The Spy's Little Zonbi

Free The Spy's Little Zonbi by Cole Alpaugh

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Authors: Cole Alpaugh
Tags: Satire, Zombie, Haiti, iran, jihad, nicaragua
pistol if it might be needed. But I already know quite a bit about you.”
    â€œ From my résumé?”
    â€œ That’s a good one, Pie. I believe your daddy was regular Army and your sister lives with a lesbian activist in Syracuse, New York. I can name the seven years you had both bow and shotgun deer licenses. I know you’re an above average snow skier and can kick a soccer ball. I know your grade point average in Spanish class and that you did more than a little experimenting with various narcotics, mostly under the tutelage of your best friend Stoney.”
    â€œ How’s my sister, by the way?”
    â€œ Still a very strange young woman, judging by her photography shows. You think about it, Sugar. Sometimes we all gotta chase some wild geese here and there. That’s what wild geese are for.” Limp sat up and wiggled the fingers on his right hand for the waitress and pecan pie for two. “You have the summer to mull it over. In the meantime, Mack has been persuaded to give you a hard news assignment that might be worthy of some pretty boy capable of shooting a big front-page picture so early in his photojournalism career.”
    â€œ I’d be dropping out of school?”
    â€œ I believe a family just isn’t complete without skeletons. My dearest momma clean bit off my daddy’s nose right around the time they divorced.”
    â€œ I can’t leave school,” Chase said, looking out the big diner window.
    â€œ We aren’t still on that subject,” Limp said sharply. “Some time back, I was taking pictures of the writer Erica Jong when she was speaking over at the college. My goodness what a powerful specimen—with those huge, strong hands and that gravelly voice. I sat there practically forgettin’ where I was and what I was ’sposed to be doin’. Just watchin’ those big, delicious fingers all filled up with antique rings. I wanted to climb up on that stage and just bury my face in her gorgeous bosom while she talked all hard and deep in my ear.”
    Chase looked down at the brown pie. “Erica Jong?”
    â€œ Okay, so then she says something real simple, which maybe you should carry around for a bit. Erica says in her deep voice, ‘If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more,’ ” Limp repeated in what Chase assumed was an imitation of Ms. Jong’s voice. “Think about it.”
    And it did give Chase something to think about in the coming weeks—those long, hot summer nights when there was nothing good on the radio while he ironed his new Klan sheets.

Chapter 7
    C hicken crap was everywhere during Chase’s summer on the Delmarva Peninsula. Caught in the soles of farmers’ boots, little geometric shapes sprinkled in Hansel and Gretel-like trails up grocery store aisles and down dark-colored movie theater carpets. It was smeared into his car’s floor mats and was responsible for the main stink coming from the dirty laundry basket in his crammed downtown one-bedroom.
    Sunday night through Friday afternoon, most of what Chase listened to was cops going out of service for lunch and fire dispatchers making alarm checks.
    â€œ Everybody, toss a shovel of dirt at me on three,” Chase would say by day and sometimes dream at night. Coverage of ground-breaking ceremonies and check-passing affairs kept advertisers and new business owners happy.
    But when the week ended and the bars opened, the possibilities became endless, as the city and county streets quickly filled with drunk drivers, jealous gun owners, and a host of others whose decisions were fueled by alcohol.
    Chase counted on the eight little red light bulbs at the top of his Radio Shack portable scanner to make all the grip and grins tolerable. Each bulb was the indicator light for an emergency frequency, and they lit up, one after the other, in quick succession, searching for a transmission. Salisbury City Police on channel

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