Guilty by Association (Judah Black Novels) Read Free Page A

was an oldies station that played mostly seventies and eighties rock, which seemed to suit the car just fine. “Stayin' Alive” by the Bee Gees was playing that morning as I pulled into the gravel lot next to a building that could have served as a backdrop in a John Wayne western. It had that perfect, flat front with pretty white columns and hitching posts out front. Maybe the building was old enough to be authentic but now it bore the scars of modern remodeling. The doors were the pressure sensitive, automatic kind instead of the swinging saloon doors that might have fit better. A big red neon cross glowed against the dawn, the only bit of neon in the whole town.
    There were two other vehicles on the lot: Tindall's Cadillac and a class A motor home that took up the majority of the parking lot. I parked and got out to look at the motor home with a whistle. There were some trailers on the reservation that weren't as nice as that thing. Still, it had seen some road. An inch of dirt was caked to the side, though someone had painstakingly wiped down the back end to make sure the bumper stickers, of which there were plenty, were still visible.
    Inside, I stopped by the receptionist window, which was empty. Tindall was sitting in the waiting room, flipping through a magazine. He spoke to me without looking up. “Body's in the back. Doc's waiting on you.”
    I frowned. “Why?”
    “Listen, Black. Where you come from, maybe they got fancy, well equipped law enforcement teams that handle this sort of thing but Paint Rock is a backwater God-forsaken place. Don't ask me how this place attracted talent like Doctor Eugene Ramis. The guy's probably foremost in the field of weird dead things, even if he isn’t a certified through the state. Still, he’s the closest thing we’ve got. That’s how it is here. We work with what we’ve got. But if something goes wrong it’s my ass in the fire, since I am employed by the state.”
    “So,” I started, “what you're telling me is that you need someone to pass the blame to if he screws up?”
    “Bingo.” Finally, he looked up from his magazine. “And, since you technically outrank me, you get to deal with that nut today.” I tried to object but Tindall just jerked his chin in the direction of the door down the hall. “Get on down there before the place starts to stink even more than it already does, will you? I've got other things to do today.”
    I clamped my jaw firmly shut and started down the hall. The elevator music faded the further I went, shifting into a different rhythm. By the time I reached the end of the hall, I realized the door was vibrating to the familiar beat of Michael Jackson's “Thriller”. Despite myself, I was smiling when I opened the door. The smile quickly faded when I realized that Doctor Ramis wasn't the only one waiting for me on the other side.
    Three corpses, not counting the werewolf we'd brought in, stood in the middle of a small, temporary stage, dressed in the tattered remains of dust and dirt sodden suits and prom dresses from what could have been another century. They weren't behaving much like corpses, though. Every single one of them was up and walking around. More accurately, they were dancing.
    The doctor, a stick of a white guy with an honest to God afro and thick glasses, sat in his white lab coat, tapping the beat out on his CD player with a drumstick and mouthing the words to the song. The song reached the chorus and he got up, tapping on the wall, and acted as if he was going to join them. When he saw me, he did a cartoon style double take, then dropped his drumstick and shrieked.
    The corpses behind him immediately stopped moving around and stood there blankly staring ahead with dead, glassy eyes. The doctor adjusted his glasses and composed himself before clearing his throat and shutting off the music. “You scared the bejeezus out of me!”
    I raised an eyebrow and forgot to be disturbed by dancing zombies for a moment. “You're