He was tall, thin, dressed in black, alone, and undead. But there was no mistaking him. Even for a zombie, he was an unusual shade of bright white. Under the gore, it was greasepaint. Under his right eye, a black isosceles pointed down like an inverted tear.
“Uptown! Check this shit out! It’s him!”
“That bum who used to beg tips off people. Here ya go, buddy.” Parker swung his pole towards the tall man’s face, breaking his nose. “I always wanted to do that.”
“From over by Carousel? The one with the cardboard sign?”
“Naw. This guy was downtown by the bus stops. Usually on Salina. Miming. Worst mime in the world. It’s a wonder anyone ever gave him anything.”
“Well, he isn’t miming anything anymore. Kill him before he calls for backup.”
“No way. This creep gets special treatment. Give me your rope.” They stepped back while Parker tied a bowline, then moved forward together as Uptown nicked the Zombie’s throat with a machete to stop the moan. Uptown slipped the loop over the Z’s head, jerked the rope, and secured the other end to a standpipe with a taut-line hitch.
They stood a yard from the zombie as it clawed the air uselessly, its mouth flapping up and down noiselessly, the rope working its way into the notch Uptown had cut.
“You know, this is the first time in my life I haven’t minded looking at a mime. That’s a pretty good invisible box he’s doing.”
“Dude, you can’t make eye contact with them. They’ll never let you alone until you pay them.” He karate-kicked the zombie in the chest, sending him backwards. “That’s all you’re getting from me, buddy.” The Z wasted no time and flew forward, straining against the rope.
Uptown grabbed his friend’s arm in alarm but did not swing the two-by-four he was carrying. “Dude. That rope looks like it’s going to…”
But the cord did not break. Instead, the zombie’s body pitched forward with the top of its spinal cord showing, launching its severed head toward Parker. Parker would later swear that its mouth had formed a perfect O.
“I have never seen anything as funny as that in my entire fucking life.”
“If I had a buck, I’d tip him.”
“I wouldn’t,” Parker said, lining up the severed white head with his shoelaces and sending it face first into the concrete wall of what used to be the Grand Central Deli. “Mimes freak me out.”