Suckers - J.A. Konrath

“How do you know my name, anyway?”
“Your wallet.”
“I had eight bucks in there. It better still be in there.”
“I didn’t take your money.”
“And a Blockbuster Video card. They charge you five bucks if you lose that.”
“Silence! Through magnetron technology, I have harnessed the life-giving properties of
ordinary microwaves, coaxing the spirit back into the body!”
“That’s a big microwave?”
“Behold!”
He hit a switch, and the stack of electronics hummed and whirred, throwing off an huge
amount of heat. Most of it was directed at Roberta, the undead living zombie wife. Some of it
came my way, and it hurt like a bad sunburn.
Then the smell hit me. Honey baked ham and bacon strips. I watched through squinty eyes
as Roberta sizzled and popped and exuded a scent that was downright mouth-watering.
Now it all made sense. Phil’s sunburn. Why he smelled like ham. Why his first wife’s skin
was so brown and wrinkly. Why his second wife smelled like sweaty feet.
Actually, this didn’t explain why his second wife smelled like sweaty feet. But I guessed
that to be a hygiene thing.
Blofeld finally turned off the microwave stack, then embraced his hanging wife. The
embrace became a kiss. The kiss became a nibble. The nibble became a corn-on-the-cob chowdown,
and I realized what had happened to the zombie’s breasts.
“And now!” He wiped the grease off his mouth with his sleeve. “Now it is time for Roberta
to feast!”
Fred reached under the cart, pulled out a meat cleaver. Didn’t see too many meat cleavers,
outside of a butcher shop.
“What shall we start with, Roberta? The leg? Yes, I agree. The leg looks delicious. Do you
prefer the left on or the right one, dear? Yes, the left one.”
He raised the cleaver. There are few things more terrifying than being tied to a chair about to
be hacked up by a lunatic so he could feed the pieces to his dead wife who he thinks is actually a
zombie and is hanging from the ceiling using an admittedly clever series of weights and pulleys.
“Stop!” I yelled.
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