I awaken two days later in the guest bedroom of John Mar's penthouse in Santa Monica. John tells me that I passed out and he carried me out of Vic's before the cops took over the joint. I have been running a fever and sweating out the dope in my Zombie, which explains the damp sheets.
The man whose head fell in his soup was taken to St. John's Hospital and died from an undetectable poison.
Only people who drank Zombies were poisoned. There's a sicko loose in Los Angeles and the cops don't have a clue.
John says I must have some soup. Hell, I don't have the strength to lift my head up.