a patio where pets are allowed and they donât water down the Brandy Alexanders.â
âAre you telling me you planned all this?â
âAre you having a conversation with that pussy cat?â Dee Dee raised her eyebrows.
âYour shoeâs untied again,â said Stinky as he strutted away down the street, swishing his tail with an air of superiority.
Roland and Dee Dee were seated on the patio at the Hogâs Breath Saloon. Stinky sat in a chair between the two taking in the conversation. He turned his head back and forth like someone watching a tennis game.
âWe have a special tonight on Zombies,â said the waiter. âTwo for one.â
When Roland ordered mango margaritas for two and a basket of conch fritters, Stinky glared at him.
âCould I also have a Brandy Alexander?â Roland said. âAnd put it in a saucer.â
âTwo mango margaritas and the usual for Stinky.â The waiter scribbled the order on his pad.
âDid he say zombies?â said Stinky after the waiter had left. âI gotta see this.â Stinky slipped down from his chair and followed the waiter to the bar. As he approached the bar, he heard a customer, a florid man in a polo shirt, demand âMake me a Zombie.â Stinky leapt up on the bar and watched as the bartender placed a tall, frosty, pinkish-orange drink in front of the customer.
âOne Zombie,â said the bartender
Stinky watched closely as the Zombie drinker took a sip from glass.
âHi, pussy cat,â said the man, then he turned up the Zombie and emptied half the glass.
Stinky scooted up to the man and examined him for signs of zombie-ism. He couldnât tell if the guy was a zombie or not. Stinky decided there was only one way to find out,
âYou are my zombie slave, you will do my bidding.â Stinkyâs voice reverberated in the manâs head.
The man choked and spluttered on the last sip of his drink. âWho said that?â He looked up and down the bar anxiously.
âI am your master and you are my zombie slave. You will obey my every command.â
The man gasped. âOh, Jesus, itâs my higher power. I should have never had this drink. Iâve blown my white chip and now I have to call my sponsor.â The man reached into his pocket and began furiously punching numbers into his cell phone.
With Stinky at the bar Roland found himself alone with Dee Dee, stealing glances at her legs. She was a looker, strawberry blonde hair, a svelte body and sparkling blue eyes. He could see something behind those eyes. Passion? Insanity? He knew there was a fine line and the combination could be deadly.
âThanks for the drinks and dinner,â said Dee Dee, âIâm flat broke. My landlord is threatening to put my stuff out on the street if I donât give him some money. Now Iâm out of a job too. Iâm a mess.â
âYou are the most beautiful mess Iâve ever seen,â said Roland. âIâm sure you get this a lot but you are absolutely breathtaking, stunning.â
âHalifax hot,â said Dee Dee. âI used to be called Halifax hot.â She was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling mischievously.
âThatâs a term Iâve never heard,â said Roland, âbut if it means knock-out, you are it.â
âIâm from South Boston,â said Dee Dee. âItâs a little gnatâs ass of a town in southwest Virginia. South Boston is the home of teetotalers, religious zealots and NASCAR. When I was growing up, a lot of things were forbidden, drinking, smoking, cussing, fooling around; not a fun place to grow up unless you happen to have an Amish idea of fun.â
âWas it an Amish community?â
âSouthern Baptist,â Dee Dee said. âI think we did have one Amish family. At least they had a black carriage up on blocks in front of their mobile home. No, South Boston is a typical southern Baptist
Learning to Kill: Stories