Dead Drunk: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse... One Beer at a Time (4 page)

Chapter 7

Two
Ships Passing in the Night

Stretching out like a cat in a comfortable bed, Charlie
yawned as he savored the memories of the night before. He then wrapped his arms
around his sleeping partner and got ready for round two. But something was
amiss. He didn’t remember Svetlana’s arms being so muscular, her skin so rough
or her breath smelling like stale vodka and Cheetos.

“
Dzien dobry
.” An unexpectedly manly voice greeted
Charlie. “Good morning.”

His eyes shot open and he was instantly face to face with a
stoutly built Polish goon. “It seems you owe me money?” the man asked, although
it was more of a statement.

Charlie looked around and saw the girl making coffee in the
kitchen. “What the hell’s going on here, Svetlana?”

“That’s not my name, idiot.” Charlie wasn’t the only one
lying the night before.

To add insult to injury, she didn’t look nearly as good
without the effects of alcohol, bad lighting and an erection.

None of that mattered a second later when a meaty fist
hammered Charlie’s eye socket and sent him rolling out of bed and onto the
hardwood floor, naked and dazed. He quickly grabbed his pants and hopped into
them while backing away from the bed.

The other man rose and nonchalantly pulled out a switchblade
as if he were about to carve an apple. “Your friend paid two hours,” he said in
broken English. “You stayed eight. So you owe me six hundred.
Gdzie są moje
pieniądze
?” he yelled. “Where’s my money?” The pimp soon advanced several
feet and cut off the escape route through the front door.

Charlie stalled. “I can get the six hundred, no problem.” Of
course, there was a huge problem because the only things in his wallet were a
maxed out credit card and the condom he should have used.

“You will take us to ATM?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The thug’s phone rang and he reached into his pocket, giving
Charlie the opening he needed. Without hesitation, he dove out the window,
bounced off the fire escape and tumbled down two flights of metal stairs.
Polish curses and the sound of a loud bitch-slap to a hooker’s mouth were all
that followed, and Charlie ran off. He almost felt bad for the girl. Almost.

After cutting through alleyways and jumping a turnstile like
a criminal, he boarded the Red Line train, shirtless, shoeless and bleeding,
but alive. Actually, he hadn’t felt this alive in years.

The train took off as Charlie grabbed a seat and caught his
breath. He couldn’t decide what pissed him off most — that Blake set him up,
that he had sex with a hooker, or that some scumbag tried to rob him.

Charlie pulled his bare feet off the scum-covered floor and
then shuddered, remembering what another body part had touched hours before.
“Too bad I don’t have health insurance,” he said while checking his phone,
which of course was dead.

A nearby door opened and two hoodie-wearing youths swaggered
in like royalty surveying their kingdom. They were the type that asked a person
for change then bashed their head in with a brick. Real winners.

Charlie instinctively tensed up before he realized he had
nothing left to lose. Besides, he looked like a homeless crack head, and nobody
bothered messing with them.

An Asian businessman in a tailored suit, however, was
another story. He had been motionless for a few minutes except for coughing,
and the sweaty man looked to be coming down from a heroin binge. Easy pickings.

One of the delinquents poked the man, causing him to rock
forward and projectile vomit onto the thug’s spotless white sneakers.
“Motherfucker!” His friend giggled, setting the youth off even more. “You’re
gonna pay for that, bitch.”

Charlie bolted when the train reached the next stop, having
already had his day’s fill of random violence. Sure enough, a guttural scream
erupted as the doors shut, and he turned to watch the brawl. But it was the
teenager banging on the door as the train pulled away, his face pressed against
the window. Even stranger, the boy’s eyes had the desperation of a wild animal
caught in a trap.

“Dude must have known karate,” Charlie said while starting
his long walk home, tired and barefoot. That change of scenery Jim had
mentioned sounded better and better.

Chapter 8

Hookers
and Hangovers

A Steely Dan ringtone competed with the chorus of snores in
the apartment for several minutes before Trent rose to answer. The commotion
had roused the semi-conscious Russ, who was sleeping in the bathtub of all
places. “Shut that shit off,” he said with a whine and curled back up with the
towels he’d used for blankets.

Trent wanted to ignore the call, but several collection
agencies and a gambling problem meant the eight-year veteran needed overtime.

He cleared the phlegm from his throat. “Talk to me.” There
was yelling on the other end. “You know I’m off today?” Trent replied, and
there was more yelling. “Fine. Pick me up in ten.” He hung up, wondering why
they had to send someone to get him.

Vidu glanced at his knockoff watch and sat up. He’d promised
to see a friend run a five-k through Bucktown and was about to miss it. The
woman actually gave him the time of day, and Vidu planned to ask her out as a
last ditch effort to find a wife.

The Sri Lankan found the remains of the bachelor party in
the living room, and it wasn’t pretty. Trent’s strippers had failed to show up,
and the night ended with a whimper instead of a bang. His friends were now
sprawled in all directions, and the unmistakably sour smell of vomit wafted
through the air. The place was a real pigsty of spilled beer, Mexican takeout,
buzzing flies and cigarette butts. It was just like college.

“Anyone want to come see
the race? It’s down the street.”

Left-Nut sat up in a La-Z Boy. “You know I don’t miss girls
in spandex.”

Vidu sighed. “Does anyone
else
want to come?”

“Yeah, I’ll go,” Jim said. “This place is nasty, and Cindy
won’t be here until noon. We can grab breakfast too.”

Trent swaggered in carrying a Gatorade in one hand and his
nightstick in the other. “You boners have fun. I’m going to work.”

“I thought you were off?” Vidu said.

“There’s a riot or
something on the Southside. Sounds like a level three chimp out to me. But I’m
getting time and a half today so screw it. Plus I might get to bust some
skulls.”

“Be careful out there,” Jim said.

“Don’t worry about me.” Nobody was. “Worry about any Mondays
that get in my way.” Trent swung his nightstick for emphasis.

Vidu was confused by the term. “What’s a Monday?”

Trent laughed. “A black person, you know?”

“Why do you call them Mondays?” Vidu’s eyes narrowed.

“Because everybody hates Mondays, duh.”

“Asshole,” Jim said. “But we need to get going.”

“Fucking racist,” Vidu mumbled under his breath as he walked
past the cop.

Trent rubbed Vidu’s hair. “Ah, lighten up cupcake. You camel
jockeys are too serious.”

“I’m from southeast Asia, idiot. You know it’s covered with
rainforests right?”

“You’re all sand-humpers in my book.” Trent was an equal
opportunity offender.

Like most conversations with the cop, this one ended on a
bad note as the trio walked down the rickety porch and headed out, eager for
some fresh air.

* * *

Charlie’s feet ached something awful as he neared home. The
former track standout paused to rub them and noticed his growing beer belly.
“Better get those running shoes this week,” he said as the front door burst
open and several of his friends filed out. He’d been making that promise for
two years.

“Talking to yourself is a sign of madness,” Jim said and
then noticed Charlie’s growing shiner. “Whoa man, what happened to you?”

“Some homeless pricks rolled me,” Charlie said while doing
his best to avoid eye contact. “They tried to take my wallet but I got away.”

“Was this before or after they took your shirt and shoes?”
Left-Nut reached for the tender flesh underneath Charlie’s right eye only to
have his hand slapped away.

Vidu didn’t have time for small talk. “Come to the race and
tell us all about it.”

“I’ll pass. I’ve got a monster headache, and my hangover
hasn’t even started yet.”

“It smells like assholes and tacos in there. Come on,” Vidu
said, his patience waning.

“And there’s bound to be plenty of ladies at the race,”
Left-Nut added.

But Charlie couldn’t even think about women considering what
he’d gone through. Still, he didn’t want to start cleaning and knew Trent
wouldn’t lift a finger, so he grabbed sandals from the porch and borrowed Jim’s
over shirt. Moments later, they started the four-block hike down Damen Avenue,
past tiny cafés and overpriced boutiques. It was a beautiful morning.

Despite his best efforts, nobody bought Charlie’s story.
“Okay… did you get lucky with the Euro-trash or what?” Jim said.

Charlie searched for plausible deniability on the hooker
aspect of the story. “We went back to her place and talked. She’s a sweet girl,
wants to be a writer someday.”

“I know the type,” Jim
said. “They work at strip clubs by night and do award winning screenplays by
day. You know, I think Vidu got a lap dance from an up and coming economist.”

“She knew how to count money,” Vidu said.

Charlie ignored his friends. “She’s new to the country and
working her way through—”

“Cut the shit, we know you nailed her,” Left-Nut said and
stopped walking.

Charlie was too tired to put up much of a defense, and they
weren’t going to drop the issue. “Fine. Yeah, I nailed her. We did it five
times, once in the shower and once on the kitchen table. I even gave her a
Bullwinkle. Happy?”

Jim looked horrified. “I knew you were hard up, but I never
thought you’d stoop to hookers. Oh how the mighty have fallen.”

“How did you know?”

“Blake told everyone he felt sorry for you,” Jim explained.
“Said he’d get you laid even if he had to pay for it.”

Charlie’s blood boiled. Blake had gotten him roughed up and
made him look like a pathetic loser. But with no way to deny it, he decided to
go the deflection route and turned the tables on his white-haired friend. “Why
are you all harassing me? At least I didn’t bang an invalid.”

Left-Nut had a moronic smile plastered on his face. “What’s
your point?”

“My point is I might have fucked a hooker last night, but
you
became
one when you prosti-tarded yourself out.”

“Yeah it was crazy,” Left-Nut replied, then paused for
dramatic effect. “I would have done it for free.”

“As for what happened to me? I had no idea she was a hooker.
For real.”

Even Vidu snickered. “You thought a hot chick threw herself
at you in a strip club? And
I’m
gullible?”

“Look, I didn’t know, and I certainly didn’t know Blake only
paid for two hours. Some guy, I guess it was her pimp, woke me up and wanted
six hundred bucks. I’d already spent all my money at the club.”

“Ignoring the fact that you don’t have that much money
anyways, what did you do?” Jim asked

“The guy blasted me in the face and then whipped out a
knife, so I jumped through the window and fell down the fire escape.”

“Which is why you have no shoes, right?” Left-Nut asked.
“Nice escape. Reminds me of the time—”

“Yeah, it was intense,” Charlie said. “But to top it off, I
just saw a banker on the train beat up some gangbangers.”

Left-Nut stirred the pot. “Nobody gives a shit about punks
on the train. Are you going to get even with Blake?”

“I might give him one of these,” Charlie said and pointed to
his eye.

Left-Nut shrugged. “You can’t be too mad, he did get you
laid after all.”

“Speaking of which, I hope you both bagged up last night,”
Jim said as the group resumed their walk.

Charlie shook his head and Left-Nut laughed. “What is this,
junior high? Of course not.”

“You guys are complete idiots. I swear your dicks are gonna
fall right off.”

“I think it’s funny Charlie got beat up after everyone
laughed at me,” Vidu said.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Have you ever won a fight?”

“Of course. Remember the junior year Tahiti Party?” Vidu
brought up an annual festival where college kids wore swimsuits and straw hats,
drank alcoholic punch and swallowed goldfish whole.

“You mean your throw down with the theatre kid?” Charlie
asked.

“Yes. That guy was like a mongoose.”

“That wasn’t exactly Clash of the Titans,” Jim said. “It was
more like a blind Urkel fighting a gay Screech.”

“Whatever. Your wife probably beats you for putting the
toilet roll on backwards. That nonsense wouldn’t happen in my country because
the man is the boss.”

“It wouldn’t happen in your country because nobody ever uses
toilet paper,” Jim quipped.

The griping and sniping continued until the friends reached
the finish line of the race. Packs of runners came down the blockaded street while
a group of bored spectators milled about. Vidu rudely pushed his way to the
front, wanting his crush, Julia, to hear his encouragement.

The others hung near the back of the crowd and waited. And
waited, and waited. Finally, a chubby girl with an awkward running style
approached to a round of applause from the crowd. “Go, Julia!” Vidu yelled,
startling a few bystanders with the surprising volume of his voice. “You can do
it, you’re almost there.”

Julia found him in the
crowd of faces and gave a wave and a very nice smile. Charlie was surprised at
how cute she was, but he was even more surprised when a figure darted from the
crowd and tackled her like a linebacker, driving the woman’s soft body onto the
pavement. It was madness.

Vidu instantly sprang forward and threw a punch like never
before, somehow connecting with the assailant’s jaw. He reached back to throw
another haymaker and then looked at his hand in horror to find two of his
fingers were bloody stumps. Another man dragged Vidu to the ground while a
third and then fourth violently piled on. The used car salesman disappeared
into the tangle of arms and legs and screams.