Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues

Chapter 15

There was a time when I’d liked math and even thought I was pretty good at it. But somewhere around fourth grade someone noticed that my reading speed sucked shit, and I was put into the “remedial” track. It was supposed to be a program where kids like me could actually learn at their own speed, where maybe the teacher could figure out why the hell I read at a snail’s pace. Instead it ended up being a place to dump any kid who wasn’t a well-behaved model student. This meant that the teachers actually spent most of the class time dealing with disruptive little shits and, since at that time I was pretty damn docile, I was left alone. Which might not have been so bad except that they put me in remedial classes for all subjects, including math which I’d been fairly decent in. By the end of that year I was so goddamn bored with being taught math concepts I’d learned two years before, that I stopped paying attention to anything.

Nick could be a pompous ass, but he was a pretty good teacher, with a knack for explaining the math concepts in a way that actually made sense. He was even darn good at the grammar end of things too, and with his help I finally understood the difference between “your” and “you’re” as well as “lose” and “loose,” and “its” and “it’s.”

That being said, I damn near cheered when, after an hour of tutoring, Nick got a call to go pick up a body. Even Nick on his best behavior was a lot to take.

I packed up my stuff—including the study guide, the pages and pages of problems I’d worked under Nick’s watchful eye, and the “homework” he’d assigned me—and headed to NuQuesCor.

As angry as I was at Marcus, I wasn’t stupid enough to ignore what he’d said about violating my probation. I knew something weird was going on at that lab, but any attempt to sneak in would definitely rank up there with some of the stupider things I’d done in my life—and I’d done some hugely stupid shit, trust me.

Therefore I wasn’t going to do any sneaking at all. Well, maybe a teensy bit. But I wasn’t going to break any laws. Or at least I wasn’t planning to break any laws. With my history, it was probably best not to make sweeping statements like, This will be totally legal!

The broad atrium at the entrance to NuQuesCor looked a hell of a lot different during the day when there were people there, all seeming to be walking with great purpose, or clumped together having Very Important conversations, or waiting not terribly patiently in line at the coffee stand.

Panic shimmered through me briefly, but I managed to choke it down and force myself to move forward to the broad desk that dominated the center of the area.

The security guard looked up as I approached. He gave me a quick once-over assessment and apparently decided that I didn’t immediately warrant expulsion since he then gave me a thin, professional smile. “Can I help you?”

Ha! It should be ‘May I help you?’ I mentally jeered, though I knew this wasn’t the time or place to display my newfound knowledge of grammar, courtesy of Nick. Instead I simply echoed his professional-level smile. “I hope so,” I said. “I’d like to apply for a job.”

His smile shifted immediately to a slight frown, and I received yet another raking glance. “I see. Do you know what position or department you wish to apply to?”

Oh my god, I really was becoming sensitive to grammar. What the hell was happening to me? “Um, custodial…?” That was probably the only department I could hope to qualify for.

A smirk danced across his mouth, and he nodded. “Of course. We happen to have a recent opening in the custodial department.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a single sheet of paper, but paused before handing it to me. “I’m assuming you don’t have a resume or a CV?”

I had no idea what a CV was, but I figured I didn’t have one. “No, sorry.”

The smirk increased by a few millimeters. “Then you’ll need to fill this out,” he said, passing the sheet over to me. A quick glance confirmed that it was a basic employment form. I’d filled a few million of these out in my years of skipping from shitty job to shittier job.

“You can fill it out right over there if you want,” he said, gesturing toward a grouping of tables in the corner by the coffee stand.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Oh, wait,” he said as I began to turn away. He let out a low chuckle. “Almost forgot to give you the other part.” The smirk was at full power now as he set a sheaf of paper that had to be at least ten pages thick in front of me. “This is a secure facility, you understand. We need this information for the background checks we do.”

I plastered on a smile and picked up the stack of paper. “Even for the janitors?” I asked gamely, though I knew what the answer would be.

“Absolutely,” he replied. “After all, they go pretty much everywhere.”

“Right.” I tried to see his name on his security badge but it was cocked around, and I couldn’t read it. “You’ve really been a lot of help,” I said, gushing just a little. “What’s your name?”

“Lombardo,” he replied.

“Lombardo…?” I gave a titter that sounded stupid and obnoxious even to me. “That’s your first name?”

His eyes narrowed with a touch of disgust. “No. First name is Steve.”

“Gotcha!” I chirped. “Thanks a million, Steve. I’ll just go and fill these out. Can you answer one more question for me?”

He was really ready to get rid of me, but he sighed and said, “Sure. What is it?”

“Is there any way I can get an interview today? Or maybe just a tour?” I put on my best bubbly attitude. “See, I’m just starting college, and I want to major in biology, and I would so love to do research and stuff and would love to see more of what y’all do here!” Damn, I wished I was cuter. Or bustier. Or both.

His expression didn’t waver one bit as he pulled out yet another paper and practically slapped it onto the desk. “Tours are only given in groups of four or more and have to be scheduled in advance and on the dates indicated on this sheet.” He said it all in a monotone that told me he’d said it about a billion times before. I noticed he didn’t answer the part about the interview.

I looked down at the sheet to see a calendar with a smattering of dates marked out in green, and below that a list of rules and guidelines for tours that included things like “Government-issued ID required for all tour members” and “No cameras or recording equipment of any kind allowed” and “All tour members consent to a search of their property and person.”

“All righty then,” I said, then gathered up the various papers and headed on over to the tables in the corner.

Scowling down at the papers, I settled in to work. So far I was batting zero in my Quest To Break In Without Breaking Laws. I saw Lombardo eyeing me from the desk, so I made sure to pull out a pen and look like I was actually filling the shit out. I figured I’d give it a few more minutes to give the appearance that I was at least making an honest effort, and hopefully some sort of miracle would occur that would allow me to get beyond those security doors. Like, maybe an asteroid hitting the security desk in the lobby. I sighed. At this point that was probably the most likely scenario for me to get past him.

I had a bit of fun making up a name for myself along with all sorts of improbable educational background. Honors programs? Sure! Summers abroad? Hell, yeah! The stack of papers for the background check wanted me to list every job I’d ever worked at, everywhere I’d ever lived, and provide an insane number of references. Needless to say, I lied about every single one of those. Mostly because there was no way in hell I’d be able to remember all the jobs I’d had.

After about half an hour I’d plowed through the whole stack of paper. And, sadly, no asteroid had yet landed on Mr. Steve Lombardo. Gathering up the papers, I made ready to return to the desk and once more try to bluff my way into an interview, when the man I recognized as the head of security walked past me and to the coffee stand. Hard to miss with that square jaw, military-grade haircut, and Secret Service-type suit.

“Morning, Sandra,” he said to the barista. “Medium Americano, please.” He paid then casually scanned the area while he waited for his order. His eyes rested briefly on me, and he gave me a polite nod with no hint of recognition in his eyes. I returned the polite nod with a chin lift of my own, though I had to do everything in my power to keep my face as neutral as possible.

Because, after hearing his voice, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was the man who’d held me up at gunpoint and stolen the body of Zeke Lyons.