Carly Joe experienced a panic. Maybe the oil company had decided not to pay for her room after all. She looked over the side of the balcony speculatively; too far to jump off the balcony into the river. She never should have chosen the El Presidente Suite, but she just couldn't resist the personal Mariachis. Or the free drinks. Those zombies were quite a treat.
The knock persisted, and Carly Joe just got tired of the sound. She opened the door, staring into the face of the second most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. His piercing green eyes were smiling, and she felt like a prize filly at a horse auction. Carly Joe shook her head; this man was obviously not looking to fool around.
"Y'all a bill collector?" she moved aside to allow him to come into the suite. "Because I ain't got any cash. Won't be paying for this room, either, if that no good oil company won't pay."
"Miss Patterson?" Smithson Coltrane smiled, offering his hand. "I represent that no good oil company. I am here to discuss a settlement check."
Carly Joe shook the lawyer's hand. She vaguely recalled talk of a meeting with a lawyer on the phone last week, when Jackson Coltrane had shown up at her trailer. She sat down at the table, wishing she'd ordered up breakfast.
Smithson Coltrane sat down across from her and opened his briefcase. He removed a folder and slid it along the table toward her.
"My client feels this amount represents an appropriate compensation for the loss of your husband."
Carly Joe opened the folder and scanned the check inside. There were a few more zeroes than expected. Carly Joe smiled. She would never have to ask about bill collectors again.
The prompts were a quote from Rumi and a video by a well known metal mariachi band, Metalachi.
Yes. There is such at thing.
The prompt is the third definition of the word ZOMBIE.
