The Drunk and the Zombie

"Is it really him?"

Hank and Jim looked at the photo, looked at the bum lying in a puddle of alcohol, and back at the photo.

"Sure looks like it..." Hank said.

"He doesn't have a mole in the photo thought." Jim squinted.

"Actually..." Hank touched the hobo's cheek. "Look, it's not a mole, it's a stain."

"Godamnit." Jim sighed. "Alright, let's get him to the precinct.

The partners soon discovered that bringing the hobo to the police precinct was much easier said than done. First, he was heavy. Second, no matter how often they bumped him into something, he wouldn't wake up. They barely managed to lay him out in the back of their police car - he was still sleeping.

When they got there a third police officer came out to help carry him. Once inside the building, they went into one of the many interrogation rooms and just dropped him on the table like a sack of potatoes.

"Do we call his wife?" Jim asked.

Hank looked at him like he was crazy. "You call his wife, then."

Jim chuckled. "Point taken. Alright. Let's wake him up then."

It took two buckets of water to finally wake up the police commissioner.

"What thew -"

"Good morning, chief," Hank said.

"Johnson? Smith? What are you doing?" He looked around, scared and clueless.

He then put his hands over his face and just lay there for a while. When said while became longer and longer, Hank and Jim started questioning what they should do. The chief finally rid them of their anxiety by releasing a long, whiny groan.

"I did it again?" Hank said yes. "Does Martha know?" Hank said no. "Good."

"You need anything, chief?" Jim asked.

"No, no." The commissioner sighed. "Actually, Smith. Bring me a jug of cold lemonade, will you? My head is about to split open. There is a case -"

"In the fridge in your office," Jim nodded. "I know, boss. I'll get right to it."

Once outside the room, Hank stood with arms crossed. "Well, all in all, I think that was faster than last time."

"Why do we do this, Hank? Jim asked. "I know he's this big hotshot detective, but all I've done since I've joined this precinct is sobering him up."

"That's just it. You haven't seen him in action." Hank shrugged. "You think a drunk like that would be commissioner otherwise? Go on, get the man his lemonade."

Jim huffed but went to do his duty, while Hank went to the front desk for some coffee.

"You wake him up yet?" Barbra asked, her knowing smile never far off.

"He is in the process of waking," Hank said pouring his coffee.

"I swear, he's gotten worse, Hank." Barbra tsked.

"Yeah well maybe if someone -"

A zombie walked through the front door. Or at least, he looked like a zombie. His shirt was drenched in blood and he walked with a limp. His face was as pale as the morning dew.

"Jesus Christ!" Barbra rushed over to help him while Hank called for medical.

Once in the med bay, the kid was stable. The kid because he was twenty years old; stable because the blood on his shirt was not all his own, some of it was, but not all. The police officers couldn't extract any information from him, as he's been unconscious ever since Barbra grabbed him.

"What do you think?" Barbra asked.

"Not every day a case just walks in." Hank shrugged. "Whatever it is, we need to find out whose blood stained that shirt."

They looked at the kid's belongings: a pamphlet for a clothing store, a box of cigarettes, keys with a pink bear as the keychain, and a wallet filled with money. No ID card though.

The two officers tried making sense of the peculiar collection of items to no avail. After a while, they decided on the obvious course of action.

"We just wait for him to wake up and we ask him what happened."

The doors then opened admitting a sweating police commissioner and a normal Jim by his side.

"Chief, this kid..."

"I know. The whole damn precinct heard of the walking dead infiltrating our midst. What you got?"

"Well," Hank pierced his lips. "He's in stable condition, the blood on his shirt wasn't his own. And we also found this in his pockets."

"Wallet empty?"

"Actually, it's full," Barbra said.

"Mm." The chief confirmed as if he was expecting as much. He picked up the keychain, then the pamphlet. "We need samples of that foreign blood to confirm my theory."

"What do you think, chief?" Barbra asked, genuinely curious.

"Looks to me, like our zombie boy here had a fight with his missus." He picks up the keys. "This is her keys, and this..." he picked up the pamphlet. "Is a woman's clothing store. Seems like he went out to buy her something, judging by the full wallet..."

"Wait, chief. You think she did this to him?" Jim asked.

"If that is her blood on her shirt we might be harboring a murderer, folks." The chief said nonchalantly.

"But -" Jim started but the chief cut him off.

"See here? On the keychain?" Between the bear's neck and head lay one long strand of a bloody piece of hair. A blonde piece of here, the kid on the sickbed had black. "Get this to evidence. And don't let that zombie out of your sight."

He left the room leaving the three officers stunned.

"How did we miss that hair?" Barbra scratched her head.

"How did he manage to piece all of that together so quickly?" Jim asked.

"Well, it's just a theory," Hank said, then patted Jim on his shoulder. "See?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. He's amazing. Maybe he should do hobo impressions more often..." He chuckled but when the other two said nothing he put his head down. "Sorry."

"Well, don't let him hear you say that," Hank said.

"Or maybe do!" Barbra said. "As great as he is, he needs to hear some of that language!"

"Yeah, well. If he does, Jim ain't the one to do it." Hank said.

"Come on, let's carry out his orders."

This is the first draft of the story. Written by Jovan Gjorgjiev, ©️ 2023.

Obligatory shout-out to the 🍕PIZZA🍕 gang, 🤙 gang. 🤙

Thanks for reading! This a fast write-up today, but I had this idea of a genius drunk detective. You can only do so much in 1k words, however. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

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Cover image source.

Have a great start to your week! 🙌