Clickers vs Zombies Read Online Free PDF

felons, and while Ernie was a long-time member of Venice 13, he wasn’t a felon; like Doc, Ernie only had minor convictions in the early 1970’s and had never spent a day in Federal custody. That’s where guys like me come in , Sparky thought. The old-timers, the guys with the brains, they get us to do their dirty work for them. And the Mexican Mafia pulls the strings.
    “So whatta ya say, homie?” Joker asked. He grinned good-naturedly. “We can meet up at Lucy’s for some carne asada like old times, then take a ride down to G-town together.”
    Sparky shrugged his shoulders. He cast another glance down the strand. The two cops—dressed in khaki shorts and white shirts, their badges pinned to their shirt breasts, their belts bearing the requisite stuff like handcuffs, firearm, mace and their shoulder-strapped mikes the only thing that differentiated them from all the other freaks on the strand. Like everybody else out here they were only out to hustle, only they got it both ways—they got paid to hustle the riff raff and they got to hustle for some pussy on the side.
    Sparky turned to Joker. “What time shall I meet you?”
    Joker grinned. “Six o’clock.”
    “Six it is.” Sparky got up from the low brick wall.
    “One thing, homes,” Doc said before Sparky could leave. “You and Joker are troop commanders to the Venice boys. You take in everything the MM guys say at the meeting and you follow it to the word. You need support, you come to me.”
    “ Si ,” Sparky said. Power shakes were traded, more half-assed hugs and back slapping, then the three men parted ways. Joker and Doc headed back to their Impala, Sparky headed north along the strand to where he’d left his ride, a 1973 VW Bug that Ernie let him borrow while he was on probation. And as he got behind the wheel and started the engine, he had the distinct feeling that he was going to play a major part in something very big.
     
    Malibu, California
     
    Augustus Livingston knew there was something wrong. He just didn’t know what it was.
    His morning meditation had been undertaken with disruption and much tension. As always, when the weather was picture perfect, he’d trudged down the well-worn private path from his cliff-side Malibu beach home and walked fifty paces to the high tide line where he’d sat on the slightly damp sand to commune with nature. The normal beach activity—the cries of the gulls, the sound of the waves breaking, the occasional excited yelps of children playing on the beach, the sight of early morning surfers bobbing in the ocean in their wetsuits to ride the early morning glassy surf seemed broken somehow. Augustus cast his gaze toward the ocean, a frown on his face.
    Augustus was seventy years old. Standing at a lean five foot eleven and weighing in at a trim one-eighty, most people would be hard pressed to correctly guess his age. Chalk that up to the clean living. Since the early 1970s, Augustus had been living green both on a business matter and a personal one. Unlike the rest of his contemporaries of the sixties, after turning on, tuning in, and dropping out (and dropping a lot of LSD and mescaline in the process), he had turned off living within the mainstream and had dropped back in to society on his own terms. His first step toward that goal had been to open a commercial art and graphic studio where he’d supplied work for all the major advertising agencies and the occasional film studio. While plying his trade there, he’d tuned in even deeper to the science of natural living, meditation, and past life regression. He’d started conducting seminars and workshops. He authored several books on the subjects. And watched his mini self-help empire grow to a ten million dollar a year company.
    Through it all he’d remained with his wife, Marion, for over forty years and fathered four children with her. Their children had produced grandchildren. His oldest son ran his company— La Raza del Sol , Spanish for the House