122917d

Bring It On Home

Zombies had been picketing for three days. Today the banner read ... Muglioni leaned across his desk to see ... "Braaaaaaaaaaaaaainz!" Same as yesterday. He sat back, rubbing his temples. There was just no way to function on the budget he'd been handed. Zombies work for peanuts. Well, actually, dead flesh, but the point was he could afford that. Or at least he had been able to afford it, until union organizers had convinced the walking (and test tube washing) dead to demand human brains. How was he going to manage that!? Meanwhile, he was so close to true reanimation he could almost ... well, he was very close. A knock on his door. He swung his chair around.

A comely blonde stood in the doorway, hand raised.

"Not talking to reporters," he said, making a shooing gesture.

"Lucky for me," she said, walking in, "I'm not a reporter." He'd just assumed somebody that good-looking, wearing a short skirt and blouse that didn't cover much, had to be a TV reporter.

"Checking me out is free," she said, "but I hope you listen to what I have to say. I can solve your problem."

Muglioni gestured to a chair and she sat, crossing her legs. He cleared his throat.

"What do you want," he asked. "I have a lot to do."

She handed him a card. "Laura Jolson, expediter." She appeared to work for a corporation called "Biological Imports."

"Your zombies want human brains. You don't think you can afford to supply them. I say you can. You could settle the strike and have them back at work tomorrow."

"What's the price?"

"$2100 per 1000 kg."

"That's," he did a quick calculation in his head, "less than a dollar a pound. How can you possibly do that? Legally!?"

She frowned. "I work for a reputable business. We have a reliable source of more human brains than you will ever need."

Muglioni grimaced. This could not possibly be on the up-and-up. But for sure no American-owned, reputable company could provide brains at that price. Probably not in the amount he needed at any price. He couldn't say no. When he had achieved full reanimation (for recent corpses), and people could have their loved ones returned to them as real people, not travesties, no one would ask him where the brains came from. And he was close, so close.

--

When all the papers had been signed, Muglioni didn't feel relief. He was worried. He was also horny.

"So, can I take you to dinner?" he asked.

Her smile was a knowing one. "How about Chinese food."