touching only the metal. A splinter of bone, absurdly white, stuck out of what was left of the finger. Wordlessly, I handed Axel the ring and the lump of flesh it encircled.
He squinted at it, turning it over in his big paw. He looked around the bar again, at the black, stinking goo, the bits of cloth and bone and hair. His hand closed around the ring as he squeezed his eyes shut. He stayed that way for a minute, completely still.
He opened his eyes and walked to the bar, where he set the ring down carefully, gently even. Then Axel did something that, a mere hour ago, I’d have sworn he’d never do. He picked up the phone and called the Goon Squad.
6
BACK BEFORE THE PLAGUE, CREATURE COMFORTS WASN’T A bar. The space had been occupied by one of those thirty-minute circuit-training gyms. Lucky for me. Axel’s storeroom had been a locker room, and it still had a working shower. It was heaven to stand under a stream of hot water and get clean. The Goons, I knew, would be annoyed, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stand to have that stuff—whatever it was—all over me. Axel had dug out one of the old staff uniforms: a pair of chinos and a black polo shirt with FIT-IN-30 embroidered on the pocket. The clothes were a little big and smelled musty, but they were clean.
By the time I emerged from the storage room, rubbing my hair with a bar towel, the Goons had arrived. Norden and Sykes—damn, I’d hoped their shift had ended—stood talking to Axel as Sykes scribbled in a notebook. All around them, crime scene technicians wearing gloves, surgical masks, and bags over their shoes, swabbed samples of black slime and tweezered up scraps of what used to be T.J., depositing them in plastic bags.
Norden poked Axel with his finger, but the big bartender didn’t seem to notice. He looked over Norden’s head, staring with glassy eyes at the mess. As I came down the hallway, Norden’s head snapped around and he stopped in mid-poke. “I’m not kidding,” he said to Axel, while he kept his beady eyes on me. “This is a murder scene now. You’re going to let us through that door, or I’m going to send for a battering ram and bash it off its hinges.”
Norden stepped in front of me. “You,” he sneered. “I should’ve known. How come whenever something bad happens, you’re right in the middle of it?”
I wasn’t going to bother answering that. “Do you want me to make a statement or not? Because I’d rather be home in bed than hanging around waiting for you to decide if you want to talk to me.” Not that I’d be able to sleep, not after what I’d found here.
“Sykes will take your statement.” Norden shot Axel a significant look. “I’ve gotta make a phone call.”
One booth in the back of the room was relatively slime-free. Sykes and I made our way there and sat down facing each other. Across the room, Norden finished his phone call and went back to poking Axel.
“Why on earth do you put up with that jerk?” I asked.
Sykes shrugged. “We were partners before the plague. After this happened”—he gestured to indicate his zombified self—“my choices were join the Goon Squad or quit the force. Elmer could’ve transferred, but he stuck with me.”
I didn’t know which was more of a shock, the fact that Norden had a first name—and it was Elmer—or that he’d taken a job he obviously hated to stay with his partner. If I had to list Norden’s good qualities, I’d say he was rude, annoying, and an all-around prick. Somehow, “loyal” wouldn’t have come to mind.
“Yeah, he’s loyal,” Sykes said, like he’d read my mind. “And he’s braver than you’d think. But you’re right; the guy’s a jerk. Always has been. Even his own mother couldn’t stand him. He swore the feeling was mutual, but he went to visit her at the nursing home twice a week. I don’t know, maybe they enjoyed getting on each other’s nerves. Then she caught pneumonia and died a couple of days before the plague
He squinted at it, turning it over in his big paw. He looked around the bar again, at the black, stinking goo, the bits of cloth and bone and hair. His hand closed around the ring as he squeezed his eyes shut. He stayed that way for a minute, completely still.
He opened his eyes and walked to the bar, where he set the ring down carefully, gently even. Then Axel did something that, a mere hour ago, I’d have sworn he’d never do. He picked up the phone and called the Goon Squad.
6
BACK BEFORE THE PLAGUE, CREATURE COMFORTS WASN’T A bar. The space had been occupied by one of those thirty-minute circuit-training gyms. Lucky for me. Axel’s storeroom had been a locker room, and it still had a working shower. It was heaven to stand under a stream of hot water and get clean. The Goons, I knew, would be annoyed, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t stand to have that stuff—whatever it was—all over me. Axel had dug out one of the old staff uniforms: a pair of chinos and a black polo shirt with FIT-IN-30 embroidered on the pocket. The clothes were a little big and smelled musty, but they were clean.
By the time I emerged from the storage room, rubbing my hair with a bar towel, the Goons had arrived. Norden and Sykes—damn, I’d hoped their shift had ended—stood talking to Axel as Sykes scribbled in a notebook. All around them, crime scene technicians wearing gloves, surgical masks, and bags over their shoes, swabbed samples of black slime and tweezered up scraps of what used to be T.J., depositing them in plastic bags.
Norden poked Axel with his finger, but the big bartender didn’t seem to notice. He looked over Norden’s head, staring with glassy eyes at the mess. As I came down the hallway, Norden’s head snapped around and he stopped in mid-poke. “I’m not kidding,” he said to Axel, while he kept his beady eyes on me. “This is a murder scene now. You’re going to let us through that door, or I’m going to send for a battering ram and bash it off its hinges.”
Norden stepped in front of me. “You,” he sneered. “I should’ve known. How come whenever something bad happens, you’re right in the middle of it?”
I wasn’t going to bother answering that. “Do you want me to make a statement or not? Because I’d rather be home in bed than hanging around waiting for you to decide if you want to talk to me.” Not that I’d be able to sleep, not after what I’d found here.
“Sykes will take your statement.” Norden shot Axel a significant look. “I’ve gotta make a phone call.”
One booth in the back of the room was relatively slime-free. Sykes and I made our way there and sat down facing each other. Across the room, Norden finished his phone call and went back to poking Axel.
“Why on earth do you put up with that jerk?” I asked.
Sykes shrugged. “We were partners before the plague. After this happened”—he gestured to indicate his zombified self—“my choices were join the Goon Squad or quit the force. Elmer could’ve transferred, but he stuck with me.”
I didn’t know which was more of a shock, the fact that Norden had a first name—and it was Elmer—or that he’d taken a job he obviously hated to stay with his partner. If I had to list Norden’s good qualities, I’d say he was rude, annoying, and an all-around prick. Somehow, “loyal” wouldn’t have come to mind.
“Yeah, he’s loyal,” Sykes said, like he’d read my mind. “And he’s braver than you’d think. But you’re right; the guy’s a jerk. Always has been. Even his own mother couldn’t stand him. He swore the feeling was mutual, but he went to visit her at the nursing home twice a week. I don’t know, maybe they enjoyed getting on each other’s nerves. Then she caught pneumonia and died a couple of days before the plague
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