Free The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel by Edward P. Cardillo

his pint of beer.
    “Hey, Johnny.” Vinnie really didn’t know Johnny very well. He knew who he was. Hell, he passed his broadcast booth every day on the boardwalk.
    He was a bit older than Vinnie. Having just graduated this past May from college with his degree in Communications, this was his first paid gig. Vinnie imagined it didn’t pay much, but everyone paid their dues in the beginning.
    “You’re out late,” remarked Johnny.
    Billy popped in four quarters and released the balls, while Vinnie took a gulp of his cola and placed it on the small bar table.
    “Quit breakin’ his balls, Johnny.” Billy winked at Vinnie. “Rack ’em, Danno.”
    Vinnie didn’t get the reference (and neither did Johnny, for that matter), but he grabbed the rack from its holder on the side of the table and started placing balls in it. “What time do you open tomorrow, Billy?”
    “Whenever I goddamned please, I guess.”
    “You’re not worried you’ll miss customers?”
    “They don’t buy my kind of shit first thing in the morning. They’re either sleeping in or hitting the beach, tanning their fine young bodies.”
    “How ’bout you, Johnny?”
    “My show starts at noon, which is right around when I wake up.”
    “You’re lucky. I gotta be in by ten thirty to help fire up the ovens and help my dad set up.”
    Vinnie finished racking the balls. He replaced the rack and went over to the cue rack to select a stick. He chose one with a good weight to it. He rolled it on the other pool table, checking to see if it was straight.
    Billy grinned. “Good, Kid. You’re daddy taught you well.”
    It wasn’t perfect, but good enough. All of the cues were warped at the Jolly Roger Pub. It was only a matter of degree.
    “Break my balls, Billy.”
    “You know I will,” Billy said, smiling. He leaned over the table and broke the balls. It was a good spread. He got a high ball in. Billy always liked high.
    Vinnie took a sip of his Coke and placed it back on the table. “Sales going good?”
    Billy shrugged and shot the thirteen ball in the corner pocket. “It’s been a pretty good summer. You should come by and hang out sometime. There’s lots of hot teen girls who come by to check out my wares.”
    “I’m sure there is.”
    “You have no idea,” said Johnny. “I reel them in from Billy’s shop on the fly. They love getting on the radio. Sometimes I let them do shout outs.”
    Billy lined up a bank shot around the four ball and sank the nine in the side pocket, gaining excellent position for a shot on the eleven into the same side pocket. Billy always worked the sides. It was his jam.
    “They’re a little young for you, you fucking perv,” said Billy to Johnny.
    “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” said Johnny, the irony of Billy’s remark lost on him.
    “Just cuz I look at the menu, doesn’t mean I order.”
    “I’m the perfect age,” said Vinnie. “Both of you can live vicariously through me.”
    Billy lined up his next shot. “Maybe you can pick up another girlie to take out for a night on the boardwalk.” He sunk the eleven and set himself up for a rail shot with the fifteen. He made the shot.
    Vinnie smirked. “Are you sure you wanted to play me? It looks like you’re just playing with yourself.”
    Billy smirked at the reference. “Your daddy know you talk like that?”
    “I think everybody knows you like to play with yourself, Billy,” said Johnny.
    Vinnie blushed a little. “Just shoot, Billy. You run the table and I’ll get to go home earlier than I thought. Then you can get back to sweeping the floor with Johnny, here.”
    “Hey,” protested Johnny, “for all you know, I could’ve been wiping the floor with his ass all night.”
    Billy leaned over the table, lining up his shot on the ten. He shot and missed. “Vinnie’s not as dumb as you look, Johnny.”
    “You missed that on purpose,” said Vinnie.
    “You wanted a shot, there you go.”
    Vinnie scanned the table,