“Now fo’ the head,” said Havoc.
He picked up the pan containing the severed head of Skipper Lee, and pulled back his massive arm, and threw the pan with Lee’s head in it as hard as he could. It landed in the middle of the Potomac, and sank instantly.
And that was the end of Skipper Lee.
After that, both men climbed into the car. As Havoc put the car into ‘Drive’, Tyler marvelled at his size. The big man looked as though he could barely fit in the space behind the steering wheel of the hired coupe.
“Now, where were we?” Havoc asked, as they set off down the dusty road. “Oh yeah, we were talkin’ ’bout money, my least favourite subject. You and yo’ boss the President already owe me fo’ that Skipper Lee fella. Now we got to sort out the detail of how much you owe me exactly, and what you gonna pay me for the rest of them, and when you gonna pay me.”
Tyler nodded.
“I’ll have a word with the President,” he said.
“The hell you will, Tyler. We’re going to pay him a visit together, and I’m gonna talk to him myself, in person.”
“But-but—”
“But nuthin’.”
Havoc gave Tyler one of his stares and Tyler fell silent for the rest of the journey. Eventually they pulled up at the gates to the White House, and Havoc wound down the windows of the car. Tyler showed the guards his pass.
“Who’s that with you, Mr. Tyler?” One of the guards asked.
“Havoc’s the name. Macho Havoc.”
The two guards looked at each other with expressions of awe on their faces.
“Go straight through, sir,” one of them said, opening the gates.
As Havoc drove the car past them, the guards, both of whom were members of America’s legendary Marine Corps, snapped to attention and gave him crisp salutes.
Word quickly spread amongst the White House staff that Macho Havoc was visiting the President, so as soon as he pulled up in front of the magnificent front doors, a lackey emerged to park his car for him, and he was waved inside without the slightest of formalities.
“I’ll show you to the Oval Office,” said Tyler.
“That won’t be necessary, son. I know this place like the back of my massive black hand,” Havoc replied.
He walked purposefully through the corridors of the building with Tyler trailing in his wake, struggling to keep up with him. When he came to the door of the Oval Office, he opened it and walked through as if it was his right; and in a sense it was, because he had helped more than one American President to get out of a pickle in the course of his illustrious career.
Doughnut was dressed in tennis whites and a visor, striking poses and practising shots with his tennis racquet, like the tennis equivalent of a man playing the air Guitar. His Eastern European girlfriend was sitting at his desk, using the Presidential computer to while away her time on Twitter and Facebook.
When Doughnut saw Havoc, he dropped his tennis racquet in amazement, and his eyeballs traversed up and down Havoc’s muscular frame, as did the eyeballs of his girlfriend.
“Who-who are you?” He gasped.
Havoc strode up to him and shook his hand.
“Macho Havoc at your service, Mr. President,” he said.
When he heard the name the President’s face lit up.
“So you’re the guy who’s going to get us out of this zombie mess,” he said.
“That I am, sir, just as soon as we agree on the rate of pay for the job.”
The two men bartered for a few moments, then settled on terms that were acceptable to both, and shook hands on the deal.
Meanwhile Doughnut’s girlfriend Natasha, had decided there was something about Havoc that she rather liked, which was only to be expected, for he was tall and handsome with a ready grin, and, perhaps because of this, he had a strange power over women. Natasha looked at him as if mesmerised. She left her place at the Presidential desk and walked over to where the two men were standing together.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” She asked, in her exotic Eastern European accent.
Glowing with the pride that comes of introducing one esteemed friend to another, Doughnut replied:
“Natasha, meet Macho Havoc, a living legend.”
Natasha lowered her eyes coquettishly, and extended her hand. Havoc shook it gently, and felt her press a small folded-up piece of paper into his palm. He surreptitiously slipped it into his pocket.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” he said.
She smiled at him, betraying a strange hunger in the curl of her lips and the cast of her eyes.
“I too am pleased,” she said, and she sashayed back to the Presidential desk to continue her activities on social media.
Havoc wondered what the significance was of the piece of paper she’d given him. He was unable to consider the matter for long, because his thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He took it from his pocket and looked at it, and grimaced.
“Bad news?” The President asked.
“The worst, sir,” said Havoc. “It’s a call from my mother.”
The President grimaced in sympathy. He had a mother himself, though there were some who doubted he had a father.
“I’ll have to take this,” Havoc said.
“No need to explain,” the President replied.
Havoc put his cell phone to his ear. Everyone in the Oval Office, even Natasha who was several yards away, heard the shrill voice at the other end of the line quite clearly.
“Macho? Is that you?”
“Yes it’s me, mother.”
“Where you been this past two weeks? I ain’t had a single call or visit from you, and I’ve been worryin’ myself sick about you.”
“I’ll call you back to explain. Right now I’m discussin’ important business with the President.”
“Never you mind no President. It’s me yo’ talkin to boy, yo’ mother, and you ain’t puttin’ me off to talk to no President, no matter what yo’ business is. You got to get your priorities right, or you’ll never amount to anythin’.”
Havoc dearly wanted to disconnect her and switch off his mobile phone, but he knew that if he did, she’d do everything in her power to make his life a misery. Not that she didn’t seem hell-bent on doing that, anyway.
“There’s some folks think I’ve already done pretty good fo’ myself mother. Anyway, I’m all right. How’re you keepin’?”
“Are you interested in the answer?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested, would I?” havoc replied, with a distinct sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The President and Tyler both shook their heads.
What followed was an excessively long description of Havoc’s mother’s ailments, and her problems with her neighbours. With a deal of difficulty, he extracted himself from the conversation.
“Goodbye, Ma. Yeah, yeah, I love you too. G’bye.”
He wiped beads of sweat from his brow.
“Well, Mr. President, it seems like my job here is all done, and it’s time for me to get on the road and get on with the real job of getting rid of yo’ zombie problem.”
“Just a minute,” said Doughnut. “I’ve got a report from the C.I.A. for you. You’ll need it to carry out your mission. It’ll show you where the zombies are located.”
“With respect, Mr. President, I wouldn’t trust your C.I.A. boys to show me to a fresh turd in a cow-patch. I’ll look at your report, but I’ll do some huntin’ for them myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Tyler!”
Tyler obediently took the report from the President’s desk and handed it to Havoc.
“I’ll be going now, Mr President.”
“Where are you going exactly?”
“I’ll start in Florida, and root out the problem there. Then I’ll go to Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia, and gradually I’ll work my way across this whole great continent of ours.”