Wanted: Undead or Alive

Beer Cans, Condoms, and, Sometimes, a Dead Cat

Rather than driving straight to the cemetery, I drove in a haphazard spiral, following, as best I could, the path Nick had shown on the map. I passed the dentist's office at the edge of town where a crew in lime green vests were tossing burnt siding in a dumpster. Ten minutes later, I noticed a house with boards over the windows and black scorch marks scarring the yellow paint.

There was nothing remarkable about the neighborhood. The houses were neither big nor especially small. Lawns were mowed short and littered with bicycles and basketballs. The Honda fit right in.

I passed the building infested with salamanders and shivered to think the little monsters might still be in there. And, somehow, I suspected that Nick wouldn't even object to me calling them monsters. Sometimes a person's got to say it like it is.

As I drew closer to the cemetery, the lots grew larger. Occasional businesses, mostly of the industrial variety, popped up between homes.

Finally, I parked at the curb in front of a discount auto insurance place with peeling tint on the windows. For lack of anything better to do, fighting hard against imposter syndrome, I strolled up to the door and pulled it open. An electronic chime announced my presence in the dim lobby. The building smelled vaguely of air freshener and mold. Peeling laminate covered the floor. A poster with a picture of a vehicle smashed into the stem of an enormous wine goblet warned me to "drive aware, not impaired." 

I had a sudden craving for a glass of wine.

A gorgeous young woman with an enormous afro and one arm in a sling slid a frosted glass window aside. "Can I help you?"

After a moment of fumbling, I managed to get my badge out of my pocket. I flashed it in her direction. "Agent Nowicki. I'm looking for a fugitive that may have been seen in this neighborhood."

Her brows shot upward. "Here? Geez, that's what we need, right? What do they look like?"

Uh... he's kind of ephemeral and made of smoke. Except sometimes he possesses people so he might look like my co-worker or any member of the road crew that recently passed through. Hard to tell, really.

I decided not to say that.

"He's known for adapting his appearance," I said. "I was just wondering if you've noticed anything strange."

She rolled her eyes. "Strange is the norm around here. If things were straight, I'd be worried."

"I don't follow."

"Well, for starters, the guy who owns this building—I'm pretty sure he's in the mafia or something. And if he is, he's right out of the Hollywood playbook. It's ridiculous. He shows up on the last day of every month to collect the rent in this big black Cadillac and he wears those velvet jogging suits and sunglasses, you know what I mean? Always has some young blonde thing with him, but never the same one twice, and he makes a point of never wanting anything other than cash, nothing bigger than a twenty. My boss packs up the rent in banded stacks of cash and he's always sure to be away at some important meeting when it's time to pay."

"That is weird," I agreed.

"Yeah, well, that's the least of it. The kids around here seem to think there's something cool and sexy about sneaking into a cemetery after dark to drink and smoke and have sex and God knows what else."

"You see them over there?"

"Not me." When she shook her head, the gold earrings that dangled from her ears brushed over her straight, narrow shoulders. "I'm out of here at six every night, but I see the beer cans and condoms and such. And at least twice, they hung a dead cat from that iron fence."