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It had already been a long day of pounding the pavement, with no results, and Major was increasingly concerned that the hostile inhabitants of this sector weren't going to let them leave quietly, much less point them toward a human who happened to be holding on to incriminating anti-zombie, anti-Fillmore Graves evidence. Still, he was as aware as Chase Graves was that the video needed to be squashed or the consequences could be dire, not just for the zombies of New Seattle, but for everyone who still lived within its walls.
With that in mind, he pushed open the door of a bar and stepped inside, noting all the anti-zombie propaganda and artwork that covered the walls of the entryway.
"Friendly bunch," Jordan muttered, seeing the way the patrons of the bar turned to stare at them.
"Aren't they," Major agreed, deftly stepping over the foot someone had stuck in his way. He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. He understood that no one else could be spared for this, and it was Jordan's duty to track down the video since she was the one who had caused it to be created—but he'd have felt a lot better if he was being backed up by people with more than a week's worth of training right now.
"Major. Isn't that our guy?" Captain Seattle pointed to a group of young men clustered around a pool table. One of them looked a lot like the videographer they were hunting.
"Stay here," Major told the kids quietly. Naturally, neither one of them listened, keeping pace with him as he approached the pool table. He put on his best smile. "Hey, fellas. Where's the video? And don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about."
A scrawny long-haired kid looked him over. This one must be the leader now that the guy Jordan had scratched was out of commission. "You want that video, huh?"
"We do."
"So killing my best friend wasn't enough—you want to cherish the memory." He looked at Jordan challengingly.
Major looked past the spokesman to a taller kid at the back of the table. "You. It was your phone. I'm prepared to give you a thousand dollars for it."
"Your unlucky day, I guess. My phone was recently stolen," the phone's owner said. He stepped up behind the long-haired kid, shifting the pool cue in his hand so that it could more easily be used as a weapon.
Figured. Well, Major hadn't expected this would go easily, had he? "Stolen, huh?"
"By a shiftless zombie. Of course."
"You know this zombie's name?"
"Tucker," the long-haired kid said, pronouncing the word like it tasted bad in his mouth. "Probably didn't want the world to see him get his ass kicked by a little zombie bitch." He was looking at Jordan again, which made Major nervous. They knew where the weak link was, and she still didn't have enough of a sense of how important it was to hold on to her temper. The kid stepped closer to her. "Wonder how tough you'd be without that gun."
Jordan shifted, and Major tensed, ready to stop her from moving, but Captain Seattle got there first, stepping in between Jordan and the long-haired kid. He was very calm, and projected an air of more authority than Major would have thought him capable of just yet. "Back. Off."
"Be cool," Jordan said softly.
"Listen to your girlfriend, man. Be cool."
Major, aware of the need to get out of here before the stand-off could escalate and while Seattle was still in control of the situation, looked back at the videographer. "I need your number so I can track the phone down. I'll give you five hundred dollars for it."
"Yeah, but I know you got a thousand bucks on you."
The kid wasn't stupid, Major had to give him that.
The long-haired kid was still focused on Jordan. "If you were gonna turn me into a zombie, I'd want you to do it the fun way. Know what I'm saying?"
Her eyes widened, her body tensing. The kid was advancing on her, and she took a step backward, giving Major room to ram the butt of his gun into the kid's stomach. Lifting the weapon, he pointed it toward the bar, and without looking, he shot out half the liquor bottles lined up along the wall. The patrons of the bar ducked and cried out, and Jordan and Captain Seattle drew their weapons.
When the sound of the gunfire had faded, Major faced down the long-haired kid, who was getting back to his feet. "Way to go, pal. You just lost your friend five hundred dollars." He stepped toward the videographer, taking a pen out of a pocket in his sleeve. "Give me the number, or you'll spend the next week in a Fillmore Graves reeducation camp."
"Or, for your dumb ass, an education camp," Jordan said.
The videographer stared at him for a moment, just long enough to make Major scramble to think of a next step to take if the kid continued to refuse. Then the kid grabbed the pen and scribbled down a number on a napkin. Major hoped to hell it was the right one.