Page 2

"Wal, we don’t trade much in bodies these days. " Macon told the angry woman softly. "Maids or otherwise ... "

"This ... this isn’t the maid, you idiot. " she sputtered. "It’s one of those things, Those cannibal things. One minute I’m set comfortable to see if Saban will ruin Rachel’s wedding, the next minute Maggie’s gotten her dress up round her waist and some dirty man’s on top of her. Now I just thought it some bumpkin beau, getting some love from his girl in my nice shiny kitchen, but then he raised his head up and it was half off. The face, I mean.

"Now I’m not a brave woman, but you get that kind of gore into Mexican style tiling and it just won’t come up, it won’t. And dear Willard, he didn’t allow even a little lady like pistol in the house. So I took my umbrella, the one with the authentic ivory handle? And I poked him with it, and he snarled with no manners at all.

"Well now I got really upset. Here was this creature, feeding on my maid, and I was missing my favorite show to deal with it, so I took that umbrella in both hands and slammed the tip down on his head.

"Now it caved in so easily, the skull I mean, and I was left with two bodies, a big bloody mess in my nice shiny kitchen and no one to take care of it for me. "

Both Danny & I looked non-plused even as Mrs. Weinstein stared at the two of us with deadly expectation. "Well? " she demanded scathingly. My boss reached under his seat to pull out a 38 police special.

"We really don’t deal in the dead, ma’am. " he told her, even while we pulled the truck well over onto the shoulder. "Well I don’t care. " she fussed, stamping a plump fuzzy slippered foot angrily.

I sighed slightly and Danny shook his head as we started up that narrow track on foot, Mrs. Weinstein frumpy and fuming all the while behind us.

"Pay good money to people who don’t appreciate it. What’s a person to do with a bunch of lazy lay-abouts as that ... ? "

We paid little attention to the bitchy old cow behind us, more concerned as to what was up the road a piece. While the tall pines threw some weird shadows, a ghoul behind every tree, Danny didn’t exactly inspire confidence with his little pea-shooter as he idly thumbed the hammer to the nine-shot revolver. But luck was with us as we reached the long single story vacation home without incident.

The whole front, white stone leading us from the wide gravel drive, was exposed glass panes, very stylish but little protection from intruders, in hindsight. The front door was still wide open, several red streaks smeared across the transom where Mrs. Weinstein had pulled her rotten garbage through, the television still on while her soap tape blared loudly from the speakers.

"Any body home? " Danny sounded abit squeaky, his attempt to be macho failing somewhat as a weird creaking made him jump. He shot us a sheepish smile before leading his partner and a fat fussy broad through the alcove and up a long corridor toward the kitchen.

The maid was there, thankfully still, laying motionless in a bloody mess which I oddly thought would never come up now. The stonework, set down immaculate but unglazed, would need to be torn up, no way that soak was comin out with any amount of elbow grease.

While I looked at Danny, and he at me, Mrs. Weinstein kept glaring at the both of us until I gave a heavy sigh. "Ya want the feet or the head? I don’t much care either way. " he asked politely, odd in discussing the spoiled remains sprawled out before us.

But while we were figuring out just how to move her, the corpse decided she’d take the matter in hand by opening those pretty eyes and starting to twitch, as if tryin to remember just how this gettin up n walking business was supposed to go. Unfortunate for her, the dead girl didn’t get too far before a loud boom was followed by a splat of milky white brain custard which drenched us all.

To add to the new color scheme set for her gore decor, Mrs. Weinstein promptly lost her cookies, her expensive wine, and those little brisket crackers with the cheese topping. She spewed a wide stream while Danny and I stepped quickly back from the funk coming from those flappin goldfish lips.

"Real nice, Mrs. Weinstein. " chuckled a rough gravel voice from the back patio door, even as the speaker casually reholstered his magnum, slung low on his waist, gunslinger style. "They oughta make that an Olympic event. "

The old broad was too busy barfing to make a scathing retort, but her eyes were daggers that barely dinted his armor, this gangly giant showing crooked teeth out of his lop-sided mouth.

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