The Case of the Scary In-Your-Face Hungry Enough To Eat-Your-Face Zombies: A Gan Greene P.I. Mystery

The Case of the Scary In-Your-Face Hungry Enough To Eat-Your-Face Zombies

A Gan Greene P.I. Mystery

Timothy Lee

timothylee@worldofimaginationonline.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Timothy Lee

Published by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

About the Author

Other Titles

Author's Note:

I wish to give a shout out to Phil Benson-Hannam (Pip) for his suggestion for a character in this story. Thank you for the inspiration, I truly appreciate it.

CHAPTER 1

No, mine was not a pretty job. In fact, it was a downright dangerous job but somebody had to do it. I calculated the rate of retaliation against me by the enemies I had made in doing my job to range around the 90% mark: all in all not bad for an honest day's work. On top of that, my profession was wrought with constant dangers that I could easily fall victim to if I was not quick of mind and feet. Fortunately, I am a professional. My name is Greene. Gan Greene, and I am the best damned private investigator this side of the universe. This may sound like bragging but I am only speaking the truth based on my success rate of solving every single case that has come my way. In addition, I'm not all that bad looking. I think tall, dark and handsome would fit me perfectly. My short black hair, rugged square jaw and tall, slender, fit and muscular body is a magnet to every horny gay guy in this filthy city so I am on constant alert to any and all sexual advances. Even if they were to approach me they would be summarily turned down because I am straight. I would no sooner go to bed with a man than I would lay on a bed of nails - although, if he was on the bottom then I might be able to... that is to say, with his body cushioning my... what I mean is sex with a man was just plain wrong in my book (with the possible exception of pages 69 through 104, but I won't elaborate).

Today might have been construed as a step backward if one were to see me and my Asian assistant, Dong Hung Lo, right about now without knowing the entire back-story. What could not be seen, however, was the fact that my mind was racing: ever vigilant, ever aware, ever plotting, ever on top of every little detail. My brain was a supercomputer, always racing and calculating the best solution to any particular problem - and this particular problem was a doozy. The particulars were as follows:

Yes, we were both laying in the direct sunlight listening to the sounds of the birds as they sang from the trees on either side of the clearing. The temperature was sort of on the hot side but I'm a tough guy and I can take it. My assistant, on the other hand, was known to complain about the heat and was doing just that off and on. Then again, he was Chinese and everybody knows all they do is complain, so as a superior Caucasian I found it best to ignore him. Besides, there was a slight cool breeze so he needed to just shut the hell up because we had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

Yes, we had just finished eating a big lunch and were stuffed to the gills... well, I was, anyway. I had earlier taken Dong to my favorite restaurant, the endangered species sandwich shop calling itself ‘Eat 'Til It's Gone’ where I got myself a grilled Philippine Cockatoo sandwich with head cheese, sauerkraut and mustard on a sourdough roll. As always, my generosity kicked in and I offered to let Dong smell the bag that the meal came in so that he could experience my food vicariously, but the ungrateful Asian twit refused. Therefore, in addition to the heat, he was also complaining about being hungry. I had other things on my mind at the moment, though, so he was largely ignored.

Yes, the wood and gravel surface that we were both laying upon was somewhat uncomfortable and I kind of figured that a quick visit to my chiropractor would be in order before the week was out. In the ten years that I had been in this business I learned to carry nothing but the best health insurance, so chiropractic, doctor, even dental visits were all taken care of for me. Dong, who had been with me for pretty much the duration of my professional career, complained about that as well from time to time because he was not on the policy. Hell, it was costing me a fortune just to keep myself healthy. Besides, Chinese people never get sick so why add him (and thereby treble the premium)?

Yes, the steel was beginning to heat up and becoming uncomfortable on our necks, arms, wrists and ankles, and of course Dong complained about this as well. One would think that a 26 year old Asian man would be more resilient than that. I mean, I'm 45 and he didn't hear me complaining about the burning sensations beneath the ropes binding us to the rails. The situation was uncomfortable, I will admit, but Dong and me have been in much worse situations than this so he really had no need to bitch and complain.

Yes, we were expecting the 5:20 Express to come racing down the tracks at any minute, carrying its happy and blissfully unaware passengers and cargo to their anticipated destinations as the steel wheels of the train lopped off our heads and feet and crushed our arms and hands to oblivion. Basically, Dong and me would be reduced to lifeless blobs of hamburger before the final railroad car passed over us if I didn't come up with a plan of escape in the next few moments, but I had no worries. Being the professional that I was, I had just devised a plan that would surely save our necks and get us back home in time for me to visit Tony at the Spunk Spurt bar for one of his famous Whiskey Sours.

Finally, yes, the railroad magnate, Mickey McBoxcar, and his hired goons had ambushed me and my assistant only an hour ago back in the rail yards and then driven us at gunpoint to this point where the entire point was to make sure our lives were to become pointless. Because of my cunning investigative work I had gotten a little too close to Mr. McBoxcar and discovered his deep dark secret, and for this he was somewhat angered. Well, actually, he was pissed as hell and immediately ordered his goons to tie me and Dong to the rails for a beheading ceremony with him and me being the guests of honor. The invitation list was small but McBoxcar insisted that our attendance was not optional.

A week ago, a well-known local politician (who demanded anonymity because of his standing in the community) came to me asking that I investigate the theft of six 25 foot Queen Palm trees from the yard of his palatial estate. Each tree was valued at around $20,000 and their disappearance added up to a hefty loss that would take some time and a whole shitload of taxpayer money to replace. According to the anonymous person whose name, Mayor Igot Kickback, could not be mentioned, the trees had been dig up and spirited away in the dead of night from his home at 2933 Lobbyist Way SE while he was upstairs in the bedroom getting it on with their maid (their male maid, Danny). Mrs. Kickback was conveniently out of town for some charity shit. When he emerged from the shadows of his illicit affair the following morning, Mr. Kickback found the trees to be gone, leaving not only a lot of uninterrupted sunshine but six very large, very deep holes in the yard. Making matters worse was the fact that, when his wife returned after dark, she accidentally tripped and fell into a hole nearest the sidewalk and consequently broke her neck or brain or giblet or whatever, leaving Igot suddenly and conveniently unmarried. It was a surprise to learn that, later that evening, when the maid returned for another rendezvous, he, too, fell into the same hole and became deceased as well. It was probably just an unfortunate coincidence that both should meet such an awful fate and my client was clearly heartbroken about the two losses - so much so that he held a party the very next day. A 'wake' he called it.

My investigation led me and my assistant on a twisted trail of deceit and cover-up that infiltrated pretty much every dark corner of this cesspool of a city until finally tripping over a viable piece of evidence - and I mean that literally. Me and Dong were following up on a tip from an informant about some suspicious activity going down at the rail yards on the north side of the city. Snooping around inside one of the dark graffiti-riddled railcars without a flashlight (Dong forgot the flashlight - the Chinese have no concept of planning ahead) and I tripped over something large and nearly joined the ranks of Mrs. Kickback and Danny.

After pulling my lighter from my pocket (this would be the same lighter that I never leave the office without), I discovered that six fully grown palm trees had been stacked inside the boxcar. They looked to have been recently dug up, their roots caked in a particular mixture of brown dirt and red clay that matched the composition of the holes back at the anonymous Mayor Kickback estate. Either this was a wild coincidence or we had discovered the evidence. I believed the latter. What we had yet to discover, though, was the person or persons responsible for placing the trees there and their exact reason for doing so.

The trees were not the only things in the rail car, however. In the far back corner had been placed a suspicious-looking crate, its contents being concealed by a green tarp. Suspecting yet another level to this crime, I immediately pulled off the tarp to discover a shipment of magazines, assumedly ready for distribution. But these were not just any magazines. These were the new July issue of PM Magazine (Penis Monthly). Peeling one of the periodicals off the top I studied it briefly before turning to the publisher page, and right then I had my proof of a crime so heinous that it was making the stolen palm trees look like child's play. These copies of the well-known magazine were not published by the usual publisher, Hot To Trot Publishing, Inc., but were instead bootleg copies published by Bootleg Porn, LLC.

I was familiar with the magazine only because of a case I had handled in the past, one that required me to purchase a copy of PM Magazine at the Spitzor Swallows Sex Emporium in order to solve the strange disappearance of my client's dog-napped poodle. Being straight, I was immediately disgusted to find that the rag was filled with nothing but lip smacking full color pictures of lip smacking naked men doing assorted nasty things with other lip smacking naked men. So stunned had I been over the overt sexual depravity relegated to the pages of this rag that it took me a week of reading and rereading the issue before I was able to get through it without ejaculating at least ten times each time I... What I meant by that was that I had trouble getting through the magazine without wanting to vomit. As far as the missing poodle case was concerned, I did finally meet with success, although the badly stained and frayed PM Magazine (and its subsequent one year subscription) ended up playing no part in bringing the case to a close.

With the evidence of the combined crimes of stolen trees and counterfeit magazines now at my fingertips, I knew that a single call to the police would have some poor slob looking forward to a long rest in prison with an even longer cellmate probing his insides on a continual basis. I had evidence at every turn in this rail car, but like the cavalry rushing in at the last minute, fate intervened. Before we could even leave the car, me and Dong were joined by shipping magnate and suspected sleaze Mickey McBoxcar and his two hired thugs. They quickly overtook us with muscle and assorted firepower, after which we lay on the floor bruised and beaten, listening to McBoxcar explain his little operation. His public enterprise of shipping Bibles was just a cover-up for his real business of illegally published magazines and stolen palm trees. The trees, he explained with great pleasure, were being sold on the foreign market for upwards of fifty grand apiece, and the magazines were nothing but pure profit, undercutting the actual publisher of the popular read. I just assumed it to be popular. I would have no interest in a magazine like this but logic would require me to assume it to be ridiculous to counterfeit a magazine that wasn't popular.

That fiasco happened just fifteen minutes ago and now me and my assistant were tied to the tracks awaiting the arrival of the train that was to decapitate us and end the case once and for all. But all was not lost because I still had my plan of escape and I was ready to enact it. Taking a deep breath, clenching my fists and struggling against the ropes that were holding me fast to the rails-o-doom, I opened my mouth wide and began screaming uncontrollably for somebody - ANYBODY - to come to my rescue and untie me! I was aware that I sounded like a screaming banshee and of the blind panic taking hold inside, but since this was my only option I figured it to be better than nothing.

Mr. Gleene! Mr. Gleene! Dong yelled from his confinement a few feet away. You please to calm down. We get out of this, Mr. Gleene. You see.

We'll never get out of this! I cried back in a hysterical voice. The train's gonna come and cut off my head and I'll never get to see Troy at the Spunk Spurt bar again. And, damn it, my name is Greene, not Gleene! I'm about to die and you still can't say my name right!

We not die, Mr. Gleene. We live and solve many more case together.

While these broken words of encouragement were appreciated, they were completely ineffective right now. Unable to look at my watch I could only estimate that the 5:20 was merely minutes away from slicing and dicing us to shreds and I determined that this time would be better spent screaming my lungs out in the hopes that some unsuspecting hiker might be taking a leisurely stroll in the woods and come to my rescue. Hell, at this point I'd even settle for a damned deer to come out and nibble on the ropes holding me to the track. Again I screamed out, both in frustration and desperation.

Mr. Gleene, you to calm down, please, Dong said. Me almost have hand out of rope.

What? I suddenly asked, interrupting my own screaming with a renewed hope for continued survival.

Dong small Asian hand slowly slipping out of rope, he informed me.

For once my assistant's teensy weensy 5’2 stature and equally miniature frame was coming in handy and I was grateful for the ability of the Chinese to breed mini people. I, of course, being 6’1, was a victim of my own superior size, having large hands and feet (and other equally large appendages), and was therefore unable to break myself loose. I immediately turned my hopeful eyes to the right and watched as he struggled against the rope binding his left hand.

Is it loose yet? I asked against visual proof that he was still working on it. Hey, I needed the encouragement.

Dong almost loose, boss, he replied in a voice that sounded to be struggling as much as his arm.

All at once the wail of a distant train whistle told me that our time was running out more quickly than I had anticipated. If Dong did not get his hand loose and himself untied in the next few moments he would not have time enough to free me and get me to safety as well. An overwhelming sense of panic caused me to again start struggling against my own ropes but they were not going to give an inch. Mr. McBoxcar and his band of merry thugs had made sure that I would remain on the rails to the bitter end - and that end was now speeding down the tracks right toward me.

Me almost loose, Dong told me.

Amidst my frantic gyrations I glanced over to find that he had actually gotten his one hand free and was now using it to untie his other hand. Once again I saw a ray of light at the end of the tunnel, although that light was rapidly dimming by the second blast of the train's whistle. This time it was sounded in a succession of three long, one short and one long toots which indicated that it was coming to a crossing I was familiar with just around the bend. That would be the same bend in the tracks that prevented me from actually seeing the locomotive as yet - but it was coming. It was coming too fast, and while I had always enjoyed taking the train I preferred riding above the tracks, not being ground into them like some copper penny.

Hurry the hell up! I pleaded with a renewed sense of urgency. Can't you Chinese do anything fast? Get your miniature Asian fingers going and get me the hell out of here!

At least my 'miniature Asian fingers' are loose, you bigoted asshole, he said, the apparent stress of the moment causing him to slip into some unknown tongue that I (and probably half the civilized world) was unable to understand. If it weren't for the fact that I make a fortune off your ignorance in money matters without your knowledge I'd leave your sorry-ass pasty-white ass on the tracks to be dissected, you ignorant bitch!

You know damned well that I don't speak Czech so I don't know what the hell you're saying, I reprimanded sternly, yet quickly. Speak English!

Dong say that he get legs free then he untie boss, he said, now speaking in a language that I understood. Having released his other hand from the tie binding it he was now bent forward working on the rope holding his legs.

While this looked promising, not so was the increasing hum and vibration in the rail supporting my arms and neck. Not only that, but with a look up the track I spotted the front end of the locomotive as it began rounding the corner at full speed. I figured McBoxcar to be at the throttle, making sure that the train was barreling down the track without the threat of some bleeding heart engineer spotting us ahead and grinding to a halt. Then again, there was probably no possibility of the train stopping in time, anyway, so what was the use in even hoping? Dong was almost loose but there would be no time to free me as well so I was forced to make a quick mental adjustment to accept the inevitable.

In approximately twenty seconds I was going to become fodder for the local wildlife. Deer, raccoons, possum, even the insects would soon be feasting on my tender skin and innards. It was a complete waste of a good life but it was now evident that the taillight on this P.I.'s caboose was about to be extinguished permanently. I began to think back on my career and I soon came to the realization that I had never eaten a cheesecake with ketchup, never stayed up to watch the all night movies on the porn channel; channel 69, and had never even seen the inside of the Penile Colony Penetration Camp gay baths (the latter interest being driven by my assumption that the place was a museum dedicated to the memory of Americans who spent time in Hawaiian concentration camps).

Right now a swig or two of whiskey would taste pretty damned good and quite possibly make this a little easier, and yet I was a brave guy and ready to face my mortality like a man. Although I was to face a premature death, I was going to go out on my own terms... at the hands of somebody else. Okay, that made sense on some level that had yet to be determined so I pushed it aside in lieu of the bigger picture. This was my legacy: being chopped into bite sized pieces while my assistant fled the scene without so much as a scratch on his yellow body. Meanwhile, my perfect white body would have to be buried in multiple coffins, each one holding a different part of my anatomy (of course the largest of those would have to be used to accommodate my manhood).

Mr. Gleene, you narrate out loud again, and your manhood fit in ring box with room to spare. Dong know. Dong seen it, my assistant said as he finally jumped to his feet a free man.

He was just jealous, of course, seeing as how he was Chinese, and therefore, hung like a chicken. Besides, I had absolutely no interest in Dong's sexual