Regan & Carter had been investigating 'wierd happenings' in Donkey Drive. They had to fight their way out against an advancing zombie hoard (cf previous batreps). The offices rescued two women, Jim Bob Joe, Hector Jackson an itinerant Hunter and a case of moonshine. Returning to the police station they are met by their formidable Desk Sergeant Al Lynch.
“Regan, now ye know I’m not averse to the odd tipple. But bloody hell man this report is pure fantasy!” Sergeant Lynch screamed waving Jack Regan’s report.
“Now we got a couple of howling banshees in interview room three,” he paused, momentarily, to glare at Carter, “and Jim Bob Joe in the drunk tank awaiting his suite at the funny farm. What the hell man is going on. Is it the booze, lad? Did you boys have a party up there and the stuff had not been matured long enough?” he paused looking paternally at his officer.
“Bloody zombies, Jack. What do you take me for?”
“You know Sarge, it may not be that far fetched.” This came from Officer Casey the call handler, who was seated in a small recess behind the station desk.
The Sergeant spun around on his swivel chair and shot a glance at Casey that had more danger in it then a slug from a forty-five.
“Oh and ye’d know would ya?”
“It’s not that Sarge, but we have a similar report from Becky Wright. Her husband’s, Archie, well he's gone mad after returning from a hunting trip by the shanty on Donkey Drive.”
Turning on the black hunter, “Jackson, you know anything about this?”
Hector Jackson just shrugged.
“Who we got attending?”
“Briggs and Louis, Sarge, taken the Penn State vehicle.”
“Oh Jesus help us," prayed Al spinning his eyes to the ceiling.
"Regan you and the boy go and back up them two clowns, and while you’re at it rethink this report and I don’t want to here zombies. OK?”
“Roger that Sarge,” Regan said turning on the balls of his feet and about to walk from the station.
The sound of a clearing throat brought the focus of the two officer’s attention to a six-foot male in a black suit, trilby and carrying silver topped cane, standing just to the right of Officer Regan.
“Sir, if this can wait as you can see I’m somewhat busy at the moment. On your way Jack.”
“And who might you be ordering my officers around?” Al Lynch began to go puce with rage.
“Dreadfully sorry, old chap,” said the suit delving into his inner jacket pocket to produce a badge, “Major Hamilton Square, Bureau of Investigation and this is my assistant Mr. Conway Park,” he indicated to a similar sized black man standing behind him. “I’ve been sent down to look into a suspicious cargo that was shipped here from New York a couple of days ago. But it sounds as if it has already arrived.”
Sergeant Lynch picked up on Hamilton’s English accent, “God help me from the British,” he said.
“As may be Sergeant, as may be. From what I am picking up I believe that there appears to have been some spillage of this cargo and the ramifications are being felt on Donkey Drive.”
“Sir, I have no idea what is happening on Donkey Drive. My man here is reporting the dead walking, I have civilians loosing their minds and two of my most incompetent Constables about to engage in Lord knows what. My man here is reporting the dead walking, I have civilians loosing their minds and two of my most incompetent Constables about to engage in Lord knows what. You sir, can take your BOI bullshit and ship it to the King of England.”
“I’m sure King George would be grateful, sergeant.” Hamilton changed his tone to that of one addressing a subordinate, “now the pleasantries are over with I need to speak with this officer,” indicating Jack Regan, “now!”
“Major Square, I’m sure that you appreciate the difficulties that I am struggling with. If you would care to ride with Constable Regan, I need him at Donkey Drive, ASAP.”
“Admirable. Constable, shall we go?” Turning to his companion, “Conway, follow us up, I’ve a feeling we’ll need more guns.” The Major followed Jack Regan and his partner from the station.
“Casey, stick a pot of coffee on this is going to be a long shift,” Sergeant Lynch shot a glance at the ‘liberated’ hooch and shook his head ruefully.
To follow: Domestic Dispute.