The following evening, the criminal underworld let out a collective shudder as The Sinister Mr. Corpse prowled the streets. His rage was infinite, his mercy non-existent.
At least that's what Stanley hoped people were thinking. To tell the truth, hanging out in the shadows was pretty tedious. He had Martin researching the availability of police scanners, so that maybe they could get news about crimes in progress, but for now he was relying on his crime-seeking instincts, which apparently sucked.
Maybe he needed a Corpse Signal. A shining beacon that the mayor could use when evil was afoot. It could say "SMC" or, as Brant would no doubt suggest, "%$@* amp;!" because of his love for foul language.
He was actually sort of looking forward to calling Brant. He probably should've done it by now, but he wanted the bastard to sweat some more. Stanley could picture him now. Shirt drenched with sweat. Grey hair hanging down into his face in perspiration-soaked strands. Nervously twitching and saying "Oh dear…oh my…oh goodness…"
Heh heh.
He desperately wanted to get in touch with Veronica, but she was a good employee and would no doubt share everything with Brant. So if Brant had to sweat, Veronica had to sweat. It could be a festival of perspiration.
He perked up as he saw activity a block ahead. Two criminals in the act. Vandals.
Yes, there were two unfortunate high school students who would learn that spray paint belonged only on authorized surfaces. A lesson brought to them by The Sinister Mr. Corpse.
He removed his facemask and strode toward them. He was getting used to the contacts and the fangs, and knew that he was truly an image of terror.
The kids, who were apparently not the most perceptive humans ever birthed, didn't notice him until he was about a hundred feet away. "Freeze!" he shouted in his scariest voice. "Drop those cans or face my wrath!"
The kids turned and ran.
Shit. Exercise time.
Stanley took off after them. He hated running. It had nothing to do with his zombie-state, but rather that he'd become something of a lazy-ass over the past couple of months. Hopefully one of the kids would trip.
One of the kids tripped. His buddy stopped and quickly looked back and forth between his fallen comrade and the fearsome predator headed his way, and then selected the "shameful cowardice" option. He ran, turned a corner, and vanished from sight.
The kid who tripped scrambled to get back up, but Stanley was upon him before he could escape. Stanley grabbed him by the collar, pulled him to his feet, and stared into his eyes, grinning with malicious intent.
"What were you doing with that spray paint?" he asked.