The story so far: In the post industrial city of Slaugerton, New
Jorksacutt, Mayor Terry McConn and local development lovely Lara
Tremor, discover political consultant Bob Slotsky wearing a wire.
They kill Bob and dump his body at the dump. Slotsky returns as
a vengeful, blackmailing zombie. Terry & Lara do him again,
using methods recommended by FHA mortgage flipper and zombie
master Alkar Y'Hut. But another slip up ensues. Terry and Lara
disappear mysteriously. A special election is held. Bob Slotsky
becomes mayor, thanks to a huge turnout by the dead community.
June 11, 2006: Witness protection was a bitch. Ex local development lovely Lara
Tremor-- now known as Linda Twitch-- put the last touches of
make-up on her new face and ground out her cigarette in the
bathroom sink. At the seedy, extended-stay hotel where the feds
had her stashed, ash trays were as long gone as room service.
The sink was mock Victorian. So was the rest of Catatonga Falls.
A down at the heels New Jorksacutt resort town turned Medicaid
reservation. Where indigent old folks, paranoid schizophrenics,
and substance abusers rocked (some much faster than others) on
wide verandas of once grand hotels and took in the still grand
mountains. Their enjoyment of the view only disturbed by thrice
daily trays of Wonder Bread, Hawaiian Punch, and assorted meds.
Leaving for work (telemarketing sub sub primes) Lara/Linda pushed
past a gaggle of nurses dispensing meds. Their prison labor
jumpsuits bulged with pilfered pills. A paranoid schizophrenic
rocker made a stab at getting Lara/Linda's attention. She dodged
nimbly. Years of chairing public input sessions and community
charettes had honed her skills. How she missed her quasi-public
days! As Lara/Linda sputtered off in the tin can the feds called
a car, her mind turned to happier times-- when she was top exec
at the Slaugerton Local Development Corporation. She and Mayor
Terry McConn were rolling in HUD bux. Usually at local motels.
After telling some blue collar neighborhood an eminent domain
revitalization was headed their way, she'd head off to hook up
with McConn. By the time she got done imitating the panicked
reaction of the nabe's residents, McConn would be begging for it.
"Shit!" Lara/Laura punched the buttons of the cruddy car radio.
The only island in the static was a 24/7 news station.
"This just in from Slaugerton" the newscaster's voice had a lip
"Another drive-by in Hams End" thought Lara/Laura with a
"The body of former Mayor Terry McConn has been found in a wooded
ravine in Van Slauger Park. A troop of Boy Scouts made the grisly
discovery early this morning while on a nature walk. The body was
identified as McConn by current Mayor Bob Slotsky, who rushed to
the scene as soon as he was notified the dead man might be the
former mayor. Though exposure to the elements made identification
difficult, Mayor Slotsky recognized his old friend and one time
protégé by his personal effects."
Lara/Laura's lip curled like a caterpillar prodded with a stick.
"Slotsky was always a fool" she said aloud, and exited off 15B.
Later That Evening
"Drinks all around" Mayor Bob Slotsky was buying. The college
crowd at the Peanut King Brew Barn cheered and applauded. Though
a zombie, the mayor was a regular guy-- mourning his buddy by
throwing a party! The pols clustered round the bar lifted their
glasses in rye acknowledgement. Bartender and off duty cop Mike
Testirolla poured like a thunderstorm in the Catatonga Mountains.
Slotsky was top of the world Ma. Now that McConn's body had been
found and identified, there'd be no more whispers the ex mayor
was off somewhere, spilling his guts into federal ears. Speaking
of guts, the last button on Slotsky's pants was hanging by a
thread. For the billionth time, he cursed the archaic laws of
zombiedom that forced him to wear the clothes he croaked in.
Yesterday, his fly had given way right before a couple of feds
came to see him at city hall. Luckily, he'd managed to cover his
gaping zipper with a copy of the city charter. As for the feds,
they seemed mainly interested in Ray LaVeal, director of the
Slaugerton Housing Authority, and his use of CDBG funds. Slotsky
figured he'd covered LaVeal's butt as deftly as he covered his
own fly. LaVeal, a McConn appointee, now owed him. All in all,
there was a lot to celebrate.
"Mister Mayor!" State Rep Jed Puptue clapped Slotsky on the
shoulder. A cloud of moldy dust set him coughing. After a hit
of hootch Puptue hacked "get the taxpayers to buy you a new
suit" and moved off.
"Don't let that bigot bother you, Bob" Governor Herb Kuspitor
was avuncular. Almost unctuous. Facing re-election, he wanted
the dead vote. Hell, he needed the dead vote. The other party
had managed to stitch together a reform candidate from body parts
supplied by a crony board member at the New Jorksacutt University
of Medicine & Cosmetology. They'd jacked the "reformer" into life
with doses of lightning, and now the thing was lumbering around
the state racking up support with lines like "me want good
government" and "me love little guy". If the body politic
bought it, Kuspitor would be dead come November.
Kuspitor began to pitch Bob Slotsky on running as his lieutenant
governor. Slotsky played coy but in his head he was shouting
YES. Once in the state house, he'd be on his way to becoming
New Jorksacutt's first zombie governor. Next up? America's first
The college crowd groaned. The big game on the TV over the bar
was being interrupted by a news flash. Though obscene catcalls
drowned out the news anchor, the trailer on the screen screamed:
Startling New Developments in the McConn Case...
To be continued.
Carola Von Hoffmannstahl-Solomonoff
"No man is dead till he's dead."
Francis Beeding, The Twelve Disguises, 1942
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