Zombies! Episode 1 - Shawn of the Dead (3 page)

"It's computer generated," Anthony confirmed.
"Unfortunately, the gentleman is deceased."

Abby reacted to that. "Well if it's the same
guy then he was a regular here."

"Do you know his name?"

She nodded, still staring at the picture.

"Abby," Anthony said to her, spying the name
tag. "We need to find out this man's identity."

"Yes," she said, breaking out of her stupor.
"Of course. I'm sorry. His name's Larry. Larry Koplowitz."

Stemmy was already scribbling in a pad. He
asked for a spelling of the last name and got it. "Do you have an
address?"

She hesitated again, looked toward the back
of the room. Sensing her indecision, Anthony said, "Ma'am, this man
was the victim of a violent crime yesterday. Right now his family
is wondering where he is."

That seemed to make up her mind for her. She
started typing into the computer and within a couple of minutes,
the two detectives had the information they needed and were out the
door.

***

THE
phone rang as the two detectives
walked out, leaving Abby in a state of confusion and despair.
Though she hadn't known Larry well, he was still a person she saw
on a regular basis. He came into the gym at least three times a
week. Most weeks he came in more often. Sometimes he worked out
alone. If Suzanna was in, he'd work out with her. In fact, she was
in right now, working out with the weights. She'd barely glanced up
while the policemen were there. Abby wondered if she should tell
her about Larry. She didn't know how close the two of them were,
but she guessed they were just work out partners. Suzanna was
dating that teacher.

The phone rang again. Abby hadn't been
counting the rings but a sixth sense told her that the person on
the other end was growing impatient. She hastily grabbed for it,
jostling it around as she brought it up to her head.

"
Push Ups
Fitness Center
. This
is Abby." She said that last part with a British accent. She didn't
know why. She'd been born and raised in Connecticut.

"Abby? Everything all right?" Oh, yes. That
was why. She'd just picked it up from Martin.

"Hi, Martin," she said. "I'm okay. I was just
lost in thought."

"Oh, well. All right then. I was wondering if
you'd like to meet for lunch. I've an interview three blocks from
you in an hour and a half."

She looked at the half-eaten sandwich on the
counter. Then she thought of Larry. Poor dead Larry. She was in no
mood for company and in no mood for food. But Martin had been
sinking deeper and deeper into despair. Every failed job interview
got him started on going back to England. They argued about it. The
job situation wasn't any better over there and Abby didn't really
want to leave her family. Most importantly, she didn't want to take
Sam away from her parents.

She and Martin Benjamin had met while he'd
been on holiday in New York. She and her parents had only moved to
Queens a few months before so she wasn't all that familiar with the
city. The two of them had learned it together and fallen fast in
love. With no attachments in England, Martin had brought his
considerable technological skills to the States. He'd landed a good
job easily enough and it wasn't long before she became Mrs. Martin
Benjamin. A year after that Sam had come along. Six months after
that disaster had struck the economy and the Benjamin family had
fallen victim to it. Martin lost his job and Abby had scrambled to
get the position at the gym. Her hours were bad and they had to put
Sam, now two years old, into daycare while Martin looked for a job.
Her parents weren't physically capable of taking care of him day
after day but they had insisted on paying for the daycare. Under
the circumstances, Martin and Abby had been left with little
choice. It ate at him, she knew. And silently he had vowed to pay
them back once he was on his feet. But for now they were doing the
best they could and taking help from wherever it came.

"Abby?"

She was startled by his voice on the phone.
"Oh," she cried again. "I'm so sorry, Martin."

"What is it?" He sounded tense. Everything
made him tense nowadays. He was losing confidence in himself as a
provider and as a man. She knew he harbored suspicions of her
finding some buff rich guy and taking Sam and ditching the English
washout. But of course that was all in his imagination. She loved
him dearly even though his recent and frequent mood swings drove
her to the point of madness.

"There were two policemen in here just before
you called," she told him. "One of our customers was killed
yesterday."

He was silent for a moment, chewing it over
in his mind she supposed. It was possible he didn't believe her.
For just a moment, he would doubt. Then surely his rational side
would take over.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said and it was
clear that he didn't quite know how to feel.

"I didn't know him that well," she said as
much to put him at ease as to carry forward the conversation. Her
voice dropped to a whisper. "But his workout partner is here at the
gym now. Should I tell her, Martin?"

"I suppose you should," he said. "Who else
will tell her if you don't?"

She nodded to herself. She would have to tell
Suzanna. "I don't know about lunch, Martin. I don't think I could
eat. But come by anyway, just so I can see you. I think I need to
see your face."

He went quiet again. "All right. I'll stop
in. Will you be all right for the time being?"

"I guess so," she said, then, "Of
course."

"See you in a bit then, love." And he hung up
before she could say anything else.

Absently, Abby put the phone back on the
cradle, her eyes on Suzanna. Suzanna was tall and thin. She was
maybe twenty five years old but Abby wasn't sure. She was so
fit
. At the moment she was standing in her spandex leggings
and tank top with her legs spread wide, working out her shoulders
with ten pound weights. There was always this determined look on
Suzanna's face. Defiant, too, as if anyone who stood in the way of
her determination was in for a fight. She brought this to bear
right then. Without even looking over at Abby she called out,
"You're staring at me."

Abby didn't even react for a moment, just
continued staring. Only when Suzanna looked up, her sharp dark eyes
locking with Abby's own did she break from her reverie. With one
hand, she beckoned Suzanna over. The younger woman seemed put out
but returned the weights to the stand and came over.

"What is it?"

"Did you see the two gentlemen that were in
here a few minutes ago?"

"Yeah. So?"

"They had a picture of Larry."

It didn't dawn on Suzanna right away but then
something about her face seemed to change. Then she blushed.

Oh my God,
thought Abby.
They don't
just work out together.

"Is he in trouble?" Suzanna asked. "Did
something happen?"

"I didn't know, Suzanna. I'm so sorry."

Suzanna went cold again. "There's nothing to
know. What are you sorry about?"

Abby was beginning to regret getting
involved. "He's…They said he'd been killed."

Everything froze then except for Suzanna's
expression which morphed from confusion to shock to anger with just
the briefest glimpse of grief thrown in somewhere. She said nothing
before turning away. There was a tear welling in her eye.

"Suzanna, I…"

She put up a hand to forestall anything
further. Then, drawing in a deep breath, Suzanna went back to her
workout.

***

IT
was lunchtime but neither Stemmy
nor Anthony felt like stopping on their way to Larry Koplowitz's
apartment. Stemmy could wait and Anthony forestalled the hunger
with a cigarette. They called in to inform the captain of their
good fortune and then proceeded straight to the building.

Koplowitz lived on the third floor of a small
building located in downtown Brooklyn. It was an older building and
the lobby hadn't been refurbished in a while. Anthony buzzed the
super and the two detectives waited patiently for him to
arrive.

"What's this all about?" he said gruffly, as
if he couldn't be bothered with two policemen in the middle of the
day. The super was in his late fifties or maybe even his early
sixties. He wore a checked shirt over some old carpenter's pants.
There was a large ring of keys dangling from his belt loop which
Stemmy found to be both cartoonish and out of place. He had three
days' worth of grey stubble on his face and a perpetual scowl. The
scowl did not alter when they explained why they were there.

"I doubt the missus is home," the super said.
"She's got some kind of high power job in the city."

Stemmy glanced at Anthony. There had been no
missing person's report matching Koplowitz's description or
identity. They had assumed he lived alone. The existence of a wife
who had not shown the usual signs of concern was a bad omen.

"Do you have a key to that apartment, sir?"
Anthony asked.

"Of course!" The super was already leading
them into the elevator. The three men said nothing to each other
during the short ride up.

They stepped out of the elevator into a brown
carpeted hallway. Here, too, the walls were in need of repainting
and the window at the end of the corridor was grimy. Stemmy
wondered how the tenants tolerated it. If he was paying the price
of a Brooklyn rental, he would be a lot more vocal about the
condition of his building.

"It's that one there," the super said as he
pulled the key off his ring.

Stemmy put a hand out to halt him while
Anthony approached the door, the third from the end, and knocked.
When there was no reply, he called out. "Mrs. Koplowitz, are you
home? This is Detective Anthony Heron of the NYPD. We need to speak
with you regarding your husband."

There was still no answer.

"Told you," the super said.

"Can you open it up, please?" Anthony asked.
He looked at Stemmy, who'd gone white as a ghost. It was on both of
their minds. There was a man whose time of death preceded the event
by ten to twelve hours. They couldn't escape the meaning of it no
matter how unreal it sounded.

As soon as the super had the door open, the
smell wafted into the hallways.

"What the hell is that?" he said angrily,
wondering about the cleaning up he would have to do. He moved to
march right inside and find the source but Anthony put a strong
hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. One look at their two
faces quelled any defiance the super might have felt rising.

The interior of the apartment was dark, all
of the shades pulled. There was a table and a lamp right next to
the door and Anthony switched it on, bathing the room in dim light.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The door opened up into a small
entryway that became the living room. A couch was out in the middle
of the room, facing their left, with a long table behind it.
Pictures sat on the table, one of them knocked over. The TV was
across from the couch with a DVD rack next to it. There was an easy
chair on the far side of the coffee table and just behind that was
the kitchenette. An opening led into darkness to the right of the
kitchen.

The smell was awful. There was no doubt that
something dead was in that apartment.

"Wait out here," Stemmy said to the super as
he moved in behind Anthony. They both drew their weapons.

"Mrs. Koplowitz," Anthony called. "Are you
there, ma'am?"

Even in the face of the undead, Anthony was
polite.

"What do you think?" Stemmy whispered,
beginning to sweat.

"I think she's probably laying in the bedroom
or the bathroom dead," Anthony whispered back. "If he was eating
people, God knows what she'll look like now."

"What if she's like him?" Stemmy asked. "What
do you think about that?"

"I don't want to think about that."

But they were both thinking about it. You
didn't move cautiously through an apartment, checking under tables
and into corners with your gun drawn if you weren't worried about
being attacked. Stemmy looked back once to make sure the super
wasn't coming in and was relieved to find that he wasn't.
Apparently the detectives' apprehension was infectious. All manner
of surliness had gone out of the poor old super and he just stood
in the doorway, protected by the light of the hallway behind
him.

There was a switch on the wall between the
kitchenette and the hallway that led deeper into the apartment.
Stemmy prayed that it would light up the place better as he reached
for it. But he froze in mid stride as a soft moan drifted from out
of that darkened passage. It had the pitch of a woman's voice but
the tenor of a rush of air through an empty tunnel. Stemmy was
close to the hallway, not yet close enough to reach the switch but
close enough that the odor tripled inside of his nostrils.

"Stemmy, back up," Anthony said and Stemmy
obliged.