Author provided sample chapters from the published novel.
Orgasms, Chocolate & Zombies? Just an average day for Jonah, Judas & JJ.
The Zee Brothers have a strange and dangerous vocation. While some hunt rodents or pests in the dark, Jonah and Judas...
"I'm sorry sir, it doesn't appear to be a rodent problem."
"What do you mean? Not rodents? All that scratching and scurrying all night long? What kind of bugs can be making that kind of racket?"
The man from the pest control company looked down and rubbed his name tag, 'Burt' with his right hand. "Sir, do you know if this area may have once been home to a graveyard?"
Mr. Pembleton's brow furrowed. What kind of question was this? "Well, yeah, this whole area was once Pakatini tribal lands. My neighbor Shirley told me there are small family plots buried all over. Just last week, the Hembrooks over on Lancaster, dug up a pile of bones and some kind of am-let thingy. They threw it all out in the trash. Bones in their back yard. Can you believe it?"
Mr. Pembleton stopped there, a sparkle of realization dawning, "Wait, are you trying to tell me there are bones down there and a dog or some feral cat got in 'em?"
Burt's eyes widened at that. "Um, no Sir. From the way the earth is disturbed and the scratch marks on the floor joists and foundation, I would say you have a zombie infestation."
Mr. Pembleton blinked twice. Rubbed his grey and black whiskered jaw and adjusted his false teeth, then asked, "How much is that gonna cost?"
"I don't know Sir, we don't handle zombies. We only make living things dead, not, um, dead things dead."
"Who does then?"
Burt, sweating a little from his brow, broke his stance and started checking his pockets. "We, uh, technically aren't suppose to recommend anyone, but, um, there are these brothers. They have a little side business and I've got their card here somewhere. With the apocalypse coming there's been more and more of a need for their services." He was now flipping through his wallet, his pockets having revealed nothing but lint and old cough drop wrappers. He ate them constantly to keep the smell of the poisons he used from making his nose itch.
"Which apocalypse is that? Was it that Nostradumbass fella again? He predicted Hitler and the Obamanation of our country, or wait, I saw one on TV the other day that said George Clooney was the anti-christ and if he sees his reflection in the mirror at the Vatican—"
"Ah," Burt pulled a tattered business card from his wallet and thrust it at Mr. Pembleton, interrupting his rant. "Here you go!"
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Burt made his way to the door.
Mr. Pembleton looked up from the card. "Are these guys any good?"
Burt's hand was on the front door knob. "Well, I don't know Sir. No one I've given their card to has ever called to tell me, I just know they're a bit...different." He twisted the knob and swung the door open.
Mr. Pembleton opened his mouth to speak.
"Best of luck Mr. P., no charge for the inspection. Have a Pest Free Day!"
Slam!
Burt scurried down the drive, popping a cough drop into his mouth and breathing in the sweet menthol, never hearing, but knowing exactly what Mr. Pembleton had wanted to ask.
"What do you mean, different?"
Inside, Mr. Pembleton's eyes drifted back to the card. He shambled off to find his phone, muttering under his breath. "Different, huh? This better not cost to much."
