The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 1: American Nightmares (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #1) by Michael Panush Read Free Book Online Page B

pals didn’t seem to notice, and kept right on coming. I started reloading the automatics, while Weatherby did his best to fire at the zombies with his revolver. He wasn’t very good. “Be careful, Weatherby,” I told him. “You almost hit that one.”
    “I’m trying my best! I was raised to be the greatest occult and scientific genius of Europe, not some mindless marksman at a target range!” he snapped back. “Do you have any other means of egress? We are soon to be overwhelmed.”
    He wasn’t kidding. Weatherby, Miss Rosa and I stood together, while the zombies marched in from both sides of the alley. I finished reloading my automatics and blazed away, but they were too many of them and they were too close. I reached into the pocket of my trench coat and plucked out a pineapple grenade. I always carry a pair. I’ve found it pays to be prepared.
    “Cover your ears,” I said. “It’s gonna be loud. When the pineapple’s popped, start running.”
    I popped the pin and set it rolling down the alley, under the legs of the zombies. They didn’t notice it, not until the explosion had ripped up their limbs, tossed them in the air, and turned their guts into wallpaper.
    I started dashing down the alley, blowing out the brains of a zombie that tried to grab my leg as I reached the street.
    Someone had sent these zombies to get us off the case by putting us inside their stomachs. That meant we were looking the right way, even if the case was becoming more and more complex by the minute, especially with good old black magic involved. But when Weatherby, Miss Rosa and I reached the end of the alley and the street, I realized that the bad times had yet to begin.
    An old acquaintance of mine by the name of Joey Verona stood on the sidewalk, a dozen mobsters in perfectly creased cream-colored suits standing next to him. I knew Verona from New York. He was a top dollar button man, a mob enforcer who had iced unfortunates and buried bodies from Las Vegas to Miami. He was a thin man with slicked black straw colored hair and a salmon pink suit. A long-barreled pistol was in each of his hands. His narrow nose and streamlined hair gave him the appearance of a bullet, just fired from a gun.
    “Morty!” he said, like we were old pals. “You and your buddies get to the side a little. We’ll take care of the mooks following you.”
    Their guns were leveled at us, and they gave us just enough time to get out of the way before they started shooting. The zombies behind us went down in the storm of lead. The mobsters had a couple of sub-guns, and those fat .45s tore through the living dead with ease.
    When it was finished, Verona sauntered over to me, smiling at Miss Rosa. “Mother Mary,” he said. “That’s one fine looking chippy, Morty. Mind if I get me a little bit of that sweet Cuban—”
    “I’m working a case, Verona,” I said.
    He looked like a dog being denied a walk. “Well, I guess I am too. Word is, Baum hired you. Christ, Morton, you oughtn’t to be working for a prick like that.”
    “He’s a frightened father trying to assure the safety of his young son,” Weatherby snapped. “And we’ll help him.”
    Verona raised an eyebrow. “Ought to keep him on a shorter leash, Mort. Anyways, I got someone wants to talk to you.” He pointed to the limousine behind him. It was a hulking tank of a vehicle, armored and pearl white with black tinted windows. The door was open. “Come on in,” he said, tucking both pistols into his coat. “We’ll give you a ride.”
    I couldn’t win a shootout with that many wiseguys. I nodded to Miss Rosa and Weatherby. We got inside. Don Vizzini was in there waiting for us.

    The inside of the limousine was cavernous and well lit. Don Vito Vizzini sat on a plush leather seat, opposite us. He wore a red satin robe and held a cane between his thin knees. Every inch of him was swathed in white bandages. I could see his eyes peeking out through holes in the surgical strips, almost