She stumbles into my office like someone let her stay on the merry-go-round at the park down the street for a little too long. Something tells me that by the time we're through with whatever she needs me for, I'm going to end up being that someone who pulls her off.

The lady talks and drinks like a sailor, but I'm willing to bet she's never gone out to sea a day in her life. The martini glass screams of class, but I'm not sure yet it that's authentic or a stinking farce.

From the piece she's hanging on to in her other hand, I can tell this doll means business.

She drops her gun and stalks towards my desk. Her drink splashes on my papers, smearing the ink on the report of my last job. She pushes up her golden locks and leans towards me.

"You arre Dirk Strider, right?"

"That I am, ma'am. What can I do you for?"

"I gots me a problem I cant go to teh coppers for and I hear you just might be the man for the jyob."

Her voice isn't sultry like you might expect slipping from lips that jet, but there's something in her pink eyes that makes me believe that I really am the only one who can help her.

"Tell me more, ma'am."

"First ya gotta stop callin me ma'am. I'm not my mom. The name's Roxy Lalonde, Mr. Private Eye Guy. And I think you're gonna wanna sit doiwn for this."

I look at her puzzled because I am sitting. But I motion for the broad to go on. She's got me hooked and curious now. She winks at me, but that might have just been a drunken twitch.

"I was down at the soup kitchen, passing out some pumpkin pies I had my gurl janey bake up. When all of a sudden!"

"All of a sudden?"

"All of a sudden some man walks in, bloody all over his clthoes. When we ask what's wrong, mister, are ya hurting somewhere?"

Now I'm really intrigued by her story. She's leaning closer and closer now, and I, enraptured, find myself leaning closer as well. Our foreheads meet, she stares me down and silently dares me to ask more questions. My throat is dryer than Death Valley and I couldn't form words even if I wanted to.

"He said," she whispers with intensity, "There's zombies out theer! Then he just collopsies on the floor in front of me. I nearly fainted, detectiv! Fainted! I only usually pass out when I'm drinking that much on purpose!"

I reach my hand up and stroke her silken hair, shushing her like I'm comforting a child. After a few comforting words offered to her, she stands upright.

And wouldn't ya know it, that Roxy slams back the rest of her martini. Olive between her teeth, she grins devilishly at me and slips the toothpick out.

From around the olive she demands, "We gotta go get those zombies, Dirk! I haven't even started passing out mai weekly pumpkins yet and these ppl are gonna start straving!"

"Alright, Roxy. We'll get these zombies."

I march like a man with a purpose and grab some decorative sword off the wall as we exit my office. I slip on my fedora and sunglasses, all gussied up for a night on the town stopping the zombies from disrupting Roxy helping those poor lost souls. Headed down the stairs, a thought strikes me like a red-head in a slinky dress across the street.

"Say, Roxy... What are zombies anyway?"

She throws her head back in a laugh and slips her arm through mine.

I don't give it another thought, and I wonder why I trust this boozer. But I do, and maybe I shouldn't question it. Maybe I should just go along for the ride and see what these zombies are for myself soon enough.

Nonetheless, I think Roxy and I are scheduled up for some bloodshed and general wrecking of their shit. And after, well, maybe we can see about getting her off that merry-go-round for a while.