The Silencer (Part 2)
- Alan Wiebe
- 7 days ago
- 3 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
Content Rating: 18+
High, Los Angeles,
I take a little hitty-hit of my weed pen.
It’s 9-5 somewhere.
They call me The Silencer – because I write the deadliest hit-pieces in L.A. If only I could hit a deadline.
God, I hate Wednesdays.
I like to ease into the office on Monday. Call it a day Thursday. Ease into the weekend. You know what I’m saying…
But nooo – not this week.
I’m working overtime because Jerry got his stupid face eaten off by zombies.
@hernameismswhiskers, the cat, is totally a zombie. The studio never even replaced her.
And now Carmen San Diego, from K.L.I.T. Channel 7 News, San Bernardino, is demanding I go on record.
She’s got more dirt on me than a shallow grave.
If this story breaks, Purronica will lose her show – and everyone will blame me for getting Mystery Cat cancelled on TV.
I have to kill this story.
Urgh!
My phone vibrates.
It’s Purronica.
I peel the zombie skin off my face.
“Hey, baby…”
“Where are you, Jimothy?”
“I’m in the parking lot behind Mike’s Diner.”
“The deadline is in two minutes!”
“Don’t worry – I’ve got a plan.”
“No! Do NOT do zombie face. Jimothy – tell me you’re not wearing the zombie face…"
I stretch the fresh zombie face flesh over my head.
“I’m going in!”
“Jimothy!”
I open the door.
The little bell jingles.
Everyone looks up.
Carmen San Diego is sitting right there.
There’s an awkward silence.
I do the zombie shuffle.
“Moooaaannniiinnnggg!”
A woman screams.
She hurries her children out the back like I’m some kind of sick-o.
Carmen looks me dead-ass in the eye and shakes her head.
“Jimothy Dyck – you fucking asshole.”
I double-double down.
“Braaiiinnnsss.”
I take another step, dragging my foot.
Carmen’s eyes narrow with contempt.
“Tell me the truth, Jimothy. Is Ms. Whiskers a zombie cat?”
“Nooo Cooommmeeennnt.”
Delay.
Deny.
Delete.
KA-BOOM!
There’s a shotgun blast.
The priest reloads.
Time to book it.
I pray to God and beeline it out of there just as the next blast blows out the window.
Carmen high tails it after me.
“Ms. Whiskers is a zombie cat – admit it!”
“Never!”
I round the corner and run head first into a chain link fence.
Dead end.
Carmen corners me.
My career flashes before my eyes.
I’ll never work in this town again.
“This is your last chance, Jimothy – tell me the truth about Ms. Whiskers.”
“@hernameismswhiskers.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No. @hernameismswhiskers, the cat, is Kitty Holmes on TV.”
“The studio never replaced her?”
“I didn’t say that!”
Carmen whips out her phone and starts recording.
I’m staring down the barrel of a camera lens.
My reflection stares back at me.
It's hosting a podcast.
I’m screwed.
Carmen shoves the camera in my face.
“Say it!”
My mind goes blank.
“Uh…”
I glance over Carmen’s shoulder.
A blur of motion lurches toward us.
Say something.
Anything.
“I’ve got two words for you but I’m not an attributable source.”
Carmen drops her mic.
And disappears into the zombie horde.
Dang.
That was the last time I saw Carmen San Diego, from K.L.I.T. Channel 7 News, San Bernardino.
Probably got her face eaten off by zombies.
I pulled down my zombie face mask and slipped unnoticed through the horde of cannibalistic corpses.
It was a pretty fucked up day at the office, I told my boss, Cheryl, as we watched Channel 7 News later that evening.
“You stink like death.” Cheryl said.
She changed the channel to Mystery Cat. “There’s a new episode tonight.”
I noticed right away that something was off.
“She looks different tonight, the cat.”
“@hernameismswhiskers – the rebrand.”
“The studio definitely replaced her.”
I took a little hitty-McHitterson of my weed pen.
Been high since 1999.
That’s when the zombies came to Los Angeles – this city…
This goddamn fucking zombie town.
