My Life as a White Trash Zombie (19 page)

I bit back a laugh. This was control? Yeah, I wasn’t doing drugs anymore, but that sure as hell wasn’t due to any personal strength of character or anything like that. And the only reason I still had the job was because my life depended on it.

But I managed to give him a small nod. “Thanks.” Too bad I had that whole zombie thing going on as well.

His gaze raked the living room, a look of distaste naked on his face. “You should think about moving out. You can do better than this.” He looked back to me. “You’re better than this. Don’t let your family hold you back.”

I was so shocked by his statement I literally couldn’t form words for several seconds. “That’s bullshit,” I finally managed, anger flaring at his presumption. “You . . . you have no idea what it’s like. You think it’s that easy? You think that all I have to do is walk out and everything will be peachy fucking keen?” I knew I was treading on thin ice going off on a cop like this, but I was too upset and off-balance to censor myself.

Chagrin swept over his face. “No, look, I know it won’t be easy, but—”

“You think we’re just white trash scum, right? So, yeah, I’m already a loser, so why not be more of a loser and abandon my dad.”

He frowned. “No, I’m saying that you need to think about yourself at some point.”

“You think I don’t? Fucking shit, I’m trying, okay? Give me a fucking break! I can’t do it all at once! Yeah, the house and everything is shit, but do you think I like it this way? I—”

He seized me by the shoulders and gave me a small shake, cutting me off. It hurt where his fingers were pressing onto one of the bruises, but the dismayed expression on his face kept me from trying to pull away. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice oddly rough. “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have said any of that about moving out, or your family. It was a shit thing to say. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying. I’m on your side and rooting for you, I swear.”

Well, shit. How the fuck was I supposed to stay mad and upset after that? I sniffled, suddenly pissed for a different reason as I realized I’d been crying. I hurriedly swiped my hands across my eyes. “Okay. Yeah.”

He sighed and for a weird instant I thought he was going to pull me into a hug. He didn’t, but I had the strangest wish that he would. “Now that we’ve established that I’m an insensitive dick,” he said, “are you still willing to give me a statement?”

I forced out a wan smile. “Yes. But you’re not insensitive.”

He gave me a grin. “Still a dick, though, right?”

“You’re not insensitive,” I repeated.

He chuckled, looking relieved. “You know me too well already. Come on out and sit down, and we’ll get all of this crap over with.”

I allowed myself to be led out to the living room and obediently sat on the couch. I watched him walk out the door and to his car, I assumed to get paperwork and a camera.
Yeah, right. I’m finally getting my life together. Too bad I had to die first.

As soon as the cops left with my dad I retrieved my lunchbox from my car and scarfed down a jar of brain soup. It wasn’t until I was lowering the empty jar that I realized I was going to have a hard time explaining how my bruises disappeared overnight. Then again, Ivanov was the only one who’d seen them, right? I simply had to hope I didn’t run into him for a few days.

The universe, of course, had different plans for me. The next morning I got a call to go pick up a body, and as soon as I pulled up to the trailer I saw Deputy Ivanov standing outside, talking to a crime scene tech.

I scowled and dug for a pair of sunglasses in my purse. Usually people wore sunglasses to hide a black eye. I was wearing them to hide the absence of one.

It didn’t help that I could tell that this scene was going to be a disgusting one. There were two crime scene techs—Sean, and a blonde woman whose name I could never remember. Both were wearing tyvek coveralls and masks, and everyone else on the scene was keeping their distance from the door of the trailer. Hopping out of the van, I yanked gloves on as I walked up to see what I was up against. Ivanov gave me a mild nod, then headed off toward his car. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or miffed.

I gave Sean a grin. “Aren’t you sweating your ass off in that?”

The red-haired man gave a tortured sigh. “I keep telling myself that sweating is better than stinking.”

“It’s a bad one?”

He shuddered. “Let’s just say, I don’t envy you your job one bit. All I have to do is take pictures!”

“I’m pretty sure nobody wants my job,” I said. “I guess that’s job security, right?”

I headed up the trailer stairs, pushing the sunglasses on top of my head. I peered in, and got a good look at the body sprawled on the floor beside an executive chair that looked totally out of place. The guy had probably been white, though with the amount of bloating it was tough to tell. He’d probably been a bit heavy before death, but now he was so swollen with decomposition I had to wonder if we’d be able to get him into the bag. He had on faded black jeans and a light blue T-shirt, though now it was heavily stained with purge fluid that had seeped from various orifices on his body. Maggots squirmed in his mouth and nose and eyes. Seriously nasty.

And my sense of smell is at full-strength right now,
I thought.
How wonderful.

Derrel was already inside and gave me a nod as he made notes on his pad. I didn’t want to interrupt his flow of concentration, so I busied myself with looking around and being nosy. Big black flies buzzed against the windows and tangled in the dingy lace curtains. A line of ants tracked up the side of the kitchen counter, most likely headed to the stack of pizza boxes that hadn’t been thrown out. Other than the ants and the flies, the place really wasn’t crummy or scuzzy at all. He’d kept it pretty nice and neat overall. No piles of dirty laundry in the hallway or dishes in the sink. The carpet looked fairly new, the furniture all matched, and the entertainment system was even better than Randy’s.

The computer on the desk was still on, screensaver running, and I gave the mouse a nudge to see if the guy had been in the middle of typing a suicide note or something.

“Dude loved his games,” Derrel said without looking up.

“Huh?”

He gestured at the screen in a vague motion. “That’s
Left For Dead 2
. And if you look on the shelf he also has
Halo
,
Grand Theft Auto
,
Call of Duty,
and damn near every other popular game.”

I let my gaze sweep the interior of the trailer. “Did he have any life other than this? Did he have a job? Didn’t anyone miss him?”

“Oh, he had a job.” A grimace passed over Derrel’s face. “He has a record a mile long for dealing drugs. Pot, crack, heroin, you name it. This guy was a real prize. I guess I’m not surprised that he went so long without being found.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Though I bet his regular customers were jonesing. The neighbor in the next trailer over was the one to call the cops.”

“Complaining about the smell?” I said.

Derrel grinned. “Got it in one.”

I crouched by the body. There was something odd, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I took a deep breath, aware of the stench of the decomposition, but not bothered by it.

My mouth went dry as realization hit home. Okay, so it had been less than a day since I’d last had brains. I wasn’t hungry and probably wouldn’t start having cravings for another day and a half at least. Even so, one thing I’d discovered in the past couple of weeks was that I had a nose for brains. I could smell it in the people around me, and I could certainly smell it in dead bodies. It didn’t even matter if there was so much decomposition that it’d be inedible. Brains rotted fast—after a few days outside of a cooler there usually wasn’t much left but a nasty grey goo—but I should still be able to detect the scent.

Yet there was only the barest whiff of it here.

“Hey, Derrel,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice nice and calm and casual, even though a strange uneasiness was working its way through my gut. “What’s the guess on cause of death?”

“Hang on a sec and we’re gonna see what we can find out,” he replied. He jotted a few more notes on his pad, then set it down on the desk and tugged on gloves. “With the amount of decomposition and all this purge fluid surrounding him, it’s going to be tough to tell how he died unless there’s some obvious trauma still evident.”

I didn’t respond to that. I knew what we were going to find. At least, I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Still when we turned the body, I felt an odd relief that I hadn’t been imagining it.

“Well, how’s that for ‘obvious trauma’?” I asked, looking down at the caved-in back of the guy’s skull. Maybe I was starting to get the hang of this whole undead thing.

Derrel let out a low whistle. “I think that qualifies.”

I flicked a maggot off my glove as Derrel went outside to tell the detectives that it looked like a homicide. A large black fly buzzed in a low drone around my head, and when I waved it away it joined the others congregated against the window. I straightened as Sean entered. He gave me a pained look as he pulled the mask back onto his face.

“Angel, I have no idea how you can stand this stench,” he said. “Derrel’s been doing this for long enough that I think he doesn’t have any smell receptors left, but you . . . ?” He grimaced as he snapped pictures of the skull and the injury while I held the body in position for him. “You are one tough chick.” Then his eyes crinkled, and even though he had the mask on, I could tell he was grinning at me. “Or maybe you’re seriously sick and twisted, in which case you are
so
in the right line of work.”

I laughed. “Gotta be the second one,” I said. “I’m not tough!”

He finished taking his pictures, and I walked out with him. I knew it would be a while before I could take the body since it was pretty obvious it was a homicide, which meant that the detective assigned to the case would need to go in and do whatever it was that detectives did. About all I knew was what I’d seen on TV, and considering how much of what I did differed from the TV version, I figured I was most likely misinformed on ninety percent of the details.

I pulled off my gloves, leaned up against the front of Derrel’s Durango to wait.
I’m tough, huh?
That was a new one. I had to admit, I was kinda tickled at the thought.

“How are you doing, Angel?” a familiar voice asked to my right.

I turned with an automatic smile before realizing who the speaker was.
And my sunglasses are up on my damn head
, I thought with a mental cringe. “I’m all right, Deputy Ivanov,” I replied, keeping the smile on my face. Fuck it. I wasn’t the one who’d been arrested. I wasn’t going to hang my head in shame simply because my dad could be a real piece of shit. “I’m doin’ all right,” I said. “Thanks.”

His eyes crinkled as he gave me a smile of his own. “You know, it’s all right to call me Marcus.” Then his eyes swept over my face, and I had to resist the urge to stiffen. “You sure don’t bruise easy, do you? I’d have thought you’d have a real shiner going there.”

“Um, lucky I guess. And I, uh, put ice on it.”

He grimaced at my stilted response. “Sorry, I’m doing that ‘insensitive dick’ thing again. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

I shrugged. “Nah, it’s okay. Shit happens, y’know?” An awkward silence fell and I flicked off another maggot that had managed to make it up to my forearm.

He chuckled. “I bet you never thought you’d ever be casually flinging maggots around.”

I had to laugh. “Oh my god, no kidding. I used to gag if someone spit on the sidewalk in front of me.”

“You know . . .” Marcus paused, and it looked as if he was getting up the nerve to say something. I waited, and a few seconds later he continued, “I was the Resource Officer at your high school for a short time. I’d only been a cop for a few years and usually those assignments are given to the guys with a lot more experience, but the department went through a phase where they were shuffling everyone around.”

I had an odd feeling I knew where he was going with this, but I went ahead and said, “Oh?”

His smile looked slightly abashed. “It was about five years ago. I, uh, remember you.”

It was tough but I forced myself to not look away. “You remember when I left?”

He gave a slow nod.

I made a face. “Not one of my better moments.” I didn’t mention the time he’d arrested me. So far that incident was unspoken between us. Taboo. I far preferred it that way.

He shrugged. “Maybe so. But, at the risk of sounding like a pompous condescending ass, you’re doing a good job of getting over it.”

“Took me a while.” And dying.

He smiled. “I mean it. It’s like you’re not the same person you used to be.”

God, if he only knew. “I’m not. I mean, I am . . . it’s, well, um, I’m trying to figure out who I am.” I winced. Holy shit, that sounded kooky. “Uh, you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said with a slow nod. “I think we all have to go through that at some point.”

“Yeah,” I said. And some of us needed a kick in the ass first.

“Look, I know this is the last thing you want to talk about, but I wanted to ask you . . . .” He trailed off, looking strangely uneasy.

“Ask me . . . ?” Ask me to dinner? Ask me out for drinks? Ask me if I wanted to see what he looked like under that uniform?
Yow, where’d that last one come from?
But no, he’d said it was the last thing I’d want to talk about.

He took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask you to please not bail your dad out of jail.”

Somehow I managed to keep my face immobile while my thoughts went crashing into a tangled heap. “Hunh?”

“Don’t bail your dad out,” he repeated, eyes on me. “I know this is tough on you, but you shouldn’t be the one to get him out.”