Bigelow. Well, all right, Ma. It’s time to go.”

Mama Sophia released Tara’s hand, pulled her walker close, and stood. She took one last look around at her room and made a sweeping gesture with her hand under her chin, bidding the room good riddance.

She squeezed Tara’s hand one last time, as if to intimate present company excluded, and followed her son and his wife out of the room. Tara stood aside as she watched Mama Sophia leave with Mario and Marie.

The room was now empty for the time being.

***

Mama Sophia sat in her son’s house, on the couch in the living room. Mario was making a fuss over her as Marie stood, leaning in the doorway, surrendered to this new reality.

Mario had already put her coat away in the closet and had placed an afghan over her lap.

“Mario, it’s ninety degrees out,” nagged Marie.

“Not in this house with the air conditioning on full blast.” He turned on the television and handed his mother the remote.

“There you go, Ma. Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?”

“Thirsty.”

“Hon, would you get Ma something to drink?”

The look on Marie’s face indicated that she didn’t appreciate being ordered around, particularly to serve Mama Sophia, which made the experience all the more sweet to Mama Sophia.

However, Marie did as she was told and went into the kitchen. With this unholy parasite in her house, she now had to choose her battles carefully.

She returned with a glass of ice water and handed it to Mama Sophia, who received it stoically.

Marie fantasized about poisoning the water. She pictured in her mind’s eye Mama Sophia sipping from the glass. After a moment, she dropped the glass on the rug and clutched her throat. Marie, in her private reverie, played stupid, rushing to clean up the spill, pretending nothing was wrong when she knew damned well what was wrong.

“Marie…”

And then Mama Sophia’s eyes bulged out of her head…

“Marie. Hon? Are you all right?”

Mario’s voice brought her back to reality, and the concerned expression on his face made her aware that she was smiling, quite impishly she was sure.

“I’m just glad Mama Sophia’s all right. The kids are going to be excited when they come home.”

Mama Sophia met Marie’s wicked grin with her own. She pictured sinking her teeth into Marie’s throat, clawing at her skin, shredding it under her nails, blood oozing up like Puttanesca sauce. Puttana! Her stomach twisted with a hunger that would not be satisfied with anything other than this woman’s flesh.

Mario saw his mother unconsciously pat her stomach. “Hon, why don’t you make some gravy with meat tonight? I’m sure Ma hasn’t had a decent meal in quite a while.”

“Sure thing. The kids’ll be home from school soon. I’m going to go for a walk and leave you two alone to catch up a bit. When I get back, I’ll start making dinner.”

“Sounds good, hon.”

“Yes,” said Mama Sophia. “it’ll help you lose weight. That’s good.”

Marie bit her tongue to the brink of drawing blood. She smiled and grabbed her MP3 player and earbuds by the front door. She needed to get the fuck out of there—and fast—to clear her head or she was going to say something she would surely regret.

She stepped outside and closed the front door behind her. She strode up the path, opened the gate, hit play on her MP3, and made her way to the boardwalk.

She angry walked, pumping her legs until her muscles felt like they’d pull right off her bones, breathing heavily. The old crone was in her house ten minutes, and she was already pushing her buttons.

She knew she had to regain her composure. She was about to pass the Jolly Roger when she saw Billy standing in front smoking a cigarette. He looked up and saw her, his face lighting up.

She intended to jog on past, ignoring any greeting he sent her way, but there was a part of her that made her jog over to him. It was a resentful part of her, a part that was now growing out of its compartment.

She stopped in front of him. “Hey, Billy.”

“Howdy, Marie. How’ve you been?”

Fuck Mario. “Not so good.” Bait the hook.

“No? That’s a shame. Anything I can help with?”

I can’t believe he invited that old witch into our house. Into our marriage. Marie started to cry hot tears.

Billy reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Don’t cry.”

Hook.

“It’s Mario. He-he brought his mother home…to live with us.”

“Oh, really? Well, so what?”

“She hates me. She always has. She’s done nothing but caused trouble in our marriage.”

Line.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s just looking out for his mom. Guys like Mario are real mama’s boys.” A backhanded compliment if she ever heard one.

“He knew how I felt about her and what she did to us. We-we…we almost got divorced over it.” Marie sniffled and whimpered a little. “And now she’s back, and I just don’t think I can take it anymore.”

Billy slid next to her and put his arm around her. “It’s all right. Listen, why don’t you come in and have a drink with me. My treat. Talk to ol’ Billy about it.”

Sinker.

She feigned hesitation. “Okay. I guess one drink won’t hurt.”

Billy took her by the hand and led her into the Jolly Roger. She allowed herself to be led, not exactly sure why she was allowing it.

Billy and Marie sat down at the bar and ordered a couple of pints, and the mental gymnastics began, like a junkie making desperate justifications as she was about to relapse after a long period of sobriety. What was the harm in one drink? She wouldn’t let it go any further than that.

Marie was pissed with Mario. A little harmless flirting and a free drink seemed to be a punishment to fit the crime at the moment.

Marie began to explain to Billy that there was many a night when Marie was up crying and arguing with Mario, hashing out doubts and resentment planted by that vile, hateful woman.

“I threatened to leave and take Sal with me to my parents unless he stood up to Mama Sophia and, as our couples’ therapist had put it, enforce appropriate boundaries.”

“Jesus, I had no idea you guys were in marriage counseling. See, this is why I’ll never get married.”

Marie ignored the remark. This was about her. “It was time to man up, I told him. I told him to tell his mother that if she wasn’t going to respect his wife, their family, and their home, she was no longer welcome. I shouldn’t have had to tell him this.” She wiped her eyes on her arm. “Not if he really loved me.”

“Well, it’s his mom,” said Billy, trying not to look too eager to take her side. “But I get it. He had his own family and had to let go. Move on. Grow up.” He even winced at that last part’s irony. Even his hypocrisy had limits.

“Well, Mario said he loved me. I told him to prove it, and he did. He told Mama Sophia, exactly like he said he would. This only pissed her off, but in the end, I had something she didn’t, our son, Sal.”

“That’s right. She wasn’t just breaking you two up. Now she was breaking up a family.”

Marie nodded and took a long draw off her cool pint. “She knew that if she pushed any further that it would alienate Mario, so she backed off. Reluctantly. She didn’t want to lose Mario, and she didn’t want to lose contact with her grandson in the process.”

“Well played, darlin’.”

“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 fear 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.

“That was very dangerous,” reprimanded Tara. “Lenny, you could’ve gotten yourself or these officers seriously hurt.”

Joann and Anne hoisted underwear man to his feet. His eyes were each going in separate directions, and he was muttering to himself, but he was more compliant now.

“We gotta get this one to detox,” said Joann.

“I’m on it, said Anne.” She radioed for an ambulance.

“Are you okay, Jo?” asked Billy, putting his hand on her shoulder.

Joanne smiled for a second. “Yeah.”

Lenny was already put off by Joann yelling at him. Now he watched Billy talk to her.

Billy’s hand moved down to the side of her arm.

“Where the fuck was Zack while all this was going down?” Billy accused more than asked.

Zach appeared at the front of the store. “This guy was crazy. He came into the store in his underwear yelling and cursing at the police officers.”

“He couldn’t do anything to help,” said Anne.

“And I wouldn’t want him to,” said Joann.

“Do you want me to fill out any paperwork?” asked Billy.

There was that smile again. “Yeah, I’ll need a statement from you,” said Joann.

“I’d be happy to give it. Say, I’m not in trouble for layin’ this guy out, am I?”

Joann smiled again. “I think I can let this one slide. Just this once.”

Lenny watched the whole interaction, his face burning with shame. Shame that he almost got Officer Joanne hurt. But there was something else. Was it jealousy?

Lenny had tried to be the hero, Officer Joann’s ‘knight in shining armor,’ and he screwed up. Here was Billy, who was supposed to be Lenny’s sidekick, saving the day. He saw the way Officer Joann smiled at Billy, and it burned his ass.

He wanted her to smile at him that way!

“Are you okay, Lenny?” asked Joann with a little less annoyance in her voice, but like an exasperated parent asking a child who just ran into the middle of the street if he was okay.

Lenny looked down at his feet again. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you go off with your friend here?” said Billy, gesturing to Tara. “I’m gonna talk with Jo for a bit. Tie up loose ends.”

“Don’t you want a statement from me?” asked Lenny in a desperate attempt for Officer Joann’s attention.

“That’s okay Lenny,” said Joann frowning. “I’ll take care of this with Billy.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Tara. She put her hand on Lenny’s shoulder and turned him in the other direction. They both began to walk down the boardwalk.

Lenny, his pride seriously wounded, looked over his shoulder at Joann and Billy and couldn’t help but feel left out.

Part III

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Clowns

Chapter 13

MacAteer sat behind her desk frowning at the opulent flat screen television in her office, watching the weather report. There was a knock at the door.

“Enter.”

José Avelo, Director of Maintenance, came in.

MacAteer didn’t even give him a chance to sit down. “José, have you seen the weather report?”

He remained standing. “Yes, Miss. They say two storms are coming and are going to make a superstorm the day after tomorrow.”

“Are we prepared for a loss of power?”

“Yes, I’ve been testing the backup generators.”

“What about the electronic lock to the dementia unit’s doors?”

“Yes, the backup generators should keep all of the electronic locks working.”

MacAteer was beginning to wish there were physical locks on those doors, but that would be a fire hazard and a violation of all kinds of code. She crinkled her nose as she saw a large graphic of two gigantic white swirls spinning toward each other over the map of the east coast. A simulation showed the merging.

“What about flooding? Are we prepared for that?”

“I’ll get the sandbags out and prepped.”

“Good.”

“The wall around the backup generators should keep any water out.”

Just as he said that, the weatherman on the television mentioned something about the possibility of a surge of ocean water potentially causing record flooding.

“Let’s hope so, José.” The statement was not meant to reassure.

It was a threat.

* * *

“What’s wrong, Ma? You don’t like the pasta?”

Mama Sophia looked at her plate as if the food was going to eat her. Pasta? She had no idea what her son was talking about. His bitch wife served her up a plate of squirming maggots.

“Yeah, it’s good, Nana,” said Alessandra. Salvatore shoveled a large heap of penne into his mouth, sauce dripping down the sides like blood. Was it blood?

Did no one see this? Any of this?

“Nana isn’t so hungry.”

Mario frowned. “Ma, you have to keep your strength up. You’ve lost eight pounds since you’ve been in that place.”

“Don’t forget who put me there,” snapped Mama Sophia.

Marie silently watched Mama Sophia, ignoring the barbs hurled her way about her cooking. She noticed that there was something off about Mama Sophia. Her face was sallow, and she appeared weak. There was something wrong.

The old witch was dying.

“C’mon, don’t start with that. You’re home now, with us. You have your own room and good food.”

Mama Sophia huffed at that last part.

Marie’s mind raced a mile a minute with possibilities. What if Mama Sophia was declining, or even dying? Maybe she could convince Mario that taking his mother home was a bad idea. Maybe he would consider bringing her back.

If she died in the meantime, it’d be win-win.

Marie smiled. “Mama Sophia, I slaved over a hot stove to make a hot, Italian meal just for you. I bet you never got a meal like this in the nursing home.”

Mama Sophia just gawked at Marie, apparently speechless. She knew it! She always knew it. That puttana of a daughter-in-law was a demon.

As Marie smiled at Mama Sophia, her teeth jutted out in all directions, razor sharp points, a long, forked tongue dancing over them. Worms slithered all over her plate as she shoved a forkful of them into her jagged mouth.

Marie was secretly amused by Mama Sophia’s inability to respond. Did the old bitch finally run out of insults?

“Diavolo!” Mama Sophia finally said, pointing a finger gnarled from arthritis at Marie. “Diavolo!” She began throwing the horns at her son and grandchildren, protecting them.

“Daddy, what’s she doing?” asked Salvatore, frightened.

“Please stop, Nana,” said Alessandra.

“Ma, please,” said Mario.

“Maybe Mama Sophia needs to lie down and rest,” suggested Marie, doing her best to hide her pleasure at the old crone’s unraveling.

“She needs to eat something, is what she needs to do.”

“Diavolo! The evil eye! She’s got the evil eye!”

“Mario!”

“All right, Marie!” he snapped. He slipped his hand under Mama Sophia’s arm and began to gently lift her up. “C’mon, Ma. Why don’t you go lay down for a while? I can make you a plate later on.”

Mama Sophia tried to squirm out of her son’s grip. “I will not eat anything that that puttana made for me! She’s trying to kill Mama Sophia!”

“Mama Sophia, the kids!” Marie rebuked.

Alessandra looked as if she was going to cry. Salvatore just gawked at his Nana, horrified by her outburst.

Suddenly, Mama Sophia was still. She looked down at her hands, at her crooked, wrinkled fingers as if she had touched something she shouldn’t have and now had it all over her.

When she looked up, her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened as vomit erupted. Brown puke cascaded out her mouth and all over the kitchen table as the children and Marie backed away in horror. Mama Sophia hunched forward as she spilled the contents of her stomach like a geyser in a seemingly endless stream, a curious volume considering the woman hadn’t eaten much since she’d come into their home.

Finally, the vomiting stopped, and Mama Sophia wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

“Jesus Christ,” cried Marie.

“Mommy, it smells!” said Alessandra.

Mama Sophia stood there, hunched over, looking at the steaming mess she’d just made all over the kitchen. “Nana is sorry, children. She’s not feeling well.”

“C’mon, Ma, I’ll clean you up and take you to bed,” Mario said softly.

She allowed herself to be gently corralled out of the kitchen and through the living room, to the bathroom. Mario took one of the washcloths from the cabinet and ran it under the sink. He cleaned her up, removing her house-dress and tossing it in the garbage. He then took her to the bedroom in back.

Mama Sophia walked arm-in-arm with her son. He reminded her of her late husband—What was his name?—God rest his soul.

Mario flicked on the light to their guest room, and he led Mama Sophia over to the bed. He gently lowered her until she rested gently on the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, and he left the room. He returned a few moments later with one of Marie’s nightgowns. He slipped it over his mother and helped her push her arms into the holes. Then he bent down, his knees creaking, and took her shoes off her feet.

“Lay down, Ma.”

She hesitated. Finally, she made eye contact. “Mario, I’m so sorry. You’re such a good boy.”

“I know, Ma. Now lay down.”

Mama Sophia lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling, her vision beginning to haze over.

“Do you want the air conditioner on?”

“Are you kidding? I’m freezing.”

Mario walked to her bedside and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

He left the room as Mama Sophia hugged herself. Her vision was fogging and tinted red. Maybe it was the fever.

Mario returned with Marie, who held a thermometer. He was taken aback by his mother lying on the bed with her arms folded over her in a death pose. “Ma, Marie’s going to take your temperature.”

Marie knelt by the side of the bed and held out the thermometer over Mama Sophia’s face. She pressed the button to zero it. “Open.”

Mama Sophia did what she was told. She opened her mouth and allowed Marie to slip the thermometer under her tongue. She closed her mouth over it.

Marie waited until the thermometer beeped, and then she took it out of Mama Sophia’s mouth.

“One hundred and one.”

“Jesus,” said Mario.

“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain,” admonished Mama Sophia. “I didn’t raise you like that.”

“I’ll go get two Tylenol,” said Mario.

“And a glass of water,” reminded Marie.

Mario left the room, and Marie felt something touch her hand. She looked down. Mama Sophia was clutching her hand, her eyes wild. Marie tried to pull her hand away, not wanting to catch anything this vile woman had.

Instead, Mama Sophia pulled her downward. Closer. Her strength was uncanny. Marie leaned in. The old woman wanted to tell her something.

Mama Sophia smiled, her mouth a wide gash, her rotting teeth forming a nasty grin. “When you fuck other men, do you think of my son? Do you picture his face?”

Marie gasped. “You old pig. How dare you?”

Mama Sophia’s face contorted. “Next time you fuck another man, I want you to picture my face. This face.” It was horrible. She looked like the possessed doll in that movie, the one where the doll tried to kill the boy it belonged to and his mother.

“Get off me,” said Marie, trying to pull her hand away.

Mama Sophia clamped down. “Sharing is caring.” She spit into Marie’s face.

Marie let out a yelp as Mario appeared in the doorway, two pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “What’s going on?”

Mama Sophia released her grip, and Marie flung herself backward, wiping her face with the bottom of her blouse. “She spit at me, Mario! And she said horrible things!”

Mama Sophia lay there and shrugged sheepishly.

Mario put his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Mama Sophia thought it was a meaty shoulder. She was looking forward to sinking her teeth into it.

“Are you all right?”

Marie shook his hand off. “No, I’m not all right.”

“You get the kids ready for bed. I’ll take care of Ma.”

Marie glared at him. “When the kids go to bed, you and I are having a talk.”

“Okay.” What else could Mario say?

Marie stepped into the living room and saw both her children standing there, eyes wide.

“Is Nana okay?” asked Alessandra.

“Brush your teeth and start to get ready for bed,” Marie commanded, a little more harshly than she wanted.

“Aw, what about TV?” asked Salvatore.

“Tonight you two are reading before bed. In your rooms.”

Alessandra saw that Mommy was upset and wanted to talk to Daddy, probably about Nana. She quickly went into the bathroom to begin preparing for bed.

Salvatore huffed and puffed but followed after his sister.

Once the kids were in their rooms reading, doors closed, Marie closed the door to Mama Sophia’s room and joined her husband in the kitchen. He was leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Mario, bringing her home was a mistake. She’s not well.”

“We have to give it a chance,” said Mario. “The social worker said that abrupt changes in setting can cause confusion in someone her age. She’s fragile.”

“Really? Do you want to know what your fragile mother said to me when you left the room?”

“Marie, it’s the fever.”

“Your mother asked me if I pictured your face when I was fucking other men.”

Mario squirmed. “Marie, please, keep your voice down. The kids.”

“And then you know what she told me after that? That I was to picture her face when I was fucking other men.”

“Marie…”

“I know. The kids. That’s exactly my point. They don’t need to be around this. Mama Sophia is sick.”

“She’ll get better.”

“Oh yeah? And what if the fever doesn’t break?”

“It’ll break, Marie.”

“The last thing the kids need is to wake up and find their Nana dead in their house. They won’t sleep for weeks.”

“You don’t want her in this house. You never did. You never liked her.”

Marie grabbed fistfuls of her curly black hair in exasperation. “She spit in my face and called me a whore. She called me the devil in front of our children, her grandchildren.”

Mario put his hands up in front of him. “Calm down, Marie. When her fever breaks, she’ll feel better. I think we both need to get some sleep. Circus Faire is tomorrow. You’ll be at the store, and the kids will go to the parade. I’ll tend to Ma.”

“Mario, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“Let’s go to sleep, Marie.”

“If she’s not better in the morning, we’re taking her to the hospital.”

Mario nodded. They padded to their bedroom, but not before Marie checked on Alessandra and Salvatore. Both were sound asleep. Salvatore left his light on, having fallen asleep in the middle of reading a comic book. She picked up the Magma Man comic, placed it on his end table, and turned off the lamp.

She looked down at her precious son and smiled to herself. Mario might’ve had his head up his ass, but she had to hold it together for the kids. They were innocents in all this.

Besides, Marie had Mama Sophia on the ropes. Between her behavior and her illness, she was pretty sure she could convince Mario to take her back to the nursing home.

Later that night, Mario woke from a dream that evaporated into the air conditioned darkness within seconds. He shook his head and looked at the time. A little past midnight.

He slid out of bed and padded out to the bathroom. He emptied his bladder, flushed the toilet, and washed his hands. As he left the bathroom, he heard panting coming from Mama Sophia’s room.

He crept silently to her door, which was slightly ajar, and he gently pushed it open. He strained to see in the darkness, but all he could make out was the dark shape of his Ma lying down on top of the bed. Her legs were apart and bent at the knees.

He was about to call out to her to see if she was all right when he heard something peculiar, a sound that caught his attention. There was a wet sound as her panting became louder and faster.

Mario screwed up his face in disgust as he realized what his Ma was doing. Jesus Christ, in his guest bed in his family’s home no less. He looked away in revulsion, gazing down the hall to see if Marie or the kids were stirring.

When he looked back into the room, Mama Sophia had stopped panting. She was sitting up. Was she looking at him?

“Ma?”

No answer. She just sat there, an outline in the darkness, no discernible features.

“Ma? You all right?”

Nothing.

He flicked the light on and was startled by the sight of his mother grinning widely at him, her eyes sinister, her face frozen like that of a demonic doll.

“Ma…”

She didn’t move. She only gawked at him like a demented joker, the kind you see at the top of the spring in a jack-in-the box.

Mario turned off the light.

Feeling awkward and sickened, he pulled her door closed so that it was only open a crack, and he crept back to his bedroom. He slid back into bed and pulled the sheet up to his nose, staring at the door to his bedroom.

Was he waiting for it to move? Christ, was he afraid of his own mother? He grimaced at the fresh memory of the wet sounds and her spread legs, the demonic look on her face, and he tried to roll over on his side and shut his eyes.

He managed to try to relax, telling himself that Marie was probably right. It was a mistake to take Ma home, and in the morning, he was going to bring her back to the nursing home.

Coming to a resolution allowed him to relax a bit, and his mind began to drift off uneasily into that dark void of dreams. As he drifted off, when he was too far down that corridor to unconsciousness to turn back, he could’ve sworn he heard his mother’s bedroom door creaking…

* * *

Billy Blake took a swig of his beer as he watched Johnny Wong miss his shot on the seven ball. He looked around the room and shook his head. “Jesus Christ, nothing but a bunch of fuckin’ clowns in here.”

The Jolly Roger was hopping. It was the night before Circus Faire, and as per tradition, the nocturnal establishments of Smuggler’s Bay were filled to the brim with clowns from all over the tri-state area. All were dressed in their clown getups, some were in full makeup, and all were blasted out of their minds.

“You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” said Billy.

“Why do they have to go out all dressed up?” asked Johnny. “The parade’s tomorrow.”

“It’s all part of the fun,” answered Johnny. “These fuckers get all dressed up, pound back drinks like there’s no tomorrow, and grab on the women like it’s free.”

Johnny smirked. “Right. Not like you ever do that, Billy.”

Billy bent down to take his shot. He sunk the six in the corner pocket. “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm. Besides, I don’t have to hide behind a costume and makeup to do what I do.”

“Oh, yes, you’re honesty’s real refreshing.”

Billy sunk another. The two banked off the cushion into the side pocket. “Jesus, Johnny, when’re you gonna learn to shoot pool? I might as well be playing one of these clowns.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe one of them will beat your ass and you’ll stop complaining.”

Billy stood up and cracked his back. “I gotta piss. Why don’t you make yourself useful and buy another pitcher?”

Johnny saluted. “Sure thing, Boss.”

“Fuckin’ clowns,” Billy muttered to himself. He walked back to the men’s room, pushed the door open, took his place in front of one of the three urinals, and unzipped himself. He placed his left hand up on the wall and held himself with his other hand while he urinated. He tipped his head back and groaned as he relieved his overtaxed bladder.

The door behind him opened. Someone walked in, and before he could look over his shoulder, a damned clown honked his horn right in Billy’s ear, causing him to jump out of his skin.

“What the fuck!” Billy turned around and grabbed the clown by the throat, slamming his back into the sink. “What’s your fuckin’ problem? Can’t a guy take a piss in peace around here?”

“C’mon,” said the clown in full makeup, slurring his words, “can’t you take a joke?”

Billy got right in his face. “No, I can’t. I think that much is obvious.”

The clown put his hands up in deference. “I didn’t mean nothin’, man.”

Billy let go of his throat, snatched the horn from the clown’s hand, and threw it in the urinal. He zipped up and flushed it.

“Hey, man. That was uncalled for.”

Billy pointed a long finger in the clown’s face. “Don’t push it, Bozo.”

Billy stormed out of the men’s room. Johnny saw him and started to pour his friend a beer from a fresh pitcher, but Billy stalked right past him.

“Hey, where are you going? I just got a new pitcher,” called Johnny after him.

“I need to get some fucking air,” shouted Billy.

Johnny saw a clown re-emerge from the men’s room looking mighty pissed off. He walked over to a bunch of his clown friends, and shouted to them, pointing in Johnny’s direction.

Oh, shit. What has Billy done now? Johnny saw them down the rest of their drinks, and a drunk, angry posse of clowns left the bar.

Johnny wasn’t quite sure what to do. If Billy started some shit, Johnny sure as hell wasn’t going to help him finish it. However, he didn’t want his grouchy friend getting hurt either, even if he had it coming…which he did from any number of folks.

Johnny put his pool cue down on the table and walked to the front door. As he flung the door open, he half expected to see Billy getting the shit pounded out of him by an angry mob of jokers, but the sidewalk in front of the Jolly Roger was empty.

Johnny looked left and then right, and even craned his neck to see around the corner, but everything was quiet. Johnny shook his head. There was nothing to be done about it. Maybe Billy went for a walk. Maybe he even went home. Johnny just hoped that his friend made it to wherever he was going before the angry clowns caught up with him.

Billy was pounding the boardwalk with his feet. It was dark and empty, and all the storefronts were gated and locked. He checked his watch—1:45.

As he walked the boardwalk, listening to the ebb and flow of the waves, he slowed his pace. All the beers were catching up with him, and he found it harder and harder to pump his legs. Weary from a long night and the clowns, he figured he’d sleep it off in his shop rather than drag his sorry carcass back home.

He stopped in front of his shop and fished for his keys, and then heard footsteps. He turned, dropping his keys on the boardwalk. He held up his cell phone and pressed a button, the illumination from the screen allowing him to make out who stood near in the dark.

“What the fuck do you want?”

No response.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

He snickered and bent down to retrieve his keys. There were quick footfalls on the wood, and he felt a sharp, blinding pain…

* * *

Pete McCarthy sat in his clown suit at the Sungod Motel with one hand on his whiskey bottle and the other hand on the keyboard of his laptop. Nat Moran and Sean Molina pounded tequila shots, both in full clown makeup, setup on the small nightstand between the two beds, where a cigarette lay precariously on the edge. The coal was burning the edge of the cheap furniture.

“Yeah, that’s a good one,” said Nat.

“Fuck her,” said Sean. “She’s too skinny.”

“Hey, we can’t help it if you like fat chicks,” said Pete. “I think she’s hot.”

“Her name is Kyra. Nineteen years old. That’s good. She says she’s ‘open minded,’” said Pete reading his screen.

“I bet she is,” said Sean. “She’s probably in her twenties.”

“And she’s independent,” continued Pete, ignoring Sean. “No pimp.”

“That’s what they all say,” said Nat. “Who do you think drives them here?”

“What the hell? There’s three of us and one of her. I say we call this one,” said Pete.

“Don’t forget the pimp, but I second the notion,” said Nat. “While the pimp’s beating the shit out of Sean, we can run away.”

“Motion carried,” said Pete.

“Ha ha. You’re a real couple of jokers,” said Sean. “She’ll do.”

“Gimme your cell phone,” said Pete, grabbing at Sean.

“No way, man. If some bad shit goes down, the cops will trace it back to me. Use Nat’s phone.”

Nat collapsed on the bed. “No way, man.”

“Why not, you asshole?”

“Because I don’t know where it is,” replied Nat with slurred speech.

“Okay. Okay, you two mutts. I’ll use my phone.” Pete grabbed his phone off of the small table he was perched at by the large window.

“This room smells like a sweaty ball sack,” announced Sean. “I’m going to open the back door to the balcony.

“Good idea,” slurred Nat, who then downed yet another shot of tequila.

“You know, I wouldn’t sit on that bedspread if I were you,” said Pete. “You know they wash the sheets every day, but the bedspreads like once a month…if that.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“My point is that you don’t know what kinds of dried bodily fluids are on those bedspreads.”

“Probably from a bunch of pervs fucking escorts,” guffawed Nat. All three men laughed uproariously.

Pete pressed a button on his cell, but when he looked down, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Nat.

“I fucking dialed my girlfriend.” Pete hung it up right away. All three men waited silently in the dingy room as the television blared on about a superstorm hitting the northeast.

“What the hell’s a superstorm?” asked Sean, breaking the silence and the tension.

Suddenly, Pete’s cell phone rang. He looked down at the screen. “Shit. It’s what’s going to happen if I don’t explain to Mindy why I started to call so late and hang up.”

The phone kept ringing.

“Well, aren’t you going to get it?” asked Nat.

“If you two will shut the fuck up for a minute,” snapped Pete. Nat and Sean looked at each other, shrugged, and started pouring more tequila shots.

Pete answered the call. “Hello?”

“Pete?”

“Hey, Min. Wassup?”

“Why are you calling so late?” She sounded mildly annoyed on the phone.

“I-I-I was thinking of you, hon. I miss you.” He thought he felt her demeanor soften over the phone.

“I miss you, too, but can’t you miss me tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking. Sorry, hon.”

“What’re you up to? Sounds like you’ve been drinking.”

“Yeah, Nat and Sean and I just stumbled in from the pub.”

“Any pretty girls at the pub?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t have noticed if there were.” Then to Nat and Sean, “Hey, guys, were there any pretty girls there at the pub?”

“Nah, just a bunch of clowns. Fucking sausage-fest,” said Nat over Pete’s shoulder.

She giggled on the other end. “Yeah, right. So what are you guys doing now?”

Pete pushed Nat’s face away with his free hand as Sean made kissing sounds in the background. “Now we’re watching the news. Something about a superstorm hitting the Shore.”

“Yeah, please tell me you’ll head out ahead of the storm.”

“Don’t worry. We’re heading out tomorrow evening, even though we’re booked through the night. I ain’t taking any chances.”

Mindy yawned on the other end. “Okay, well, tell Thing One and Thing Two to behave themselves. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Love ya,” said Pete, which triggered an eruption of more kissing and moaning sounds from the peanut gallery.

“Love you, too, Pete. G’nite.”

“G’nite.” He hung up the phone.

“Aw, how sweet,” teased Nat.

“Okay, that was a close one,” said Pete. “Now, to business.” He read the number off the screen and dialed it into his phone one by one. He placed the phone to his ear. “It’s ringing.”

Pete plopped himself into one of the worn chairs, his bare right foot landing on a dirty piece of dried gum in the carpet.

Nat and Sean plopped on the bed next to where Pete sat, giddy with anticipation.

“Hello,” said a young voice on the other end.

“Hello,” said Pete. “Is this Kyra?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Do you come to Smuggler’s Bay?”

“Yes, I do, sweetie. Where did you get my number?”

“From a website.”

“So, you know the donation for my time?”

Good. She used the word donation instead of fee or payment. She also mentioned it was ‘for her time.’ All good signs.

“Yes. I have two friends.” Nat and Sean squirmed with excitement.

“Well, that’s a coincidence. I have a friend.”

“You have a friend,” Pete repeated for Nat’s and Sean’s benefit. “Is she as pretty as you?”

“Yeah, she’s hot.”

“When can you get here?”

“Where’re you staying, sweetie?”

“The Sungod Motel.”

“Which room?”

“Four seventeen.”

“Hey, are you guys a bunch of clowns?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you guys dress up? My friend and I have a thing for clowns.”

Pete felt a stirring in his pants. “Sweetheart, we beat you to it.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call you when we get close. Gimme twenty minutes or so.”

“Okay. See you then.” Pete hung up the phone. “She said twenty minutes.”

“Awesome. Just enough time to do some shots,” said Nat.

Sean upended their last tequila bottle over a shot glass picturing a pirate riding a surfboard and a caption reading ‘Get Some Booty Smuggler’s Bay.’ “Empty.”

“That’s okay,” said Nat, “I’ve got more in my room.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” said Pete. “Not so fast. Pony up first.”

“Right,” said Nat. He stood and grabbed his wallet off the dresser next to the old cathode ray tube television set. He pulled out three fifty dollar bills. Pete and Sean did as well. Pete collected the funds and stacked the bills on the nightstand behind the shot glasses.

“Wait a minute,” said Nat. “If there’s only two of them and three of us, someone’s getting sloppy seconds.

Simultaneously, Pete and Sean placed their fingers to the sides of their noses and said, “Not it.”

“Goddammit,” protested Nat.

“Not fast enough,” said Sean.

“Don’t worry,” said Pete, “Sean will only need two minutes.”

Nat waved a dismissive hand. “Shit, then I’ll get the room to myself. Lord knows I don’t want to fuck with one of you two clowns in the room.”

“Will you get the tequila already?” pressed Pete. “Moonlight’s burning.”

“All right. All right,” said Nat impatiently. He opened the front door and disappeared, closing it behind him.

“Ass-hat,” said Sean.

Nat descended the steps to the second floor. Before he turned to his room, he saw a short, dark shape standing down on the opposite end of the floor. He waved, but it just stood there, swaying in the neon light of the Sungod sign.

“Well, fuck you then,” muttered Nat as he began to walk in the other direction. He reached the door to his room, fished his keys out of his outfit, and opened the door. He looked to his right and still saw the small figure standing there at the other end, immobile except for the slight swaying motion.

“Creepy.” He let himself in, closed the door behind him, and then made a beeline for his suitcase. He unzipped it and pulled out a fresh bottle of tequila.

He rested the bottle on the sink and decided to relieve his bladder before leaving. He shivered as he returned some tequila. When he finished, he zipped up and, omitting the act of washing his hands, he snatched up the bottle of tequila.

He walked back to the front door and opened it. He jumped out of his skin when he saw a little old lady standing in his doorway. She wore a pink nightgown, her eye makeup apparently smeared around her eyes in dark smudges.

“Fancy a drink?” was all he could muster.

“Screeeeeeee!” The lady reached out and grabbed Nat as he dropped the bottle of tequila on the floor.

“Did you hear that?” asked Sean, started by the banshee wail.

“Probably two cats fighting,” said Pete, “or fucking.”

“That’s probably what you sound like when you’re fucking,” slurred Sean, swaying on his feet.

Pete winked. “You’ll find out in a little bit…What’s taking numb-nuts so long?”

“Probably taking a good shit,” said Sean.

Nat fell backward as the old lady fell on top of him, clawing his face and biting his fingers as he pushed her face away from his. She bit down and ripped off the index and middle fingers on his right hand down to his knuckles.

His mouth opened wide in a silent scream as the old woman bit down on his neck, tearing flesh and skin away. She hovered over him as he clamped his left hand down on his neck and the old woman chewed on his skin like a cow chewing on curd.

“You crazy bitch! You fucking bit me!” He rolled away from her. When she reached out for him again, he kicked her in the face, but she still kept coming.

Nat rolled onto his belly and commando crawled across the carpet.

She crawled after him on her hands and knees, scurrying like a crab on the beach.

He felt cold, probing fingers on his sneakers and then his ankles as he crawled across the carpet. He looked over his shoulder and kicked the crazy old bag in the face, before finally squirming out of her grip.

He pushed himself up off the carpet and dashed for the back door to the balcony. The old lady screeched at him and was getting clumsily to her feet, which bought him the extra few seconds he needed.

Panicked, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted, forgetting to unlock it as the lady was on her feet and lurching toward him.

He cursed himself for squandering his tenuous lead on the rabid hag as he unlocked the door and flung it open. He threw himself out onto the balcony as the old woman projectile vomited across the short distance between them, covering him in brown bile and blood. He cried out in disgust and pulled the door shut as the old woman threw the weight of her body against the door.

Nat clutched his broken fingers, the open wounds covered in that pungent brown syrup, and he moaned. The old hag shrieked again from the other side of the door, and then Nat saw the doorknob start to jiggle.

He released his bleeding hand and grabbed the doorknob with his good hand as the crazy lady tried to turn it. He gripped it tightly, turning as hard as he could in the other direction as hot tears streamed down his face.

“Somebody, help! Help me, please!” he screamed into the night, his voice echoing slightly around the motel grounds. He prayed that someone would hear him.

“Screeeeeaaaaahhhh!” the old woman howled, matching him scream for scream, drowning out his desperate pleas for help.

A door slammed on the balcony directly above his. “Would you keep it down? I’ve got sleeping kids up here!” yelled a man. “Asshole,” he added as an afterthought, and then the door above slammed shut.

Suddenly, the knob stopped turning. Nat strained to look through the window, his heart beating out of his chest, and his broken fingers throbbing. He saw the shape of the old woman turn and shuffle out of the room through the frosted glass.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Sean.

“Probably some drunk asshole carrying on,” said Pete.

“Speaking of drunk assholes, what’s taking Nat so long?”

“He probably passed out in his room,” said Pete. “You know what that means…”

“We have the two escorts to ourselves.”

“Exactamundo, brochacho!”

As if on cue, there was a thud on the door.

“Speak of the devil…” said Pete, hopping up off the bed. He straightened out his clown getup and flattened his hair while looking in the mirror next to the television.

He then reached out, turned the knob, and opened the front door. He scratched his head.

There was an old woman with smoky eyes standing in the doorway with blood dripping from her mouth. She was baring her teeth in a snarl.

“You’re a bit older than your pics on the site,” said Pete dryly.

“Is it them?” asked Sean from behind Pete.

The old woman pitched forward and grabbed Pete by the throat.

“Jesus!” He stumbled backward.

The old woman snapped her jaws at him as she dripped blood and saliva from her chin onto his chest.

“What the fuck?” said Sean.

“Don’t just stand there! Get her off of me!”

Sean grabbed the old woman from behind by the waist and pulled her off Pete as she lashed out at him. “She’s strong,” said Sean.

“Get her out of here!”

Sean began to drag her by the waist toward the door when she turned around, reaching for his face. Her fingers slipped into his mouth as he gagged. She growled like a bobcat as she tried to crane her neck, her jaws still snapping.

“Sean!” Pete ran over to them and grabbed the old woman by the neck. He yanked hard, pulling the woman away from his friend and back farther into the room. Her fingers slipped out of Sean’s mouth as he gasped for air, gagging on the copper taste of blood.

She fought Pete, pulling in the direction of Sean, growling and shrieking like an animal.

Pete yanked so hard that he heard a snap, and the old woman’s head flopped to the side and then rolled to the back.

She groped the air around her, looking like a demonic bobble head, the angle of her head unnatural in relation to her neck, as if it had become dislocated.

“What the fuck is wrong with her?” shouted Pete.

Sean grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around while being careful to avoid the floppy head with the snapping jaws. He shoved her out the front door and grabbed the knob, pushing it shut. He locked the door and threw on the chain.

There was a loud thud, and the door shook as the woman shrieked like a banshee. Sean put all his weight up against the door, not trusting the flimsy lock and chain.

Pete’s cell phone erupted into a loud ring that startled both men. He instinctively picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“We’re here, sweetie,” said a sultry voice.

Pete swallowed hard as Sean braced himself against the pounding on the front door. “Uh, this isn’t the best time. Can we get a rain check?”

“Listen, asshole,” said the escort, dropping the veneer, “we came all this way.”

“Well…we’ve changed our minds.” He heard the bass of a male voice in the background. That would be the pimp. It was muffled, but he was pretty sure the guy was pissed.

The escort sighed heavily in exasperation. “Hey, if you don’t want to party, that’s fine by me, but we need to get paid for coming out here.”

“Pete, call the cops,” cried Sean as the doorknob jiggled furiously.

“If you call the cops, what are you going to say? The prostitutes you guys ordered won’t go away?” said the escort, thinking Sean was referring to her.

“No, you don’t understand!” pleaded Pete. “There’s this…crazy person trying to get into our room!”

“Yeah, right.” The phone changed hands. “I’m coming up there to find you assholes, and you’re going to pay up,” said an angry male voice. The pimp hung up the phone.

“Was that the hooker?” asked Sean, now grabbing the doorknob, trying to hold it still.

“She’s coming up with her pimp. They want their money.”

“They can fucking have it!”

“Hey, let’s sneak out the back. They can tangle with that crazy old bitch out there while we sneak out,” said Pete.

“Are you kidding? We’re three floors up?”

“The balconies are real close together. We can climb to the one next door.”

“And then what?” asked Sean. “They’ll see us.”

The pounding on the door stopped, and they heard footsteps outside.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked the deep male voice outside.

“What’s wrong with her head?” asked one of the escorts. It didn’t sound like Kyra, so it must’ve been the other one.

They heard the old woman wail and hurried footsteps. “Oh, shit!” shouted the pimp. There was growling and feet shuffling on the floor one door over.

“Now!” shouted Pete.

Pete ran to the back door, Sean following right behind, and onto the balcony. Sean closed the door behind them as Pete already had his leg over the balcony railing. He reached out, grabbed the railing of the next balcony, and hopped over to it.

Sean threw his leg over the railing as Pete pulled himself over and onto the next balcony. “C’mon, Sean,” he whispered.

Sean hopped to the next balcony, and Pete grabbed his hands, pulling him over the railing. Sean landed on the new balcony on his side, but he was on his feet quickly.

“One more over,” whispered Pete.

They each jumped to the next balcony, careful to get a good grip on the railing, as it was covered with beach towels draped over it set out to dry.

As Sean made it over, Pete looked down and saw the escort running to a black car in the parking lot below. “C’mon, Laquan!” she shouted, pacing back and forth.

The one that must’ve been Kyra sat in the passenger seat. She lowered the window. “What’s going on?”

“Some crazy old lady’s going crazy on Laquan.”

“The pimp,” explained Pete in a whisper as he and Sean looked down on the parking lot.

Kyra got out of the car. “We gotta get out of here.” Her pimp was nowhere to be found.

The other escort pulled out a cigarette. Her hand trembled, and she struggled with the lighter because she shook so hard. She finally lit the cigarette and took a drag, looking nervously around the parking lot.

“Do you think that lady got him?” asked Sean.

They heard a crash two doors over that shook their balcony. Pete grabbed Sean and pulled him down behind the towels as the pimp burst out onto their balcony.

Pete clamped a hand over Sean’s mouth, stifling a scream. Fortunately, they were encased in towels on all sides, so neither the pimp nor Kyra would be able to see them.

“Where the fuck did they go?” shouted the pimp down to Kyra. He clutched a bleeding wound on his arm.

“How the fuck should I know?” she called back. Let’s get out of here before the cops come!”

There was a pause, and Pete silently prayed that the pimp would be in too much of a hurry to get out of there to figure out where they were.

Sean peeked along the side of the beach towel facing their old balcony, and he saw the pimp disappear back into the room. “He left,” he whispered to Pete.

Pete put a finger up to his lips, hushing his friend.

They heard cursing down below in the parking lot. Two car doors slammed, and they heard a car peel out. Slowly, Pete and Sean peeked around the edges of the towel.

The parking lot was empty.

“Nat,” said Pete. “We have to check on Nat.”

“What about the police?” asked Sean.

“We check on Nat, first.”

They crossed back over to their balcony, ran into their room, and saw that the front door had been pushed open, the chain broken, and the flimsy doorknob ripped off.

“Jesus,” said Sean.

They listened for any sound outside the room, but it was silent. “Let’s go,” said Pete, deciding it was safe. He peeked out the front door. The floor was empty. “All clear.”

Sean popped his head out. “Where’d that old lady go?”

“I don’t know, but she ain’t here.”

Sean followed Pete to the staircase, and they climbed down two steps at a time. They dashed to Nat’s room and found the door ajar. The room was dark.

Pete and Sean looked at each other. Sean swallowed hard.

“Nat,” called Pete into the room. They waited. No response.

Pete grabbed Sean by the sleeve of his clown outfit and pulled him into the room. He flicked on the light switch. “Holy shit.”

The room was covered in vomit, and there was blood spatter on the walls. The room reeked of bodily fluids.

“Do you think…you know…the old lady?”

“Fuck if I know,” gasped Pete. “Where’s Nat?”

“Now we call the police?”

“Yeah, now we call the police.”

Chapter 14

Alice Krueger walked Chief Holbrook and Officer Pike up to the second floor, where they found Pete and Sean standing outside their missing friend’s room. Pete had his hands on the railing and was looking past the glow of the hotel’s sign out onto the street. Sean had his arms folded and paced back and forth. Both were dressed in bloodstained clown getups.

“Are these the men?” Holbrook asked Alice.

“Those are the ones who made a royal mess out of my rooms. There’s a third one, but he’s gone.”

Pete overheard Alice’s remark. “He’s missing.”

“He probably didn’t want to pay for all the damage you damned clowns caused,” she countered.

Holbrook put his right hand up to quiet Alice while rubbing the sleep out of his eye with the thumb forefinger of his left. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“We were attacked,” said Sean defensively.

Holbrook signaled to Pike to watch the two clowns as he pulled his flashlight from his hip. He pushed the door open and entered the room.

He shook his head as he saw red and brown stains all over the bedding, walls, and carpet. There was even spatter on the drop ceiling.

“This crazy old lady tried to bite us upstairs,” said Sean to Holbrook’s back. “She was throwing up blood all over the place.”

“An old lady? Did you know her?” asked Holbrook over his shoulder, still drinking in the condition of the room. He looked down and saw drag marks in the spatter on the carpet.

“No, she just knocked on our door. But we were upstairs.”

Holbrook turned around. “So you were attacked by this old woman upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“So what happened in this room?”

Pete turned around. “We don’t know. Our friend, Nat, left our room upstairs to come down to his room…this room…to get more refreshments.”

Pike leaned in and sniffed Pete. “Been drinking tonight?”

“Yeah,” said Pete, weary and resigned, “we were doing shots.”

“So your friend went down to get more alcohol,” said Holbrook. “Then what?”

“We heard some weird sounds coming from down here,” said Sean. “Like screaming.”

“And then what?”

“We were joking about Nat taking a good dump down here,” said Pete, “because he didn’t come right back up.”

“Did either of you go to check on him?” asked Holbrook.

“We never got the chance,” said Pete. “There was a knock at the door. When I answered it, this crazy old lady rushed me, trying to grab me and bite me. She was vomiting blood everywhere. And brown stuff.”

“So, what happened next?” prompted Holbrook.

“We got her out of the room, and—”

“How did you get her out?” asked Holbrook. “The details are important.”

“We…we pushed her out,” said Pete. “We didn’t want to hurt her. Obviously there was something wrong with her. We just wanted to get her out.”

“And then what?”

“Then we closed the front door and locked it.”

“And then what?”

“We waited, hoping she’d go away. Then we heard a tussle outside.”

“A tussle?”

“Yeah,” said Sean, “like a fight.”

“How did you know it was a fight?” asked Holbrook.

“We heard raised voices,” said Pete. “Then grunting and feet shuffling.”

“Who was fighting outside your room?”

“I don’t know,” said Pete. “Probably the old lady attacked someone else.”

“What did the other voices sound like?”

Holbrook saw Pete and Sean trade nervous glances.

“A male and a female, I think,” said Pete.

“Officer Pike,” said Holbrook, looking at his watch. It was almost four in the morning. Pike nodded. “Start knocking on doors, starting upstairs. See if all of the other guests are accounted for. Get some statements from anyone who might’ve seen or heard anything. Get Joann and Breslin down here to come help. Tell Joann we’ll need a kit and some tape.”

“What about these clowns?” asked Pike.

Holbrook grinned. “Don’t worry. I don’t think Alice is letting them out of her sight.”

Alice crossed her arms adamantly and stood next to the two men as Pike disappeared upstairs.

“Okay,” continued Holbrook, “so there was a fight upstairs. Then what?”

“Well, it got quiet,” said Pete. Holbrook noticed how this man was taking charge of the story, the other following his lead. Holbrook looked forward to interrogating them separately at the station to see what the other one would say. The devil was in the details, and Holbrook had a feeling there was going to be some telling contradictions. “So, I opened the door to take a peek, and everyone was gone.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Any blood on the floor upstairs, or any sign of a struggle?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Well, why don’t we have a look upstairs,” said Holbrook. “Alice, lead the way.”

Alice stomped off to the staircase. Holbrook gestured for them to follow, so the two clowns followed close behind her. Holbrook brought up the rear, keeping his eyes on both clowns.

Alice stopped just outside of their room. “Here it is, Chief.”

Holbrook pushed the door open with his flashlight again, noticing the large footprint on the outside of the door, the missing doorknob, and the damage to the door frame. He reached inside and flicked on the lights, peering into the room. “Okay, so then what?”

“Then we decided to check on Nat to see if he was okay. Then we called you guys.”

Holbrook rubbed his temples. “So, at what point was the door kicked in?”

He saw Sean and Pete exchange nervous glances again. “It was the man outside involved in the fight. He must’ve been pissed off and kicked down the door,” said Pete.

“Was this before, after, or during your trip downstairs to check on your friend?”

“It must’ve been after we left,” said Pete, looking at Sean.

“Yeah,” said Sean, “because when we came back the door was already kicked in.”

Holbrook frowned. “Alice, at what point did you find out about all of this?”

“There were a few complaints about the noise coming from the back building,” said Alice. “I threw on my robe and found these two outside of the room downstairs, waiting for you.”

Holbrook cocked his head sideways. “So, you never left that room once you called 9-1-1?”

“That’s right,” said Pete.

Holbrook cleared his throat. “Your friend, here, said that when you two came back to the room, you saw that the door had been broken down.”

“I…well…I don’t remember the exact order of how everything happened,” said Pete rubbing his eyes. It was a nervous gesture more than a weary one. “The manager, here—”

“Owner,” corrected Alice.

“Owner,” continued Pete, “was yelling at us, accusing us of breaking down the door upstairs. That must’ve been how we knew.”

“I see.” Holbrook was sizing the two men up. He knew they were omitting something, which means that something had to be something illegal. “Why would the man kick down your door?”

“I dunno,” said Pete nervously. “Maybe he thought she belonged to us. Maybe he saw us shove her out of our room.”

“Maybe he was drunk and pissed off,” added Sean.

Holbrook walked into the room and saw liquor bottles littering the small table and dresser. There were souvenir shot glasses on the nightstand between the two beds. There was some more red and brown spatter, especially on the back door to the balcony, which was ajar at the moment.

“You got the old woman out of the room quickly?”

“Yes. As quickly as we could without hurting her,” said Pete.

“What happened with this back door?” asked Holbrook, looking through the doorway and stepping out onto the balcony. He turned on his flashlight and shined it around the little balcony. He directed the beam on the resin chairs and little table, and then all along the railing. He noticed blood on the railing to the left.

“Before we pushed her out of the room, we tried to go on the balcony to get away from her,” answered Pete.

Holbrook saw more bloody fingerprints on the railing of the next balcony on the left. “And you said you pushed her out the front door?”

“That’s right.”

“Show me your hands.”

Pete and Sean looked at each other perplexed. “Excuse me?” asked Pete.

“I said, ‘Show me your hands,’” insisted Holbrook coolly.

The two clowns held out their hands.

Holbrook shined the flashlight on them. “Now palms up, please.”

They flipped their hands over, palms up. Sean had blood on his fingers.

“So, if you pushed this old woman out the front door, why are their bloody fingerprints on this railing, and then on the railing on the balcony next door?” asked Holbrook.

“I-I don’t know,” said Pete.

“How about you?” Holbrook asked Sean. “You have blood on your fingers.”

“I don’t know,” said Sean. “I think I might’ve tried to jump to the next balcony when we ran back here, before we pushed her out of the room.

Holbrook gestured for them to go back into the room. He followed them, touching nothing and leaving the back door ajar.

“Officer Pike is going to be taking statements. In cases like this, in a crowded motel, there’s usually someone who heard something, maybe even someone who even saw something. Are you two sure there isn’t anything you’re not telling me? Anything you’re leaving out? Maybe something you forgot?”

Pete and Sean looked at each other.

“No,” said Sean.

“No, nothing I can think of,” added Pete.

Holbrook got on his radio. “Pike, I need you in four seventeen.”

The radio crackled. “Okay, Boss.”

“So, are you going to look for our friend?” asked Pete.

Holbrook took off his hat, scratched his head, and replaced his hat. “Thank you, Alice. That’ll be all.”

Alice nodded and left the room.

Holbrook gestured for the two clowns to sit on the beds, and they did. He took out his pad and pen. “Names.”

“Pete McCarthy.”

“Sean Molina.”

“And your friend’s name?”

“Nathan Moran.”

“Can I see some identification?”

Pete and Sean fished out their driver’s licenses and handed them to Holbrook, who looked over each one carefully.

Officer Pike entered the room and blocked the doorway. “Joann couldn’t make it, because she’s at Mario Russo’s house. His mother was reported missing.”

Christ. Two missing persons in one night? “She eloped?”

“Looks like it,” said Pike. “Mario and Marie said she was sick. Threw up all over the place and was acting out in front of the children. Joann’s talking to them right now. She sent Breslin.”

Holbrook wondered if Mario’s mother could’ve been the crazy old lady who threw up all over these rooms. That would’ve been some hell of a coincidence.

Holbrook turned back to the two clowns. “We’re going to need you two to come down to the station to give written statements.”

“But, what about Nat?” asked Sean.

“We’ll look out for your friend. We’ll need a full physical description and a photo, if possible.”

“I have some photos on my phone,” said Sean.

“Me, too, I think,” added Pete.

“Was he all dressed up like you two?” asked Holbrook?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll need pics of him both in and out of clown makeup to disseminate to my officers. We can print out the pics down at the station.”

“Sure, Chief,” said Pete. “We wanna help.”

“Jesus,” said Sean, “I hope Nat’s okay.”

“Why don’t you gentlemen come with me?” said Holbrook. They stood and nodded.

Holbrook turned to Pike. “Everyone accounted for?”

“So far,” but I only canvassed this floor.”

Get some statements from the buildings in the front, particularly the rooms facing this back building. Something happened on that balcony in the back, and I want to know if anyone saw anything.”

“I’ll get Breslin right on it,” said Pike. “I’ll finish checking out this building.”

“Great. I’m gonna swing by the Russo’s on the way back to the station.” Holbrook waved a hand. “After you, gentlemen.”

Pete and Sean took the lead out of the room, and Holbrook followed closely behind. As they stepped outside, the air felt warmer and there was a hint of burnt orange peeking over the horizon, chasing away the darkness.

He had two missing persons in Smuggler’s Bay, and with reports of a struggle and blood all over these rooms, Chief Holbrook wondered if he also had a homicide on his hands.

* * *

Holbrook pulled up to the Russo residence and parked next to Marie Russo’s car on the street, behind Joann’s squad car. Joann stood there with her pad and pen taking down information, and Mario Russo sat on his front step, wearing blue boxer shorts and one of the tee-shirts from his shop, reading ‘Smuggler’s Bay, The Home of Family Fun.’ His face was beet red.

Marie stood next to him. She wore shorts and a faded pink tee. Her hand rested reassuringly on Mario’s shoulder. There was a neighbor in a similar getup sitting on the other side of Mario, trying to comfort him as well. There were a few neighbors looking on from their front doors and windows.

Holbrook turned to his two clowns. “You two, stay put.”

“Yessir.”

“Yes, Chief.”

Holbrook got out of the car and moseyed up the front walk to stand next to Joann.

“Thank God you’re here, Chief,” said Marie, frowning.

Mario muttered to himself. “It was a mistake. I should’ve left well enough alone.”

Holbrook nodded to Marie. “What’ve we got so far?” he asked Joann.

“They said that Sophia Russo, Mr. Russo’s mother, had been behaving erratically last night, using foul language in front of the children. She threw up in the kitchen. They took her temperature, and she had a fever.”

Mario looked up, his face terror stricken. “She’s out there somewhere, all alone.”

“I’m so sorry, Mario,” said Holbrook. “We’ll put an APB out. I thought she was in a nursing home.”

“I took her out of that place,” said Mario. “Marie said it was a mistake.”

“When did she come home with you?”

“Yesterday.”

“Walk me through last night. Every detail is important. Leave nothing out.”

“We took her home,” said Mario. “We cooked her dinner. That’s when we noticed the strange behavior.”

“What kind of strange behavior?”

“She wasn’t touching her food,” said Marie. “And then she started looking funny at the kids. Then she accused me of being the devil, and she threw up all over the kitchen table. And I mean threw up. I couldn’t believe a person could have that much in them.”

Holbrook grimaced. “Then what?”

“Then Mario cleaned her up and put her to bed. She ran a fever, so Mario went to get her some Tylenol, and she grabbed my arm and told me…” Marie looked tentatively at Mario, who just sat there shaking his head.

“Go ahead,” prompted Holbrook.

“She told me to picture her face when I…had relations with other men.”

“Relations?”

“That’s not how she put it,” said Marie. “She said ‘fucked.’”

“I see. At what point did you notice she was missing?”

“We went to bed,” said Mario. “I woke up in the middle of the night…” He thought about his elderly mother masturbating furiously on the bed. He remembered how she looked at him. “…she seemed…strange.”

“I checked on her later in the night,” added Marie, and she wasn’t in her room. I figured maybe she was finally hungry and went to fix a plate in the kitchen. That’s when I saw the front door was open. I ran outside onto the street, calling out for her, but she wasn’t anywhere.”

Holbrook pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “It sounds to me like a case of dementia. When you’re talking about a demented individual, they can act out of character and even elope from the premises.”

“I don’t think so,” said the neighbor sitting next to Mario.

“Excuse me?” said Holbrook.

“This is Dr. Bigelow,” explained Joann. “She just so happened to be Mrs. Russo’s psychologist at the nursing home.”

Tara stood and extended her hand to Holbrook. He shook it.

“You don’t say,” said Holbrook. “So what’s your theory, doc?”

“Well, I was seeing her right up until she was discharged, and she hadn’t shown any signs of dementia.”

“So, what do you think it is?”

Tara crossed her arms. “Well, sudden onset of uncharacteristic, erratic behavior, loss of appetite, paranoia—I think it could be a UTI…urinary tract infection.”

“Urinary tract infection,” Mario repeated. “So, there’s a reason for all this.”

“Yes,” said Tara, “but she needs to be put on antibiotics right away.”

“I should’ve never brought her home.”

“Mario,” there was no way you could’ve known this was going to happen,” said Tara.

“Do you have a recent picture of your mother?” asked Holbrook.

“I’ll go inside and get one,” said Marie. She disappeared into the house. She came back outside holding a picture of Marie sitting in a chair at the nursing home. A stern expression contorted the old woman’s face. Mario crouched next to her, smiling.

“This’ll do,” said Holbrook. “This’ll do just fine.”

Suddenly, Holbrook’s radio crackled. “Chief, it’s Lawson. You there? Over.”

“Christ. What now?” Holbrook handed the picture to Joann. He picked up his radio. “Yeah, Lawson. I’m here. Over.”

“You have to come up to the boardwalk. Marty Figueroa was opening up the public restroom on Neptune when he found a body in front of Billy Blake’s store. It looks like Billy Blake…but…he’s all torn up. Over.”

Holbrook regretted that the Russo’s had to hear that. They were traumatized enough as it. Poor Mario’s heart was bound to give out on him at this rate. “Okay, I’ll be right there. Over-and-out.”

“I’ll put out an APB right away,” said Joann.

“Don’t worry,” said Holbrook. “We’ll do our best to find your mother as soon as we can.” He pointed to his squad car. “I’ve got a couple of tourists who said they were attacked by an elderly woman behaving erratically last night, throwing up everywhere.”

Mario perked up. “Do you think that’s Mama Sophia?”

“Not sure,” said Holbrook, “but how many erratic old ladies throwing up all over the place can there be in the Bay? If we find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you, Chief,” said Marie.

“Thank you for your input, doctor,” said Holbrook.

Tara nodded. “Let me know if I can be of help. She trusted me. If she gives you a hard time, maybe I can help facilitate.”

Holbrook nodded his appreciation.

“Chief,” said Mario, “find my Ma.”

Holbrook nodded, and he and Joann walked back to their cars parked on the street. Holbrook fished for his keys in his pocket and handed them to Joann. “Take my car, and get an APB out right away. There’re two massive storm fronts coming tomorrow, and they’re talking hurricane strength winds and massive flooding. We have to find Mrs. Russo, and soon. Take statements from these two and put them on ice for drunk and disorderly conduct.”

Joann looked at the two men in the backseat. “Clowns,” she said as if uttering the most profane of curse words.

“I’ll take your car and check out this body on the boardwalk.”

Joann handed him her keys.

Holbrook then opened the rear door and addressed his two passengers in the back seat. “You two clowns behave yourself, or Officer Campbell here’ll kick your ass up and down Smuggler’s Bay.”

The two weary clowns looked startled by the threat and the implication that they would even try anything like that. Holbrook slammed the door shut.

Joann got in the driver’s seat and pulled away as Holbrook watched.

He then got into Joann’s squad car and headed up the street to the boardwalk.

“Take down my cell phone number. Just in case,” said Tara.

Marie pulled out her cell phone, touched the screen a few times, and looked up at Tara. “Go ahead.”

Tara rattled off her number, and Marie punched it into her phone, saving it as a new contact.

“That’s my cell,” said Tara. “Call anytime. Any way I can be of assistance, you let me know.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Bigelow,” said Marie.

“Please, call me Tara. Mario,” she placed her hand on his shoulder, “they’ll find her. She’ll be okay.” She knew she shouldn’t have been making guarantees, but Mario needed some reassurance. He was looking pale, and Marie had mentioned something about a heart condition.

Mario put his hand on top of Tara’s on his shoulder. “Thanks, Tara.”

Tara walked back across the street to her house where Tyrell and Marcus were looking out the front window. When she came back inside, Tyrell ambushed Tara with a barrage of questions.

“Did they find that man’s mommy?”

“No, Tyrell. Not yet.”

“Are they going to find her?”

“I hope so.”

“Is she sick?”

“It seems like it.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“They need to get her some medicine right away.”

“If the police find her, are they going to arrest her?”

“No, they’re going to take her to the hospital so she can get medicine. Why don’t you sit at the table, and I’ll fix you a bowl of cereal?”

“Can I have Magma Man Flakes?”

“Wash your hands and have a seat.”

“Yay!” Tyrell ran into the bathroom, and Tara heard the faucet turn on.

“She’s ill?” asked Marcus.

“Sounds like a UTI to me.”

“They’ll find her. It’s a small island.”

Tara walked into the kitchen, opened a cabinet door, and pulled out the Magma Man Flakes. “In her current mental state, we’d better hope they don’t find her washed up on shore somewhere.”

Marcus opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the milk. “You think she’d drown herself?”

Tara placed the cereal on the table, pulled three bowls out of the next cabinet, and placed them on the table. “Not intentionally.”

Tyrell came barreling into the kitchen, which signaled the end of the morbid conversation. He pulled open a drawer, grabbed three spoons, and slammed the drawer shut.

“Easy, little man,” said Marcus.

They all sat down at the kitchen table, and Marcus poured three bowls of cereal and milk. They dove enthusiastically into their breakfasts.

“Hey, you know what today is?” asked Marcus with a mouth full of cereal.

“What?” asked Tyrell, milk dribbling down his chin. He wiped it away with his arm.

“Use a napkin!”

Tara reached over to the counter and snatched three napkins from a small wicker basket. She handed one to Tyrell and one to Marcus. She laid hers down next to her bowl. “It’s Circus Faire, you little piggy.”

“Yeah, there’s going to be a parade and everything,” said Marcus.

Tyrell frowned. “I don’t like clowns.”

“Why not?” asked Marcus. “Clowns are fun.”

“They’re creepy,” said Marcus, shoving an oversized spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” said Tara. “It’s like the circus.”

“Do you think he has one of those clown phobias?” asked Marcus.

“What’s a phobia, Mommy?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said Tara, shooting her husband a look. “You like parades. Plus, I saw a sign that Blackbeard’s Pier is offering half priced games this afternoon.”

“Cool! I wanna play the shooting gallery. And the racing games. And the one where you shoot the alien robots from the next dimension.”

Tara and Marcus chuckled.

“How do you know about alien robots from the next dimension?” asked Tara.

“Everyone knows about them,” declared Tyrell.

“Oh, I see,” said Tara.

“If you’re not scared of alien robots from another dimension, then you shouldn’t be afraid of clowns,” said Marcus.

“But clowns are bad men.”

Marcus and Tara looked at each other.

“What would make you say that?” asked Tara.

“There were two of them in the back seat of that police car.”

“They might know where Mr. Russo’s mother is,” explained Tara. “That’s what the Chief said. They’re not being arrested. They’re helpful clowns.”

“Oh,” said Tyrell, heaping another pile of cereal into his little mouth. This time he remembered to wipe his mouth with his napkin.

* * *

Chief Holbrook saw Officer Lawson standing over a heap covered in a blue tarp in front of Billy Blake’s store. The sun had now cleared the horizon but was now partially obscured by an overcast sky, the harbinger of the storm that would descend upon Smuggler’s Bay tomorrow. Lawson perked up when he saw Holbrook.

“What’ve we got?” asked Holbrook, looking up and down the empty boardwalk, and then down at the blue tarp, its edges flapping in the ocean breeze.

Lawson reached down, grabbed a corner of the tarp, and pulled it back, revealing a mangled body.

“Jesus H. Christ,” said Holbrook running his fingertips over his five o’clock shadow. “That’s Billy Blake, all right.”

“Marty found him. Called me right away. Looks like he was murdered.”

Holbrook squatted on his haunches to get a closer look. Billy was contorted in an awkward position, as if he’d been dragged. Blood smears on the boardwalk by the body confirmed it. “He was beaten and stabbed repeatedly, then dragged. This was personal.”

“What was he doing on the boardwalk so early?” asked Lawson.

Holbrook took in the shredded, blood-soaked clothing. Billy’s shoes were off his feet. “Early for you is late for him. Billy would sometimes get drunk and then sleep it off in his store.”

“His keys are right there in front of the lock on his gate,” pointed out Lawson. “Looks like he was trying to get in. Who do you think would’ve done this to him?”

“Half the Bay hated his guts, myself included,” admitted Holbrook. “Could’ve been anyone. Did you call the coroner?”

“He’s on his way. I took photos.”

Holbrook threw the tarp back over Billy’s body and stood. He saw a couple of early morning walkers down the boardwalk pumping their legs. “We gotta get this body off the boardwalk before people start waking up and shops start opening up. After the coroner takes the body, get over to the Jolly Roger and start asking some questions. I’m certain that’s where he came from anyway. See who he was with and if he pissed anyone off.”

“Yes, Chief.”

“I gotta talk to the Mayor. We’ve got a murder and two missing persons all in one night, and the weathermen are talking about a ‘superstorm’ heading our way tomorrow. We have to be ready for evacuation. We’re already spread thin, and I think Circus Faire’s going to be a waste of resources at the moment. One of the missing persons is Mario Russo’s elderly mother. She’s got a UTI and isn’t in her right mind.”

“Holy smokes,” said Lawson.

“You ain’t kidding. Get this cleaned up and keep an eye out for Sophia Russo. Joann’s going to text her picture around. I’m gonna drop by the house, hop in the shower, and head to the station.”

“You got it, Chief.”

Holbrook pulled up to his house and parked in the small gravel driveway. He searched for the correct key to open the front door when he realized he had handed his keys over to Joann. He opened the storm door and knocked on the door instead of ringing the doorbell, for fear of waking Robbie.

Lena answered, opening the door. Holbrook quickly entered.

“Is everything all right?” asked Lena.

“We have two missing persons, one an elderly lady, and a murder.”

“Oh my God.”

“I have to jump in the shower. I have a lot to do. I have to talk to the Mayor.”

“Dad!” shouted Robbie from the top of the stairs. He came bounding down, taking two steps at a time.

“I have to cancel Circus Faire,” continued Holbrook.

Robbie stopped in his tracks. “Why, Dad?” His disappointment was obvious.

“Jim, he was looking forward to going with you,” Lena reproved.

“What happened?” asked Robbie.

“Mario Russo’s elderly mother is missing.”

“Can’t Joann handle it?” asked Lena. “Your son’s been looking forward to spending some time with you.”

Holbrook looked her in the eye. “Lena, Billy Blake is dead.”

This took the wind out of her sails. There was a brief moment, a quick micro-expression of shock and something else, and then it was gone, wiped clean like footprints in the sand by the surf. Their marital scar was tingling. “Jesus. Where? How? Who would do such a thing?”

Holbrook began to strip off his clothes. “C’mon, Lena, is it that hard to imagine? The man’s a…” He saw Robbie watching their tense exchange, listening. “Robbie, why don’t you watch a little TV?”

“Okay, Dad.” He hesitated, giving his parents one last look as if to make sure he wasn’t going to missing anything.

“Now, Robbie,” pressed Lena.

Robbie disappeared into the living room, and Holbrook waited until he heard the TV blaring before he continued. “Right in front of his store. All messed up, too. Someone did a real number on him.”

“My God.”

“With this ‘superstorm’ coming, we have to prepare for the possibility of evacuation, and we gotta find Sophia Russo before then.”

“Who’s the other missing person?”

“One of those damned clowns. Probably wandering off drunk somewhere from the Ocean’s Gate. I expect he’ll turn up soon when he sobers up. I got his two buddies at the station right now.”

“Okay, go take your shower. Maybe you can carve out a little time with Robbie today, even if Circus Faire is going to be cancelled. He’s wanted to go on the go karts with you for some time now.”

Holbrook hesitated, as if he was mulling something over in his head. “Yeah, I think I can do something like that. In the meantime, pack us a few bags. If things are going to get rough and there’s going to be flooding, I want you two ready to vamoose.”

“I’ll call my mother up and tell her to prepare the guest room just in case.”

“Good idea.” He made to go upstairs when Lena grabbed him gently on his arm. He stopped and looked at her.

“Be careful.”

“I’ll be just fine.”

“There’s a killer out there now. This is more than drunk and disorderly, or the usual beach town stuff.”

“I know,” he said softly.

They looked each other in the eye, and an unspoken understanding passed between them, the kind that only occurred between a married couple with history. They had certainly put the years in. At that moment, neither had to say ‘I love you’ to the other.

Holbrook climbed the stairs, entered the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Within minutes he was inside lathering up, washing away the grime of the night so that he could face the grime of the day. There was no time to shave, so when he finished and toweled off, he jumped into a new uniform and was back down the stairs.

“Robbie,” he called into the living room.

Robbie appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Dad.”

“I don’t think Circus Faire is going to happen, but we’ll do something this afternoon. I promise.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Come here and give me a hug.”

Robbie hugged his father. He then paused in the doorway, smiled sadly at his dad, and went back into the living room.

Holbrook felt like a real asshole. Summers were rough, and Lena and Robbie knew that from experience. It came with the job. Yet, more and more Holbrook found himself making promises he wasn’t able to keep.

But he’d keep this one.

If there was going to be an evacuation, this was his last chance to spend some time with his son before the shit hit the fan. Hell, he didn’t care if the Bay was going to fall to riots today. He promised himself he was going to spend a good, solid hour with his son, just the two of them.

Lena came from the kitchen and handed him a travel mug full of hot coffee.

“Bless you,” he said. He kissed her softly on her lips. It felt good.

“Be careful, Chief.”

“I’m always careful. Tell your mother I said hi.”

“Will do, chicky poo.”

Chapter 15

Mike Brunello brushed his teeth after a decent night of thankfully dreamless sleep. He felt somewhat refreshed and was looking forward to Circus Faire. He had already laid out his own clown outfit the night before, after digging it out of the closet. The getup only saw the light of day twice a year—for Circus Faire and Halloween.

He never dressed as anything frightening for Halloween because he didn’t want to chase the younger children at the arcade away. Mary loved his clown outfit. She always teased him about it.

‘Mike, you’re supposed to be something different for Halloween.’

He smiled to himself, lost in the memory. She loved the children, too, which only made Mike feel guilty about not having been able to give her any. Truth be told, they weren’t exactly sure whose physiology wasn’t cooperating. Mary was old-fashioned. She didn’t want to be poked, prodded, and tested, and she never pressured Mike to submit himself to modern medical science either.

‘It’s in God’s hands,’ she always used to say. ‘If he wants us to have children, He’ll give us children.’

She only went to the doctor when sick, which is why God claimed her before him, a bone he had to pick with God at the Pearly Gates. But not quite yet.

He chased the memories, the hurt, and the anger away from his mind, focusing on his preparations for Circus Faire. He had all winter to ruminate over several good bottles of Scotch.

He looked at his watch—7:23 a.m. He had to meet Vinnie for breakfast at around eight, so he had to get a move on. Mike had finished putting on his clown outfit, threw his makeup kit into a knapsack, and grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter when he had the eerie feeling he was being watched.

He looked around his silent, empty house, unable to shake the strange feeling. His eyes crossed the front windows when he thought he saw a shape through the Venetian blinds.

It looked as if someone was standing there, right up against the window.

Mike crossed the living room and pulled the blinds up, but there was no one there. Mike shook his head. Whenever he thought about Mary too much, she started to pop up everywhere.

His doctor said it was a normal part of grieving, particularly when you’d been married to the deceased for eons. He was so used to seeing her day-in and day-out that even when she was gone, his brain had him keep seeing her.

However, Mike was of the mindset that the dead should stay buried.

He pulled the blinds back down, grabbed his oversized horn, and left out the front door, locking the deadbolt behind him. It was a cooler day with an overcast sky, a welcome break in the heat wave, but a sign of the storm that was to come.

He walked down to the breakfast shop and saw Vinnie was already seated outside and looking at the menu. He slid into the booth, honking his horn, causing Vinnie to jump out of his skin.

“Jesus, Mike.”

“Woke you up, didn’t I?”

Vinnie just shook his head.

“Why are you even looking at the menu?” teased Mike. “You always get the same thing anyway. So, is Dharma dressing up for the parade?”

“Yeah, she’s marching, full makeup and all.”

Mike smiled. “I always knew she had an affinity for clowns. I mean, she’s with you.”

“Ha, ha. You’re a real joker.” Vinnie’s face became grave. “Did you hear about Mario Russo’s mom?”

“No, what happened?”

“She ran away from home last night. The police are looking all over the Bay for her.”

“That’s terrible,” said Mike.

The waitress came over. “What’ll you have?”

“I’ll have a pepperoni omelet with home fries,” said Vinnie, “and a cup of coffee, please.”

“Ah, shaking things up, are we?” said Mike. “I’ll have a bran muffin and a cup of coffee, sweetheart. Are you taking Bianca to Circus Faire?”

The waitress smiled. “Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t miss it. She loves the dancing baby circus bears.”

“How old is she now?”

“Eight.”

“Man alive, I’m getting old. I remember when you were showing me baby pictures.”

The waitress smiled. “Yeah, well, time flies. Coffee coming right up.”

“Thank you, dear.”

They watched her walk away, and Vinnie continued where he left off. “Yeah, she ran away in the middle of the night.”

“Kids and teenagers run away,” said Mike. “Old ladies don’t run away. They elope.”

“Yeah, well, word has it that she paid a visit to the Ocean’s Gate and caused quite the disturbance over there, throwing up blood on some drunken clowns.”

Behind Vinnie, across the street, a diminutive figure shambled down the sidewalk. It was an old woman covered in dirt and grime. She looked like a homeless person.

“That’s disgusting, Vin.”

“But it’s true.”

“Poor thing must be sick. I hope they find her so they can help her.”

The waitress returned with their two coffees. “Are you two talking about poor Sophia Russo?”

Across the street the old woman saw one of the Bay’s many feral cats sitting at the edge of the boardwalk, licking its paws. The old woman took notice and started to lurch toward the edge where it sat.

“What am I, the only one who hasn’t heard about this?” said Mike.

“The cops were all over my block,” said Vinnie. “This psychologist who lives across the street from them said she treated Sophia Russo when she was at a nursing home.”

“I don’t know why they ever took her home,” said the waitress, snapping her gum. “They should’ve left her there.”

The cat across the street picked up on the stench emanating off the old woman and arched its back.

A jogger passed the old woman. She swiped at him as he passed, but he had his earbuds in and was ‘in the zone,’ so he didn’t take any notice.

The cat backed away from the edge of the boardwalk, hissing and spitting at the dingy old woman as the old crone threw herself against the side edge, reaching out with her arms.

“It’s not an easy thing leaving someone in one of those places,” said Mike. “I had to leave Mary in one of those homes in the end, because I couldn’t take care of her any more. It was horrible, seeing her slowly waste away. I wanted to take her home, but I was so messed up I was hardly able to take care of myself.”

The waitress saw Mike’s pensive expression and was sorry she interjected. “I’ll go check on your orders,” she said awkwardly and scurried off.

“Well, anyway, they’d better find her before this big storm comes,” said Mike.

“Yeah, they’re talking about hurricane force winds,” said Vinnie, “and if the two fronts combine, a surge of water causing flooding all up and down the shore, Long Island, and even up as far as Newport.”

“That’s a big storm,” said Mike.

“Slow moving, too. It’s supposed to drop down and sit for a while.”

Mike looked over Vinnie’s shoulder and saw the shape disappear under the boardwalk. Damned kids. Or maybe it was one of those guys with a metal detector in search of treasure. “Well, I’m going to drop by the Russo’s to see how they’re doing.”

“I hope they find her,” said Vinnie.

“I’m sure she’s around,” said Mike. “It’s a small island.”

* * *

Officers Pike and Campbell took written statements from the two clowns from the Ocean’s Gate. One of them, Sean, looked a bit green around the gills.

“You don’t look so good,” said Joann. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t feel so good,” said Sean. “I’ve got this weird taste in my mouth. Can’t get rid of it.” He spit on the floor.

“That’s attractive,” said Joann.

Pete looked up from his pad and pen and elbowed his sallow friend. “C’mon, man. We’re in enough trouble as is.”

Sean looked at his friend, his eyes baggy with dark shadows under them, and bared his teeth. “We wouldn’t be in this trouble if you hadn’t decided to call up an escort service. Man.”

Pete’s eyes bulged, and his face drained of all its color. “He’s tired. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Uh huh,” said Pike. “I’m sure.”

“Too bad Mindy doesn’t know,” said Sean with a shit-eating grin. “Poor girl. Someone should tell her.”

“All right, that’s enough,” said Joann sternly.

“Shut up,” said Pete.

“Whoring is a dirty habit. Swimming in dirty waters.”

“Shut up, Sean.”

Normally a sharp rebuke from Pete was all it took to silence Sean, but Sean wasn’t having it any longer. “Officer, I’ll tell you everything. My conscience can no longer bear this horrible burden.”

“Shut up, Sean.”

“Do you wish to amend your statement?” asked Joann.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” said Pete, desperate. “Look, there’s something wrong with him.”

Sean looked at his friend, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve been swimming in dirty waters. Tell the pretty young officer all about it.”

“Screw you, Sean.”

Sean stood, snatched the pen from Pete’s hand, and drove it down into Pete’s leg.

Pete grabbed his leg, jumped up, and screamed in pain.

Sean’s face in clown makeup twisted in hatred. “No, screw you, Pete.” He started laughing raucously. It had a nasty, snarling quality to it, and the fact that it was coming out of a disheveled clown was a bit disconcerting.

Pike grabbed Sean and guided him away from Pete, who was moaning as he clutched his leg. Blood oozed up and stained his clown pants. Joann ran to grab a pair of rubber gloves.

Sean’s eyes were feral as he laughed in Pike’s face.

“Okay, that’ll be enough of that,” said Pike, restraining the clown as he reached down for his plastic handcuffs. Suddenly, Sean stopped laughing and looked down.

Pike’s eyes followed, and he saw a dark wet spot grow in Sean’s groin area. “Aw, gross.” He turned Sean around and bound his wrists with the plastic tie.

“Get him in the holding pen,” said Joann. “I’ll call an ambulance to have him transferred to the ER to stabilize him.”

Pike nodded and guided Sean down to the holding cells as Joann popped a squat to have a look at Pete’s leg.

“Why would you do that, you stupid fuck?” Pete shouted at Sean’s back.

Sean allowed himself to be led into a cell. Pike pushed him in and closed the door shut, leaving him handcuffed.

“Why don’t you have a seat and chill out?” Pike said.

However, Sean just stood there, hands behind his back, grinning from ear to ear. His face was sweaty under the thick makeup, and his eyes had dark shadows under them.

“We’re going to get you some help,” reassured Pike.

“Poor Pete, doesn’t have ol’ Sean to push around anymore.”

“We’re going to transport you to the hospital,” continued Pike, ignoring Sean’s comment.

Sean looked at Pike and stuck his tongue all the way out of his mouth. Then he closed his mouth, biting down hard on the tongue, clenching his jaw with all of his might.

“There’s something wrong with that man,” said a guy in the next cell arrested for being drunk and disorderly last night.

“Stop that,” said Pike. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Sean only grinned, sawing his bottom teeth back and forth until syrupy blood began to well up from his mouth.

“Jesus,” said Pike. He grabbed his keys and opened the cell as Sean bit down hard, his jaw working back and forth.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” said the other prisoner.

As Pike swung the cell door open, half of Sean’s tongue dropped to the floor and began squirming on its own accord like a slug.

“Oh, hell no!” shouted the other prisoner.

Pike jumped back. “Holy shit.” He looked up at Sean, who was smiling as blood dripped down his chin and over the dried stains of blood and bile from the night prior. He began to laugh again, the blood bubbling out of his mouth, spraying in front of him as Pike backed out of the cell.

Sean lowered his head and began to charge Officer Pike. Pike tried to slam the cell door shut, but Sean got his head through, and he was spitting blood and laughing like a lunatic, his words slurred through the gurgling of blood and saliva. “Dirty waters! I’ve been swimming in dirty waters! Come in, the water’s nice!”

Pike backed away and reached for his Taser as Sean squirmed his way through the cell door, pushing it open with his body.

Pike pressed the trigger, hitting Sean square in the chest, pumping 50,000 volts into the demented clown. Sean’s body constricted as the electricity flowed through his body, and he dropped to the ground, face planting into the concrete, blood pooling under his face.

“You all right, man?” asked the man in the next cell, his back to the farthest side of the cell.

“Yeah,” said Pike, his heart still beating out of his chest. “Stay on the other side until we move him.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” said the man. “Fucking clowns. I saw a group of them follow Billy Blake out of the Jolly Roger last night. Probably jumped his ass.”

* * *

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” said Mayor McDonald. “Someone killed Billy Blake?”

“That’s right,” said Holbrook, “and we’ve got two missing persons.”

“The clown and Sophia Russo.”

“That’s right.”

“The clown will pop up again once he’s sobered up, and I’m sure your officers will find Sophia Russo.”

“The thing is, the storm’s coming, and we’ve got to prepare for the possibility of flooding. I’d like to find Sophia Russo before the storm makes landfall.”

“So, what are you trying to say?” asked Mayor McDonald.

“I’m trying to say that we’re going to need all the resources we can use. I think we should cancel Circus Faire.”

Mayor McDonald chortled. “Cancel Circus Faire. Are you kidding? The Smuggler’s Bay Small Business Association will have my guts for garters if I authorize that, not to mention the Town Council.”

“Chris,” pleaded Holbrook, “I need every able body I’ve got.”

The Mayor waved a dismissive hand. “You can investigate Billy Blake’s murder afterwards. I think finding Sophia Russo should be the priority.”

“And what about the storm?”

“The various models say there’s only a five percent or less chance that the two storm fronts will merge. I’m not financially handicapping the boardwalk businesses for a snowball’s chance in hell. The economy is still in the toilet, and those small businesses need all the revenue they can get their hands on.”

“But, I’m going to need all hands on deck. Policing the parade is a task in itself.”

“Jim, all of the clowns who got plastered last night and raised hell are sobering up. With the storm coming, they’ll be scurrying out of the Bay like cockroaches by tonight.”

“What about storm preparation? We’ll need sandbags for the small businesses. We may need to evacuate.”

“Not likely, and if you do, you’ll worry about that tomorrow. Right now you need to find Sophia Russo.”

Holbrook shook his head. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the Mayor. “I’m going to have to use some overtime.”

“For what, Jim? It’s a small island. You’ll find her.”

“What about the State Police?”

“By the time they mobilize, trust me, you’ll already have found her. Use the auxiliary police. They’re volunteers.”

“So now you’re saying I can’t use overtime?”

“Jim, you’re panicking for nothing. This isn’t like you. You’re normally one cool customer.”

The back-handed compliment only stoked Holbrook’s already rising temper. “Chris, if we don’t find Sophia Russo before this storm hits, it’s going to be real bad press for the Bay. The Russo’s will file a lawsuit.”

The Mayor’s eyes widened. Now Holbrook was speaking his language. “So why are you wasting time here arguing with me? Get out there and find her. I hold you personally responsible.”

That was it. Holbrook really wanted to give McDonald a piece of his mind, but the jerk was right. There wasn’t time to waste.

“Now if you don’t mind,” said the Mayor, “I have to get ready for the parade. I know you’ll get the job done, Jim. You always do.”

Holbrook replaced his hat.

“One more thing, Jim.”

Holbrook waited.

Mayor McDonald sighed and sucked his teeth. “I’m sure you have an alibi for last night when Billy Blake was murdered.”

“Of course I do. I was at home with my wife. All night.”

The Mayor held up his hands defensively. “There’s no need to get sore about it, Jim. I have to ask, and you know damned well why.”

Holbrook shrugged. “Well, now that you mention it, my wife didn’t have eyes on me all night. She did fall asleep. I guess I could’ve snuck out and killed Billy Blake, but there’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d have had to get on a long line that would’ve stretched down the boardwalk.”

McDonald frowned, disapproving of Holbrook’s poor taste in jokes, but he didn’t argue the point. Hell, he figured there weren’t many in Smuggler’s Bay who would’ve argued the point.

Holbrook nodded and stormed out of the Mayor’s office. Arrogant son-of-a-bitch. But there was no time for any of that. There was too much to do, and time was running out.

When Holbrook reached the station, he saw two ambulances out front, and the two clowns from the Ocean’s Gate Motel were being loaded into each. Joann stood by the front door with her plastic gloves still on.

Holbrook waved to her, and she waited for him.

“What the hell happened here?”

“The one clown went berserk and plunged a pen into the other clown’s leg. When Pike put him in a cell to cool off, he bit the end of his own tongue off and attacked Pike, who had to Taser him.”

“Is Pike okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s cleaning the cell up. There’s blood everywhere, and…”

“Yeah? What?”

“The tongue’s still moving.” She turned to go inside, and Holbrook held the door for her. “That’s not the only thing,” she continued.

“Oh yeah?”

Joann walked side-by-side with Holbrook through the station. “The drunk in the next cell, as it turns out, knows something about what might’ve happened to Billy Blake last night.”

Holbrook led her to his office and held the door open for her. Joann entered and sat in front of his desk. Holbrook closed the door behind him, rounded his desk, and took a seat. “So what does this guy know?”

“He said he saw Billy get into it with a bunch of clowns, out-of-towners. Billy left the bar to cool off, and they followed him.”

There was a knock on the office door. It was Lawson. Holbrook waved him in. He slipped into the office and closed the door behind him.

“What is it?” Holbrook asked.

“I interviewed the bartender at the Jolly Roger who was on last night. She saw Billy with Johnny Wong shooting pool. Billy got into a dust-up with one of the clowns and stormed out. The clown rounded up a posse and they left the bar in a hurry.”

Holbrook regarded Lawson with a quizzical expression. “Why are you talking like a cowboy?”

Lawson looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Continue.”

“I talked to Johnny, and his version matched. He said when he saw the clowns following Billy, he ran outside, but no one was there.”

“Interesting.”

“There’s something else,” said Lawson. “The bartender said Billy was having a beer or two with Marie Russo.”

“Marie Russo? That’s weird.”

“The bartender thought so, too. It gets even more interesting. They seemed to be having a friendly conversation, flirty even, when Marie excused herself to go to the restroom. Billy followed, and they were gone for a bit. Then, Marie stormed out in a huff.”

Holbrook shook his head. “He probably made a pass at her. I wouldn’t make much of it. I’m more interested in the posse of clowns.” Holbrook was playing with a pen, lost in thought. “More clowns. I’ve had it up to here with clowns. In any event, we have to put the Billy Blake murder investigation on hold.”

Joann pursed her lips. “How’d your meeting with the Mayor go?”

“He wants us to focus on finding Sophia Russo, and I agree. Joann, I need you to mobilize the auxiliary. They can help with crowd control at the parade and help with the search. Any word on the missing clown?”

“Not yet, Chief,” said Lawson.

Breslin knocked at the door. Holbrook saw her through the window and waved her in. “Great. More good news.”

“We got a call from Alice Krueger from the Ocean’s Gate.”

“Great,” huffed Holbrook. “Tell her she’ll have to wait to go after those clowns for the damages to her rooms.”

Breslin shook her head. “No, she said her son, Lenny, said he saw what happened last night.”

Holbrook dropped his pen on the desk. “You mean with our two clowns?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Go check it out.”

“Jim,” said Joann, “I think I should be the one to go.”

Holbrook shook his head. “Negative. I need you to mobilize the auxiliary.”

Joann put her hand on Jim’s desk as if to impress the importance of her point. “Lenny Krueger is tough to understand, and he probably won’t open up to Anne. He’s got a little crush on me. I think I can get him to talk. Jim, if we want Sophia Russo found, we need every lead we can get.”

Holbrook considered this for a moment. “Good. You do that. Lawson, brief the auxiliary on our missing person situation, and get them out there canvassing the town.”

“Yes, Chief.” Lawson bolted out of the office with his instructions.

Joann smiled and left to head off to the Ocean’s Gate. Breslin stood there awaiting her instructions.

“Okay, Breslin. You’re going to be handing out sandbags on the boardwalk to homeowners and business owners. I’ll get cooking on evacuation protocol.”

“Got it, Chief.”

She left the office, and Holbrook picked up his phone. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Linda MacAteer curled up on her suede designer couch in her air conditioned condominium with a good cozy mystery when her phone rang. She looked above her spectacles at the phone in rebuke and waited for it to go to voicemail. When all was silent again, she continued to read her book.

Then her cell phone started ringing.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. On a Saturday!” She reached out, picked it up, and answered the call. “What is it, Alan?”

“I-I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t do it.”

“Calm down, Alan,” she said in a severe tone, like a mother scolding a child. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything’s not okay. I just can’t do this anymore. I’m resigning.”

“What do you mean you’re resigning? Alan, what’s wrong.”

“Everything’s wrong. What we’re doing on the dementia unit is wrong. We need to report this to the CDC.”

Annoyed at the openness with which Yost was speaking about this, MacAteer quickly checked the number he was calling from. She was relieved to see that he was in his office and not on the unit. “Alan, you wait right there. I’m coming. We’ll talk about this. If you’re uncomfortable, I’m sure we can work it out,” she lied.

There was a pause.

“Alan?”

“Yeah, I heard you. Hurry up. I’ll wait.”

“I’ll be over in fifteen minutes. I’m leaving now.”

“Okay. I’m in my office. I’ll wait.” He hung up the phone.

That pussy. So there was a limit to Alan Yost’s moral flexibility. Apparently, the kickback he was receiving wasn’t enough.

MacAteer got up, tossing her book aside and losing her place in her haste. She grabbed her keys off her white marble landing pad by her front door and dashed out to her car. She looked up at the overcast sky and felt the electricity in the air.

A storm was brewing.

When she dashed through the front doors of the nursing home, she didn’t even acknowledge the security guard. She made a beeline for the elevator, got off on the sixth floor, and pounded on her Assistant Director of Nursing’s door.

When he answered the door, she pushed her way past him and into the office.

Yost slowly closed the door and turned to face his boss. “Linda, we have to talk.”

“This better be good, considering it’s Saturday, and I’m sick of being here. What is it?” she demanded.

Yost picked a piece of paper off of his desk and handed it to her.

She snatched it from his hands and quickly read it.

She threw the paper back at him. “I can’t accept this.”

“You have no choice.”

“What’s the problem? Everything’s going fine. It’s all under control.”

“No, it isn’t. People are getting hurt. This is a potential disaster—we’re talking possible epidemic here—not to mention Medicaid fraud.”

MacAteer’s eyes narrowed. “Why the sudden cold feet? Why now?”

“I just feel like we’re going to get caught at some point. The staff is going to notice something different. For crying out loud, we have almost an entire locked unit filled with residents with no vitals.”

“No one’s noticing anything, Alan. It’s all in your imagination. You’re getting paranoid.”

“Linda, we’re up for survey any week now.”

“Please. You know the State never looks too closely at the locked unit. They know they can’t interview severely demented residents. As long as the documentation is in order, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Yost looked down at his feet, as if in shame. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Take a damned sleep aid. We’ve got plenty around here.”

“Mr. Russo called Renee.”

MacAteer’s lip curled up in a snarl. “What did he want? His mother’s not our problem anymore.”

Yost sat on his desk and stared into space, his eyes wide with terror. “Sophia Russo eloped. The police are looking for her.”

“Once again, Alan, it’s not our problem. The minute he signed her out, she became his liability. Why did he call Renee, anyway?”

“When she’s found, he wants to bring her back.”

MacAteer was beginning to lose what modicum of patience she had left. “So, when they find her, they can go through the admissions office, and we’ll be glad to have her back after she’s evaluated at the hospital. I don’t see why this has you so spooked.”

Yost looked MacAteer dead in the eye. “Mr. Russo said she’d been behaving erratically. He said she was saying some very inappropriate things in front of the children and then vomited blood everywhere. She had a fever.”

MacAteer’s blood went cold. Now she got it.

She pointed an accusatory finger at Yost. “I thought you said she wasn’t bitten.”

“I didn’t think she was. I examined her myself. Sophia Russo, herself, denied being bitten.”

“That woman’s a pain in the ass. Maybe she lied.”

“I didn’t see a thing. No bite marks. She only had a cut from falling down.”

“Well, I guess we now know what your examinations are worth, don’t we?”

“Linda, she’s wandering around Smuggler’s Bay.”

“She’s an old lady. She’s not going to have the strength to bite anyone.”

“We don’t know that. What if she cuts herself and bleeds on someone?”

“The police will find her,” said MacAteer. “It’s a small island.”

“And then what? She’ll be sent to the ER, placing everyone there at risk. Linda, we have to tell someone.”

MacAteer closed in on Yost, looming over him. “Are you crazy? We’ll both go to jail.”

“Linda, people will die. We don’t have to talk about how we’ve been billing Medicaid all this time for these beds—we can gloss over that—but we have to tell someone about the disease.”

“We’re not going to tell anyone anything.”

“Well, then I’m going to tell the authorities that it was all your idea. It’s your neck, Linda. The buck ultimately stops with you.”

She saw the panicked look in his eyes and backed off a moment. She turned around, facing away from him. “Let’s just both calm down. I’m sure there’s a solution.”

Yost stood. “I resign. There won’t be any notice.”

MacAteer wheeled around, turning on him. “Resigning doesn’t absolve you, Alan.”

“I can’t live with causing the deadliest epidemic since Ebola with a disease we don’t understand. I’m going to the CDC with this. Do whatever you have to do. I’ve made my peace with this.”

“And what about your kickbacks, Alan?”

“I don’t care about that anymore. It’s gone too far. Goodbye, Linda.”

He reached out, gently moved her aside, and he left his office.

MacAteer stood there, alone in Yost’s office, her mind racing. That lousy bastard was going to implicate her in committing Medicaid fraud, not to mention endangering the lives of countless staff and other residents.

Her mind grasped at straws in frantic desperation to find a way out, but all she could think of was that sniveling jerk, Yost. He was going to cost her everything. If he wanted to go down, fine, but there was no way she was going to allow him to take her with him.

She wanted to hurt him. Badly.

Seeing red, MacAteer stormed out of his office, rounded the corner, and shoved her way past a medication nurse behind the nurses’ station. She threw open the supply closet and started rifling through boxes until she found the needles.

She grabbed one, ripped off the plastic wrapping, and shoved her way past the startled medication nurse again. She rounded the corner, passed Yost’s office, and punched in the security code to the electric lock for the dementia unit.

She flung open the door, marched into the closest room, flicked the plastic cap off the syringe with her thumb, and plunged it into the arm of an undead resident.

It looked up at her with its glazed raccoon eyes and grinned wickedly as it reached out for her.

MacAteer easily slapped its hands away as she withdrew blood. The resident attempted to sit up, but MacAteer shoved it back down and fled the room.

She punched in the security code from the inside and let herself out, not even waiting for the electronic lock to re-engage. She entered the stairwell, taking two steps at a time, and burst into the lobby. She barreled past the security guard, syringe tucked behind her back, and raced into the parking lot.

Yost was opening the door to his car.

“Alan! Wait!” she called out.

He turned and saw her, and the expression on his face turned quickly to annoyance. What now?

Yost stood there, car door ajar, as he waited for her to cross the parking lot. She was drenched with sweat, and her eyes were wild. She stopped right in front of him.

Yost shook his head. “Listen, I’ve already said all I’m going to say.”

MacAteer whipped her hand from around her back and plunged the syringe right into his shoulder.

His eyes widened, and his mouth flew open. “What the fuck?”

MacAteer depressed the plunger, sending the tainted blood into Yost. He gasped as it quickly dawned on him what she had done.

She had just handed down a death sentence.

Yost jerked away and grabbed his arm as blood stained the sleeve of his white dress shirt. “What have you done?” he gasped. “I have a wife and two children!”

MacAteer said nothing. She just glared at him with savage eyes, her hair wild, her face dripping with sweat and twisted in rage. To Yost, she looked like one of the monsters in the locked dementia unit.

“Use what little time you have left on this Earth wisely, Alan.”

Chapter 16

Mike Brunello walked up the Russo’s front path and rang the doorbell. He heard loud voices and rapid footsteps on the other side.

The door flung open, and Marie answered the door, looking hopeful. When she saw it was Mike, she looked disappointed.

“Who is it?” yelled Mario from inside the house.

“It’s Mike Brunello,” shouted Marie over her shoulder. She opened the storm door. “Hi, Mike.”

“Marie, I just heard. I’m so sorry.”

Marie smiled musingly. “We thought that maybe you were the police with news about Mama Sophia. Come in. Maybe you can calm Mario down. He’s beside himself.”

She stepped out of the way, and Mike entered the house. “Well, that’s understandable given the circumstances.”

“Mario, Mike’s here.”

Mike stepped into the living room. Mario had just gotten off of the couch. The television was on, and there was a radar image of a giant, swirling storm front about as tall as the eastern seaboard, just off shore.

“Mike, how are you?” said Mario, clapping a hand on Mike’s shoulder.

“I’m okay. I was wondering how you were doing? I just heard from Vinnie Cantone.”

“Mike, I should’ve never taken her home. Never. It was a big mistake.” Mario’s face scrunched as he spoke. He struggled to hold back tears.

“He’s been like this all morning,” said Marie, exasperated. “Maybe there’s something you can tell him to calm him down. His heart can’t take this.”

Mike put his hand on Mario’s shoulder. “Mario, hindsight’s twenty-twenty. There was no way you could’ve known.”

“I-I had to get her out of that place. She wasn’t being treated right.”

“I know how you feel. You remember I had to put Mary in one of those places. I feel guilty to this very day that she didn’t pass on in her home with me. It’s a luxury for someone to die in their own home.” Mike saw Salvatore and Alessandra peeking at him from the kitchen, so he decided to change the topic.

“I’m sure the police are doing their best to find her as we speak.”

“The Chief was here this morning,” said Marie. “He’s a nice man. A good man.”

“Yes, he is,” agreed Mike. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Marie hugged Mike. “You’re such a good friend. You’re always checking up on us. I wish there were more people in the Bay like you.”

Mike blushed. “Oh, there’re still plenty of good people here. We’re a small community, but a tightly-knit one, I think.”

Marie gestured to the children. “Why don’t you guys come and say hi to Mike and thank him for bringing that delicious pizza over.”

Mike put up his hands in a ‘wait-a-minute’ posture. “Vinnie sent the pizza. I was just the delivery boy.”

Salvatore and Alessandra entered the living room.

“Hi, Mr. Brunello.”

“Hi, Alessandra. Hi, Salvatore.”

“Hi.”

“You did thank Vinnie for the pie,” said Marie.

“Yes, I did,” said Mike. “He said it was his pleasure.”

“He’s a good kid, that Vinnie Cantone,” said Mario, eyes welling up. “Just like his dad.”

“So how are you two doing?” Mike asked the children.

“Worried about Nana,” said Alessandra.

“These poor kids have been going stir crazy in this house,” explained Marie, “and now they’re going to miss Circus Faire.”

“Marie, their Nana’s missing,” said Mario. “I think Circus Faire takes a backseat.”

“Well, I have an idea,” said Mike. “How about I bring them to work with me at Blackbeard’s? The whole place is done-up for Halloween. They can help me set up for the Faire. I even think I have enough clown makeup for the both of them.”

The kids looked at each other excitedly and started jumping up and down. “Can we, Mommy? Can we, please?”

“Great,” said Mario. “They’re Nana’s missing, and all they want to do is have fun.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Mario,” rebuked Marie. “They’re kids. They don’t fully understand what’s happening.”

“If I take them, it’ll get them out, take their minds off of it. They can’t help anyway, and it’s no good for young children to be around all of this anyway.” Mike smiled. “Plus, I think I can score them some free rides on the carousel.”

The kids started jumping up and down again, cheering.

Marie put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Mario, it’ll do them some good to get out. It’ll be one less thing for us to worry about while we look for Mama Sophia.”

“Oh, all right,” said Mario. “Marie, give them some money for pizza.”

“Oh, I’ve got it,” said Mike.

“No,” insisted Marie as she grabbed her purse in the kitchen. “You’re doing enough to help, and we certainly appreciate it.”

“Yay!! We’re going to Circus Faire!” shouted the children.

Marie handed Mike forty dollars. “This should do it. Thank you again. You’ve done so much to help us.”

“Don’t mention it. All right, kids, are you ready to go?”

“Yay!” They ran to the front door to get their shoes.

“Please, call us if you need any help,” said Marie, “or if you get tired of them and need a break.”

“Not likely,” said Mike. “Hopefully they don’t get tired of me.”

Marie looked at her children waiting anxiously by the front door. “Not likely.”

* * *

Lenny Krueger waited by the pool, taking a break from collecting used towels for the laundry, when his mother walked over with Joann. When he saw them, he perked up immediately and ran a hand through his hair to straighten it.

Alice opened the gate and let Joann through. Lenny dropped a wet towel into the receptacle and met them halfway.

“Lenny,” said Alice, “Officer Campbell would like to talk to you about what you saw last night.”

Lenny extended his hand, beaming. “Hi, Officer Joann!”

Joann took it and returned the smile. “Hi, Lenny.”

Alice tentatively eyed the two of them for a moment. “Let’s not do this by the pool in front of all the guests.”

“Good idea,” said Joann. “Where can Lenny and I talk?”

“Follow me,” said Alice.

She took them to the motel pub, which hadn’t opened yet. She unlocked the door and pulled out two stools. “Will this be all right?”

“Perfect,” said Joann.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your talk,” said Alice. “Lenny, make sure you answer Officer Campbell’s questions honestly. Just tell her what you saw.”

Lenny gave her a thumbs up. “Okie dokie.”

Alice left them alone. They each sat in a bar stool.

“So, Lenny, how are you?”

He smiled. “Fine. You look very nice today, Officer Joann.”

Her smile was genuine. Lenny was always such a gentleman, doling out compliments without any ulterior motive of getting in her pants. She wished there were more men like Lenny out there.

“Thank you, Lenny. You’re looking good yourself.”

He puffed out his chest in bravado, a gesture that made Joann smile even wider.

“Lenny, I need your help with something.”

His expression suddenly became serious. Lenny liked to think of himself as a helpful person. It was the way his mother raised him. However, this was Officer Joann, so he was definitely all ears. “Wh-wh-what can I do to help?”

“Lenny, your mother tells me you saw something last night, in the back building, sometime past midnight.”

Lenny shook his head.

“Oh, you didn’t?”

“Not in the back building,” he explained. “In the parking lot.”

“Oh, I see. What did you see?”

“I was up late…watching TV…” he looked down at the floor sheepishly, as if he had gotten into trouble with his mother for revealing that little nugget. Then he recovered. “…and I heard a man and a girl yelling.”

“Wow. At that time of night? What were they saying? Were you able to hear what they said?”

Lenny swallowed hard. “The girl was yelling ‘Laquan! Laquan!’”

“Laquan?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, so then what happened?”

“I-I-I looked out my front door, and a car drove really fast, away. Then I saw a woman walking in the parking lot. She tripped and fell.”

“Oh, my. Was she okay?”

“I left my room, and I went over to her, to help her.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, Lenny.”

“S-s-she was covered in blood. All over her clothes. What a mess!”

“Oh my goodness. Was she hurt?”

“She-she screamed at me. Loud. Then she tried to bite me.”

“She tried to bite you?”

“Yes. I asked her not to do that, but she kept trying to bite me.” Lenny looked down at the floor again. “I pushed her down.”

Joann put her hand on Lenny’s shoulder. “Lenny, don’t feel bad. She was trying to bite you. She was a sick woman.”

Lenny looked up with puppy dog eyes that just melted Joann’s heart. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. S-s-she scared me. She was m-m-mean.”

“It’s okay, Lenny. So what happened next?”

“I ran back to my room and closed the door. I locked it. She came and banged on the door, but I didn’t open it. Then she went away.”

“Did you see where she went?”

“No. I was scared. I-I-I didn’t want to look out the window.”

Joann noticed that Lenny was really starting to stutter. He was still afraid.

“Lenny, what did this woman look like? Was she old or young?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Lenny, was she like my age, or more like your mother’s age?”

“Like my mom.”

“Was she short or tall?”

“S-s-short.”

“Skinny, fat, or medium?”

“Skinny. Or medium.”

Joann took out her phone and called up Sophia Russo’s picture on the screen. “Was this the woman?”

Lenny recoiled from the sight. “T-t-t-that’s h-h-her. She’s m-m-ean.”

Joann put her hand on his shoulder again. “Thank you, Lenny, You’ve been a big help. You did the right thing by going back to your room and locking the door.”

Lenny nodded.

“I have to go now. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes. I-I’m okay.”

“Good man. You’ve really helped me with my case.”

He sat up and smiled at this. “Any time, Officer Joann. You’re my special friend.”

“And you’re mine, Lenny. Are you going to Circus Faire?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you there.”

Joann patted him on the back and left the pub. She got on her radio. “Chief, you there? Come in. Over.”

Her radio crackled. “Chief, here.”

“Lenny Krueger positively identified Sophia Russo last night at the Ocean’s Gate, but he’s not sure where she went. She’s very sick. He said she was covered in blood and tried to bite him. Over.”

“Good, Joann. That should help her to be identified easier in a crowd. We’ve got auxiliary helping. Keep patrolling the boardwalk. Keep me posted. Over-and-out.”

“Okay, Chief. Over-and-out.”

Joann waved to Alice Krueger as she passed the front office. Alice came running out. “Was Lenny helpful?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Krueger. Very helpful. He saw the elderly missing person we’re looking for.”

“Is this Mario Russo’s mother?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Poor thing. Lenny said she was covered in blood. Tried to bite him.”

Joann nodded. “She’s very sick. We need to find her so we can get her treated.”

“Well, I hope you find her. If I see her, I’ll call you guys right away.”

Joann smiled. “Thanks.”

As she headed back to the boardwalk, all she could think was that Sophia Russo must’ve had one hell of a urinary tract infection.

* * *

“I think we should be out driving around,” said Marie. “She’s out there somewhere, wandering around.” She felt really awful about the way things went down. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about the old hag, but she saw how this was tearing her husband apart.

“Marie, I think we should wait here. She’s going to come home. What if we’re driving around out there, and she comes back here? And there’s no one home?

“Why don’t you go out looking, and I’ll wait for her here?”

Marie shook her head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Mario. Not in your condition.”

“That’s exactly the point,” he said. “I can’t be out running around. It’s no good for me. I’ll wait here. I’ll be fine.”

She glowered at Mario. “You keep the phone by you. Just in case.”

“I will, Marie. Please find her.”

Marie looked at him for a moment. She grabbed her purse and pulled out her car keys. “Stay by the phone. I’ll be back later with lunch.”

“Chicken parm wedge?”

“Salad,” she corrected. “With grilled chicken on top.”

“Oh, c’mon, Marie. I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous I eat.”

She pointed a long red fingernail at him. “You remember what the doctor said. Do you want to end up in a nursing home because you have a stroke?”

Mario deflated, sulking like a kid who was refused his way by his mother. “My Ma would let me have one.”

“Well, if she comes back you could ask her to make you one.” Before Mario could reply, Marie was already out the door.

He waited until he heard her car turn over and pull away. He crept to the front door and peeked out the window. All clear.

He padded into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. He peered in, looking from shelf to shelf. Nothing but condiments and raw chicken. Dammit. Marie threw out all of the junk food. No leftover pasta, Veal Scallopini, or Soppressata.

He opened the kitchen cabinet and reached all the way to the back, behind the coffee mugs. Nothing. She even got his secret stash of potato chips.

Mario laughed to himself. Of course she did. She knew the kitchen better than he did. This was what he got for avoiding the kitchen like the plague.

Shame on him. His Ma taught him how to cook. His Ma…

His anxiety stoked his hunger pangs, and his stomach felt like it was tied in a knot. Wait a minute. There was the peanut butter that she hid in the cabinet next to the stove, where she kept the coffee and tea.

He reached down, opened the lower cabinet between the stove and the sink, and pulled out the containers of coffee and boxes of tea. He pulled out a box of garbage bags and felt around.

Nothing.

Mario stood and looked around the kitchen, defeated. He looked at the clock. Eleven. He had an hour or so. He could fry up a piece of the raw chicken and eat it before Marie returned with the kids. There was so much confusion with his Ma missing that she’d never miss it.

He reached up to the cabinet above the stove and saw there was still olive oil and breadcrumbs. No tomato sauce. Desperate times called for desperate measures—ketchup would have to do.

He pulled down the breadcrumbs and olive oil and grabbed the ketchup out of the fridge. He laid out three plates. He took out a piece of chicken and placed it on the first plate. He cracked a couple of eggs on the second plate, and then he poured some bread crumbs on the third.

He pulled out a frying pan and put it on the stove. He poured a generous coating of olive oil and put it all over a medium flame.

He turned back to the plates, dipped the chicken cutlet into the egg, and then the bread crumbs, first one side, then the other.

He grabbed the breaded cutlet with his fingers and lowered it gingerly into the pan, where it began to sizzle. He looked up at the clock. Twelve after eleven. Plenty of time.

He grabbed the three plates and put them in the sink and washed his hands. He reached into the silverware drawer and pulled out a fork to turn the cutlet. He felt better already. It wasn’t going to be his best work, but it was better than salad with grilled chicken.

Then he heard a knock at the door.

A chill went down his spine. Shit. Did Marie come back already? Did she forget something?

Then another knock. Or was it more of a thud?

Mario turned the cutlet in the pan and laid the fork on the stove. He supposed he could throw it in the garbage, but then Marie would see the frying pan and the dishes in the sink before he had a chance to wash them.

He was resigned to the fact that he had to face the music. Marie would yell at him, and then she’d probably eat the cutlet herself. He’d yell at her for re-hiding the peanut butter and removing his secret stash of chips, and she’d yell how she could never trust him again.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Mario went to answer the door. He opened the front door and nearly had a coronary when he saw Mama Sophia standing there looking at him with dark eyes and dried, crusted blood down her chin and on her nightgown.

“Ma!”

He flung the storm door open so quickly, he knocked her down. “Oh, Ma! I’m so sorry!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Geez, Ma, are you all right?”

Before she could respond, he pulled her inside the house. He let go of her and ran into the kitchen. “I gotta call Marie! She went out looking for you!”

Mama Sophia lurched forward toward the kitchen, shuffling toward her son. He grabbed the land line and started to dial when he turned and saw her walking into the kitchen.

He hung up the phone. “My God! What’s wrong with me!” He laid the phone down on the counter. “You must be hungry! And thirsty!”

He ran over to her, grabbed her, and lowered her into a chair at the kitchen table. She grunted as her butt hit the seat.

“Sit here. I’ll get you something to drink.”

She reached out for him, but he ran to the cabinet and pulled out a glass. He held it under the ice dispenser built into the refrigerator door, filling it to the top with ice, and then ran to the kitchen sink. “I’m cooking some chicken. It’s all yours. You must be starved.”

Mama Sophia snapped her jaws while in her seat, and then struggled to stand.

He saw her try to get up. “Sit, Ma. Rest.” He ran the faucet until the water was cool, and then he filled the glass to the top. The ice clinked as he shuttled the glass to his mother. She swiped at him and growled.

“Poor Ma, you can’t even talk. Here.” He held up the glass to her lips as she leaned forward, and he tilted the glass, spilling water down her chin and into her lap.

“Oh, sorry, Ma.” He dashed back to the counter and snatched a couple of paper towels off the roll. He saw her trying to stand, so he placed his hand on her shoulder to keep her seated. “Here, let me clean you up.” He dabbed her chin and neck with the paper towels, which began to absorb the blood and bile. “Ew. Gross. Look at you. You’re a mess.”

The chicken cutlet, forgotten, sizzled behind him, burning on one side when Mama Sophia leaned forward and bit his hand. Hard.

Mario yanked his hand away. “Jesus, Ma! What did you do that for?”

She snarled at him, eyes wild with hunger.

“Now, listen. I know you’re upset. I know you must be angry with me, but you need to realize that I’ve been worried sick.”

Mama Sophia lunged at her son, swiping with jagged fingernails, catching Mario on his forearm. He cradled the scratch, stepping backward away from her. “Ma! What’s wrong with you?”

Mama Sophia turned her head up and made regurgitating motions, gurgling in her throat.

“You’re sick. That’s right. What am I doing? I need to get you to a doctor.”

Mario turned and grabbed the cordless phone off the countertop and dialed 9-1-1. The phone rang twice and an operator picked up. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

Suddenly, Mama Sophia let out a loud banshee wail that startled Mario. He dropped the phone on the tiled kitchen floor. “Jesus, Ma. What’s wrong?”

She got up and staggered over to where he stood and reached out her arms. Mario, confused, opened his arms to receive her embrace, only when she grabbed him, she sunk her teeth into his neck.

“Ahhhh!” He pushed her away, and she fell backward onto the kitchen table. He reached up and put his right hand on the wound on his neck. When he pulled it away, it was covered in blood.

“Fucking bitch!”

She was on her feet again, laughing, a horrible guttural sound, flashing teeth coated in a dark red syrup.

“Holy shit,” Mario gasped, and he picked up the phone off the ground. “Sir, are you there? What’s your emergency?”

“It’s my mother…she’s a fucking vampire!”

Mama Sophia hurtled toward him again, and he fended her off as best he could while still holding onto the phone.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“She’s trying to bite me! She’s attacking me!” He slapped her grimy hands away as she clawed at him. “I need an ambulance for my Ma!”

“Sir, can you get to a safe place?”

“Safe place? Where? I’m in my kitchen.”

Mama Sophia tripped over her own feet and fell to the floor, but she grabbed Mario’s leg on the way down, tugging on his shorts, pulling them down.

“Now she’s trying to pull my pants off!”

“What’s your address, sir?”

“Sixty-nine Neptune Ave! Sixty-nine Neptune!”

Mama Sophia got a grip on his naked calf and sank her teeth in.

“Ahhhhh!” Mario threw the phone down and stepped backward into the stove, shaking his leg, but Mama Sophia held on.

He turned and grabbed the frying pan off the stove and brought it down on her head, spilling hot olive oil everywhere, burning his legs.

“Ahhhh! Goddammit!”

Mama Sophia clung to his meaty calf like a rabid pit bull.

He took another swipe, missing her head and throwing himself off balance. Mario tripped over his Ma and fell face down on the floor, the frying pan cracking a kitchen tile from the impact.

Mama Sophia crawled on top of his back and sunk her teeth into his shoulder as he cried out in pain. Mario tried to reach back and swat her off, but he couldn’t reach.

Crying in pain and terror, he dragged himself along the kitchen floor, hoping she’d fall off, but she didn’t. She pulled a mouthful of flesh off his shoulder and started chomping on it loudly.

Mario rolled over on his back, crushing Mama Sophia under his weight, and he reached for the frying pan. She sunk her teeth into a fleshy part of his back, and he rolled off of her, but she clung to him like a hungry tick.

Mario and Mama Sophia both looked up as they heard the storm door open.

“Marie, help me!”

Marie dropped her purse on the floor when she saw Mama Sophia on top of her bleeding husband. Mama Sophia smiled impishly at her as she chewed on her son’s flesh and fat.

“You evil fucking bitch!”

Mama Sophia let out another shriek and made those regurgitating sounds as Mario lay helpless underneath her, bleeding out on the kitchen floor.

Marie reached into the entryway closet and pulled out a baseball bat kept there for intruders. She rushed Mama, bat raised high in the air. She brought it down, but Mama Sophia rolled off her son just in time. Marie ended up bringing the bat down on Mario, who wailed in pain.

“I’m sorry, honey!”

Mama Sophia lunged at Marie, her grubby hands grabbing at her legs. Marie recoiled, falling back into the stove. The back of her tee-shirt caught fire, and she started spinning around, swatting at the flame on her back.

Marie’s twirling caused Mama Sophia to fall to the floor, which bought Marie enough time to drop the bat and pull her shirt off. She threw it down on the tile and picked up her bat.

Mama Sophia was back on her feet and charging, but this time Marie swung and connected with the old woman’s skull.

Mama Sophia’s head hit the side of the stove, shattering the glass on the oven door. Mama Sophia tried to pull her head out, but her neck was hung up on jagged glass.

Marie brought the baseball bat down on her back again and again. “Die, fucking bitch! Die!”

The last blow tore Mama Sophia’s neck free as black, syrupy blood sprayed all over the oven and kitchen floor, but it didn’t slow her down.

Mama Sophia reached out for Marie, who hit her on the top of the head. Marie heard a crunch, but the old witch kept coming, snarling at her like an animal.

Marie grabbed the handle of one of the kitchen drawers and pulled it off the track and out, smacking Mama Sophia on the side of her face and spilling silverware and utensils all over the floor. Marie picked up a pair of salad tongs and beat Mama Sophia about her face with them, but it didn’t do much damage. She threw them to the floor and picked up a large metal ladle and swung at the old fiend, but also to no avail.

Marie opened one of the lower cabinet doors just as Mama Sophia lunged at her, blocking the attack. She reached inside, groping frantically at whatever was there.

She pulled out a cheese grater as Mama Sophia pushed the cabinet door shut again. This time Marie pounced on her, pressing down on her putrid face and grating back and forth, sheering off her mother-in-law’s lips as the old crone bit the metal.

Jagged nails and pointy fingertips probed at her rolls of belly fat as Marie pressed down, but she needed something better. She stood and reached for the largest knife in her set sitting in its butcher block holder on the counter.

Mama Sophia was back on her hands and knees. Marie backed away as Mama Sophia crawled after her, snapping her jaws like a piranha.

Marie gripped the black handle of her eight inch chef’s knife, dropped her knees to the hard tile, and plunged the large knife into the top of Mama Sophia’s head.

Mama Sophia went still and dropped, smashing her teeth on the hard tile. Marie hunched over, exhausted, and sighed deeply.

It was over.

The body began to twitch in a death rattle. Marie grabbed the black handle and twisted the knife. There was a wet sound, and Mama Sophia moved no more.

Marie sat with her back to the kitchen counter and looked at the prone body of her nemesis of so many years, and she started to chuckle. The feeling spread through her body quickly. The chuckle turned into a laugh, and the laugh became hysteria as she howled at the long-awaited demise of Mama Sophia.

Then she looked at her husband lying still on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood, and the laughter died down to half-hearted chuckles as it dawned on her that Mario was dead.

Suddenly, his head whipped around, eyes wild, and he began to crawl over to her, shrieking like a bird of prey. Fortunately, his body was big and clumsy, which made his attack slow. Marie reached out, pulled the knife out of Mama Sophia’s head, and sat back against the cabinet, waiting for her husband.

He crawled over Mama Sophia’s body, pulling it underneath him. He crawled over Marie’s legs, pushing himself up with his hands so he was face-to-face with her.

His breath was putrid, and he bared his teeth at her like an animal.

Marie put her left hand on the side of his head, caressing his hair. Then she grabbed a handful.

Her other hand came up with the knife, plunging it sideways into his temple, pushing his head into the knife with her left hand. She twisted the blade, and his lights went out.

The storm door opened and Marie heard someone yell, “Jesus Christ!”

Officers Pike and Lawson entered the blood-spattered kitchen with guns drawn, shouting for Marie to drop the knife. Marie let go of the handle as Officer Lawson pulled Mario’s body off of her.

“What happened?” asked Officer Pike, shocked by the scene in the kitchen. “What did you do?”

Marie didn’t answer. She just looked up at the two officers, exhausted and resigned to how the scene must’ve looked to them.

Lawson grabbed her by the wrist, turned her on her stomach, and began to cuff her behind her back.

“Marie Russo, you’re under arrest for the murders of Sophia and Mario Russo.”

* * *

Lenny Krueger dashed into the front office of the Ocean’s Gate to say goodbye to his mother. The Circus Faire parade was going to start in a half hour, and he didn’t want to be late.

Alice grabbed a tin box from under the counter and snatched a twenty dollar bill from it. She handed it to Lenny, who folded it neatly and inserted it into his pocket.

“Now don’t lose that,” instructed Alice. “That’s for food, not games. There’ll be plenty of free entertainment at the parade.”

“Yes, Mom. I know.”

“You go have a good time. Make sure you’re back for dinner. I’m making your favorite, mac-and-cheese.”

Lenny smiled. “Thanks, Mom.” He dashed out of the office and down the block on his way to the boardwalk, cape billowing in the breeze behind him. It was a cooler breeze than the Bay had felt of late, and it was a bit stronger as the atmosphere became progressively more unsettled, not that Lenny took much notice.

The circus was in town, and he was looking forward to seeing all of the clowns and the animals—dogs jumping through hoops and baby dancing bears.

Chapter 17

On the boardwalk, Vinnie took a break from the pizza shop and waited for Dharma. She was going to march in the parade as a clown, but there were tons of clowns all over the boardwalk, so recognizing her wouldn’t be easy.

A female clown with a red wig smiled at him and sauntered over, honking her horn. Vinnie smiled and met her half-way, throwing his arms around her. He kissed her softly.

“You look great,” he said, drinking her in from her rubber nose to her floppy shoes. “Where’d you get this outfit?”

She didn’t answer him. She only honked her horn.

“Ah, so now I’m getting the silent treatment,” Vinnie teased. He leaned in close. “I have ways of making you talk.” His hands slipped around her waist and one slid down to cup her ass.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” asked a voice from behind him.

Vinnie turned around to see another female clown. Uh-oh. “Dharma?”

“Uh, yeah. What’s the big idea, Vincenzo?”

Vinnie released the other clown from his embrace. “Who the hell are you?”

“GOTCHA!” yelled Dharma. “That’s just my friend, Lucy.”

“Just? What’s that supposed to mean?” quipped Lucy. “Your boyfriend didn’t seem too disappointed.”

“Uh…um…” Vinnie had no words.

“I told you I’d get you back,” said Dharma as she leaned in for a kiss.

“Now I’m confused,” said Vinnie. “How do I know which one is the real you? I mean how do I really know?”

“You mean you can’t tell by my kiss?” asked Dharma.

“I don’t know. Let me kiss each of you again.” He pretended to lean in for a kiss from Lucy when Dharma punched him in the gut.

“Ouch,” said Vinnie. “Love hurts.”

“So are you going to watch me march in the parade?” Dharma asked.

“You know I wouldn’t miss it. Mike’s marching, too.”

At Blackbeard’s Pier, Mike was putting the finishing touches on Salvatore’s and Alessandra’s clown makeup. “And…that…should just about do it. We march in the parade soon. Have you two ever marched in a parade before?”

They both shook their heads.

“Well, it’s real easy. You just put one foot in front of the other. Just like that.”

Randy smiled when he saw Mike and the two children in make-up. “You guys look great.”

“Thanks,” they said.

“Hey, did Nancy see you giving these two free rides all morning?”

“No,” said Mike, “and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“What don’t I know?” said an irritable voice from behind Randy.

“Nothing, Nancy,” said Mike. “I’m going to take the kids to line up for the parade.”

Nancy didn’t even acknowledge the children. “Well, come right back when the parade’s over. I’m not paying you to march in parades.”

“What a sense of community you have there, Nancy. Admit it, you miss me already.”

Nancy scowled at Mike, then Randy, and she left in a huff.

“I’m growing on her,” said Mike. “I can tell.”

“She’s not very nice, is she?” asked Salvatore.

“Oh, she’s not so bad,” said Mike. “You just have to get to know her.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Randy. “How long does that take?”

* * *

Alice Krueger arranged the paperwork in the binder for the next day’s reservations, while her sister Patricia checked someone in. While the man filled out the information for the parking tag, his wife looked at the brochures on the little table, and their two children watched the television set. A game show played, but it was television, which meant the children were deeply entranced.

There was a thud on the glass door, and Alice looked up. Her sister gasped when she saw it too. The two children screamed and ran to their mother, hiding behind her legs.

There was a clown covered in fake blood pressed up against the glass door. He pressed his face up against the glass, smearing red stuff all over it. He smiled, showing yellow teeth.

“It’s okay,” said the guest, Joseph Torres, looking up from filling out the paperwork. “It’s all part of Circus Faire.”

“Well, I think it’s in poor taste,” said his wife, holding the children close to her.

“Damned clowns!” Alice made as if to round the check-in counter when Patricia grabbed her by the arm.

“Alice, don’t.”

The clown put a hand up, palming the glass. It was missing fingers.

“Jesus,” gasped Patricia.

“That’s not funny!” shouted Alice. “You’re scaring the children!”

The clown cocked its head sideways, as if it was mocking Alice.

“Wait a minute,” she said, “that’s one of the clowns that trashed the rooms. The one that ran away.”

“What does he want?” asked Patricia.

“I know what I’m doing,” said Alice. “I’m calling the police.” She picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. “I’m calling the police!” she shouted at the bloody clown.

She nearly dropped the phone when the clown let out an other-worldly shriek against the glass.

“Mommy, I’m scared,” said the little girl.

“Me, too,” said the little boy. “Make him go away.”

Joseph dropped the pen and walked toward the door. “Okay, ha ha. The joke’s over. Why don’t you get lost, asshole?”

“Joe! You shouldn’t talk like that in front of the kids.”

The clown pressed his face up against the glass, his bloody tongue wiping back and forth.

“I said that’s enough!” said Joseph. “Do you hear me?” He slammed the palm of his hand on the inside of the glass where the clown’s face was.

The clown didn’t even flinch.

“Hello,” said Alice. “I’ve got an emotionally disturbed person at the Ocean’s Gate office. He’s dressed as a clown, and he’s scaring my guests. I think he’s the missing person who trashed one of my rooms.”

“He’s scaring the heck outta me,” said Patricia.

Joseph went to push open the door.

“No, don’t open that!” shouted his wife.

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Trish?”

“Let the police handle it.”

“They’re coming,” said Alice. “They know that when I say, ‘emotionally disturbed person,’ that I mean an unstable person. They’ll be here real fast.”

The clown looked down at Joseph’s hand on the door and raised his other hand to grab the door handle.

“He’s going to come in!” cried Trish.

With raccoon-like eyes the clown looked at her and began to pull on the handle.

Joseph grabbed the handle on the inside and pulled the door closed.

The clown pulled harder, and Joseph pulled harder, putting his foot up against the glass next to the door. Another guest was rounding the outside of the glass-encased office, unaware of the scene he was about to walk into.

“Warn that guy!” shouted Alice.

Trish, Alice, and Patricia started to shout at the man as he rounded the office to the front.

He looked at them questioningly as he made his way around, wondering why everyone in the office was shouting at him.

It was too late.

He ran into the clown, who promptly let go of the door handle and grabbed the man. The man tried to shove the clown away, but the clown pulled him in and bit him on the neck, pulling away a mouthful of flesh and blood.

Trish screamed, and the children began to cry.

“Somebody, help him!” cried Alice. She was halfway around the counter before Patricia could grab her.

Joseph stood there stunned. “Jesus,” he gasped as Alice threw open the door and rushed outside to help the poor man.

The clown already had the man on the floor and was on top of him. Alice reached out and grabbed the clown by the shoulder, trying to pull him off. The clown turned and grabbed Alice’s arm, chomping down on her forearm.

Alice screamed as the man underneath the clown tried to struggle free. Distracted, the clown released Alice, and she fell backward on the wooden deck.

Officers Campbell and Breslin ran up the front path, guns drawn and shouting at the clown. The clown had already opened the man’s abdomen and pulled out intestines. The victim twitched helplessly, mouth wide in a silent scream as he was being eaten alive.

The officers fired at the clown, who stood, still clutching entrails in his good hand, but he didn’t go down. Dark blood welled up where the bullets hit him, staining his clown suit.

He screeched at them and charged, snapping his jaws, bits of flesh stuck between yellow teeth. He tripped on Alice, who lay on the ground frozen in terror, and fell off the narrow wooden deck and into the flowers.

The two officers open fired until a headshot dispatched the demented clown to the great unknown.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Krueger?” Joann asked.

To Alice, ears ringing from the gunshots and adrenaline coursing through her veins, it sounded like a muffled and distant calling, as if she was hearing it underwater.

Joann squatted down next to Alice and gingerly held her arm, examining the bite on her forearm.

Patricia cried outside, saying something to Alice that she couldn’t quite make out.

Breslin radioed it in as she peered down at the still body of the murderous clown.

Overwhelmed with horror, Alice’s world faded to black.

* * *

Mike Brunello lined up at the beginning of the boardwalk with the various residents and visitors of Smuggler’s Bay clad in clown attire. Behind them were the various performers, and behind them were the circus animals spaced judiciously apart.

Alessandra held Mike’s hand, while Salvatore stood next to him, too old to hold hands. The overcast day and cooler temperature were a relief from the recent heat wave.

Mike saw Chief Holbrook meandering through the crowd, scanning the people. He was looking for someone in particular. When he saw Mike, his face lit up, and he made his way over. Mike didn’t like the expression on his face.

“Chief, how’s it going?”

“Hi, Mike.” He looked at Alessandra and Salvatore. “Hey, kids. Excited for the parade?”

“Yup,” beamed Alessandra. Salvatore nodded coolly.

“Mike, I need to talk to you for a moment.”

“Sure, Chief.”

“Alone.”

Mike wasn’t sure what to make of the request, but he realized it was something Holbrook didn’t want the children to hear. Mike figured Holbrook found their grandmother, and not in working condition.

Dharma moseyed over to Mike and the children. “Wassup, fellow clowns?”

“Dharma, perfect timing. I have to talk to the Police Chief for a moment. Can you stay here with Alessandra and Sal?”

“Hello, Dharma,” said Holbrook.

“Hi, Mr. Holbrook.” She saw the grave expression on his face, despite the warm greeting. “No problem, Mike.”

“Thanks.” Mike looked down at the children. “I have to talk to the Chief for a minute. You two, wait here. I’m just going to be right over there.” He pointed off to the side. “I’ll be right back.”

Alessandra released his hand, and she and Salvatore started to talk to Dharma about the various animals in the parade behind them.

Mike strolled over to the side of the boardwalk with Holbrook, making sure to keep both children in line of sight.

“What is it, Chief? Did you find Sophia Russo?”

Holbrook furrowed his brow and sighed. “I’m afraid it’s much worse than that. We received a 9-1-1 call earlier today from Mario Russo claiming someone was attacking him. When the officers arrived on the scene, they found Sophia Russo dead on the floor, stabbed to death, and Marie holding a knife in Mario’s head. He’s dead.”

The color drained out of Mike’s face. His mind didn’t want to process what Holbrook had told him. “I-I…that’s terrible.”

“Marie Russo is in our custody for the murders of her husband and mother-in-law.”

“My, God. I’m speechless.”

“It gets worse.”

“I don’t see how,” said Mike.

“In our investigation of Billy Blake’s murder, the bartender at the Jolly Roger reported seeing Marie having some beers with Billy, cozying up to him. After they both disappeared to the restroom area, Marie stormed out of the bar in a huff.”

Mike clenched his jaw. “That son-of-a-bitch.”

Holbrook sighed. “Yeah, we figured that’s how she felt.”

“No,” said Mike. “I saw that snake pay Marie a visit after Mario had his heart attack. I brought them a pizza that Vinnie Cantone sent over, and as I was leaving, there was Billy moseying up the path.

“I knew he was up to no good, moving in on Mario’s wife while he was in the hospital and she was vulnerable.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” said Holbrook.

“Oh, come on, Chief. Those two were never friends. She has a good husband and family. She’d never lower herself.”

“Mike, you’d be surprised. No one really knows what goes on within a marriage behind closed doors, or outside it for that matter. So what happened?”

“I told him to get lost. I told him not to bother that poor woman. He looked like he was going to get physical for a moment.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No, not overtly. It was the look in his eye and the way he loomed over me. He even dared me to take the first punch.”

“Well, did you?”

Mike chuckled bitterly. “I’m still standing here. Aren’t I?”

“So, then what happened?”

Mike shrugged. “I left. I saw Billy ring the doorbell, and Marie answered, but I have no idea what happened afterwards.”

Holbrook looked Mike up and down. “You seem pretty worked up about Billy. Mike, don’t take this the wrong way, but where were you the night he was murdered?”

Mike was incredulous. His expression turned sour. “I was home sleeping in my bed. Jesus, Chief.”

“Now don’t get upset with me, Mike. I have to look at all the angles. It’s my job. I don’t suppose you have an alibi…”

“Everyone’s well aware of how you felt about Billy,” snapped Mike. “Where were you last night, Jim?”

“There’s no need to get nasty, Mike.”

“Well, are you going to haul me in, too?”

“Why, should I? Actually, the reason why I’m here is because Marie told me you had her kids. I have to call Youth and Family Services in on this one. Marie has family in upstate New York who can take them, but they won’t make it down here until after the storm.”

“What are you asking, Chief? Spit it out.”

“Marie said she’s comfortable with the kids staying with you until her brother can get here.”

“That’s fine with me,” said Mike. He looked over at the two children, who were hopping up and down and smiling. “This is an ugly situation. How am I supposed to break it to them?”

“I don’t want you to do that,” said Holbrook. “You’re doing enough already.”

“Telling them now won’t do any good,” said Mike.

“I’ll drop by this evening, after the parade, and break it to them,” said Holbrook.

Mike nodded, his heart torn apart. He felt so sorry for those children. First, their grandmother went missing. Then, their mother murdered their grandmother and father. “What a mess. I still can’t believe Marie would do something like that.”

“Like I said, you never know what happens behind closed doors.”

“I suppose so. I’m going to get back to the kids now. The parade is about to begin.”

“Sorry about the bad news, Mike.”

Mike nodded and made his way back to the children.

“Everything okay?” asked Dharma.

Alessandra slipped her hand back into his. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Hey, kids, your mom had a cool idea. You’re going to have a sleepover at my house tonight.”

Alessandra and Salvatore looked surprised. Alessandra smiled politely, but Salvatore, being older, looked uncomfortable.

“Is everything okay?” asked Salvatore. “Did they find Nana?”

Mike saw Alessandra’s smile fade as she picked up on Salvatore’s uneasiness. “Remember what your mom said about getting out and having fun while they search for your Nana?”

The children nodded.

“Well, your mom wants you to get away for a bit and have some fun.” Salvatore looked unconvinced. Mike managed his best smile given the circumstances. “I have board games, lots of them, and we can make s’mores.”

Dharma sensed that something was wrong. Poor Mike. He was doing his best to shield the children from whatever Chief Holbrook had told him.

“Hey, Mike, can I sleep over, too?” she asked.

Mike looked a bit lost for a moment, but he quickly caught on to what Dharma was doing. She was helping him. “Sure, Dharma! The more the merrier!”

This new development won Alessandra over immediately. “Yay!”

Salvatore’s face brightened a bit, but he still felt awkward about it.

Dharma bumped him with her hip. “Oh, c’mon, grouchy pants. It’ll be a blast. I bet we can stay up late. Right, Mike?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Mike. Then he leaned in. “Just don’t tell your parents.”

That was it. Mike’s subversive remark was the last bit of enticement that Salvatore needed. A puckish smile crept across his face, and he began to lighten up.

Dharma put her arm around him. “This is going to be the best night ever.”

Her eyes met Mike’s, and Mike conveyed a nonverbal thank you to Dharma. She nodded in acknowledgement, both of his thank you and her realization that something was wrong as per Mike’s aside with Chief Holbrook.

Dharma had just taken an awkward situation and made it seem like an impromptu adventure. However, Mike had lost the jovial spirit. He stood there, his soul heavy with bad news, looking shell-shocked.

Holbrook took his place in the parade, beside the Mayor who had yet to arrive. He watched the crowd, lost in thought, his mind mulling over all the angles of the recent murders. The truth was, in Holbrook’s estimation, none of this added up.

Firstly, he didn’t like Mike for Billy’s murder. Billy’s body was ravaged with a force and fury that didn’t match a man of Mike’s age and physical limitations. Secondly, the 9-1-1 tape recorded Mario yelling about his mother being a vampire and being bitten, and Holbrook heard animalistic sounds in the background. Lenny Krueger told Joann that Sophia Russo was covered in blood and tried to bite him in the parking lot.

Then why did the two officers walk in on Marie with a knife through her husband’s temple?

None of it added up. Holbrook was just glad the two missing persons cases were off his desk for the moment, although neither ended well. The murder investigation would have to wait. The priorities were now crowd control and possible evacuation of the barrier island.

Vinnie stood right in front of his pizza shop with other spectators waiting for the parade to begin.

Ted shoved his way through the crowd and over to him holding his skateboard.

“Where’s your better half?” asked Vinnie.

“I was hoping you knew,” said Ted. “He won’t answer his cell. I dropped by his house, and he wasn’t home.”

“I’m sure he’s somewhere in the crowd looking for us.”

The Stonewall High School marching band sounded down the boardwalk. The crowd stirred in anticipation, drowning out the usual din of the arcades and carnival games.

Not too far down from where Vinnie and Ted stood was Lenny in full Magma Man garb, grinning from ear to ear.

Tara was meandering through the crowd with Marcus and Tyrell when she saw Lenny standing alone.

“That’s my new patient standing over there,” she said to Marcus. “He’s by himself. Let’s go keep him company. I’ll introduce you.”

She led Tyrell by the hand, and Marcus followed. They walked between the wall of spectators and the boardwalk storefronts until they were right behind Lenny. Tara called his name, and he turned around. When he saw her, his face lit up.

“Hi, Lenny!”

“Hi, Dr. Tara!”

Marcus caught up with her. Lenny was looking down at Tyrell and smiling.

“Lenny, this is my son, Tyrell.”

Lenny stuck out his hand to shake, but Tyrell high fived it instead. Lenny was taken off guard, but was positively tickled by the greeting.

“Hi, Tyrell. My name is Lenny!”

Tyrell smiled. “You like Magma Man, too?”

“How could you tell?” said Tara sarcastically.

“He’s my favorite superhero,” beamed Lenny, puffing out his chest.

“Lenny, this is my husband, Marcus.”

Marcus stepped forward and extended his hand.

Lenny high fived it and winked at Tyrell. They all laughed.

“The parade is starting,” said Lenny.

“Is it okay if we stand here with you and keep you company?” asked Tara.

“Of course,” said Lenny, making a grand inclusive gesture.

“How’s your mom doing?”

“Oh, she’s okay,” said Lenny. “She’s working at the office.”

Across the way, in his small radio booth, Johnny Wong announced the parade over the air.

“It’s a cool, cloudy day here in Smuggler’s Bay—thank God—and the eighteenth annual Circus Faire parade is underway. People from all over the tri-state area have gathered on the iconic Smuggler’s Bay boardwalk to watch the clowns and circus performers march.

“Some of the clowns are Smuggler’s Bay locals, and some are even boardwalk vendors dressed up to join in the fun. We have jumping poodles, dancing bears, clowns on stilts and unicycles, fire breathers, and more!

“Leading the pack is the Stonewall High School marching band!”

Trumpets, trombones, and drums filled the air as students carrying the Stonewall High School banner marched in front of the band. Spectators on either side of the boardwalk waved and cheered as the band belted out the theme to Octopussy, cross fading into the James Bond theme.

As they passed, Lenny mimed the opening sequence of every Bond movie, where Bond pulls out a gun and shoots the camera.

“And right behind the band is the Mayor of Smuggler’s Bay, Christopher McDonald, and Police Chief Jim Holbrook!”

McDonald, ever the politician, hammed it up with the crowd, while Holbrook waved modestly, obviously uncomfortable with the spotlight. He scanned the edges of the crowd, noting the strategic placement of his officers and the auxiliary police.

Joann, seeing his awkwardness, blew him a kiss to razz him.

“I heard you wrapped up the two missing person cases,” said McDonald out of the side of his mouth. “Nicely done. Feel better?”

“Chris, there was nothing nice about it.”

“What was the deal with that clown?” asked the Mayor. “I heard he tried to eat a man.”

“He took a good bite out of Alice Krueger’s arm too,” added Holbrook. “Drugs.”

McDonald shook his head in disgust. “Well, once this is over you can focus on the storm, not that I think there’s anything to focus on.”

“Don’t forget the murder investigation.”

McDonald smiled and waved. “Jim, looks like you have your murderer. You killed three birds with one stone.”

“I don’t think Marie murdered Billy. I’m not even certain Marie Russo did what it looks like she did to Mario and Sophia Russo.”

“Why complicate things, Jim? You have everything wrapped up nicely with a bow. Sometimes the simplest explanation is the best explanation.”

Holbrook really didn’t feel like arguing with Mayor McDonald at the moment, particularly when he didn’t have any evidence exonerating Marie. He saw Robbie and Lena standing on the side across from Johnny Wong’s radio booth. They were both waving to him.

As he and McDonald came up on where Lena and Robbie stood, Holbrook quickly darted to the side, snatched Robbie up, and put him on his shoulders. He ran back to resume his march beside McDonald.

“Hi, Mr. Mayor!”

McDonald quickly moved on from his prior conversation with Holbrook. Like flicking a switch, he flashed a toothy smile at the boy. “Hello, Robbie! So glad you could join us!”

Robbie sat atop his father’s shoulders, a wide grin on his face as the crowd on either side of the boardwalk cheered and waved to him. It made him feel special to have his father pluck him out of the crowd and join the parade.

Holbrook felt better having Robbie on his shoulders. Thoughts of missing persons, murders, and superstorms fell by the wayside. He felt Robbie hopping up and down and waving on his shoulders. He was glad he could include Robbie. One of the few perks of the job.

Ted grabbed Vinnie’s arm. “Look, there’s Frankie.”

“See, I told you…” Vinnie said as he followed where Ted pointed.

Frankie staggered around, pale as a ghost, with dark shadows under his eyes, behind the wall of spectators a few storefronts down to their right.

Frankie grabbed a woman by the hair, like a caveman. She let go of her stroller as he yanked her head back and sank his teeth into her throat. There were screams, and the crowd parted around him, obscuring him from view.

“What’s he doing?” asked Ted, who ran over to the throng.

“Ted, wait…” Vinnie turned to his left, his attention drawn by a stirring in the crowd farther down the boardwalk. There were screams and yells as people began to back away from another spot.

Joann was on the radio immediately. “We’ve got two crowd disturbances.”

“I see them,” responded Lawson.

“On it,” said Pike.

A man stumbled out from the crowd disturbance down the boardwalk right into the path of one of the unicyclers.

Joann waved Breslin over. “We’ve got a drunk.”

“Let’s go,” said Breslin.

The two officers crossed the parade line and ran to intercept. The man staggered over to the swerving unicycler and snatched her off the bike, throwing her to the ground. The woman screamed as he began to tear into her with his fingers and teeth, spraying blood all over himself.

“Oh my God!” shouted Breslin, panting as she ran.

The auxiliary cops were there first. One grabbed the ravenous drunk off the woman performer, but the drunk let out a horrid screech and turned on the cop, biting him in the shoulder.

The other auxiliary pulled his baton, came up on the drunk from behind, slid it under his chin, and pulled backward.

Mike and the children were just in front of the scene.

“What’s that man doing?” asked Alessandra, on the verge of tears.

Mike pulled her close, grabbed Salvatore by the scruff, and pulled the both of them to the other side of the boardwalk with Dharma.

Breslin ran to the injured auxiliary, and Joann advanced upon the drunk being restrained by the other auxiliary. She extended her baton and beat the man’s legs.

He collapsed on his knees, but he kept fighting.

“Don’t let go,” said Joann, as she brought more blows down upon the drunk.

However, it was like it wasn’t even fazing the guy. It was like he didn’t feel it at all.

Farther up the boardwalk, Holbrook took Robbie off his shoulders and placed him between himself and the Mayor.

“What in Sam Hill is going on?” cried the Mayor.

Holbrook looked back for Lena. “Where is she?” he muttered to himself.

Pike and Lawson advanced on the ever-widening circle of spectators toward the front of the parade. As the crowd parted, they saw a woman face down with hair torn out of her scalp bleeding out on the boardwalk. Frankie Martinez had Ted in his lap and was pulling Ted’s entrails out of his abdomen. Ted clutched onto Frankie like an infant to its mother, only Frankie was the one feeding on Ted.

“Holy shit!” yelled Lawson.

Both officers drew their weapons, and the crowd widened. Some spectators ran away screaming, some watched in horror, and some had their cell phones out taking video.

Frankie looked up at Lawson and Pike and smiled, blood dripping down his chin.

“What do we do?” Pike was frantic.

Frankie made some throaty barking sounds, almost like a seal, and then he screeched bloody murder.

“Fire!” shouted Lawson, firing into Frankie.

Frankie tried to stand and in the process stepped head-first into a bullet. He dropped like a ton of bricks to the boardwalk and was still.

“Oh my God! You killed him!” shouted a spectator video recording with his phone.

The auxiliary cop struggled to restrain the drunk as Joann produced her Taser. “Clear!” she yelled.

The auxiliary released the man and took several steps backward. Joann fired into the drunk, pumping him with electricity.

The drunk dropped to his knees, but continued to reach out for Joann. She hit him again, and again, but the bastard kept coming.

Breslin stood next to her and drew her weapon.

“Kneecap him,” said Joann.

Breslin aimed low and shot the man in the leg. The blow momentarily knocked him off balance, but he kept coming, putting weight on the leg.

“The other one,” said Joann.

Breslin hit him in the other kneecap, and the man stumbled to the ground. He reached forward, gripped the edge of a board, and pulled himself forward, snapping his jaws at them.

Joann hopped around him, knelt on his back, and grabbed the man’s right wrist as her other hand went for her handcuffs. She slapped it on his wrist and grabbed his other hand, twisting it around his back. She could’ve sworn she felt his shoulder pop. She cuffed the other hand, released him, and stepped back. The auxiliary cop cleared the crowd away.

“I don’t believe it,” said Breslin.

The man squirmed on the boardwalk, inching toward her like a damned inch worm.

“We need medics,” said Joann, grabbing her radio.

Johnny Wong got a front seat view of everything. “There seems to be a few spectators misbehaving in the crowd, but the local law enforcement is on it.”

“What’s going on?” said Tara, watching Officer Campbell cuffing a man on the boardwalk.

“It’s Officer Joann,” shouted Lenny. “She needs help!”

Tara grabbed him firmly by the arm. “Oh no. Not this time.”

Marcus caught a glimpse of someone moving fast in his periphery, coming from inside the arcade behind them. When he turned, a pale woman with yellow teeth and raccoon eyes threw herself at him. She wrestled with him as she craned her neck to get a bite of his.

“What the fuck?” Marcus threw her to the ground.

She spun around quickly and grabbed his ankle, pulling herself toward him.

Tara let go of Tyrell and started beating the woman’s head with her purse, cursing at her.

The woman now embraced Marcus’s leg and chomped down on his thigh. His shorts softened the blow, and he tried to squirm out of her grip as Tara kicked her in her side.

Tyrell and Lenny looked on in horror.

Not getting a good bite, the woman slid down his leg, just below the hem of his shorts, and this time her teeth found purchase.

A woman with wild eyes yowled in rage and lurched toward Holbrook, Robbie, and the Mayor.

The Mayor grabbed Robbie by the shoulders and placed him in front of him.

Holbrook stood in front of them both, blocking the crazed woman’s path.

“Freeze!” He drew his weapon.

The woman kept coming, reaching out for them and snapping her jaws.

Holbrook fired at her leg, and she stumbled forward. She landed next to Holbrook and swiped at his leg, but he pulled it away in time. She pushed herself up and reached for Robbie, and he shot her in the back.

Robbie tried to run, but McDonald held him in place in front of him, using him as a human shield. The woman grabbed Robbie’s leg when her head burst in an eruption of blood and brain matter. She dropped lifeless to the boardwalk.

Holbrook snatched Robbie away from the Mayor. “Kissing hands and shaking babies, Mr. Mayor?” He knelt down in front of Robbie. “Are you okay, buddy?”

Robbie looked like he was going into shock. Holbrook examined the leg the woman grabbed, and then the other leg. “Are you hurt?”

Robbie didn’t answer.

Satisfied there was no injury, Holbrook hugged his son.

“What is this, a riot?” asked the Mayor. “It’s a family holiday. What’s wrong with people?”

They all turned around when they heard the sounds of dogs barking and then the agonized cry of baby bears.

“No fucking way,” said Holbrook.

The crowd parted as poodles ran up the boardwalk followed by the thunderous footsteps of the two baby bears. One dragged his handler for a moment until the handler let go.

The parade came to a halt as confusion gripped the event. Mike grabbed Alessandra by the hand and pulled her close as Dharma grabbed Salvatore’s hand.

“What’s going on?” asked Mike.

“I don’t know,” said Dharma.

They looked on in horror as individuals set upon various spectators and marchers in the parade, attacking them like wild animals.

Dharma pulled Salvatore close as she saw a man and a woman approaching diagonally from either side, eyes locked on her, Mike, and the children. “Mike, look!”

Mike gasped as he saw it, too. The two people were deliberately meandering through the parade line, smoky raccoon eyes wild with aggression as they stalked their prey.

Mike grabbed Alessandra and backed out of the parade line to the other side of the boardwalk, Dharma and Salvatore retreating with him, until they hit the fence above the beach.

“They’re still coming!” cried Dharma.

“What’s wrong with them?” asked Mike.

They looked on in horror as the two maniacs crossed the parade line, snapping their jaws like novelty windup teeth, confused marchers swerving around them as if they instinctually knew that something was wrong, something unnatural.

Backs against the fence, they had run out of boardwalk. Dharma grabbed Alessandra under the armpits and lifted her up. “Honey, I’m going to drop you down onto the beach.”

“No!” Alessandra struggled. “It’s too high. I wanna stay with you.”

“Dharma’s right,” said Mike. “It’s not safe here. The sand is soft. It’ll break your fall.”

Salvatore saw the two attackers closing in. They were pale and disheveled, and their stench caught the ocean breeze, wafting into his nostrils, filling some primitive part of his brain with revulsion and triggering a primal survival response.

It was the way the whole crowd had reacted, whether they fully realized it or not. It was nature’s hard-wired fear of death taking over.

“It’s okay, Ali,” Salvatore told his sister. He mounted the fence, slipping his feet in between the chain links while holding on to the pipe at the top. “We’ll jump together.”

Alessandra looked like she was on the verge of tears as Dharma pulled her over the top of the fence. “Okay, on the count of three, you two jump!”

“They’re almost here!” called Mike.

“One, two, THREE.”

Dharma dropped Alessandra, and Salvatore jumped off the edge of the raised boardwalk. Salvatore landed on his feet in a crouch, but Alessandra face planted into the sand. She pushed herself up, spitting sand out of her mouth and crying.

Salvatore pulled her up by her hand. He looked up at Dharma.

“Go! Run!” she shouted down at them.

As they took off along the side of the pier toward the water, Dharma mounted the fence, swinging her right leg over the side. She paused at the top. “C’mon, Mike.”

“I’m too old to climb fences,” he said. The two attackers were only twenty feet from them and closing.

“I’m not leaving you up here!” she insisted.

“Go! Keep the kids safe! I’ll be all right!”

“Mike!” she pleaded.

“The kids need you! Go!”

Dharma shot Mike a look of concerned disapproval. “Mike, run!”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

She swung her other leg over and jumped down to the sand. She landed in a crouch and looked up as Mike disappeared from the edge of the boardwalk. Satisfied that she could do no more for him, she took off toward the water where Salvatore waited with Alessandra.

Mike tried to run, but his path was blocked on both sides by the two advancing aggressors. He was able to get a closer look at them now as they reached out for him. Their pallor and vacant expressions reminded him of his Mary lying in the coffin at the funeral home. Their stench reeked of death.

Mike recoiled as the woman screeched at him like a savage animal. He grabbed the fence in desperation, trying to swing a leg up as he felt fingertips scrape his back.

Vinnie emerged from the bedlam and tackled the man into the woman, sending them both crashing to the boardwalk. They snarled and snapped at him as he rolled off the heap.

Mike turned around and saw his young friend scrambling to his feet. He turned and gave the woman a swift kick to the head as she tried to push herself up. He felt the man clawing at his pant leg, and he stepped out of his reach.

“Where’s Dharma and the kids?” asked Vinnie.

“They’re on the beach!” Mike pointed out toward the water, and he saw Vinnie’s eyes go wide as he traced Mike’s finger.

“What is it?”

“Look,” said Vinnie.

There was one of the shambling attackers on the beach, shuffling in the sand in the direction of Dharma and the children.

Vinnie grabbed Mike and pulled him around the crawling man and woman, and they dashed toward one of the ramps to the beach.

“Everyone’s gone crazy!” shouted Vinnie as he pulled Mike past a stunned ticket-taker cowering in her booth at the entrance to the ramp.

They descended the ramp and took to the sand, Vinnie pulling ahead of Mike. Mike struggled to keep up, burdened with the urgency to reach Dharma and the kids before that…thing did.

Mike knew that these attackers weren’t crazy. They were sick. They wore the stench of death on them like a cheap suit. The last time he felt this was when Mary was in the nursing home. It was all over that place like a dark aura, but it wasn’t as potent a sensation as this.

This was worse.

Vinnie looked back at Mike, but Mike waved him forward. If he was going to reach Dharma and the children in time, he couldn’t wait for Mike.

Vinnie took off, dodging people sitting up on their blankets and standing, watching the tumult of the boardwalk. The lifeguards stood on their towers, looking over their shoulders at the chaos on the boardwalk.

Vinnie heard whistles as swimmers were called out of the water. He saw the shambling man working his way along the side of the pier in pursuit of Dharma and the children.

The lifeguards and beachgoers were too preoccupied with the boardwalk to notice, but apparently Dharma noticed because she pulled the children under the pier.

Vinnie doubled his efforts, closing the distance between him and the shambling man as the man disappeared under the pier and out of sight.

Shit. Vinnie ducked under the pier and dashed between the pilings, catching glimpses of Dharma, the children, and their relentless pursuer.

He turned on a diagonal and darted between the pilings until he caught up with the shuffling man, picking up speed on the more solid wet sand.

Vinnie tackled him, throwing him face-first into the sand. Dharma turned and saw him. “Vinnie!”

The man rolled over and growled at him as he reached up and grabbed Vinnie in a horrible embrace. Vinnie squirmed and shoved the man back into the sand as he snapped at him, eyes filled with sand and wide with fury.

Vinnie rolled off of him and got to his feet as the man slowly pushed himself to a standing position.

“Go!” shouted Vinnie.

Dharma hesitated, holding both children’s hands. Alessandra shook while sobbing, and Salvatore looked lost.

“Go!” he yelled again. This time she ran off and disappeared on the other side of the pier.

Vinnie backed away from the man as he shrieked, hands reaching out to grab him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Vinnie shouted at the man. “What do you want?”

Mike ran under the pier, meandering through the maze of pilings as he heard a horrible shriek over the crashing waves and the whistles of the lifeguards in the distance behind him.

“Vinnie!” he called out.

“Oh, God!” he heard Vinnie cry out.

Terrified, he ran toward the screams and found Vinnie in the sand, the man and a woman on top of him. Vinnie had his hand under the man’s chin, pushing upward as the man tried to bite him. The woman was shoving the man, trying to get at Vinnie. They were like two dogs fighting over the same scrap of meat, only these weren’t dogs, and the scrap of meat was his best friend.

“Hey!” Mike shouted, waving his arms. “Leave him alone!”

The man, preoccupied with trying to eat Vinnie alive, ignored Mike’s calls, but the woman looked up and bared her teeth at Mike.

Mike’s blood went cold as she pushed herself up and started reeling toward him. Mike circled around her between the pilings and came from behind the man. He grabbed the man under the armpits and pulled him off his friend.

Vinnie shoved his feet under the man’s chest and kicked, sending the man and Mike falling backward. Vinnie shot up and grabbed the man as he began to turn on Mike. He felt fingers on his back.

Vinnie swung the man around, taking the legs out from the woman as they fell into the wet sand together in a tangled mess. He pulled Mike up. “Let’s go!”

They ran to the other side of the pier and out onto the beach. Vinnie looked back as their two pursuers stumbled out from under the pier.

There was a young boy, younger than Salvatore, who was unlucky enough to be collecting shells. They fell upon the boy in a frenzy of violence.

Vinnie averted his gaze as he heard the screams of the boy behind him. Beachgoers stood up, pointing.

“My baby!” he heard some woman scream.

“Look, there’re Dharma and the kids,” said Mike, pointing in the distance ahead of them.

On the boardwalk, as Tara and Marcus fought off their assailant, a horrified Tyrell backed away from the tumult past Lenny and into the middle of the boardwalk. He turned as he felt the boardwalk shake beneath him. He looked down as poodles ran around him, jostling him off balance. When he looked up, his skin went cold as he saw two frightened baby bears lumbering toward him. He cried out in horror.

Lenny turned around in time to see Tyrell in the path of the bears, frozen like a deer in the headlights. He twirled his cape and ran out into the middle of the boardwalk, focusing on Tyrell rather than the two bears barreling up the boardwalk right at him.

Lenny snatched Tyrell up and threw himself out of the way as the two bears lumbered past. He tripped over the boy, and they both fell to the boardwalk.

Lenny pushed himself up on one arm and put his hand on Tyrell’s head. “Are you okay?”

Tyrell nodded.

Lenny saw Tara and Marcus wrestling with that crazed woman across the way. He and Tyrell lay there in the middle of the parade line as people scurried about around him, fleeing rabid attackers.

“We have to get out of here,” said Lenny.

“But what about Mommy and Daddy?”

“Okay, let’s help them.”

Lenny and Tyrell stood. Lenny looked down at Tyrell and was suddenly reminded of the Magma Man television show. He remembered how in the middle of a massive brawl, Magma Man would throw his younger sidekick, Lava Kid, into Captain Bonkers’ henchmen.

He reached down, grabbed Tyrell by the hand, and shouted, “Follow me, Lava Kid!”

Lenny took off toward Tara and Marcus, dragging Tyrell behind him, charging the crazed woman attacking his friends.

They were only several feet away, and the woman stood over a bleeding Marcus as Tara threw wild punches.

“Lava Kid, launch!”

Tyrell smiled as he understood the reference. As Lenny pulled him forward, Tyrell jumped into the air. Lenny swung him forward, sending his little feet colliding into the brutal attacker. Lenny was sure to pull him back to safety, and Tyrell landed on his feet like a little cat.

The woman was thrown backward into the arcade. She fell and banged her head on the corner of a claw machine.

Tara stood there dumbfounded.

“Mommy, we have to get out of here!”

Tara and Lenny helped Marcus up. He was injured badly, but able to walk on his own, albeit with a hefty limp.

A stilt walker attempting to evade crazed attackers and fleeing animals tripped and fell on top of Johnny Wong’s booth. “Something appears to have spooked the animal performers, and a stilt walker just landed on the roof of my booth! There are poodles and…BEARS! There are poodles and bears running amuck!”

Holbrook saw what could only be Lenny, cape and all, save a small child from being run over as the bears dashed up the boardwalk in a panic behind the frantic poodles.

He stood in front of Robbie has poodles hurried past them, and he trained his gun on the baby bears. Shit. He wouldn’t be able to get them both.

As the bears bore down on them, Holbrook made a quick decision that firing at the bears would be ineffective and dangerous to bystanders.

He turned around, knelt, and embraced Robbie, holding him close as McDonald screamed. The bears roared past them, taking McDonald out as they passed, and continued up the boardwalk.

Holbrook released Robbie and saw the Mayor lying on the boardwalk flat on his back. He checked McDonald’s pulse on his neck. He was alive, but unconscious.

Holbrook took Robbie by the hand, held his gun in the other, and began shoving through the crowd. “Lena! Lena!”

The boardwalk reminded him of one of those saloon fights in an old western film. People were fighting, wrestling, rolling around, and running to and fro. He imagined that if everyone were armed with cream pies, it could also have been a scene from the Three Stooges.

* * *

As people fled the boardwalk, the police were able to identify a couple dozen assailants, many of which had to be taken down with gunfire. A few were cuffed and awaiting ambulances, but the paramedics had a hard time sifting through bite victims in various conditions and the lunatic attackers.

Holbrook had Robbie at his side the whole time as he searched for Lena. He felt like a man who forgot where his car was parked and was waiting for everyone to leave so he could find it.

When the boardwalk cleared somewhat, he saw Lena hiding behind the counter of a wheel of chance game, searching the crowd. Smart girl.

Holbrook smiled. “I see Mommy!”

Robbie showed no response or acknowledgement. The poor kid was petrified. They made their way over to the wheel game. When Lena saw them, she hopped the counter and ran to meet them, tears streaming across her face.

She threw her arms around her husband. Holbrook closed his eyes and thanked God she was still alive. Any anger he felt toward her before this moment was now squashed, and he vowed he’d never take her for granted again.

Holbrook picked Robbie up, and they formed a group hug. He snagged a blanket off one of the scurrying medics and wrapped Robbie in it.

“Is he okay?” asked the medic.

“I think he’s in shock.”

“Come with me.” The medic led them to an ambulance, and Holbrook followed with a swaddled Robbie in his arms and Lena with her arm around his shoulders.

As the medic worked on Robbie in the back of the ambulance, Holbrook and Lena held hands, interlocking their fingers. Holbrook looked up at the boardwalk and saw Joann running around with Breslin. He had also seen Pike and Lawson running around.

There were a few fatalities, innocent bystanders, but his team appeared to be intact. Some of his officers were being treated for bites and scratches, but Holbrook breathed a sigh of relief. The way he looked at it, this day couldn’t get much worse.

He saw a medic talking to Joann, who searched around, talking to other officers.

Pike pointed to where Holbrook was.

Great. Now what?

The medic came running over with Joann.

“Chief Holbrook!”

“What is it?” He gave the man a chance to catch his breath.

“We have a situation,” the medic panted.

“What kind of situation?”

“It’s the attackers.”

“What about them?”

“They’re not showing any vitals.”

Chapter 18

“What do you mean, ‘they’re not showing any vitals?’”

“They’re not showing any vitals, sir.”

Holbrook looked to Joann, but she only shrugged.

“They’re obviously not dead,” chortled Holbrook.

The medic wore a grave expression.

“Oh, come on,” said Holbrook. “Really?”

“When we fired on these people,” said Joann, “it didn’t even slow them down. Lethal force was necessary. Headshots, specifically.”

“So, what are we talking about, here?” asked Holbrook. “Drugs?”

“I think it’s something that obscures their vitals,” said the medic. “It could be drugs, but the attackers looked sick.”

“Are we talking epidemic here?”

“Possibly.”

“Joann, call the CDC. We need to report this.”

“I’m on it.” She dashed away.

“Do you think it’s contagious?”

“I’m not certain,” said the medic. “The wounded are being treated and are being instructed to monitor their own symptoms. They’ll need antibiotics to ward of any bacterial infection. Some are going to need stitches.”

“If this is an epidemic, what’s the next step?”

“The CDC’s going to want to trace the origin of this illness, if possible. Do you have any way of knowing who the first person was to present with these symptoms and behavior?”

Holbrook shook his head. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he snapped his fingers. “Yes. Yes, I think I do. Sophia Russo. She was the first to be reported throwing up blood and biting people. Her psychologist thought it might be a urinary tract infection.”

“That doesn’t sound like a urinary tract infection to me,” said the medic. “Where is she?”

“At the morgue. She was murdered by her daughter-in-law.”

“Holy smokes.”

“You ain’t kiddin’,” said Holbrook. “She was just signed out of a nursing home in Stonewall.”

“They’ll want the name and contact information of that facility.”

“Got it. Listen, what’s your name?”

“Louie Ramos, sir.”

“Thank you, Louie. How’s my son?”

Louie smiled. “He’ll be fine. He’s not in shock, just terrified. Get him home so he can rest.”

“Thank you, Louie.”

“You bet.”

Lena hugged Holbrook. “So what do we do now?”

Holbrook kissed her sweetly on the lips. “Get Robbie home and in bed. I’ve got to head back to the station and get on the horn with the CDC.”

Mayor McDonald ambled over to Holbrook holding an ice pack to his head. “Holbrook, I want to have a word with you.”

“Uh oh. Here it comes.”

Lena smiled. “I’ll leave you to it. Be home soon.”

They held hands for a brief moment. She grabbed Robbie, hoisted him up in her arms, and carried him home.

“Chief Holbrook.”

“Yes, Mayor.”

“I’d like to thank you for failing to protect me from wild animals and leaving me for dead.”

Holbrook laughed. “What did you expect me to do? Throw myself in front of the bears? I’m not Secret Service, and you’re not the President.”

“I was unconscious.”

“You fainted.”

The Mayor pointed a commanding finger at Holbrook. “I want you to get to the bottom of this. Immediately.”

“Already working on it. I’ve placed a call into the CDC.”

“CDC? What the heavens for? This was drugs, right?”

“The medic seems to think it might be an illness or disease, and that we might be looking at a potential epidemic.”

McDonald looked down at his arm. Holbrook didn’t notice it before, but there was a large bite mark on his forearm.

“Did you have that looked at?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, I think you should. Now.” He whistled at Louie, and Louie turned around. Holbrook waved him over.

“Yes, Chief.”

“The Mayor here needs his arm looked at. He’s got a nasty bite.”

The Mayor held out his arm.

“I see,” said Louie. “You’ll need antibiotics.”

“After you have that looked at, you’ll need to call all the doctors in Smuggler’s Bay and get them to open shop,” said Holbrook. “We’re going to need a ton of antibiotics.”

“Don’t go too far,” said the Mayor. “We’ll need to make a statement to the press about all this, and I want you by my side.”

* * *

Mike opened the front door to his house. He, Vinnie, Dharma, and the children spilled into his living room. After they all piled in, Mike closed the door, locked it, and put up the chain.

Vinnie and Dharma looked weary, but they were relieved that their respective parents were okay. The children were shell shocked.

“I don’t think we’ll be playing any games tonight,” announced Mike. “Let’s get some rest, and we can have some fun tomorrow.” The promise sounded empty and ridiculous. After the horrors that they’d all witnessed, fun and games were the last thing on any of their minds.

“I want my Mommy,” said Alessandra.

“Is she all right?” asked Salvatore. “What about Dad?”

“I’m sure they’re both fine,” said Mike. “They were both at home when all of this happened. I’ll tell you what. I’ll call them while you clean up and get ready for bed.”

“Okay, you heard the man,” said Dharma gathering up both children. “I’ll help you wash up. Then it’s bedtime for you both. It’s been a long day.”

The children were so traumatized and exhausted that they allowed themselves to be ushered upstairs to the bathroom by Dharma.

Mike waited until they were upstairs and he heard the water running. He turned to Vinnie. “Those people weren’t crazy. They were sick. Maybe worse.”

Vinnie tried to imagine what the worse could be. “They were throwing up blood. Maybe it’s Ebola?”

“Could be,” said Mike. “But I’m unaware of any strain of Ebola that turns people into cannibals.”

“Why aren’t the Russo’s taking the kids? Are they all right?”

Mike took Vinnie into the kitchen. Vinnie knew something was wrong.

“Marie Russo killed her husband and mother-in-law this morning.”

“No way. Are you kidding?”

Mike shrugged. “That’s what Chief Holbrook told me right before the parade. I didn’t believe it myself.”

“The kids?”

“No,” said Mike. “They don’t know. Holbrook was supposed to drop by tonight to break it to them, but somehow I think he’s too busy to get the chance.”

“Holy smokes,” said Vinnie. “What’s going on in the Bay? It’s like everyone’s going crazy.”

“I don’t think it’s crazy,” reminded Mike.

“Right. Ebola.”

“It’s got to be some kind of illness.”

“Do you think Marie Russo caught it?”

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible…”

“But,” said Vinnie.

“But, Chief Holbrook told me that in custody, Marie said it would be okay if I held on to the kids until her brother came to pick them up.”

“So?”

“So, you saw those sick people. They didn’t seem like they were thinking rationally. Marie was thinking rationally after-the-fact.”

“So maybe she wasn’t sick,” said Vinnie, finishing Mike’s thought.

“Chief Holbrook thinks she might’ve murdered Billy, too.”

“What? How are the two related?”

Mike hesitated a moment. “Billy had been trying to put the moves on Marie. Chief Holbrook said that they were cozy at the Jolly Roger, and then after disappearing in the back she stormed out, furious.”

“No,” said Vinnie, refusing to believe it. “You don’t think…”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” said Mike.

Dharma descended the stairs with the two children, who now looked clean but definitely worse for the wear. “Where are they sleeping, Mike?”

“Oh, they can have my bed.”

“Where’ll you sleep?”

A sardonic smile crept across Mike’s face. “I don’t think I’ll be doing much sleeping tonight.”

“Okay,” said Dharma to the kids. “Upstairs.”

“Goodnight, kids,” said Mike.

“Night.”

“G’night.”

“Goodnight,” said Vinnie as they disappeared back upstairs.

A few minutes later Dharma came back down. She found Vinnie and Mike sitting on the couch, watching the news.

“They hit the bed like two sacks of potatoes,” she said. “Did the news say anything about what happened?”

“Riots,” said Vinnie.

Dharma sat on the arm of the couch closest to Vinnie as the weather report came on. “Here’s the latest forecast on what most models are now saying is going to be a category four hurricane hitting a vast stretch of the eastern seaboard tomorrow, resulting in wind damage and massive flooding.”

“Great,” she said, “more good news.”

“Hey, you really don’t have to stay here tonight,” said Mike. “I appreciate your help.”

“I made a promise,” said Dharma. “Besides, I’m good with kids. I used to babysit for half of the families in the Bay.”

“You should be with your parents.”

“They’re fine,” she insisted.

Mike smiled. “Thank you, Dharma.”

“I can stay, too,” said Vinnie.

Mike shook his head. “Go help your father close up. He’ll need you tonight, to prepare for the storm and all. I’ve got Dharma here to keep me and the kids company.”

Vinnie stared into space. “I really don’t want to go back on that boardwalk tonight. Not after what happened.”

“Yeah,” said Dharma. “I don’t blame you.”

* * *

Marcus Bigelow kissed Tara and Tyrell as he left the house. He really didn’t want to leave them after everything that had happened. It was a long night at the emergency room getting stitches in his arm, but he was instructed by the doctor to get antibiotics to ward off bacterial infection.

He rounded the corner on his way to the local pharmacy when he saw a long line of people wrapping around the building. There were police organizing the line in the parking lot and doing crowd control.

Marcus hadn’t realized so many were bitten, but then how could he? He crossed the street and took his place in line as he heard people grumbling and complaining about the crowd and the wait.

He overheard a police officer explaining that every physician in the Bay and a few from Stonewall were conducting examinations inside, and that orders of antibiotics were being shuttled in from pharmacies in all of the surrounding towns to meet the demand.

Marcus wasn’t concerned with the line. He was just relieved that Tara and Tyrell were okay. Fortunately, neither of them was injured. Thank God for Lenny.

He smiled to himself, but that smile withered when he thought of the half-eaten bodies covered by the police on the boardwalk. His leg throbbed under his fresh pair of shorts.

Marcus realized how lucky he was. It could’ve been a lot worse.

He overheard a conversation between a man and woman in front of him in line.

“They’re using words like superstorm and hurricane,” said the woman.

“Do you think they’ll evacuate?”

“Possibly. We’ll just go to my mother’s in Bayonne.”

“Yeah,” said the man. “I guess I can stay at my brother’s in Brick.”

Marcus looked up at the restless sky over a town in turmoil and said a silent prayer.

Part IV

A Sea of Blood

Chapter 19

Tara tossed and turned in bed as she wrestled the ephemeral demons inhabiting her dreams. It was just seconds in the real world, but inside her vast subconscious it felt like hours.

She sat up in a cold sweat as stale, cooled air wafted on her wet skin, raising goose bumps. She looked down at her side and saw that Marcus wasn’t there.

Sunlight crept around the edges of the curtains, and as the boogeymen evaporated on the morning air, she decided she might as well get up. She slid out of bed and padded out of her bedroom. The door was already ajar.

She planned to shuffle to the kitchen, hoping that Marcus had the foresight to brew a fresh pot of morning Joe. However, when she entered the hallway, she saw Marcus standing outside Tyrell’s room, staring at the closed door.

She smiled and crept over to him. “Let him sleep,” she whispered. “He had a trying night.”

Marcus turned his head slowly to look at her, a long strand of black drool hanging from his bottom lip. He had shadows under his eyes, and his expression was listless.

Poor guy had a rough day, himself, yesterday. “I’ll make the coffee,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “How’s the bite?”

Marcus reached out for her and palmed her face, grunting like a caveman.

“Stop it!” she said, prying his hand of her face. “That’s not funny.”

Marcus reached out for her again.

Tara pinched her nose. “Not yet. Not until you’ve had a shower, buster. You stink.” However, it suddenly dawned on her that it was more than a nasty case of morning BO. Marcus didn’t look well. He looked…

“Screeeaahhhh!” He reached for her again, snapping his jaws at her like a rabid animal.

“Marcus, no!” she cried out, as she backed down the hallway to their bedroom.

He shuffled after her, grunting and growling.

“Marcus, it’s me. Whatever it is, you have to fight it.” However, her appeals to reason and self-control went unacknowledged.

She wanted to scream, but she didn’t want to wake Tyrell. As long as he was in his room with the door closed, he was safe. For the moment.

A tear streamed down Tara’s cheek as her husband made regurgitating sounds in his throat, tracking her with angry, hateful eyes.

It brought her back to a time when she had no control over her own body and mind. She was shamed by the memories of sudden, inexplicable paranoia she had felt toward Marcus and the uncontrollable rage she had hurled at him in form of word and fist.

She remembered how he had tried to reason with her.

“Marcus, please. You can fight this. I love you, honey.”

She also remembered how his words made no difference.

Marcus followed her into the bedroom as she backed into the bed. She crawled up onto the mattress, pleading with him. “Please don’t hurt me, Marcus. Please.”

She remembered how he had pleaded with her, but her postpartum depression hadn’t responded to pleas. In fact, the begging had only made her want to hurt him worse.

He crawled up onto the mattress with her, cornering her against the headboard. His jagged mouth twisted into a sinister grin, a look that promised pain. A look she had never seen on her husband’s face before.

What was she going to do? She didn’t have the strength or the will to fight him. She understood what it felt like to have an alien force take over your reason and will.

Tara turned her head away from Marcus as he crawled over to where she crouched, like a mouse who knew the cat was going to win.

Then she heard Tyrell’s voice in the hallway. “Mommy? Daddy?”

Her head jerked back around, and she saw Marcus pausing, looking over his shoulder as he spilled black content from his mouth onto the white sheets.

Tara realized in that moment that she couldn’t allow herself to be taken. After Marcus was done tearing into her, Tyrell would be next. She shoved down the feelings of shame and guilt, replacing them with something better—a mother’s protective instinct.

Tara kicked out and sent Marcus tumbling backward off the bed. She reached out and grabbed the lamp from her end table, yanking the power cord out of the wall.

“Mommy?” Tyrell stood in the doorway.

“Baby, Daddy’s sick! Get out of the house! Now!”

Tyrell stood there, shocked.

Marcus tried to get to his feet. He threw up on the floor, spewing green and black syrup all over the carpeting.

“Mommy?”

“Ty, he’s like those people on the boardwalk! Get out of the house!”

Marcus looked up at his son, as he crouched on all fours, and his lips spread as he let out another shriek.

That was all it took to startle Tyrell out of his paralysis. He took off down the hall screaming.

As Marcus rose, Tara turned the lamp in her hand, gripping it up by the light bulb, and swung at his head, connecting with the hard base of the lamp.

Marcus dropped to his knees, stunned from the blow, and Tara jumped over him, tumbling onto the floor. She scrambled out the doorway when she felt one of Marcus’s hands clamp down on her ankle. She began to feel herself dragged backward, her nightshirt pulling up around her waist, as she saw Tyrell watching from down the hall.

“Get outside! I’ll be right behind you!”

Tyrell hesitated, concerned for his mother.

“Now!”

She waited until she saw him disappear around the corner. Then she flipped over and sat up. Marcus was about to chomp down on her leg. She felt the black ooze dripping onto her bare skin, hot and sticky.

She swung the base of the lamp and connected with his temple, but his grasp was still tight on her ankle. She swung again, missing his head and shattering the base of the lamp on the doorjamb. The light bulb shattered in her grip, and glass fragments ripped her skin. She felt hot blood run over her palms.

Marcus pulled her closer and opened his jaws wide, splitting the skin at the corners of his mouth.

Tara jammed the sharp fragment of the lamp into his mouth, wedging it in place.

Marcus finally let go of her ankle and started swiping at the lamp he had wedged in his mouth keeping him from his hot meal.

Tara scrambled out on her hands and knees into the hallway and pushed herself to her feet. She dashed downstairs and yelled, “Tyrell! Tyrell!”

Marcus screeched from upstairs.

Her eyes darted around the living room, looking for her son.

The front door opened, and she heard his voice. “I’m here, Mommy! Outside!”

Relieved, she dashed to the front door, snatched him up, and ran into the morning breeze under an angry sky, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

Mike awoke in his soft leather recliner in front of the television. He looked over and saw Dharma sleeping on the couch, her clothes from the previous night still on. He slowly and quietly pressed the lever to return the chair to a sitting position, careful not to wake her.

Something on the stairs caught his eye, as he had the odd sensation that he was being watched. At the top of the stairs he saw Salvatore and Alessandra peeking between the slats of the wooden bannister.

Mike smiled and gestured for them to come down, but he quickly put his index finger to his lips to indicate that they were to do so quietly. The children both smiled and nodded, and they began to creep down the stairs.

Mike stood, turned off the television, and met them at the landing, where they looked up at him expectantly. He silently gestured for them to follow him into the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, he bent down at the waist and whispered, “Who wants some cereal?”

Hungry and eager to begin the day, both children nodded in enthusiasm. Mike gestured for them to sit at the table, and they did. He went to the cabinet and pulled out three bowls. He put them on the table and grabbed some spoons out of the drawer. They clinked softly as he placed them on the table.

Alessandra neatly arranged her spoon next to her bowl, while Salvatore watched Mike.

Mike went back to the cabinet and pulled out a box of bran flakes. He knew it wasn’t children’s cereal, but it was all he had in his daily struggle to stay regular.

As he poured the flakes into Alessandra’s bowl, she did her best to manage a polite smile. Salvatore, however, grimaced at the sight of the bran flakes.

Mike held up a finger as an idea just dawned on him. He reached up into the cabinet and produced a box of raisins, holding it up for the children’s approval. Salvatore shrugged, but Alessandra nodded eagerly.

Mike shook the box over their bowls, and raisins tumbled down onto the dry, brown flakes. Mike put the box of raisins on the table, and Salvatore poured some more out on his flakes as Mike got the milk. After pouring a generous amount in each bowl, at last he sat with the children.

They all dug into their cold breakfast in earnest, and no one talked so as not to wake Dharma. Mike was grateful for the silence because that meant they couldn’t discuss what had happened on the boardwalk yesterday or where their mother was. In fact, after a deep night’s sleep, the whole fiasco almost felt like a bad dream.

Salvatore pantomimed drinking from a glass.

Mike jumped up, grabbed three glasses, and slid them onto the table. He went to the fridge and held up a carton of orange juice.

Salvatore gave a thumbs up.

Mike walked over to the table and began to fill their glasses.

“Morning, guys,” said Dharma from the kitchen’s doorway.

“Morning, Dharma.”

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

She sat at the table. “Bran flakes, my favorite,” she said, flashing a sardonic smile.

Mike grabbed another bowl and spoon for her.

Dharma poured herself a heaping bowl, piled on some raisins, doused it all with milk, and filled her glass to the brim with orange juice.

“Now there’s a girl after my own heart,” said Mike. “From what Vinnie told me, I thought you only ate salads.”

“Sometimes,” said Dharma with a mouth full of flakes. “Mostly so I didn’t look like a pig in front of him. But a girl’s gotta eat.”

“Amen,” said Alessandra, and they all shared a laugh.

However, the levity was brief as it was strangled by a looming sense of dread. The children still didn’t know what happened to their parents.

Dharma traded a knowing look with Mike, who shrugged.

“So, are we going home today?” asked Alessandra. “Not that we didn’t have fun…” Her smile faded as memories of the violent attacks resurfaced in her mind.

“Uh, the Police Chief was supposed to come by yesterday, but he understandably had his hands full,” said Mike. “There’s been…”

The phone in Dharma’s shorts rang. She pulled it out and answered. “Hello…Oh, hi, Vinnie. Yeah, we all slept well…We’re eating breakfast right now…bran flakes with raisins…” She looked around the table. “Vinnie told me to say that that’s gross.”

“Tell him it’s not that bad,” said Alessandra, smiling at Mike.

Mike appreciated the gesture.

“No, we’ve got the situation well in hand…No, you go and help your father prepare the store….Okay. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone.

“You know, you should help your mother with the Sunglass Hut,” said Mike, feeling guilty that Dharma was detained. “I can handle this.”

“Where’s my mom?” asked Salvatore. “Are we going home?”

“Your mom called us last night,” said Dharma, cutting Mike off, “and she said you could spend the day here.”

“But I wanna go home,” insisted Salvatore. “No offense,” he added for Mike’s benefit.

“None taken,” said Mike.

Dharma reached out and put her hand on Salvatore’s. “There’s a lot going on with the police and the search for your grandmother. No one’s even home right now.” At least that part was true. “With the storm coming, they have to look after their store as well, so it looks like we’re going to have to have some more fun, just the four of us. Just for a while more.”

Salvatore regarded Dharma dubiously.

Even Alessandra looked tentative about the whole situation.

“I’m going to run out and help my parents secure the

Sunglass Hut. Then I’ll come back with some food and games we can play. Do you guys like board games?”

The children nodded uncertainly.

“I like video games,” said Salvatore.

“I’ll see if I can grab my console on the way back, but in case we lose power, I’ll bring some board games too.”

“You don’t have to do any of this,” said Mike. “You’ve already done enough.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dharma. “A friend in need.”

The reference warmed Mike’s heart. He really liked Dharma. She was a nice girl, and he was happy for Vinnie. Now, he was proud that this wonderful girl regarded him as a friend.

“Hey, we can challenge Vinnie to a racing game later. He’s a car guy, but I think we can take him,” added Dharma.

“Yeah! We’ll kick his butt!” said Alessandra.

“I can take him, easy,” said Salvatore, the adolescent bravado probably for Dharma’s benefit.

Mike reached into his wallet. “Here’s some money for groceries.”

Dharma shook her head. “I got this.”

“No,” said Mike insistently. “You’re all guests in my house. I buy the grub. House rules.”

“Okay,” smiled Dharma.

Mike handed her a bunch of bills that she folded and stashed into her shorts. She kissed Alessandra on the forehead and ruffled her fingers through Salvatore’s hair, causing him to blush. “I’ll be back a little later. It shouldn’t take us too long to lock everything up tight.”

Dharma left Mike with the children.

“How about we watch some TV? Whatever you want.”

The children jumped up and darted to the living room. Salvatore commandeered the remote.

Mike stood in the doorway, overseeing. Dharma had bought him a little time.

His phone rang in the kitchen. He went to answer it. “Y-ello.”

“Michael, it’s Nancy.”

“Hi, Nancy.”

“I need all hands on deck. We’ve got to lock the pier down before the storm.”

“Nancy, I have the Russo children with me.” He lowered his voice. “Their father is dead and their mother is in jail.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s all well and good, but like I said, it’s all hands on deck.”

Mike looked at the phone, perplexed, wondering if she had even heard what he had said. “But, Nancy…”

“But nothing. Get your sorry carcass in here and help me. Bring the damned kids, if need be.”

Before he could answer, she hung up.

Mike placed the phone back and walked into the living room. Salvatore and Alessandra watched some kind of music video.

“Hey, who wants to help me close down Blackbeard’s Pier?”

* * *

Linda MacAteer awoke on her couch to the sound of her phone ringing, clutching an empty bottle of merlot, a storm raging inside her skull. She looked at her designer clock. It was 10 a.m. The voicemail picked up the call, but after a minute, the phone starting ringing again.

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” she groused as she carried the empty bottle over to the phone. She picked it up.

“Hello,” she snapped. “What?...Who?...The CDC…now?...I’ll be right there.” She slammed the phone back down on the small table and placed the empty bottle on a coaster next to it.

That prick Yost called the CDC. Bastard. He couldn’t just die, leaving this world and her in peace.

She ran into her bedroom, yanked her closet doors open, and threw on a pantsuit. She hastily brushed her hair and slipped on her shoes.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Her mind raced with explanations for a locked unit full of carnivorous residents with no vitals. How could residents be alive and have no vitals? We thought our equipment was broken. We had a batch of new nurses and nursing students; we figured they were green.

No, that wasn’t it.

Alan Yost had hid the fact that these residents didn’t have vitals. He must’ve been receiving kickbacks for keeping beds full. I had no knowledge of any of this. Yes, we must transport these residents to a secure medical facility with negative pressure rooms. HAZMAT suits all around.

She grabbed her car keys and jerked the front door open, slamming it behind her as she raced down the stairs to her car parked in the driveway.

As MacAteer opened her car door, she noticed a car at the base of her driveway blocked the exit. Her skin went cold when she saw the driver side door left ajar, and she realized whose car it was.

She looked around for Yost. He must’ve arrived sometime in the night, when she was out cold in a wine-induced coma in her living room. There was no doubt that he was turned by now. He had to be.

She wouldn’t be able to pull out of her driveway with his car blocking the way. She cautiously walked down the driveway, her heels making loud footfalls on the blacktop.

When she reached Yost’s car, she looked around again before sticking her head in. Dammit. No keys in the ignition.

As she pulled her head out of his car, MacAteer heard a gurgling, growling sound. She spun around and saw him standing there, pale as a ghost with the tell-tale raccoon eyes, baring his teeth at her.

She saw his set of keys clipped around one of his belt loops.

“You asshole!” she shouted at him. “You had to call the CDC, didn’t you? A parting shot, I guess.”

He just stood there, staring at her, his lip curled up in a sneer.

“Well, I guess it’s just as well. I mean, I pretty much handed you down a death sentence…You couldn’t just leave well-enough alone, could you?” She looked up at the dark, overcast sky. The wind picked up, and she stood downwind of Yost.

MacAteer was used to the smells of piss, shit, puke, and pus, but this was different. This was death.

“Well, I don’t suppose you want to give me those keys, do you?”

Yost grunted and make gargling sounds in his throat.

“I didn’t suppose so.” MacAteer pulled her shoes off her feet, and gripped one in each hand with the heel pointing out. She had to make do.

MacAteer didn’t know why he just stood there, cocking his head sideways, watching her. Why wasn’t he attacking? “Alan, not only were you stupid as a human, you make a stupid zombie.”

Was he…smiling?

She heard footsteps behind her, but it was already too late. Arms swung around and gripped her in a bear hug as teeth bit down into her neck. MacAteer screamed, but more out of outrage than fear. Outsmarted by a zombie.

Yost shambled over and sunk his teeth into the shoulder opposite where the other zombie gnawed on her neck. They brought her down to the ground and began opening her gut, pulling out innards like they were garland.

MacAteer kicked, yelled, and spat as she was slowly eaten alive in her own driveway.

* * *

Lenny Krueger dragged in the pool furniture, stacking it in the pub in anticipation of high winds. His hat had already blown off his head twice as he worked. His mother hadn’t been feeling well, so she was delegating orders to staff.

As he dragged a lounge chair into the pub and lifted it on top of a building stack, he saw his mother leave the front office, looking sallow, shuffling her feet as she walked.

He watched her go into the empty pool area. Nick grabbed chairs on the other side of the pool. She made to walk in his direction, but Lenny was startled when he saw her walk right into the deep end of the swimming pool.

He ran out and let himself into the pool area, crying out to Nick. “M-m-y M-m-mom! She f-f-fell in the p-p-pool!” He wanted to jump in to save her, but he didn’t know how to swim.

Nick looked up, hearing the splash. When he heard Lenny, he dropped the chair he currently held and ran to the edge of the pool to look where Lenny was pointing.

Sure enough, walking on the bottom of the deep end was Alice Krueger.

“She’s not coming up for air!” cried Nick. He kicked off his sneakers, took his phone out of his pocket and threw it on the grass behind him, and dove in to rescue her.

Lenny looked on as Nick grabbed under her arms and tried to pull her up. She turned around in the water and appeared to grapple with him.

Nick struggled to bring her up, but he was running out of air. He let go to come up for a breath, but Alice’s arms were around him, holding him tightly.

Lenny gasped in horror as he watched Nick try to break free and swim to the surface.

After a brief struggle, Nick inhaled water, and his body slowly became still. He stared up at Lenny, wide-eyed, wearing a terrible expression of shock mixed with regret.

Alice Krueger took bite after bite of Nick, chewing on him as if he was a slab of beef, and the two became enshrouded in a cloud of crimson.

* * *

“Where the hell is the Mayor?” shouted Holbrook. “I can’t get him on the phone!”

“I don’t know,” said his secretary, Clarice. “No one knows.”

“I’ve got the press waiting outside for a statement, and I need his final approval, or he’ll have my guts for garters.”

Joann burst into his office. “Chief, we’ve got more cases of the bitten attacking their families. There’re calls coming in from all over the Bay.”

“I’ve been in touch with the CDC earlier this morning,” said Holbrook. “They’re tracking down the nursing home Sophia Russo was in. They’re telling me about bodies from last night moving on their slabs in the county morgue. What the hell is going on, here?”

Joann looked flabbergasted. “I don’t know what to tell you, Chief, but the press is getting antsy.”

“What press? A couple of local papers that nobody reads.”

“Still, the longer you wait, the more it looks like you’re trying to hide.” She saw Holbrook lost in thought. “What is it?”

“It’s what that Lenny Krueger told you about Sophia Russo.”

“What about it?”

“The part about her trying to bite him. We got a call this morning from Russo’s shrink at the nursing home. Her husband tried to bite her and her son.”

“Maybe the CDC is right, and this is an epidemic.”

Holbrook stood. “That means Sophia Russo was patient zero.”

“Where are you going?” asked Joann.

He rounded his desk. “To the holding cells. Marie Russo knows something about this.”

“Do you think she was telling the truth about her mother-in-law and husband attacking her?”

“I think we’re holding an innocent person.”

Holbrook opened his door and entered the bullpen. He stalked past desks and headed for the stairwell, but there were more than a couple of reporters blocking the way. A few of the bigger news stations were in attendance. When they saw him, their faces lit up, and they turned on their audio recorders and cameras. As he approached, they blocked the way and shoved the recorders and cameras in his face.

“Chief Holbrook, do you have any information on the riots and murders that occurred on the boardwalk yesterday during Circus Faire?”

Holbrook held both hands up. “Unfortunately, there were a few trouble makers who tried to ruin a day of family fun. I believe my officers responded quickly and appropriately to address the problems.”

“Was it true that the attackers were biting, and in some cases eating their victims?”

Holbrook stepped forward, and the reporters encircled him in a feeding frenzy. They smelled blood in the water. “It is true that the nature of the attacks was particularly brutal, but we’re looking into the possibility of drugs and even illness as being behind the attacks?”

“Is it true that there have been more attacks of a similar nature today?”

“I can’t speak to the nature of today’s attacks just yet, but once again, we’re looking into drugs or an illness.”

“Is the CDC involved in the investigation?”

“Yes,” said Holbrook, “I called them myself. They’re looking into the possibility of an illness.” He was careful to stay away from the word ‘epidemic.’

“Chief Holbrook, there’ve been reports of bodies in the morgue suddenly moving of their own volition. Care to comment?”

“Okay, that’s enough. I’ve told you all I know. When I find out more, you’ll be the first to know.” He shoved his way past the reporters and descended the stairs to the holding cells.

Joann stepped forward. “All right, I need you to clear the area. We’ve a lot going on right now. The Chief will have more information for you at a later time.

Holbrook cursed under his breath as he took the steps two at a time. He hated being in front of the camera answering questions. He wished Chris was here. Holbrook was no politician. Chris was the one with the silver tongue.

He walked into the holding area and saw Marie Russo sitting on her bench in her cell. Her mascara was streaked down her cheeks, and her eyes were swollen and puffy.

“Tell me again what happened in your house.”

Marie looked at him. “I told you everything I know.” She sounded defeated.

“Well, why don’t you tell me again?”

“There are other attacks, aren’t there? Like what happened to me.”

“How did you know that?”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? Sophia bit my husband, and he turned into one of those things. She probably bit others when she was out wandering around.”

“Not only that,” said Holbrook, “there were attacks yesterday at Circus Faire. There were people attacking the parade and spectators. Sick people. They bit some people, and today it appears the bitten are attacking their families.”

“Now do you believe me, Chief? Why would I attack my own husband? I loved Mario. He was already dead, and he tried to kill me.”

“I want to believe you, Marie.” He really did. “What about Billy Blake?”

She rubbed her eyes, weary with exhaustion. “It’s true. I had a couple of drinks with him. I never should’ve. He did make a pass at me, but I rejected him.”

“Did you murder Billy Blake?”

“No, I didn’t. I might’ve felt like it, but I didn’t, and now my only alibi is dead.”

“Can the kids attest to the fact that you were home that night?”

“They knew I was home. They didn’t watch me all night. By the way, how are they?”

Holbrook smiled. “They’re with Mike. He’s showing them a good time.”

“Were they at Circus Faire yesterday?”

Holbrook looked down at the floor. “Yes, but they’re all right.”

“So, what now?”

“Truthfully, I believe your account of what happened in your house. Lenny Krueger reported being attacked by Sophia Russo. He said she tried to bite him.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s okay. We found his mother at the bottom of the Ocean’s Gate swimming pool.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, apparently, she was eating one of her employees who jumped in to save her.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t have any evidence putting you with Billy the night he was murdered.” Holbrook grabbed his key ring and opened her cell. “You’re free to go.”

Marie looked at him in disbelief.

“You can go collect your things from Joann upstairs. I’m sure your kids are anxious to see you.”

She stood and stepped out of the cell. “Do they know?”

“Not yet. Not unless Mike told them.”

Marie sighed. Holbrook put his hand on her shoulder. “For what it’s worth, Marie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your husband and mother-in-law, and I’m sorry for detaining you. Just doing my job. I had to look into it.”

“I understand, Chief.”

Holbrook walked her upstairs and pointed her in Joann’s direction. When Joann saw her, her expression was sympathetic. She took her to get her things.

Holbrook dashed out the front door and headed to his squad car. He was making a quick stop home.

Chapter 20

“Okay, let’s line up all of the sandbags along the bottom of the roll down gates to stop water from coming in,” said Mike.

Salvatore and Alessandra filled bags with sand. Randy and Mike grabbed the bags and lugged them over to the gates, laying them side-by-side.

Mike had already taken the children around the amusement park, shutting down all of the rides and locking the gates. Salvatore had particularly found it ‘cool’ to see the place dark and dormant. Alessandra had said it gave her the creeps.

Nancy popped outside for a moment. “This damned storm is costing me money.”

“What do you mean?” asked Randy. “The sandbags were free.”

“I mean that if I’m closed, I’m not making money. On top of that, I’m paying you two on a day when I’m not bringing any money in.” She looked at the children and smiled. “It was a good idea bringing the kids, Michael. I was able to send the other employees home. They’re working harder than Randall.”

“Bite me,” said Randy under his breath.

“Only you would be excited about child labor, Nancy,” said Mike.

“Child labor. You make me out to be some kind of monster.”

“If the shoe fits,” said Randall a little too loudly.

Nancy shot him a look. “Hey, kids, as a token of my appreciation, when you’re done, you can pick something out from the concession stand.”

Mike looked shocked at her gesture. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Nancy saw his look. “Oh, come off it. I was a kid once, too. A million years ago, but I was a kid once.” She popped back inside the arcade.

The wind howled, and the waves on the beach thrashed, the surf encroaching farther up toward the boardwalk.

“Let’s get this done so we can get out of here,” said Mike. He looked over his shoulder and saw Vinnie and Dharma walking toward the arcade.

“We thought you could use some help,” said Vinnie.

“Your timing is impeccable,” said Mike. “Grab some bags.”

Vinnie and Dharma threw their backs into it, and they all lined the edges of the arcade twice as quickly.

* * *

Holbrook pulled up to his house and parked his squad car in front. The light drizzle turned into a downpour. He got out and darted up his front path, letting himself inside his house.

“Lena! Lena!”

She looked concerned as she ran down the stairs. “I was upstairs packing. What is it, honey?”

Robbie bounded down the stairs. “Daddy!”

“Good. I want the two of you out of town, ASAP.”

“Is everything all right?” asked Lena, worried.

“It’s not safe. There’ve been more attacks, and soon we’re probably going to have to evacuate. There looks to be massive flooding. The ocean’s already halfway up the beach.”

“More attacks?”

“Yeah. The CDC thinks it’s the beginning of an epidemic, one that makes people violent and dangerous.”

“What’s an epidemic?” asked Robbie.

“It’s a bad sickness that spreads,” explained Holbrook.

“I’m almost all packed,” said Lena.

“Good. I’ll wait, so I can see you off.”

This frightened Lena. Was it that bad that they needed a police escort? “Okay, Robbie, get your bags and bring them down,” she said.

Robbie ran up the steps and returned with a duffel bag. He ran back up and brought down a backpack stuffed to the brim.

Holbrook grabbed both bags, shouldering them both. “Keys,” he said to Lena.

She fished them out of her purse and handed them to her husband.

Holbrook ran outside, popped the trunk to Lena’s car, and tossed in his son’s bags. He left the trunk open and came back inside as Lena dragged luggage down the steps. He grabbed the luggage from her and half-dragged, half-carried the bags to her car, where he threw them into the trunk.

Holbrook slammed the trunk shut when he heard a loud banshee wail from the next block over the sound of fat raindrops pelting the car. The shrill cry sent a chill down his spine, and his hand unconsciously rested on his gun.

He ran back into the house. “You have to go. Now.”

Lena grabbed a jacket for her and Robbie. She grabbed his hand as Holbrook rushed them out the front door.

He locked it behind them and escorted them to the car in the driving rain.

Lena noticed his hand on his gun. “Jim, what’s going on?”

“Tell your sister I said hello.”

“What about you?”

“I have to be here and see things through. I’ll be okay, I promise. You two have to go now. Later, the bridge is going to be mobbed with traffic.”

Robbie hugged him. Holbrook bent down and kissed his son on the cheek. “You be good at your aunt’s house. When I get there we’ll play some games, have some fun. We’ll all be together, like Christmas, but in August.”

Lena kissed Holbrook deeply. “Be careful,” she whispered.

“I’m always careful,” he said. “Now go, and drive safely.”

Lena stood there a moment in the rain, drinking in the sight of her husband as if it might be her last. The gesture gave Holbrook the willies because somewhere, deep down, he knew that was a distinct possibility.

She and Robbie got into the car, and she pulled away as Holbrook heard more shrieks and gunfire a block away.

It was time to begin the evacuation of Smuggler’s Bay.

* * *

Randy, Salvatore, and Alessandra feasted on candy bars. Mike helped Nancy lock up the office and storerooms in the back when they heard gunfire. It was a popping sound that resembled that of firecrackers.

“What was that?” asked Alessandra.

“Probably just a bunch of teenagers setting off firecrackers.

Mike and Nancy emerged from the back.

“Were those gunshots?” asked Mike.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Nancy. “Why would there be gunshots?”

Then there were more pops, louder this time.

“Those are definitely gunshots,” said Dharma.

They all turned to the glass door, as all of the metal security gates were down, and saw a man in the rain ambling over toward them.

“Is that Johnny Wong?” asked Randy.

Johnny Wong saw the light coming from the door and made a beeline for it. He collided with the glass, as if he didn’t know it was there, smearing blood on it where his face pressed against it.

“What is he, drunk?” asked Nancy.

Randy made to go open the door to let him in, but Mike grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute.”

“What? It’s raining out there,” said Randy.

Johnny pressed his hands up against the glass and shrieked.

“What the fuck?” gasped Randy.

Vinnie’s eyes went wide with realization. “He sounds like…”

“One of those things from yesterday,” said Mike. “Look how he isn’t opening the door.”

Vinnie walked over to the door.

“What are you doing?” said Nancy. “Don’t let him in.”

Vinnie locked the door from the inside.

Johnny snapped his jaws against the glass, desperately trying to get at Vinnie.

“He’s scaring me,” whimpered Alessandra, on the verge of tears.

“Dharma, why don’t you take the kids to the back and show them the Halloween decorations?” said Mike.

Dharma nodded, looking terrified herself, but she took Salvatore and Alessandra back to the Classics Room. Alessandra was happy to go, but Sal looked over his shoulder at Johnny as he threw himself against the glass like a lion at the zoo.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Vinnie.

Johnny made some odd throaty sounds and projectile vomited green and black liquid on the glass.

“Get away from there,” said Mike.

Vinnie backed away from the door. “It should hold him.”

“I’m calling 9-1-1,” announced Nancy, pulling out her cell phone. “Hello? Yes, this is Nancy Longo at Blackbeard’s Pier. We need help. There’s an emotionally disturbed person banging on our door, throwing up everywhere, and we want to get the hell out of here…That’s right…Blackbeard’s Pier, on the boardwalk…Yes, please hurry.” She hung up the phone. “They’re sending someone.”

There were more pops outside. Johnny turned his head in the direction of the gunfire. He turned heel and walked off to track the source of the sound.

“See,” said Nancy. “He saw me calling the police and decided to get smart.”

“Yeah, right,” said Randy.

Vinnie and Mike walked up to the door and peered out through the blood and bile. “Oh shit.”

“What?” asked Nancy.

“There’re more of them,” said Mike. “They’re staggering around the boardwalk.”

“There’s gotta be over a dozen of them,” said Vinnie.

“What do you mean?” snapped Nancy. She stomped over to the front door and looked out. She saw for herself. “Oh, for Pete’s sake!”

“Back away from the door,” said Mike, gently nudging her away. “We don’t want to draw their attention.”

“Don’t you touch me, Michael.”

Mike rolled his eyes at Vinnie, who rolled his back and looked out the door.

“While you’re at it, go turn off the lights,” he told Nancy.

She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you think you can order me around, buster.”

“I’d lower your voice, too, before you become a human chew toy,” said Mike.

She huffed, but she knew he was right. She stormed off to turn off the lights as Mike winked irreverently at Vinnie.

When Nancy flicked the switch and the lights went out, they heard Alessandra scream from the back of the arcade.

“Go find them,” Mike told Vinnie, “explain to them what’s happening, and for God’s sake, tell them to be quiet.”

Vinnie ran to the Classics Room to find Dharma and the children, while Mike stood on the side of the door peering out through the vomit. It didn’t seem like those things outside heard Alessandra’s scream over the howling winds.

“Guys, you’ve gotta be quiet. There’re more sick people out there. We can’t draw attention,” said Vinnie.

“More sick people?” asked Alessandra. “Like yesterday?” She grabbed her brother’s arm.

Salvatore, traumatized by the attacks the day before, just looked traumatized.

“We’re safe,” said Dharma. “They’re not getting in here. Right, Vinnie?”

Vinnie managed his best reassuring smile. “Right, but you guys have to be very quiet.”

Vinnie and Dharma looked into each other’s eyes for a moment.

“I have to go back,” said Vinnie.

“We’ll be fine,” said Dharma. “I’ve got some games on my phone we can play with the volume off.”

Vinnie left the Classics Room to rejoin the others when Randy intercepted him.

“I gotta talk to you, man,” said Randy.

They stepped behind the carousel. Chills went down Randy’s spine as he saw the looming silhouette of the zombie statue.

“What is it?” whispered Vinnie.

“Vinnie, do you know what’s going on here?”

“No, what’s going on here?”

“Think about it—sick people biting other people. The bitten become sick themselves and start biting others.”

Vinnie stepped back and put his hands up. “Don’t say it, bro. Just don’t. I know what you’re going to say.”

Randy leaned it and whispered, “It’s fuckin’ zombies, man.”

“No. There’s a reasonable explanation for it. Mike thinks they’re sick.”

“Exactly,” said Randy. “It’s some kinda virus manufactured by the government or from aliens.”

“You’ve been smoking too many trees, my friend.”

“Think about it, Vinnie. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“There’s no such thing as zombies, Randy.”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the flesh-eating, shambling monsters outside this arcade.”

“They’re just sick or jacked up on bath salts or something.”

“Where’re the Goddamned coppers that my tax dollars pay for?” Nancy whispered.

“I don’t know, Nancy,” whispered Mike, “but when they do show up, please don’t remind them that you pay their taxes.”

“Why, are you afraid of them? I’m not. Their job is to protect and serve me.”

“You know, that’s your problem. You think everyone exists on this planet to serve you.”

Nancy pursed her lips. “Do you know what your problem is, Michael? You don’t know your damned place.”

“My place? Just what’s that supposed to mean? Just because you make more money than me and happen to employ me, you think that you’re better than me?”

“I never said I was better than you, but now that you mention it…”

“Yeah, well you sure act like you’re better than everyone.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m surrounded by a bunch of morons.”

“Really? Miss High and Mighty Super Genius? You never even went to college.”

“Oh yeah? Well neither did you, you old fool.”

“Old fool? Maybe I am an old fool. I admit it.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because of this…” Mike leaned in, slipped his hand behind her head, and kissed her on the mouth.

Nancy was stunned, but she didn’t exactly pull away.

Mike felt a stirring in his pants he hadn’t felt for years.

After a few seconds, she pushed herself away from him. Their lips parted with a wet smacking sound.

“How dare you? This is sexual harassment.”

“How can it be sexual harassment? I’m so far beneath her Royal Highness. If anything, you sexually harassed me.”

“You’re the one who kissed me,” she insisted.

“Well, you looked like you could use a little sexual harassment, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

Mike was about to open his mouth to respond with another quip when a loud alarm sounded. All of the shambling figures stopped in their tracks and started looking around, confused.

Vinnie and Randy came out, both children following them.

“What’s that sound?” asked Randy.

“It’s the flood alarms,” said Mike. “They’re going to evacuate Smuggler’s Bay.”

“Where are those police?” asked Nancy. “We can’t stay here.”

Mike made a sweeping gesture toward the door. “Well, if you want to be the first to rush out onto a boardwalk of murderous freaks, then be my guest.”

They waited for a couple of hours by the concession stand, feasting on candy bars, stale popcorn, and guzzling soda while they waited for the police to come. Not one of them took their eye off the gore soaked glass door.

“Stay here,” said Vinnie to the children.

They stayed put with Mike and Nancy.

Vinnie crept over to the door. Randy followed him. They both peered out at an angle so as not to be seen from the outside. Although it was pouring outside, very little of the syrup that Johnny Wong spewed on the glass actually washed off.

“Holy shit,” said Randy. “There’re more of them. Where are they all coming from?”

Vinnie jumped as water crashed onto the boardwalk. “Holy smokes, did you see that? A wave just crashed onto the boardwalk.”

Everyone jumped out of their skin as they heard a wave slap against the back of the arcade.

“That’s not good,” said Nancy. She walked over to the back. Randy and Mike followed. Vinnie kept watch by the front door, and Dharma kept an eye on the children.

Nancy ran to the back window looking out on the beach, only she didn’t see a beach. “Oh my God.”

Mike and Randy stood next to her and gazed out at a churning ocean that had engulfed the beach entirely. Waves began to rise and crash against the back of the building.

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” said Mike

There were more popping sounds, and Vinnie saw flashes in the gloom. “Hey, guys, there’s something going on!”

They all ran to the front door to peer out, except for the two scared children who stood frozen by the carousel. The adults pushed and shoved to get a good look.

“Someone’s shooting,” said Vinnie.

* * *

Everything had gone horribly wrong. Holbrook and Joann splashed down the boardwalk taking wild shots at their undead assailants. They were trained to aim for center mass and they were running, so few of those shots actually connected.

They skidded to a stop in front of Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade, Joann nearly losing her balance entirely, grabbing onto Holbrook for support. They were cut off by a band of attackers coming from the other direction.

“I’m out!” shouted Joann over the howling wind.

“Me, too!”

They both extended their batons.

Their approaching attackers howled and screeched over the wind, a synergy of horrid sound.

Joann cradled a nasty bite on her forearm.

Holbrook thought he heard someone shouting, but it was tough to tell over all the commotion.

A flash of light caught his eye. Someone hung out of the Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade waving an illuminated cell phone.

He grabbed Joann’s arm, and she winced. “Let’s go!” He pulled her as they ran to the door, at this point with twenty or thirty attackers on their tail.

Vinnie stood aside as Holbrook barreled into the arcade.

Joann, however, stopped short at the doorway. “Lock the door!”

“Come in!” shouted Vinnie.

Holbrook turned around and walked back to the open door. The wind carried in ocean spray and the unholy shrieks and wails of the dead. “What are you doing?”

“I’m already dead, and you know it!” Joann shouted.

Before Holbrook or Vinnie could respond, Joann pulled down the smaller metal security gate over the door.

“No!” Holbrook shouted. He heard metal scraping on the outside. He reached down to try to pull up the gate, but it wouldn’t budge. “She locked it from the outside,” he cried out in panic.

He put his ear to the gate, and he and Vinnie heard Joann shout, “Follow me, you motherfuckers!”

There was a rush of footfalls and then nothing.

Then there was a bang on the metal gate, and they heard screeching and moaning as the gate buckled on its hinges.

“Get back!” said Vinnie, pulling Holbrook out of the doorway. He closed the glass door and locked it. The dead outside started pounding on all of the gates all around the arcade, the effect like thunder. Waves crashed on the back window of the arcade, shaking the pane of glass inside the frame.

“Somebody get the lights,” said Dharma.

“I got it,” said Randy. He walked over to the shooting gallery and flicked on the lights.

Mike and Nancy walked over to Holbrook. “What happened?”

Holbrook, still shocked by Joann’s brave act, took a moment to regain his composure. “They’re dead. They’re all dead.”

“How?” asked Nancy.

“We were in the middle of an evacuation when these…” He didn’t want to say the word, because if he did it would make it real. “…zombies came out of nowhere. They started killing everyone. Eating them.”

“Ha!” said Randy, jumping up and down in triumph. “I told you, Vinnie. They are zombies.”

Everyone glared at Randy.

“Will you put a sock in it, you numbskull?” snapped Nancy.

Holbrook took a deep breath. “The streets were clogged with slow moving traffic. They didn’t stand a chance. We were trying to clear the boardwalk, make sure everyone was evacuated, when we were overrun.”

“Where’s my mommy?” asked Alessandra.

Holbrook looked at Mike. “You didn’t tell her?”

Mike hung his head. “No, I didn’t.”

Holbrook steeled himself. “I had her at the station. We found your grandma. She’s dead.”

Alessandra gasped. Salvatore gawked at him.

“And your grandma killed your father.”

“What?” cried Salvatore over the thunderous pounding of the dead on the security gates. “My Dad was killed? By Nana?”

“I thought your mother did it, so I held her at the police station, but I let her go.”

Mike put a supportive hand on Holbrook’s shoulder. The Police Chief was soaked to the bone and trembling.

“Where is she?” asked Alessandra.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Was Nana one of the zombies?”

“Yes, I’m afraid she was, son.”

Alessandra began to cry.

Nancy, of all people, put her arm around her to comfort her. “There, there, dear. I’m sure your mother’s all right. She’s probably worried about you and your brother.”

“So what now?” asked Randy. “There’re more cops coming, right? We’re going to be rescued?”

Holbrook shook his head. “Honestly, I-I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Easy, Randy,” warned Mike. Randy backed off, but he began pacing back and forth in front of the carousel.

“I just saw half of my force cut to ribbons by those freaks out there,” said Holbrook, “and that was just on the boardwalk.”

“What about your radio?” asked Mike.

“One of those things ripped it off of me,” said Holbrook. “Let me try my cell.” He took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Joann. As the phone rang, he prayed she would answer, because if she answered it meant she was alive. However, with each ring he knew the horrible truth.

“Okay,” he said, hanging up. “Let me try someone else.” He tried a few of his officers, but no one picked up. He tried the police station, but again, no answer. “No one’s answering.”

“Great,” said Randy, still pacing. “So we’re cut off.”

“That was why Joann locked us in here,” said Holbrook. “She knew we’d have to hole up for a while. I’m sure no one’s answering because they’re a bit preoccupied at the moment.” He hoped that was true.

“We’re going to die!” cried Randy. “We’re all going to fucking die!”

Nancy slapped him hard on the face.

Randy stood there stunned. He put his hands up to his face and began to cry.

“Listen, I don’t want to be here either,” said Nancy, “but since we’re here, we might as well make the best of it. Pissing and moaning won’t do us any good. We have enough candy and soft drinks to last us a week. Maybe more.”

Another wave crashed on the back of the arcade, shaking the building on the pilings as the dead continued to rattle the metal gates.

“When do you think they’ll get tired?” asked Vinnie.

“They’re zombies,” said Randy. “They’ll never get tired.”

“Will those gates hold up?” asked Vinnie.

“They should,” said Nancy.

“She’s right,” said Holbrook. “For a while, anyway. They’re designed to take a licking.”

“What about this arcade?” asked Vinnie.

“Unfortunately, I think the gates are the strongest part of the building,” admitted Nancy.

“Great, so we’re trapped in an arcade hanging over the ocean surrounded by zombies in the middle of a super storm,” said Holbrook. He thought about Lena and Robbie. He was glad he sent them off when he did, before the shit truly hit the fan.

“So, what are you saying?” asked Vinnie. “That help isn’t coming?”

“It all happened so fast,” said Holbrook. “I’ve been in touch with the CDC, and they’re looking into what they think is patient zero. I’m going to call in the State Police.”

“How about the National Guard?” added Mike.

They heard more gunfire in the distance.

Holbrook picked up this cell and dialed. “Operator? This is Holbrook, Chief of Police in Smuggler’s Bay.” He rattled off his badge number. “I need you to patch me through to the State Police right away.”

They put him on hold.

“What about my parents?” asked Dharma.

“Or mine?” added Vinnie.

Holbrook shook his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t look like many made it out.”

Vinnie and Dharma each picked up their cell phones and dialed their parents.

Holbrook heard a voice on the other end. “Yes…This is Chief Holbrook of Smuggler’s Bay. We have a situation…Oh, good…Yes, we were overrun during the evacuation…Yes…I see…”

Dharma’s call got picked up first. “Hello, Mom?...Are you all right?...You’re on the highway…” She sighed in relief. “…oh, thank God. I’m in the Bay, but I’m safe…”

Vinnie’s father picked up. “Hello? Dad? Where are you?...Are you and Mom all right?...Stay put, you should be safe…I’ll come get you…No, Dad, I’m going to come for you…I’m locked in Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade…Dharma’s here…Chief Holbrook, Mike, Randy, and their boss…”

“I’m locked inside Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade with a bunch of people.” said Holbrook. “I see…excellent…okay, keep me posted…here’s my number…”

“Yeah, Mom, I’m all right…” said Dharma. “I have the Police Chief here with me…Listen, I have to go…No, don’t turn back. It’s not safe for you…I’m fine…I’ll call you back…Okay, love you. Bye.” She hung up the phone.

Vinnie looked worried talking to his father. “Are the doors locked?...Are you sure?...Okay, hang tight…Keep your phone by you…Chief Holbrook?...Hold on…” He handed the phone to Holbrook, who hung up his phone.

Holbrook took it. “Hello?...Yes…We’re barricaded in the arcade…We’re all okay…Yes, sir…Yes…I’ll do my best…Do you have an attic?...Take your wife up there…Start filling bottles of water…Yes, you might want to bring some food up there as well…Okay…Talk to you later.” Holbrook hung up the phone.

Dharma hugged Vinnie. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“He and your mother are okay,” said Holbrook. “I told them to bring some food and water up to the attic. If the zombies get inside the house, at least they can retract the stairs.”

“Your parents made it out?” Vinnie asked Dharma.

She nodded.

“Good. I’m glad,” he said.

“My Mom said that once they crossed the bridge off the island, there wasn’t any sign of any of this. It only seemed to be in the Bay.”

“So what did the State Police have to say?” asked Nancy.

“They’re aware of the situation. They’ve called in the National Guard as well to establish a perimeter on the bridge, so only the living make it out.”

“What about the bitten?” asked Mike.

“They’re triaging people in a camp just over the bridge.”

“They’re going to quarantine?”

“That’s the assumption, although we didn’t get into that kind of detail.”

“Is it happening anywhere else?”

“Once again, we didn’t get into that kind of detail. Do you have a radio or television?” asked Holbrook.

“We have both,” said Nancy.

“Let’s check out the news. Maybe we can get an idea of what’s happening outside.”

“There’s a television in my office,” said Nancy.

“Why don’t you take the kids in there? They don’t need to be out here listening to all of this.”

Nancy nodded. “Come with me, kids.” Alessandra put her hand in Nancy’s, and for a moment, Mike thought he saw Nancy’s gruff exterior melt a little.

“You too,” Nancy said to Salvatore. He looked at Dharma.

“It’s okay,” she said. “See if you can find out what’s going on.”

Salvatore responded to being given a job to do, as Dharma knew he would. He went into the back office with Nancy and his sister.

Holbrook waited until they were out of sight. “Okay, we need to keep watch on the gates.”

“I thought you said they’d hold,” said Dharma.

“They might, but I’m not just worried about the zombies,” said Holbrook. “I’m worried about the storm. If there’s flooding…”

“Maybe the storm will wash them away,” said Vinnie.

“Nancy’s right,” said Mike. “We have enough provisions to ride out the storm. Hopefully, the authorities get a handle on all this in the meantime.”

Holbrook stowed away his retractable baton. “All we can do now is watch and wait. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I have to call my wife.”

“Of course,” said Mike.

Holbrook stepped away from the group for privacy. He dialed Lena. She picked up. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God,” said Holbrook.

Chapter 21

Lenny crouched in his apartment as the rain pelted his window. Water started to creep in under the door. He curled into a ball on his bed, traumatized by the horrific sights during the attempted evacuation of Smuggler’s Bay, as Dr. Tara and Tyrell watched him.

His Aunt Patricia had piled him and the rest of the clan into her minivan, but it was bumper to bumper on the main boulevard to the bridge off the island. They were only a few blocks away from the Ocean’s Gate when the attacks started happening.

Lenny was horrified when the dead started assaulting the cars. In a panic, his aunt pulled off the road and mounted the sidewalk, running down a shocked police officer and crashing into a telephone pole, triggering the air bag.

His Aunt Patricia staggered out of the car and was immediately seized upon by the dead.

Terrified, Lenny ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He looked back and saw his whole family being eaten alive like cattle.

One of the dead had grabbed him, but Lenny wriggled out, leaving his cape behind as a memento. He ran smack dab into Dr. Tara and Tyrell.

“Lenny!” Dr. Tara’s eyes were wide with fright.

Tyrell clung to her like a little, terrified barnacle.

“Follow me!” He had run back to the only place he knew was safe, the Ocean’s Gate, and left with no other discernible option, Tara and Tyrell had followed. The dead had been focused on the street traffic, so Lenny had an easy time of crossing the grounds to his room.

Putting his hands over his ears, he did his best to try and block out the screams of horror and the wailing of the dead. However, it was to no avail.

Tyrell crouched in the corner, his feet and bottom getting wet from the encroaching water.

“Lenny, we can’t stay here,” said Tara.

Lenny shushed her, afraid the sick would hear them. There were feet scuffling outside and a few shrieks that were a little too close for comfort.

Tara sat next to him on the bed and put her arm around him for reassurance. “Lenny, thank you for bringing us to safety.”

“Y-y-you’re w-w-welcome, Dr. Tara.” He looked over at Tyrell and patted the bed next to him. “You’re getting wet,” he whispered.

Tyrell frowned and stood. He walked over to the bed and sat next to Lenny.

Lenny put a hand on his shoulder. “W-w-we’ll be safe here.”

Tara noticed the water level slowly rising. “Lenny, this room is going to flood. We can’t stay here for very long.”

“I-I-I’m n-n-not going outs-s-side. No way, Jose.”

“Lenny, if we had to, is there a place we can go on the second floor? A place where we’ll be safe?”

Lenny thought about it for a moment. “There’re rooms on the second and t-t-third floor.”

“Lenny, I was thinking of a room with a sturdy door. Something without big windows.”

“There’s a supply closet on the second f-f-floor. The door is strong. There’s only one s-small window.”

“We have to go there, Lenny.” She looked down at the rising water level. She pointed to the electrical sockets. “Water and electricity don’t mix.”

Lenny nodded. His face scrunched up, as if he’d suddenly remembered something. “Where’s your h-h-husband?”

Tara’s expression must’ve said it all, because Lenny hugged her tightly. “I will protect you,” he said without stutter. “I will be your superhero.”

* * *

Marie was able to pull her car off the line down the boulevard heading out of Smuggler’s Bay. She weaved in between running people and pursuing dead, clipping a few of the dead along the way.

When she reached her block, she had to abandon her car because there were cars blocking the road. There were three of the dead hot on her trail as she made a mad dash for her house. Her keys clutched in her hand, using tactile memory, she fingered through the keys until she found the key to her front door.

She ran up her front path, slamming the gate behind her, buying her the precious few extra seconds she needed. She ripped the Police tape marking off the crime scene and let herself into her house. She slammed and locked the door behind her, and she ran to the living room window to look out.

There were now several of the dead surrounding her house, pounding mindlessly on the walls and front door. Marie ran into the kitchen, noting the police outlines of the bodies on the floor.

She grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

“Nine-one-one, please state your emergency,” said a cool, collected voice on the other end. Marie wondered if the operator had any clue what was happening.

“I’m being attacked in my home. There are sick people attacking everyone. I’m trapped in my home.”

“Are you in Smuggler’s Bay, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We currently have every available unit dispatched to the area. Are you in a safe place right now?”

Marie looked around her kitchen. “For the moment.” The kitchen had a back door. Marie figured she’s stay put rather than box herself in a room with no alternative exit.

“Good. Is there anyone with you?”

“No. I’m alone.”

“Help is on the way. I’m going to stay on the line with you until they arrive.”

The whole gesture was ridiculous. If the dead came crashing into her house, there was nothing the operator could do to help her. Yet, after losing her husband and being thrown in jail, and with her children elsewhere, Marie felt very alone. “Okay, thank you.”

* * *

The water was really starting to rise in the arcade. Holbrook and the rest waded around shin-deep as they heard the sounds of debris banging into security gates on the boardwalk.

Vinnie and Randy applied extra masking tape to the back window in X patterns as waves throttled the back of the structure. It was dark outside, the moon enshrouded by cloud cover, making the churning waves indistinguishable from the dark sky. It appeared that they were staring into a dark chasm.

That was why they didn’t see the oncoming wave. It smashed against the glass, breaking it, covering Vinnie and Randy in seawater and glass shards.

Nancy came running out of her office, startled by the sound. She was shouting something, but the wind from the storm drowned her out.

Mike, Dharma, and Holbrook ran to the back to help them. Vinnie and Randy had cuts on their hands and faces. They all retreated to the carousel area.

“First aid kit!” Holbrook shouted to Nancy, who nodded and ran back to the office.

Dharma cradled Vinnie’s cut hands in hers. The cuts looked superficial.

“We’ve got to cover that window!” shouted Holbrook.

“There’s nothing,” yelled Mike.

“Maybe we can push the pool tables and air hockey tables over to block some of it,” shouted Vinnie.

“They’re too heavy,” yelled Mike, “and you’re in no condition to help.”

“What about the cabinet games?” suggested Holbrook. “We can stack them.”

“Too light,” said Mike.

“If we can stack enough of them,” said Holbrook, “it should cut down on some of the wind getting in here.”

The wind rattled the multi-hinged security doors, but thankfully it drowned out the relentless cries and pounding of the dead on the other side.

Nancy ran back with a first aid kit.

Dharma grabbed it and opened it. Nancy and Dharma tended to Randy’s and Vinnie’s hands and faces, while Mike and Holbrook wheeled the cabinet video games from the Classics Room over to the window and stacked them.

Randy stood awkwardly with his hands out as Nancy cleaned the cuts.

She shoved gauze into his hands. “You’ll be all right, you big baby! I have to check on the children.” She put her hand on Dharma’s shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze, and she ran back to the office.

She sloshed in the water and opened the office door when everything went black.

Salvatore gasped and Alessandra screamed.

“It’s okay,” said Nancy. It was quieter back there, so she didn’t have to shout. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

She felt little hands reaching out in the dark. She took them in hers and pulled Alessandra close. “It’s okay, my dear.”

“What now?” shouted Dharma.

“The power’s out,” explained Vinnie.

In the dark, Holbrook and Mike clumsily stacked cabinet games on their sides over the gaping hole, and the wind became quieter.

Vinnie listened, and he didn’t hear the moans and pounding of the dead. However, as his ears adjusted, he began to hear it again.

“It sounds like there’s fewer of them,” said Dharma.

“Either that, or some of the wind is still drowning them out.”

The wind whistled through the gaps in the cabinet barricade, ocean spray finding its way through. However, the makeshift barricade did help to reduce the amount of storm entering inside.

Mike and Holbrook waded back toward the carousel, groping in the dark. Mike felt the edge of the carousel against his shin. It was underwater.

“Why don’t you guys climb up on the horses?” he suggested. “I’ll go back and check on Nancy and the kids.”

“Why don’t I go?” said Holbrook. “It’s dark. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Are you kidding?” chuckled Mike. “I know this place like the back of my hand. I’ll be fine.”

Holbrook, Vinnie, Dharma, and Randy awkwardly climbed up onto the carousel, feeling for horses, and mounted them.

Dharma reached out in the dark and found Vinnie’s hand.

He winced as she clenched it.

She was scared.

Mike trudged his way to the back office. He felt the door frame and realized the door was open. “Are you all okay?”

“Yes,” said Nancy. “We’re just fine. I explained that this was just a little power outage. Nothing to fear. Right, children?”

Mike heard whimpers of dubious agreement in the dark office. Then he felt a hand reach out for his in the dark. It was Nancy’s.

Vinnie and Dharma held hands in the dark, oblivious to the bottoms of the security gates bending and dead, eager fingers curling under the edges. They heard metallic groans from the amusement park next door. The rides began to buckle.

Nancy and the children joined the rest of the gang on the carousel, and Mike strapped the children in. Even up on the horses, their feet were submerged. They each fell in and out of an uncomfortable sleep as the pier creaked like an old pirate ship on the high seas.

* * *

Somewhere around 3 a.m., the groaning of the metal Albatross rollercoaster grew louder.

“What’s that?” asked Salvatore.

“That’s the Albatross,” said Nancy.

There were the sounds of snapping metal and a loud crash, and the arcade shook.

“Hold on, everyone!” shouted Holbrook.

When the crashing stopped, Randy hopped off his horse, splashing into the water. He slogged through the seawater until he reached the barricade of classic cabinet games and peered through a gap, wind and water hitting his face. He rubbed his eyes to clear them.

“It’s the Albatross! She’s in the ocean! Half the pier’s gone!”

There were more creaks and sounds of wood snapping. The entire back of the arcade detached from the rest of it, and the ocean pulled the cabinets, pool tables, and poor Randy into its angry embrace.

Mike put his hand over his mouth in horror.

Dharma and Alessandra screamed.

Randy was lost.

* * *

Another day passed, and the storm at last subsided. Clinging to the carousel horses for dear life, the remaining survivors in the Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade were weary from sleep deprivation, a diet of candy and soda, and exposure to the elements.

What had made matters worse was that the pounding of the zombies outside never ceased. At times it had slowed, but it always returned full blast. In the daylight they could now see the searching fingers reaching under the hem of the bent security gates. Nancy wouldn’t allow the children to look at it.

Vinnie, Mike, and Holbrook dismounted their horses and went to the edge of the arcade. The water had receded, and the beach below was littered with debris.

And zombies.

They were everywhere. They reached upward for the humans hiding within the arcade.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” said Vinnie. “I swear there’s got to be more of them.”

There was the scraping of metal, and Alessandra screamed. All three men turned around to find the security gate being shoved off its track. Zombies wriggled in the gap, eyes wild, desperate to reach their prey.

Nancy and Dharma grabbed the children and pulled them off the carousel.

“We’re trapped!” said Vinnie.

“There’s a ladder to the roof!” said Nancy pointing to the right of the shooting gallery.

The gang didn’t need to be told twice. They sent Dharma up first to open the hatch up top. Both children followed closely behind.

“Hurry!” shouted Vinnie. “They’re coming in!”

Mike and Nancy insisted that Vinnie go up next.

Dharma pulled the children up onto the flat roof. It was sagging and dilapidated from storm damage and having a third of it torn away.

“Go ahead,” said Holbrook, gesturing to Nancy.

“You first,” she said.

“There’s no time to argue,” said Holbrook. Ladies first. I insist.”

Nancy grabbed the rungs and began her ascent. She’d done this a few times before to shovel the snow off. It had to be done with a flat roof, or it would cave in from the weight.

“Come on, Mike. You next.”

A few of the zombies had made it under the gate and were inside the arcade. Mike shook his head. “You’re a family man, Chief. You first.”

The zombies who made it in were getting to their feet, while the next wave squirmed under the gate. Mike looked around at all of the ruin. Everything that made him happy, his whole purpose in life, was destroyed.

Holbrook recognized the look in Mike’s eyes. He knew a suicidal person when he saw one. “I have to insist. Hurry up, or we’ll both die.”

Nancy stuck her head through the hatch. “Jesus Christ, Michael! Stop lollygagging and get your handsome ass up here!”

That remark hit Mike like a hard slap to the face. He snapped out of his funk and grabbed a rung of the ladder. “You’ll be right behind me?” he said to Holbrook, more than asked.

“Not unless you move your ass,” said Holbrook.

Mike climbed the ladder, and as promised, Holbrook was right behind him. Holbrook climbed just high enough as a zombie swiped at his foot, missing it by mere inches.

“Let’s hope they don’t know how to climb ladders,” quipped Mike as he reached the hatch.

When Holbrook pulled himself onto the roof, aided by Vinnie and Dharma, he stood and got a good view of Smuggler’s Bay.

Or what was left of it.

Parts of the boardwalk were missing. Ripped up boards littered the remaining parts and the beach. Sand was everywhere, even on the streets beyond the boardwalk. Storefronts were ruined, gates bent inward with debris hanging out.

He looked to the left and saw that half of Blackbeard’s Pier was indeed missing. The top of the iconic Albatross poked out of the ocean, the rest of it submerged like a metallic iceberg.

The group was stunned into silence. They were all taking in the destruction of their home, their livelihood.

Nancy held the children close.

Dharma hugged Vinnie, sobbing.

Holbrook looked down the ladder. None of the dead appeared to know how to climb. However, they were surrounded on all sides on top of a damaged structure that was on the verge of collapse.

They were screwed.

Holbrook took his cell phone out of his pocket. It was on its last bar. He wanted to call Lena and Robbie to tell them that he loved them very much. He wanted to say goodbye.

Suddenly, the air echoed with the popping of gunfire. Holbrook’s cell phone rang, and he answered. “Chief Holbrook…yes, we’re on the roof of the Blackbeard’s Pier Arcade…we lost a man…I don’t know how much longer this building is going to hold up…Okay.” He hung up.

Mike, Nancy, Dharma, Vinnie, and the children looked at him expectantly.

“The National Guard is coming to get us.”

“We’re saved!” yelled Nancy. “It’s about damned time!”

Within minutes they saw the National Guard advance up the boardwalk, taking out zombies with well-placed headshots. When they reached the arcade, a man who identified himself as Sergeant Miller called out to them on a bullhorn, telling them to stay put. As if they had a choice.

They surrounded the arcade and fired into it, dispatching the hoard of zombies within. When the arcade no longer moved with the dead, they entered and helped everyone down from the roof.

On the ground, Sergeant Miller immediately approached Holbrook and introduced himself. They discussed the state of the Bay, the CDC, and how the infection appeared to be contained on the barrier island, with only a few isolated incidents in neighboring towns.

The Bay, however, was trashed. The flooding had not only destroyed the boardwalk and many of its businesses. There were houses that were shifted off their foundations, inundated with water and sand. Boats were deposited randomly in the middle of roads and between houses.

Nancy looked all around and put her hands on her hips. “Well, Michael. Looks like you’re going to be helping me clean all this up.”

Mike looked dejected. “What are you talking about, Nancy?”

Mike gestured at their surroundings. “Look at this. Look at it. What are we going to do?”

Nancy smiled. “What we have to. Rebuild.”

“You’re nuts.”

Nancy shrugged. “The insurance company’s going to drag its ass in paying out. I’m going to need some capital up front. How would you like to go in on it?”

“As partners?” asked Mike, not sure if he understood what she was saying.

Nancy extended her hand. “Partners.”

Mike took it, and they shook on it.

Miller strode up to Salvatore and Alessandra. “My name is Sergeant Miller. Are you the Russo kids?”

They both nodded tentatively.

“Your mother’s worried sick about you.”

Their eyes lit up. Alessandra hugged her brother. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Salvatore’s grin nearly split his face in two.

“Yeah, she’s with a group of other survivors,” said Miller. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll take you to her.”

Vinnie and Dharma were off to the side, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Well, I guess this means I get to go to college after all,” said Vinnie, smirking.

“Oh, right,” said Dharma, returning the smile, “leave me here to clean up this mess.”

“I’m glad I met you.”

“You’re talking as if you’re never going to see me again.”

“No, it’s not that,” said Vinnie, looking around. “It’s just that nothing’s going to be the same anymore.”

“It never is,” said Dharma.

Truer words were never spoken. That was a summer for the history books. Smuggler’s Bay had survived a superstorm and its first zombie outbreak. The first actual zombie outbreak.

The experience left the town in ruins, but then again, Smuggler’s Bay was more than a bunch of buildings and a boardwalk. It was a strong, tightly-knit community. Smuggler’s Bay was a Jersey Shore institution. It had survived fires and storms in the past, and it would continue on.

* * *

Holbrook just got off the phone with Lena and Robbie, and he was fighting back tears of relief. The National Guard had created a HQ at the Ocean’s Gate.

When he walked into the office with Sergeant Miller, he saw Lenny behind the counter working the phones. Holbrook smiled. “Lenny Krueger, I should’ve known I’d find you here.”

Lenny smiled at him. “Hello, Chief! I’m helping out.”

“I hear you’re quite the hero. You saved some people.”

Sergeant Miller smiled. “We found this man running a survivor’s camp out of the second floor.”

“Good man, Lenny,” said Holbrook.

Lenny’s expression saddened. “I miss my sidekick.”

“Your sidekick?” asked Miller.

“You miss Billy?” asked Holbrook, knowing exactly who Lenny meant.

Lenny nodded solemnly. “He shouldn’t have hurt Officer Campbell.”

“Joann? He never hurt Joann, Lenny.”

Lenny nodded and decided to let it drop. He didn’t want to tell Chief Holbrook how he saw Billy and Joann together in the back of Billy’s store. Billy had his hands around her throat, and she was moaning in pain as he slammed into her over and over.

Lenny hated himself for being too cowardly to do anything about it when it happened, but he made up for it after the fact. After all, Lenny was her superhero. He had to protect her.

Billy Blake wasn’t going to hurt Officer Campbell anymore.

The End

Read on for a free sample of Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel

1

Betrayal of a Brother

Eight years ago...

“I don’t like it. Something doesn’t feel right.” The whisper came from one of the three figures, each shrouded head to toe in black burqas.

“Doesn’t feel right? They give you a thong to wear, too, Webb, when they handed you the burqa?” Sanderson chuckled at his own joke.

“What’s the concern?” Mason casually asked. “We passed through the market unnoticed, and the key opened the door to the room directly across from our target. The mission is right on schedule. Soon as the marks enter the apartment across the street, we blow ’em to hell, and then get out of here.”

Mason pulled the field glasses from his eyes and looked away from the window. Three stories down, an alley separated the two apartment complexes. There was nothing much to see other than overflowing dumpsters and trash scattered about. If the INTEL report was accurate, and he prayed it was, one of the top masterminds responsible for the IEDs that took numerous American lives would soon be dead and gone. Mason had already lost a few close friends to cowardly roadside attacks. He’d be damned if he lost another comrade.

“Okay, guys, hand them over.” Mason reached his hand out and snapped his fingers. Webb lifted his burqa and removed one-half of an assembly that had been taped around his leg. It was one piece to a puzzle that would launch a rocket-propelled grenade. Sanderson followed suit and peeled off the other half.

“That thing started to rub me raw ten minutes after we hit the street. I’m glad to be rid of it,” Sanderson said.

“At least you didn’t have a damn grenade inches away from your nuts.” Mason removed the tape from the RPG snuggled against his thigh.

His fingers slightly tingled when they met the steel casing, in awe of the power harbored within. The single-stage thermobaric projectile was designed specifically for antipersonnel and urban warfare. The contents of the warhead would scatter on impact in aerosol form and then ignite. A high-pressure blast wave equal to 2kg of TNT would obliterate any object inside the apartment. At least if the thing had pre-detonated, Mason wouldn’t have lived to regret accepting the mission.

Using a hex key, Sanderson assembled the stock and trigger components. The finished product was a steel tube with a flared end wrapped in wood around the middle. The wood protected the user from heat, and the flared end would aid in blast shielding and recoil reduction. He checked the paint marks he inscribed earlier on the optical sights to ensure it was still aligned.

Webb stared at the weapon. The grenade was more than half the length of the launcher.

“The projectile is initially launched by a gunpowder booster charge and is powered thereafter by a rocket motor,” Mason said, explaining what they all already knew. He talked too much when he was nervous, and though he did his best to remain cool and calm, at the moment he was tipping his hand. Mason continued to hold it with both hands and waited for Sanderson to finish.

The apartment was a small studio. The room provided enough space for the full-sized mattress laying on the bare floor, and a sitting area that would look spacious if the only furniture were a couch and chair. A cheap row of cabinets hung above the sink in what was barely a kitchen. Mason thought the average Iraqi family would consider a place like this a mansion. Collateral damage from the initial bombings on Bagdad, and refugee migration, had residential living quarters going for a premium.

“I still don’t like it,” Webb said.

Sanderson huffed out bad air and shook his head. “Webb, did anyone ever tell you those blue eyes of your sparkle like diamonds in the deep ocean?”

“What?”

“I bet you got a pretty mouth hidden under that burqa.”

“Sanderson, shut the fuck up!”

“No, you shut the fuck up. You need to focus on something else other than being scared of your shadow. Get your mind on the mission. We come. We kill. We leave. If you lose focus, you’re going to get yourself killed. Or worse, you might get me killed. I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on dying out here.”

“Take a breather, both of you,” Mason said.

Webb turned and offered the flared end of the launcher; Mason inserted the grenade securely into place.

“We could be here for the next ten minutes or ten hours. Since the bathroom is down the hall, I’m going to open the latrine right here. I’ve got to piss so bad I can taste it.” Mason turned and walked over to a wall that had a short stack of newspapers scattered about. He glanced down, wondering if there might be something worth reading, then realized his Arabic was more than just a little rusty. He rolled the burqa high enough to find the zipper on his pants and fished for his manhood. Just as it hung out in open air, and he began to relieve himself, Webb whispered with surprise.

“Hey, a light just came on in the room.”

“Fucking great. I can’t stop pissing now. Do you see anyone?”

“No one yet, just—”

The door to the apartment burst open with a thunderous crash. Mason spun his head around and saw a boot level with the door lock hanging in the air. A small round object then bounced across the floor, metal clanking against stone.

“Jesus Christ! Get down!” he cried, but there was nowhere to seek cover.

He saw a bright flash. A shockwave grabbed his consciousness and shoved it into a deep abyss. The world went dark.

* * *

A tornado of thoughts weaved in a hodgepodge of unrelated images. A light in Mason’s mind glowed, and an assaultive, aromatic air entered his nostrils screaming for him to awake.

His vision, blurred from the hold of unconsciousness, cleared as he blinked and struggled to assess the situation. A few feet away stood an unwashed man, unmistakably dressed in enemy garb. He held a crushed ampoule in his hand.

Mason found himself breathing rapidly through his nose. A piece of cloth had been stuffed into his mouth and his lips sealed with tape. The taste of mold and sour cheese from the rag trickled down his throat. Don’t throw up—don’t throw up, he commanded his body, following with a short prayer. A dull pain throbbed within his head.

“Good. The last one is awake now.”

Mason turned his head toward the voice and saw Webb and Sanderson bound in chairs. Like him, both were gagged. The muscles in his arms sprung to action, only to be thwarted by the abrasive cords that burned into his wrists, as he fought the restraints. His legs were similarly held captive. His bare feet scratched into the filth on the sandy, stone floor.

The man who spoke wore a long sleeved dishdashah and stood a few feet from Webb. Mason noticed the sharp Persian features of the man wearing traditional Iraqi attire. To his left, three desert rats wearing tattered Iraqi Regular Army combat uniforms, waited at the ready with Kalashnikovs hanging from neck straps. “The eyes betray you, Americans. You struggle against your bonds as if you think that if you were free, you could somehow escape. But your eyes show the fear of what you know is to come,” the Persian said.

Mason racked his brain to remember if he’d seen this man’s face in the INTEL reports. It was distinctive enough with a scar tracing its way from his right eye down to the corner of his mouth. The man had long, straight black hair, and was clean-shaven. Mason couldn’t remember any photos of a rebel leader without facial hair of some sort. That profile would have stood out.

Webb turned his head toward Sanderson, then craned his head over to meet Mason’s gaze. Sweat trickled down Webb’s cheek, and his face flushed red with white blotches.

“You see? Even this one can sense what is about to happen.” Scarface looked over to the soldier on his immediate left. His eyes narrowed, and he quickly nodded.

The soldier stepped forward and jerked the tape from Webb’s mouth. Webb’s skin clung tightly, refusing to let go. Beard stubble and a piece of skin from his lower lip remained on the adhesive side. Once the rag was out of his mouth, Webb attempted to dry spit the taste away.

“You bastards need to go ahead and kill me now. I ain’t telling you shit,” Webb rasped.

Scarface raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, curious. He turned to one of the soldiers behind him and gave a quick nod.

The soldier took a step back, raised his rifle, and pulled the trigger with no hesitation.

The shot cracked loudly in the small room. Webb’s skull peeled open from the front, blowing the right half of the scalp off, and leaving the other half attached and hanging to the side. Brain matter splattered on the back wall.

Sanderson and Mason both jumped in their seats and redoubled their efforts to pull loose from the bonds.

“See, Americans? I am a compassionate man. I granted this man his final wish.”

Muffled curses from the Americans slowly curled a smile on Scarface’s lips.

“However, there are limits to my compassion. You two will not be as fortunate.” Scarface paced back and forth in front of the two Americans, his arms folded behind his back. “I am going to begin your torture now. You will have twenty-four hours to contemplate all the methods my people perfected over the centuries to extract information from the enemy. Dwell long and hard, dogs. There is no way out of your situation better than a quick death. Such a reward can only be earned by giving me information that I find useful.”

Scarface stepped to the door, stopped, and turned his head. “It would be wise not to disappoint me. You will find that I am a very, very, patient interrogator.”

Scarface left the room, and the four soldiers followed.

Pungent fecal odor drifted through the air as Webb’s muscles relaxed in death.

***

Mason’s mind drifted in and out of the present, delirious from dehydration and the oven-like heat in the room. He spent most of the last twenty-four hours communicating with Sanderson using sign language and eye movements. There was little to say, other than contemplating the chances of a rescue and encouraging each other to stay strong until the end.

The rage he felt after Webb’s murder sapped a good portion of his energy reserves. He imagined ripping free of his bonds, grabbing a Kalashnikov from a soldier, and beating the enemy’s head with the butt until his skull cracked open. He would then shoot the other soldiers, except Scarface. A bullet to the head couldn’t begin to even the score for what that monster had coming to him. Mason saw himself toss the gun aside, and then bound over to the Persian in three quick strides, his arm flying back like a baseball pitcher winding up for the game-ending fastball. His fist shooting forward and smashing Scarface’s nose with the force of a cannon ball. He’d hold the Persian by the collar and simply pound his face into oblivion. Again and again, his knuckles would mash soft cartilage and crush bone. All the while, savoring Scarface’s screams for mercy, but there would be none. Not now, not ever. Mason wished he had the power to turn the whole Middle East into a sea of radioactive glass. If he could make a deal with Satan, he’d sell his soul for just one nuclear bomb to drop.

Webb sat in the chair with what remained of his head tilted toward Mason. His one eye gazed into nothingness, but to Mason, it was saying, See, I told you something wasn’t right.

Webb’s body shifted throughout the hours, expelling gas, and tightening with rigor mortis. The dry heat accelerated the body’s decay. Mason’s nose stung from each breath as the taste of death settled in the back of his throat.

The door opened abruptly, and three armed soldiers led the way in front of Scarface. One carried a brown sack. The contents in the sack writhed with life.

The soldiers lined up against the wall at attention. Scarface stopped in front of Mason and Sanderson, holding bottles of water by his chest. His eyes scanned the prisoners, and his expression seemed to change from indifference to delight. “It is time to give me what I want. I will be a generous host and give you something you want first, but then you will owe me the same favor.”

A quick nod from Scarface and two soldiers left rank and slowly peeled the tape from the Americans’ mouths. Mason pushed the rag out with his tongue and spat, while Sanderson dry heaved.

“Here, drink this. It will ease the words from your throat.” Scarface uncapped a bottle of water and pushed it to Sanderson’s lips.

Sanderson hesitated for a second, but finally relented and opened his mouth. Scarface lifted the bottle and poured until Sanderson coughed. Water ran down his chin and onto his sweat-soaked shirt. After Sanderson cleared his throat, Scarface gave him the rest. Sanderson uttered a small sigh of relief, and relaxed in his chair.

Scarface turned to Mason with a freshly opened bottle. “Drink. No need to die with a dry mouth.”

“I’ll drink it. It will help when I break out of this chair and rip you apart.” Mason accepted the bottle to his lips and drank until the last drop fell. His laser stare never left the eyes of Scarface.

“Americans watch too many movies. This is not a movie, and you are not Bruce Willis. There will be no grand finales where the hero gets rescued in the end. Ask your fallen friend there what happens when you play the hero. Real life paints a different picture than your movies do.”

As Scarface backed away, a soldier stepped up with a rag and a roll of duct tape.

“Fuck you.” Mason tried to kill the soldier with his hate-filled eyes. As the rag moved toward him, he twisted his head away. A hand came from behind across his forehead and another clamped his nostrils shut. He held his breath as long as he could, but was forced to surrender. His mouth opened. The rag went in as he took a breath and it was quickly taped in place.

The soldiers left Mason grunting in protest and returned to the wall.

Sanderson remained silent through all this, but now began to fidget in his chair as the attention turned his way.

Scarface cracked his knuckles. “The Rangers have been raiding villages targeting Shia Muslims. You Americans preach peace, but practice destruction of innocents. You prove yourself dogs and sons of Satan. I need you to give me the time and location of the next raid. It is soon, and that much I know. A quicker answer will be rewarded with a swift, painless death.”

“Hector Randle Sanderson. 437-20-7124.” Sanderson licked his lips. “That’s all you’re ever gonna get out of me.”

“The brave words always come in the beginning. In the end, when you tell me all that you know, you will think yourself a fool for not speaking sooner. Tell me, Hector Randle Sanderson, can you guess what is in the bag?” Scarface’s hand drifted over and presented it as if the squirming burlap was a game show prize.

Sanderson’s gaze darted over and locked on the sack. Mason heard his friend’s breathing quicken.

“How many desert black snakes would you guess can be shoved into a man’s stomach?”

The bag continued to writhe. Sanderson remained silent, though his eyes widened.

“I believe Saddam’s record was eight. I have brought twelve. Are you going to help me beat that record, or will you give me the information now?”

A gloved hand from a soldier went into the bag and pulled out a two-foot long reptile. The snake wrapped its body around his arm and tasted the air with its pale-red tongue.

A new soldier entered the room and whispered something in Arabic in Scarface’s ear. Scarface nodded and raised his hand. “I have been given some news that now requires haste in my objective. Pity. I was so looking forward to spending some quality time with my American guests.” He reached in a pocket, pulled out a syringe, and removed the plastic protector from the needle. “The modern ways can be quite productive also.”

Sanderson pulled hard against his arm restraints, his veins swelled inopportunely. “Nothing you can do will force me to talk.” His voice faded. Sweat rolled off his forehead like a waterfall.

The needle entered at the forearm, and Scarface injected the synthetic venom. Sanderson screamed indecipherable curses until the drug rendered his mind into dough. His eyes went wide, and a thin trail of drool slowly seeped from the corner of his mouth.

When Sanderson’s breathing became shallow, Scarface produced a small knife from his pocket. He explored Sanderson’s forearm with his fingertips until stopping near the elbow. “Ah, here it is.” The tip of the knife stopped and rested against the skin. “The ulna nerve goes straight to the brain. Knock, knock.” He pushed in the blade until Sanderson’s body stiffened as if hit with a surge of electricity. Sanderson screamed beyond the range of his voice.

Scarface toyed with the nerve for a few seconds and pulled the blade away. “Tell me when the convoy leaves for the raid. You must tell me. It is your duty as an American soldier. I must know the date. I must know the place. It’s the only way I can save American lives.” The blade went to the nerve again. Sanderson shuddered throughout the shrieks.

The cuts in Mason’s arms that had started to heal from earlier struggles bled freely now, as he fought against the bonds. His chair, like the others, was bolted firmly to the floor. Nothing he tried brought him an inch closer to freedom. He knew he was going to die. He just wanted to make sure to bring a few of these accursed terrorist with him.

“We need your help, Sergeant. Americans will die without your help. The convoy. The date. I need it now.” Scarface spoke in a low, pleading tone.

Mason wondered how Scarface knew Sanderson was a Sergeant. Rank was not displayed on their uniforms. Was it a guess that happened to be correct, or did he have information that told him? This particular mind game that Scarface played was unexpected.

“Americans . . . are in trouble?” Sanderson said.

“Yes, and they need your help. They need you to tell me the date and the place the convoy is headed. I must go and help them, or they will all die.”

“Fifteen . . .”

Scarface waited, and then repeated the word. “Fifteen?”

“Night raid . . . like the others.”

“The convoy leaves on the fifteenth?”

“Yes, the fifteenth.”

“Where?”

“Khan . . . Khan Bani Sad . . .”

Scarface beamed in victory. He looked down at Mason, who thrashed even harder in his chair. “I will take your reaction as confirmation the information is accurate. We’ll lay the traps tonight to catch the mice tomorrow.” With a short laugh, he headed toward the door and pointed at one of the soldiers standing by the wall.

The soldier’s rifle went to his shoulder. The loud report from a single shot signaled the end of Sanderson’s life.

The insurgents left the room. Mason now had two sets of vacant eyes focused on him, reminding him of his failure.

***

A bucket of foul smelling water snapped Mason from his delirium and back into the nightmare. No sooner had his eyes opened when the grimy fingers of a soldier pulled the tape off his mouth and removed the rag.

Mason’s chin fell to his chest as he tried to scrape bits of debris off his tongue with his front teeth and spit them out. The soldier left, and the hem of the white dishdashah-clad Scarface took his place.

There was little to no fight left in Mason. Was that what imminent death does to a person? Given the time, is death more of a process than a single event? Does death slowly work from the peripheral, and all the things that give life its vibrancy slowly dull, until the person was simply more dead than alive? At that moment, Mason felt more dead than alive, and was craving the blissful peace he knew death would bring.

He raised his head to meet the victorious stare of Scarface, who peeled back his lips to show his canine teeth like a threatening wolf. Mason’s body vibrated with rage, there was still work to be done.

Scarface held a nylon-fiber nightstick in his right hand by the tee-handle and slowly spun it around. “Save your hate. It is you who should be begging me for forgiveness. Have I invaded your country?” He stopped turning the nightstick and held the handle like the butt of a pistol. “If you Americans would have minded your own business, you would be home now. Doing what Americans love to do best. Drinking beer and eating disgusting foods that violate God’s laws. Your women are in perpetual heat and breed like dogs. You sit in front of the television and waste hours while you ignore the poor, starving people in your community. Instead, you come here and attempt to enslave us in your bonds.” He stamped his foot to the floor. “Beg me for forgiveness. Beg Allah for forgiveness. I will kill you swiftly if you do so.”

A soldier stepped into view at the side of Scarface and shined a bright light in Mason’s face. The light emanated from a handheld video recorder.

“Time is no longer of the essence. The information your sergeant gave us was our only concern.” Scarface slapped the end of the nightstick against the palm of his left hand. “Last night, we were able to mine the path the convoy will take. There is only one road into Khan Bani Sad that can accommodate such large vehicles.” A smile broadened across his lips. “It is soon to be night again. We will bring death and destruction to the invaders unlike anything we have done before.”

“Pig vomit . . . pig shit . . .” Mason’s words fell weakly to the floor.

“As I said, you should save your strength to beg for forgiveness.” The smile left Scarface’s lips, replaced by a snarl. In one quick motion, he brought the nightstick across Mason’s left shin. There was a dull thud followed by a bright snap.

Mason groaned, the pain so intense he gasped until starved for air.

“Beg, dog. I said beg!” Scarface stomped Masons right foot, slamming the heel of his boot atop the fragile toes.

Bones cracked, and Mason let out a guttural howl of pain. The cameraman shoved the lens closer to Mason’s face. Mason’s breath returned as endorphins made an attempt to counter the pain. Mason nodded his head slowly and searched for moisture in his mouth.

“That was too easy, American. Your kind is soft. Too bad your comrades aren’t here to see how fast their leader folds.” Scarface backed away, giving the cameraman more room.

Mason ran his tongue across his front teeth and opened his mouth. With clarity, and with as much distinction as possible, he said, “Fuck you . . . you pig fucking piece of shit.”

The nightstick fell across his collarbone, and Scarface’s left fist smashed Mason in the nose. The room filled with Persian curses as Scarface worked over the American.

Mason closed his eyes. Pain exploded across his arms, thighs, every part of his body. The blows to his head brought a siren-like sound piercing his brain. Teeth broke like chalk, filling his mouth with rubble. Death remained an elusive comforter.

His mind drifted, attempting to escape to a happy place, some place far away from this den of horrors. Mason saw himself playing at the schoolyard on a warm summer’s day. The milk from the morning’s cereal tasted sour in his mouth as he ran, chasing two of his other friends in a game of tag. His body was chunkier back at that age, which had him being ‘It’ for longer than he really cared. His slimmer, faster friends couldn’t resist taunting him—as Matadors engage bulls ready to be jabbed by banderillas. This time he couldn’t catch a break and tag one of his friends. Mason fell to the ground, exhausted.

The world looked different as he lay on his back, one giant, pale blue ocean that presented no obstacles to stand in his way. It offered no perspective of his place in the universe either. There was no point to set an objective to swim to. His insides deflated with loneliness and a total loss of self-worth. Tears welled up in his eyes, diffracting the harsh sun’s rays. He squeezed his eyes shut and ground his back teeth. His sobs grew louder as he unknowingly sought to drown a growing hi-pitched noise in his head.

Scarface backed away from Mason’s still-breathing form. His dishdashah had become a canvas, a crimson splatter of gestural abstraction worthy of display. The nightstick bounced across the floor as he freed his hands to dry them across his thighs.

“I will not let him off this easily. Carry him outside and put him in the ground. We shall cut the heads off the American dogs that die tonight so that they will greet him when he wakes in the morning.” Scarface left the room while the soldiers freed Mason from his restraints.

***

Mason felt something hot and soft hit the back of his head. A cutting shoop sounded, followed by another impact of debris hitting him. Sand ground into the back of his neck between his shirt collar. He couldn’t move his arms, so he shifted his head. The more he turned his head though, the more sand seeped into his clothes.

Weakly, he opened his eyes to stare across the desert sands inside a military-style compound. From his vantage point, Mason saw several buildings and a fortified wall. To one side, a series of metal poles contorted into what he imagined to be an obstacle course. A tower manned with a machine gun perched over the edge stood vigil just beyond. Mason was coherent enough to realize that he was in a terrorist training camp and buried up to his neck in sand. Sand so hot his skin felt as if it were cooking.

Boots and a dishdashah blocked his view. The garment rose, exposing legs. Warm, acrid liquid hit the top of Mason’s head, and cascaded down his face.

“You looked hot, American. Your only relief is my piss to cool you off.”

Mason lowered his head and closed his eyes. Urine dripped from his upper lip down his chin. He expelled huffs of air to keep it out of his nose and mouth.

The shower of bodily waste stopped. Scarface backed away just far enough for Mason to see him in full view. He stood victorious, defiant as if the final battle had been won and the last American was about to die by his hand.

The horizon swallowed the last bit of sun. The wind kicked up and cooled Mason through the dank wetness.

“Very soon, the information given to us by your cowardly friend will bear fruit. We shall harvest American eyes. Hearts. Their very souls. We will bring them here for you to see. We will make you beg your countrymen to leave Iraq so that no more have to die.” Scarface held up a syringe. “You will be made powerless to resist our will.”

A low hum reached Mason’s ears and steadily increased in volume. Scarface jerked his head about as he searched the fast-darkening sky. A banshee howled from above, streaking through the night. It came to an abrupt end at the largest building in the compound. The building shattered in an explosion of bright orange and yellows. The shockwave that followed hit Mason like a two-by-four across the face.

Scarface hit the sand and sprawled on his stomach, hands tented over his head. The second blast hit the tower, lighting it like a torch, as a chorus of terror-filled screams and yells tightened the confusion.

Rotating blades swooped in, cutting the desert air, vibrating the earth. They were followed by barks from 30mm chain guns. The rounds hit the sand digging shallow trenches. Mason felt wind from projectiles narrowly missing him on either side and watched their trails charge forward, peppering Scarface as he lay on the ground, across his head and back.

AK-47s rattled in the background, and Mason caught M16s answering back with authority. There was no doubt in his mind that the United States Army would win this battle with relative ease. What he did doubt, was that he would be alive to witness the victory.

Chaos reigned in the firefight with ululations intended to strike fear in the heart of the interlopers. Mason’s mouth formed a weary grin as the battle cries were snuffed out one by one.

Rifle fire diminished to sporadic bursts. Multiple boots hitting the sand and orders given, told Mason that his mission was about to come to an end, finally.

“Hey, Captain! Over here. I think we found one of ’em. He’s alive, I think. Someone get a medic!” A U.S. Army Private First Class had come within ten feet of Mason and had his flashlight out scanning the buried man’s face.

“Help . . . me.” Mason’s words were barely audible.

A large figure approached, stooped down, and wiped sand and crusted blood from Mason’s brow with his hand. He didn’t hide a grimace. “Good God, man. How bad off are you?” As the man waited for Mason to respond, he called, “Get some men over here and dig this soldier out! Where is that damn medic?” He returned his attention to Mason. “I’m Captain Hart. There were three of you. Where are the other two? Can you tell me where the other two are? Are they . . .”

Hart stopped speaking while Mason shook his head. Hart rose from his feet and placed both hands on his hips. He coughed as the wind shifted, forcing smoke laced with the smell of burning debris and flesh into his face.

Within minutes, Mason was out of the hole. Two medics attended to his care. One gave him a sip of bottled water as the other cleaned his smashed face, taking care to wipe away all the sand and grit that had become impacted in his wounds.

“Find out his name.” Hart lit a cigar.

The rich, leathery flavor drifted down on Mason and replaced the petroleum essence of war.

“He says his name is Mason Guillot.” A medic called out.

A soldier ran out of the gloom. “We found the other two,” and shook his head.

Hart dropped his gaze and spit out a bit of tobacco. As he turned to leave, the medic called again.

“He’s trying to tell us something.”

Mason lay on his back and brushed the medics away. He managed to call Hart over with a hand gesture. The Captain’s expression showed he was impressed that the soldier still had the ability to ask for his presence.

Hart expelled a cloud of Dominican pride and knelt by the injured warrior. “What is it, son?”

“They know . . . mission . . . Khan Bani Sad . . .”

“Save your strength, solider. There is no mission into Khan Bani Sad. Never was.” Hart took another puff off the cigar.

Mason’s eyes widened, struck by the fiercest blow yet. He lifted his arm and placed his hand on Hart’s forearm. “W-what?”

“The Army knew there were Iraqi soldiers working with us on the base that were in cahoots with this terrorist. We just didn’t know which ones. Your team was given false information where our next strike in Iraq would be. Not only that, but we leaked your last mission. The informant got the news to the insurgents. They were waiting for you even before you entered the hotel. They also knew you were members of the invading team and would have the strike location.” Hart looked away. “What we didn’t figure on, was that they would kill any of you before the rescue. We expected you to break and give up the location. The insurgents normally keep prisoners alive for weeks, even months to use as bargaining chips.”

Mason lifted his brow. “You used us for bait?”

“No, son. War is a chess match. You were pawns sent to protect your king. The plan didn’t go as anticipated. Happens sometimes.”

Mason dug his fingers into Hart’s forearm. “You sent us here to die?”

“No, I told you we sent you here to give a false location. The insurgents at the base were captured right after they set the IEDs along the roadside. We let them return to the base before we arrested them, gave them time to report to their leader over here that their mission was a success. We got your location out of them in no time. You’re a hero, son.”

“I’m not a hero. I’m a sacrifice.” Mason’s fingers dug deeper into Hart’s flesh.

“The Army had a problem that needed taken care of. Orders are orders. You have no right to question orders.” Hart tried to pull his arm away, but couldn’t. “Let go, son. You are in a lot of pain. Damn rag-heads fucked you up good. Once you get all fixed up, you’ll see we did the right thing.”

With renewed vigor, Mason squeezed Hart’s arm with the last of his strength.

Hart yelped and tore his arm away in a sudden jerk.

Mason felt bits of wet skin underneath his nails just before a blanket of darkness covered his mind. He quickly succumbed to unconsciousness, and was granted the peace he had been desperately craving.

Insurgent Z is available from Amazon here