Protection

Ramoos answered his cell. "We just had a guy turn himself in. He made a very strange claim and turned over some evidence. We've got him in the interview room right now." "And this pertains to what?" "The evidence is some white powdered narcotic. He claims its a mix of cocaine and meth. Isn't that what you're looking for?" "Be right there."

Ramoos immediately went for the two-way window. He met the other detective there. "This the guy?", asked Ramoos. "Yeah, we collected his evidence and its in forensics now." "You said something about a strange claim?" "Yeah, a wild story. Don't know if I believe it. He's seeking police protection. If his evidence turns out positive, he's gonna get it." "What is it?" The detective turned and looked up at Ramoos, his pupils at the top of his eyeballs and said "You go talk to him."

Ramoos entered the room and eyed the guy. He thought he looked like some average height, average weight, caucasion joe regular. He looked pretty regular. "I'm Detective Ramoos. I understand you're requesting police protection. How can I help you with that?" The guy looked up at Ramoos and stared straight at him and started to tremble just a little. He hesitated a little. Ramoos thought he might not confess to a drug rap. He was wrong.

Stammering the guy was obviously scared shitless and said "I've recently begun buying drugs from the zombies." "Uh-huh, the Zombies is that a gang or a rock group?" "No, no, its neither...its, its - you know - zombies, the undead, the unliving, a living corpse, you know, like Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi and voodoo and shit like that."

At first, Ramoos thought the guy was off his rocker. The guy kept staring at him and shaking. "Voodoo and zombies and shit like that... How do you know they're zombies that you've buying from?" "Like you just said, I've been buying drugs from them. I've seen them. They're not normal. They don't even look like they're alive. Some of them are so fucked-up that they can't even talk. They are as creepy as shit." "OK, sounds like you're pretty certain, but I'm not believing you. Zombies aren't real. They don't exist, except in creepy, low-budget horror movies."

The other detective then opened the door, ducked his head in and said, "It's positive, Joe. You can collar him if you want. But, I think he's fucking nuts." "Thanks, but leave us alone for a little, OK?" The other detective sighed, pulled his head out and closed the door.

Ramoos turned back to his interviewee, "OK, looks like you're right about one thing, you are buying drugs. But, you turned them over to us, we could bust you if we wanted. Problem is, no sane person would believe the rest of your story. Which leads me to ask, are you high on drugs right now and are you in your right mind?"

The guy replied, "Sir, I just handed you eveything I got. I haven't touched that stuff. They just delivered it to me with some bad news. I didn't even ask them to bring the shit to me. They just did it. That's how they operate. I'm just scared out of my wits."

At this point Ramoos wanted the guy to confess how he got involved with the "zombies". But, decided to leave out the parts about the murders and the hearts. "That interests me. It would interest any cop to know how these pricks operate."