The Zombie Plagues: The Story Of Billy and Beth
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Authors: George Dell
THE ZOMBIE PLAGUES: THE STORY OF BILLY AND BETH
Created by Geo Dell & Dell Sweet
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AMAZON DIGITAL EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Geo Dell and independAntwriters Publishing
The Zombie Plagues Book Three
Copyright © 2010 – 2015 by Geo Dell & independAntwriters Publishing All rights reserved
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LEGAL
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual living persons places, situations or events is purely coincidental.
This novel is Copyright © 2010 – 2015 Wendell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author's permission.
Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.
THE ZOMBIE PLAGUES: THE STORY OF BILLY AND BETH
March 1st 12:06 am.
L.A.
Billy Jingo & Beth
Billy knocked back the tequila and waved off Beth as she motioned to the back bar for another. She came over smiling.
“A man that knows when to quit. I like that,” Beth said.
Billy laughed. “A recently acquired habit, I assure you. Shit will bite you if you don't set your limits,” He smiled at her, hesitated and then spoke again. “So it's almost over for tonight... Thought you would be singing?” He raised his voice at the end to make it into a question. He knew it was what she wanted. He had heard her sing, there wasn't an act in the place that could hang with her. She was it, except something wasn't clicking between her and Jimmy, or maybe it went all the way up the ladder to Harry. Whatever it was Billy was curious about it.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Beth said with a wide smile as if reading his thoughts.
“Damn,” Billy said. “It's as if...”
“I read your thoughts?” She laughed. It's been written all over your face since you came in. I saw you looking at the stage, back at me, back to the stage. It's not hard to figure it out.”
“Hey, it's not like I'm some wacko fan, Beth. I just think you are way to good for...”
“If you say it I'll smack you stupid,” Beth told him. Her eyes were slitted, narrowed and focused. Her right hand had doubled into a fist. Billy had no doubt she meant what she said.
“Peace,” Billy said.
“Not that it really matters,” Beth said with a sigh. “Jimmy knows, and that means Harry knows, and they don't care... That's not it. I'd feel for the lame ass that came in here if I was doing a set and had anything to say about my time on the streets... We've all been there... At least the interesting ones.”
Billy nodded. “So what is it?”
Beth shrugged. “I don't know, but I'm hoping Harry will be around later on and I...”
“Hey... Baby, what the fuck with the drink?” A big guy, belly straining at the buttons of his shirt. He smiled but the smile was no more than a rough semblance of a smile. Billy tried to burn him with his eyes, but Beth reached nearly into his face and said. “So you're done here?”
Her eyes said don't, he didn't, but he would have liked to say something to the guy. Instead, he nodded a yes and picked up the change she had laid on the bar. She was talking to the fat guy before he got his change in his pocket.
“See that big guy over by the door,” she asked nicely.
Billy watched the fat guy turn to the door and then back to Beth. “Yeah?” The guy said. There was a sarcastic edge to his voice that made Billy slow down. He wanted to see the outcome.
Don, the big guy on the door had that bouncer six sense and looked over at Beth and shrugged as if to ask is there a problem. She rolled her eyes, and Don left the door and headed for the bar.
“I told you no more,” Beth told the guy.
“And I said I don't take no orders from no bitch,” The fat guy said. He puffed up, but a line of sweat trickled from under his too black hair and streaked his forehead with whatever he had sprayed on his hair to get the color. He swiped at it angrily. And began to bluster a little more when Don's heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
“And I missed my workout today,” Don told him as he easily spun him around, “unless you're it?” Don finished.
“This is a private matter,” The fat guy told him, but there was a quiver in his voice that Billy heard clearly.
“Tried to grab Jill's breast when she went past him. Jill laughed it off, said he'd been a perfect gentleman all the rest of the night. I said cool, a little fuck up, he's had too much to drink and so I cut him off.”
Gentleman was a code word for a creep that had been hanging around getting way too friendly with the dancers.
“That so,” Don asked. He had stepped back to give himself some room just in case things took a physical turn.
The guy noted the movement and then he set his empty glass on the bar and put his hands in front of him, palms up. “No interest in trouble at all,” he told Don.
Don nodded at the door. “Time to go home and sleep it off, I think,” Don told him.
Billy watched the guy walk to the door and leave. He looked back to see Don and Beth looking at him.
“You know, this guy is becoming a pain in the ass,” Beth told Don.
“Ha, ha,” Billy said.
“Beat it Jingo. Leave the honey alone. It's off limits. In other words you ain't getting none of it.” Billy watched the cloud come over Beth just that fast. She had been teasing, Don probably knew that, but Don had a thing for her and he hated Billy who sometimes did small things for Harry. He didn't wait for Billy to leave but headed back to the door, opened it quickly and looked out into the lot.
“Probably making sure the guy ain't fucking up his car,” Billy said under his breath.
“Sorry, Billy. I keep forgetting Don isn't human,” Beth told him. That made Billy laugh.
“Anyway, I'll see you around. I'll be late tonight.”
Billy nodded. “Good luck, Beth.” He turned and walked to the door at the other end of the club. The one that let out onto the front sidewalk.
~
The night was beautiful, Billy thought as he walked along Beechwood Avenue. He knew pretty much everyone he passed. He had been here for a little over six months having made his way up from Mexico when things had gone bad for him there. Technically he was on the run. Warrants out of New York. Somebody had put two and two together and dug up some prints from a crime Billy had been involved with. He had only found out about it because he had happened to be away from the house when the Feds showed up. His neck of the woods had no municipal police, but even if it had they wouldn't have come with shotguns and armor.
He had hid out for three days until the word had trickled down to him that it was him they were looking for to hand over to some federal agents from the U.S. It hadn't taken much to put two and two together. He had managed to get a beat up old Ford pickup truck and then filled-fifty five gallon drums full of gasoline that rode on the back of it. He set off into the desert.
The rest had been easier. Despite the laws and the changes in the U.S. It was pretty easy to disappear here. He had come with a little money, and that had helped. He had worked a series of meaningless jobs as he worked his way up the west coast. Seattle had looked good and so it had held him. That and Beth had come along.
Beth was out of reach and he knew it, but that didn't stop the fact that he wanted her to be in reach. He had never met a woman like her. So he had stayed. He had watched her arrival from God knew where, some other place in California or Washington probably. He had watched her struggle to survive on the streets: Watched her work those same streets, doing her act in any place she could get into by day, walking the streets by night, and it was then he had seen something else in her. Something hard, some will he himself had that was hard to define, but that hardness in her pulled him to her like a magnet. It was that simple.
He had been working for Harry by then and so he had mentioned Beth to him. He didn't know how the details had worked out, but a few weeks later when he had noticed she had disappeared from the avenue, he had found her tending bar at Harry's Palace.
Now, as he walked he became immune to the world around him. He never heard Don until he was on him, had spun him around and dragged him into an alley.
“Hey... Hey! Don... What the fuck, Don... Hey!” But it did no good. The first punch nearly shut him down. The second did. The rest he never knew about.
Seattle Washington
Bobby
The wind kicked up along Beechwood Avenue in Seattle's red light district. A paper bag went rolling along the cracked sidewalk: Skipping over Bobby's feet where he stood watching the traffic. Money, he thought, if he could get a little money he could be okay. It didn't have to be a million dollars,
just...
A few hundred, he decided. A few hundred could really fix him up right... There had to be a way.
He watched the cars slide by and tried to work it out in his head. The problem was he was too far off the edge of down. He needed to be more
up, high, wasted
to think straight. The brain just didn't work without the sauce. He needed some good shit, and for that he needed some money. Just enough to get enough good shit to get a good high tonight and maybe a good high tomorrow when it all wore off and the jingle jangles set in? … Maybe, he decided. Maybe. Bobby turned away from watching the cars as the paper bag bounded over his feet and tumbled along the avenue. The diner down the block was calling. Sometimes he had scored in the parking lot, there were truckers, creeps, who knew, but they were in this area for one thing and it wasn't the food. All he had to do was find the right guy and he'd be set. He looked once more at the traffic and then turned and walked off toward the diner.
New York: Rochester
John Simons
The sidewalks below him were crowded. John stood at the apex of the steps that led up to the old court house. It was impressive. He looked down at his hands, shifting the small silver canister from hand to hand, rolling it across his palm, treating it as though it were just a small fascination to occupy his mind, when in fact he knew it was something more. He didn't know what, exactly. He wasn't paid to know what. Maybe someone up the ladder knew what, he didn't, and it was likely he never would, but it was something more than just a shiny little object to occupy his mind.
He had done hundreds of these small jobs. Little things. Little things that probably meant nothing in the scheme of things, at least that's what he had always told himself. A little mental salve to prevent an infection of the larger truth. Little things he never heard a single thing about later on. Little things, but he suspected this time, this
job
was not a little thing at all. He suspected this was a big thing. He suspected he would hear about this one down the road. He suspected this one would come back to bite him in the ass.
The trouble was, in for a penny, in for a pound. It all mattered. He had taken job after job where he might leave an item on a park bench. Drop off a set of wheels in the middle of the desert. Switch a suitcase at an airport. Little jobs. Little jobs and he had never said no. Never complained about them. Never turned one down. And so here he was about to press the activator on a small, silver canister that might do anything. Anything at all. And was he worried about that? Yes, he was.
It was not so much worry for himself. He didn't really believe the thing would blow up. He didn't truly think they would take him out that way, if there was ever a reason to take him out, that was. He quickly shut down that line of thought. He had too much to worry about right now without starting a whole new avenue of doubt.
So,
no
, he did not believe it would blow up. He believed it would hiss and release a giant cloud of some sort of toxic gas,
gases
even, he amended. Waste, poison, something, but, if that were the case, how could he safely set it off and not be contaminated himself?
The instructions were to walk to the top of the courthouse steps, depress the red button, and then toss it away. No specific direction, just away. It apparently didn't matter. And, he thought now, wasn't this exactly the way some terrorist would do it? Do an attack? A poison gas attack? An unclassified viral attack? He had seen a few movies, this was the way he would do it if he was writing the script. The girl beside him spoke.
“If this is going to take much longer you're gonna have to pay more. I know I said it would be cool, a fifty, I mean, but standing around here is wasting my time. I got places to be. I got...”
He cut her off. “And you ain't got no money
yet
. And if you do want the money then you need to shut the fuck up.” He went back to his self observation. A second later he looked back at her. “Hey,
hey,”
he soothed. She had begun to pout. Just another street girl with a habit and too much time on her hands to feed it.
“Look...” He waited for her to look at his hand. He held the small vial upright. “Do me a favor, okay? I was looking around because, well because, I want a picture right here. Now all you have to do is push this little red button... Aim at me, it's got a little camera in there...You can't see it, it's one of those new ones, like them spy ones? So all you got to do is point it at me and then press the button.” He held the canister and looked around. She tried to take the canister from his hand and he snatched it away.
“Goddammit, Dude, You want it or not?” She stamped her foot exactly like the spoiled child she was and was destined to always be.
“Yeah...
Yeah I do
. Just... See that corner over there? The top of the stairs? That little what-do-you-call-it
hollow
between those two pillars? Wait until I get there and take the picture.” He handed her the silver canister and started away.
“Hey! How the fuck am I spos'ed to tell? There ain't no screen thingy, what-the-fuck-it-is?”
He turned back and smiled. “Just face it to me and do it. It's not supposed to have a thing,
screen
, just do it.”