Free Payback: A Strandville Zombie Series Short by Belinda Frisch

Six months earlier…
     
    Max Reid was down to two options: bet and win, or go back to a life of crime. Only one of those let him keep his new family. He parked behind Devil’s Ink, Strandville’s only tattoo shop, and avoided eye-contact with Mitch who was scowling at him from the passenger’s seat.
    Situated on a six store strip which was the closest thing Strandville had to downtown, Devil’s Ink was a black eye on the small town’s otherwise simple country façade.
    Strandville was a blue-collar working town and those who lived there either did manual labor for minimum wage or worked at the Nixon Healing and Research Center, one of the few decent paying jobs within a fifty mile radius.
    Max had worked for Bill Jenks, the town mechanic, up until he was fired a week before. He’d yet to tell Jess, the mother of his newborn son, but knew that sooner or later, he’d have to come clean. Gambling the last of their cash, he hoped the race would buy him time. He grabbed the betting slip from on top of his visor and sighed. Jacob’s Revenge wasn’t a favorite to win, but he needed a long shot’s payoff and there was no better bet than a horse with his son’s name.
    Mitch hadn’t said a word since the stop at the bookie, but it was clear he didn’t approve of the bet. He adjusted his lanyard to sit under the blue collar of his Nixon Center uniform shirt and flipped over the photo ID badge that marked him as a member of Security. “When do you plan on telling Jess you were fired? She finds out everything eventually, believe me.”
    Mitch and Jess had dated through high school, a fact Max considered moot now that he and Jess had Jacob. Mitch had cheated and Jess had ended things. He didn’t have to say that he never got over her. It was obvious from the fact that he came around their house too often and stayed too long.
    Max took his keys out of the ignition. “I’m going to miss my race.”
    “You’re going to get evicted.”
    “ Anyone else, you’d be cracking homeless jokes, Mitch. Give it a rest. I can take care of my own family. This race will fix things. You’ll see.”
    But t he long shot bet was double the losing one before it. Max was five hundred dollars down from a thousand dollar paycheck, his last from the garage, and it was less than ten minutes to post time.
    He hurried into Devil’s Ink and flopped down in an empty tattoo chair.
    Mitch picked up a water-stained Playboy off the milk crate table and bounced his knee to the thrash core coming through the shop’s speakers.
    “Reid, man , I didn’t think you were going to show.” Doug, the shop’s owner, crushed out his cigarette and opened a fresh set of needles. He was a tall man, thin and fair-skinned with tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin except for his scruffy-bearded face. The black ink bled together into a single, congested piece, and other than the pair of praying hands on the right side of his neck, nothing stood out at quick glance. Max had met him during a six month bid at county for aggravated assault.
    “ Sorry, man. I had an errand to run.” Max crumpled an empty paper cup and threw it across the room at Mitch. “Hey, put on channel twenty-seven, would you?”
    Mitch muttered something under his breath and continued pretending to read.
    Doug pulled his thinning hair into a low ponytail, squeezed his large hands into a pair of black, latex gloves, and poured several capfuls of ink. He had prepared Max’s piece in advance and set the stencil of a cross on his muscular forearm. He sprayed down the paper to transfer the ink outline and held Max’s arm when he wouldn’t hold still. “You’re going to screw this up.”
    Max grunted, frustrated. “Mitch, I know you can hear me. Turn on the TV.”
    “I’m not an enabler.”
    “No, you’re a childish prick.” Max started to stand and Doug pushed him back into the chair.
    “I got it .” Doug shook his head and turned on the television with a remote control. “What