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When the update on Mr. Boss's involvement in Baracus's kidnapping came out in the paper, Major knew it was only a matter of time until he was summoned to the great glass office in the sky.

The summons came shortly, a brief phone call from Rita. "Someone's been a naughty boy. And not in any enjoyable way."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. One hour, his office." She cut off, not waiting for his response. Like he had a choice, anyway.

One hour later, he presented himself in du Clark's office, as commanded. "Major. Have a seat. I was just perusing this fascinating story in the newspaper. Intrepid folk, our journalists. They know how to get the answers … and they don't lie about them, do they?"

Major sank down in the chair across from du Clark, ignoring Rita, sitting next to him, and Janko, who stood silently attentive just behind him. He figured he was still too valuable to du Clark to do away with just yet … but all the same, he'd have preferred to have Janko where he could see him.

du Clark lifted the paper, waving it around a little, then tossed it aside. "So. A doughy, 40-something man gets abducted by a trio of experienced killers, is taken aboard a boat, where he's supposed to meet his fate. What should happen in this situation?"

Really, it was worse than having to go to the principal's office. At least the principal had rarely been so certain that Major had lied. But du Clark had to know, and what the hell was Major going to say? If he pretended to have lost his mojo, they'd kill him, they'd kill Liv, and they'd mass kill all the zombies they could identify—or thought they could identify, which meant a lot of innocent people were going to suffer.

When Major didn't respond to the rhetorical question, du Clark prodded, "Hm? Nothing?"

Rita put her hand up. Yep, just like being in the principal's office. "I know." She looked over at Major like she was the school know-it-all … which he supposed she was, if you wanted to look at it that way.

"Doughy 40-something man is supposed to end up dead, and three experienced killers do not get beheaded!" du Clark lifted a finger, brandishing it with emphasis. "Unless."

"I know this one, too," Rita said. Show-off. Teacher's pet.

"He's a zombie," du Clark finished.

Rita snapped her fingers and lifted one in agreement.

"But that should not be possible, because our zombie hunter swore to me that the district attorney walked among the living."

Major had finally put his finger on what made this particular meeting seem so sinister—the lack of playfulness and the total focus in du Clark's tense, angry voice. He appeared completely sane, which was the craziest thing he had done yet.

"And now, I don't know what to believe. How many zombies have slipped through the cracks?"

Thus far, Major had done all right sitting there silently, taking his medicine, but the moment was coming when he was going to have to have an explanation. Really, you would think this was all his fault, rather than being a problem du Clark had created all on his own.

"Should I have Janko here go through the list with much less discretion?"

This was it. Truth time. Nothing like it for getting you out of a tight spot, Major decided. "The night I zombie-checked Baracus, his kid came running up to him. This five-year-old boy, throwing his arms around his dad. And I couldn't. Couldn't take him from his kid."

du Clark would never be swayed by something like that, but he might just understand the possibility that someone else would be. It might be the kind of whimsical detail that would touch him. Or it might be the kind of whimsical detail that sent him into a rage and got Major killed. You never knew. It was hard to read du Clark's face, which stayed still and mostly immobile. Next to Major, Rita briefly raised her eyebrows, then her face returned to blankness as well. Two very good poker faces.

Major finished, "But that is the only time I have ever skipped a zombie." They had to believe that, or he was dead in the water. "You have my word."

"You do respect me, Major, don't you?" du Clark asked, leaning across the desk to look intently at Major's face.

"Of course."

"And you are aware that when I want something to happen, it generally happens."

"I don't doubt that."

Without responding, du Clark sat back, reaching for a remote. "Well, why don't we check in on your friend in Bangkok, trickster107, the one you hand-picked? See what he's been up to."

Major was confused by the sudden change in topic. Relieved, maybe, by the reversion to unpredictability and the lifting of the mob-like intensity that had charged the room's atmosphere for the last few minutes … or was he? Who would you rather be held hostage by, the mob, or the Joker?

They all turned to the screen, which lit up with the Max Rager logo. "Okay, what file am I looking at here?"

"YouTube watches," Janko offered. It was an odd thing for him to be saying, Major thought. A man like that shouldn't even know that something as frivolous as YouTube existed.

"Okay. Here we are."

The screen filled with a news report from Bangkok, showing a crashed motorbike in the middle of a street, with a smiling picture inset in the top right corner. trickster107, Major assumed.

"Ah-ha. Oh. Oh," du Clark said, in hushed tones, as though he hadn't had the accident arranged and it was a total surprise to him. "Looks like he's had something of a bad day. Yeah, that's Thai for 'pool of his own blood'. Yeah, I don't think he's going to be thumbing through any of those magazine subscriptions." He sat back.

Rita swiveled her chair around to look at Major. "Wonder if he had any adorable rugrats."

"Max Rager is a global brand, Major. We are everywhere. Like Starbuck's. Or the Eye of Sauron. Tell you what. I can tell you're not comfortable with taking lives, so I'm going to make things easier for you. You can save them instead."

Oh, that didn't sound good.

du Clark went on, "Each day one of those rat bastards trolling us is going to have a similar accident until I get proof that you've sent Floyd Baracus to his watery grave. Oh, yeah, we know. So it's time to play 'whack-a-zombie'. But if you're not sure which hole Baracus is in, ask Liv Moore. We know she knows."