The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum (75 page)

"
I
can get started with the questions while it cools down,
"
she
says, brightly, apparently batting away the shadows in her head at my
curt nod.
She
definitely assumes I'm gay – I must work on that
.
She looks down at the sheet of paper.
"
Now…
the first question. Is it true that you employ foreign child labour
in the construction of your vending machines?
"

"
No.
"
I'm
disappointed in turn. This is not the sort of question I hoped for.
My answer is as cold as ice, and as solid.
"
There
are other ways of manufacturing our machines to a budget that is
mutually beneficial, to the product consumers, and the workforce.
"

"
Right…
"
She
scribbles this down, in what must be her best pizza-order shorthand.
"
And
is it also true that you sub-contract your perishable goods supplies,
for human consumption, out to companies who deal in black market
foodstuffs and out-of-date stock?
"

"
Our
sub-contractors are fully vetted,
"
I
assure her.
"
If
any sub-standard products are finding their way into my machines, it
is usually the fault of the site owners, outsourcing to cut-price
vandals who access the machines without our endorsement. Quality
control is of paramount importance in this business.
"

The
aroma drifting up from the soup is certainly backing up my argument.
But
still… she doubts me! The complexity of her mind must be
delicious…
I
cannot wait to savour it. I almost croon out loud.
Braaaiiins…

"
Are
you saying that the recorded cases of food poisoning at Cramps
University, and at other sites, is the faculty's fault?
"
she
asks, not a dampener to my appetite in the slightest.

"
I
am not saying anything, Miss
Bellumm
,
"
I
muse, my eyes still faintly entertained, my head still quirked.
"
But
you are, it seems.
"

She
stares down at the page, and blushes at having spoken out of turn.
That last question was not on the list, her own impetuous mouth
running away with her. Not one of the listed questions at all.
Let
me punish you, Miss Bellummm!

"
Moving
on,
"
she
says swiftly, aware that my eyes are mentally dismembering her. She
looks at question number three.
"
How
do you explain your current one thousand percent increase in profits
in the current financial climate, Mr. Dry?
"

"
With
excellent book-keeping.
"

She
glances up at me, as if uncertain whether this is merely a stab at
humour. I am still lounging on the sofa, the jet black of my eyes
resting on her steadily. Her own eyes follow the line of my jaw, and
the rumpled Bohemian mane of hair, still intact.
My
square shoulders in this black suit make her feel weak. What's wrong
with you, girl? It's just a pretty corpse! You'd be bored sick of me
within minutes, same as all the others…

She
presses on with the duller questions, covering the various charges of
tax evasion, pollution, carbon footprint, and illegal immigration,
and I have a cool answer for every single one. I'm relieved when she
turns the page, and I find the closing questions are brief.

Finish
me, baby…

"…
Finally,
Mr. Dry. Can you tell me your favourite colour?
"

I
indicate the décor of the office.

"
Black,
"
I
confirm.
"
With
a little fetish for red, occasionally. And sometimes…
"

Braaaiiins.
My
face darkens. I look away.

"
White?
"
Miss
Bellum suggests, obviously thinking of the painting.

"
When
black meets white, there is a certain shade – a very delicate
and vulnerable shade – that illustrates humanity in its most
primitive state.
"

"
You
mean gr…
"

I
put my finger to my lips, caressing them to tease her further.

"
Best
left unspoken.
"
My
black eyes burrow into her head, and my remaining adrenal gland
surges tumescently, with unexpected concurrence.
"
A
colour for the mind. Not for the lips. Only… under very
special circumstances… should the matter pass the lips.
"

There
it is, baby.
She
looks distinctly uncomfortable now, and returns to the final
questions.

"
And
what music do you listen to?
"

"
Soul.
"

"
And
last question. What car do you drive?
"

"
I
have a number of cars, all black, and a chauffeur, who drives very
sedately. You must allow me to take you on a tour of the rest of my
complex some time. I may have an opening for a new PR girl soon.
"

On
cue, outside the window behind me, I hear something crash wetly onto
the pebble beach from above.
Fuck
– there goes another jealous secretary. No braaaiiins in any of
them.
Without
looking around, I produce a remote control, and close the vertical
blinds. Automatic halogen lights phase on overhead, so there is no
change in illumination inside the office.

"
Thank
you, Mr. Dry.
"
She's
on her feet in that instant, suddenly appearing too wary of being in
an enclosed office alone with me.
That's
right baby – you should start running.
Those
dark shadows have all sprung to attention in the back of her mind, at
the closing of the blinds.
"
You
have been very accommodating, but really I mustn't keep you any
longer.
"

"
Indeed?
"
I
ask in turn, unable to resist a further moment of mental torture,
rising out of my seat. It gives her time to notice how tall and manly
I am…
was
,
I correct myself angrily.
Big
fucking braaaiiins, baby.
"
Keep
me for what purpose, I wonder?
"

So
arrogant! But she loves it!

She
just nods, blushing fiercely, and heads for the door.
Run
away, baby, as fast as you can…

"
I
will have to show you out,
"
I
remind her, taking out the security pass again, and lurching forward
to accompany her.
"
It
has been a pleasure, Miss
Belllummm
.
"