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DISCLAIMERS:
This humor-horror mashup is to be categorized as an Uber. All characters are created by me, though some of them may remind you of someone.
The story contains some profanity. Readers who are easily offended by bad language may wish to read something other than this story.
All characters depicted, names used, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended nor should be inferred. Any resemblance of the characters portrayed to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
The registered trademarks mentioned in this story are © of their respective owners. No infringement of their rights is intended, and no profit is gained.
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NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:
Written: March 20th - 25th, 2020.
- As always: Thank you very much, Phineas Redux :)
Wynne Donohue and Mandy Jalinski were introduced in the short story Silent Invasion in the anthology Book Of Chills, Volume 2. They returned in Forever We Must Travel, They Came From The Desert and Goblins Galore that were written for the 2017, 2019 and 2020 Royal Academy of Bards Halloween Specials respectively. They also appeared in the Independence Day special Home Of The Plum Unlucky - all stories are available at the Academy's website.
As usual, I'd like to say a great, big THANK YOU to my mates at AUSXIP Talking Xena, especially to the gals and guys in Subtext Central. I really appreciate your support - Thanks, everybody! :D
Description: Some things are inevitable: death, taxes and that unfathomable disasters of an otherworldly nature will regularly haunt the bad-luck magnet Wynne Donohue and her partner, Deputy Sheriff Mandy Jalinski. They - along with the rest of the hardy residents of the small desert town known as Goldsboro, Nevada - may think they have seen it all already, but there's always room for a little monkey business…
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MONKEY BUSINESS
Nothing much happened on Main Street in Goldsboro, Nevada - population 427 at last count - at seven in the evening. The early-December chill seemed to be worse than in recent times, and the few who had ventured outside wore warm clothing and had the heaters in their trucks turned up to full blast.
The reason for the cold snap was a stiff breeze that had literally swept over Goldsboro from the arid, barren desert that surrounded it on all sides. The devil winds swirled continuously and created small twisters that caused scrap paper and the rest of the usual debris to fly around like dervishes. As always, the countless particles of desert dust and sand brought along by the leading edge of the wind got into everything and made everyone chew grits.
A solitary figure walked along the pavement headed for the town's most popular hang-out. The rhythmic clicking of the hard heels on the person's cowboy boots added a faint echo of the Old West to the scene. The person carried an oblong bag over the shoulder that roughly had the size and length of a Winchester rifle; the bag was pulled off the shoulder when the solitary figure reached the door to the establishment.
Though no jingling silver spurs were in sight, the rest of the figure's ensemble offered plenty of proof that it really was The Last Original Cowpoke: neatly decorated cowboy boots, heavily faded straight-cut jeans, a wool-lined denim jacket where the collar had been pulled up, sturdy sheepskin work gloves, and finally a low-crowned, somewhat greasy and definitely well-worn cowboy hat.
A bright-red neon sign shone down from above advertising the owner and the name of the bar; the splash of colors lit up the dark world on Main Street. The bar had two large panes of plate glass framing a glass door. Heavy curtains had been drawn in all three sections in an attempt to keep out the swirling winds and the desert sand that piggybacked it, but one section fluttered aside for a brief moment to give someone inside an opportunity to take in the presence of the denim-clad person. It was soon moved back.
A sheepskin glove reached for the metal handle on the door; the hand paused there for a few moments before the handle was depressed to allow the person to step inside.
"Yeeeee-haw! Lookie who's back!" a male voice shouted. A moment later, everyone inside Moira's Bar & Grill broke out in a wild cheer at the sight of the long-missed returnee.
"Lawwwwwwr-die!" Wynne Donohue cried as she was nearly bowled over by the stirring reception. Her cowboy hat was soon whipped off and held to her heart to show how much she appreciated the gesture. "Hoah-brothah! You guys! An' there Ah wus, afraid that y'all had fergotten all 'bout that darn ol' gal Wynne! Look atcha! Ah'm tellin' ya, this he' celebra-shun is the dad-gummest second-best thing ta happen ta me this entiah week!"
'Wow, the number-one best thing had to be good to beat this, Wynne!' a young man said from the back of the crowd.
"Now I know fer a fact ya be married, son, 'cos I done seen me that there weddin' photo o' yers," Wynne said with a lop-sided grin. The cowboy hat was soon back on her dark locks, and she pulled down the leading rim to look her sexiest. "I sure do hope y'all can connect them there dots on yer own. I ain't gonn' draw a perdy, li'l pic-chure or nuttin' for ya, ya know…"
'Oh…'
As the unfortunate early-twenty-something was teased by his buddies and the other patrons, Wynne took a firm grip on the oblong bag and headed over to the pool table where a few of her closest friends from town were waiting for her. "Yup, there wus a whole buncha ohhh-in' involved… that ain't no lie, nosirree," she mumbled with a grin as she unzipped the bag and pulled out a pair of pristine, high-quality pool cues.
While she prepared her playing tools, she cast a wistful look around her old workplace - the months she had spent flipping burgers, sausages and steaks on the three industrial-strength cooking panels had been among the best of her adult life. Moira had fired her for drinking too much beer during opening hours, and there was no denying it had been so. She had chosen to stay away after that bitter defeat though Moira's had been her favorite haunt in all of Goldsboro.
The bar and grill hadn't changed much while she had been away on her voluntary exile. It was still divided into three parts of equal size: seven tables had been crammed into the space to the right of the main entrance though there was really only room for six. The area closest to the full-sized pool table was home to an old-fashioned jukebox, two café-style round tables and three video poker machines that were all in use by hopeful patrons.
The third - and flashiest by far - section of the eatery was a wooden counter at the center that had been painted silver to add a touch of class to the place. The counter was lined by a row of bar stools on one side and a large mirror straight out of the Old West on the other. Just like in the old days, a battery of empty liquor bottles was lined up under the mirror to give an impression of which brands were sold at Moira's.
Wynne's replacement at the cooking panels was hard at work flipping burgers and watching over the French-fry baskets for the impatient crowd of pool players and assorted barflies. The mid-twenty-something Anthony Joseph Lane had worked at Moira's for a while now, but the unfortunate nickname of 'Slow Lane' that he had earned within three days of donning the apron still stuck.
Though trying all he could, the young fellow's cooking skills were clearly challenged as witnessed by the verbal abuse slung at him by the people waiting for their so-called fast food. The range hoods above the four-wing aluminum stove where A.J. toiled away had lost none of their whine or suction power as they took care of the columns of smoke that rose from the grill. On occasion, the smoke was pitch-black which would soon lead to jeers and another charred beef patty destined for the trash can.
Once the celebratory cheering for Wynne's return had receded and life had returned to regular sound levels inside the Bar & Grill, she removed her sheepskin gloves before she unbuttoned and took off her wool-lined jacket - it revealed a black sweatshirt adorned with a stylized metallic-blue General Motors logo and the slogan In GM We Trust. The jacket and the hat were soon hanging on the clothes tree nearest to the playing table.
Her pale-blue denim ensemble fit her pale-blue eyes and shoulder-length dark hair perfectly. She tried her damnedest to carry plenty of swagger and rural ruggedness since the image she wanted to present to the world was that she was an old-fashioned, unpolished, uncomplicated, salt-of-the-earth cowpoke. Unfortunately, she had a teeny-tiny problem with large animals like cattle or horses, but nobody talked about that through mutual agreement - in any case, it was a good thing the pickup truck had been invented.
The news of Wynne's return to Moira's soon spread to the back room. Moira MacKay, the owner of Goldsboro's most popular bar and grill, came out to greet her former employee. The short-tempered, late-fifty-something woman with the intense eyes and the wild mane of reddish hair soon put out her hand for the traditional greeting. "Wynne," she said in a tone of voice that lay somewhere between a warm welcome and a cold shoulder.
"Howdy, Moira," Wynne said as she shook hands with the temperamental woman.
"How 've you been?"
"Aw, jus' fine, thanks. Can't complain."
"So you're in cahoots with Ernie Bradberry now? I heard you're his toolbox-carrying apprentice in the jack-of-all-trades business."
Wynne scratched her neck. She was happy just doing something so she didn't go stir-crazy - and she even made a dollar or two along the way - but she had to admit that fixing clogged-up toilets, moving heavy furniture, clearing rain gutters and taking out the trash for the elderly and the walking-impaired weren't among her favorite things in the world. "Yuh, I'm workin' with ol' Ernie. I guess y'all can call me his apprentice. Kinda. I sapose."
"Mmmm," Moira said while she performed a brief nod. "Just so we're all on the same page, I didn't ask you to come over to give you your old job back. I invited you over for tonight's pool tournament because you're a damn fine player. Goldsboro needs the best to beat the team from Cavanaugh Creek."
Wynne nodded somberly; her expression was set in stone. "I hear ya, Moira. I hear ya loud an' clear. I ain't done beatin' mahself silly fer betrayin' yer trust in me. We had an agreement an' I broke it. An' that's about the long an' the short o' it. Naw, I be here ta play pool an' ta beat them there gals an' fellas from the Creek. Ain't nuttin' more to it than that, no Ma'am."
"Good. Then we have an understanding," Moira said and put her hands akimbo. It was clear the conversation was over, but to give it a proper round-off, she leaned in toward Wynne to add in a stage whisper: "And just between you and me… kick those wimps' asses!"
"Yes, Ma'am!" Wynne said with a grin.
Ernest 'Ernie' Bradberry - Wynne's forty-something friend from the trailer park and Goldsboro's best jack-of-all-trades - chuckled loudly as he stepped forward to offer the taller woman her first can of beer of the evening. "Hiya, Wynne! Man, it sure is nice to see ya back in here. The burgers just ain't been the same since you left," he said, sporting a wide grin while holding out the can. It had been a couple of weeks since Ernie had visited the town's only barber shop, so his mullet, his impressive sideburns and his drooping mustache were all on the unkept side of things.
His beer gut had become more pronounced over the past few months, but it wasn't for a lack of activity on his part - in fact, it was caused by his preference to be paid in beer rather than cash so the IRS had as little as possible to work with. The widening girth hadn't impeded his smiling eyes or the grin that was permanently etched onto his face, but it had necessitated buying several new flannel shirts and even a new pair of blue-jeans though the old pair hadn't become threadbare yet. His hunting vest was the same as always as was the black Built Ford Tough baseball cap that he cherished above everything else save for his silver-and-metallic-blue Ford F350 Super Duty Crew Cab truck that was parked outside.
"Howdy, Ernie. Sure is nice ta be back. Lawrdie, I done missed everythin' about this he' place… even the smell o' sizzlin' grease," Wynne said as she took the can of H.E. Fenwyck Double Zero, cracked it open and brought it to her lips. Though she had been skeptical at first about the non-alcoholic beer's perceived lack of oomph, it had proven to be a big-time hit with her. She downed most of it in the first gulp alone.
"Your doggies ain't with ya tonight? That don't happen often," Ernie said while he looked around for the black German Shepherd and the Golden Retriever that were almost always to be found somewhere close to the denim-clad woman's legs.
"Naw. Them furry gals be back home playin' around," Wynne said before she took the second swig that emptied the first can of many. "I figgered this he' bar would be stompin' full an' I don't want nobodda to be steppin' on no tails or paws, nosirree. Lawrdie… gives me the shivahs jus' thinkin' 'bout it. Blackie would tear the poor sombitch apart, lemme tell ya."
Ernie pushed his black baseball cap back from his forehead before he cracked open a can of his own - an H.E. Fenwyck Dark Lager. "I believe ya! Anyway, the show's runnin' a little late so there's plenty of time to meet the gang. Geoffrey Junior is here… and Roscoe Finch… and Wyatt o' course. Uh… don't laugh when ya see Wyatt's duds. He seems to think we're in Vegas for the World Championship or somethin'."
"Ohhh-boy, can't wait ta see that!" Wynne said with a chuckle as she and Ernie shuffled over to the table where the other members of Team Goldsboro were waiting.
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Across the street from Moira's Bar & Grill, the fleet of three white-and-gold Dodge Durangos parked at the curb by the office of the Sheriff's Department proved that it was a slow evening in Goldsboro. The pavement in front of the two buildings housing the office itself and the adjacent jail house was as windswept as the rest of the desert town; plenty of sand and grit was kicked up and whirled around by the constant breeze.
Inside the office, Deputy Sheriff Mandy Jalinski ran a hand through her short, blond hair and let out a long sigh. Her hazel eyes stared in frustration at the piles of sand that insisted on trespassing through the many cracks in the old, frayed window frames. The cracked linoleum floor in its hideous shade of washed-out brown was an eyesore on its own, but for some inexplicable reason, Mother Nature insisted on making it worse.
Mandy got up from the watch desk for the tenth time that evening to grab the broom and the dustpan as a clean floor would give the sheriff one less thing to moan about when he returned from his evening patrol. That the sheriff had even chosen to go out on patrol despite the inclement weather was a near-miracle, so there wasn't any need to further test his patience.
She still wore her old-fashioned, and certainly outdated, uniform: black ankle boots, dark-brown, high-waisted pants and a long-sleeved shirt held in a paler shade of brown. A modest amount of contrast was created by the shoulder straps, the flaps on the breast pockets and the regulatory necktie that were all held in the same shade of dark-brown as the pants. At least - and at last - the sheriff had talked the Town Council into increasing their budget which would give them an opportunity to buy nicer and far more modern fatigues come spring.
A shiny bar carrying her surname was pinned to the right-hand side of her chest while the opposite side was occupied by a sown-on patch that showed the traditional five-pointed star representing the MacLean County Sheriff's Department. Her hips were graced by her utility belt that carried her regulatory nightstick, handcuffs, can of pepper spray, two-way radio, service sidearm and four spare clips of ammunition. All those indispensable items clinged and clanged as she moved with grace to get the annoying sand swept into neat piles.
Mandy had seniority over her fellow deputies, but it seemed the slick operator Rodolfo Gonzalez, the perpetually work-shy Thomas 'Tom Thumb' Kincaid and the chain-smoking Barry Simms had better things to do than to swing the broom. Laughter occasionally wafted out from the crew room in the back where all three sat; Mandy had just about given up on motivating them into performing actual police work, much less all the various house-cleaning chores around the office and the jail house next door.
A white-and-gold Durango that pulled up to the end of the line of similar SUVs heralded the return of the sheriff. The large man strode along the sidewalk until he reached the office. As he opened the door, a fresh breeze followed him that not only made the anti-crime campaign posters and maps over Goldsboro, MacLean County and the surrounding territory flutter out and threaten to fly off the walls, but distributed another load of sand and desert dust all over the floor. Even worse, the breeze blew asunder the piles that Mandy had already compiled.
"Any calls?" the sheriff said as he took off his Mountie hat and winter jacket and put them on a pair of coat hooks on the wall. He glanced down at the sand on the floor while he ran his fingers through his thinning hair to get it back to normal.
Arthur 'Artie' Rains' unhealthy facial color and the rest of his unsavory features - chubby cheeks, double chins, wrinkles as deep as the Grand Canyon and drooping eyelids that concealed angry, intense eyes - proved he lived a hard life with plenty of appetite for the many little perks that typically came with the title of County Sheriff. His bushy eyebrows were just the icing on the cake.
He rarely smoked less than two packs of cigarettes a day, and the number of beers and shots of hard liquor he consumed at the end of his shifts were legendary. He had spent many a night in many a dive playing eight-ball or five-card stud, and he always made sure to grind his opponents into sawdust before returning home to his long-suffering wife and their handful of children.
All those factors worked together to offer the impression that the six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-thirty pound, flabby-jawed fellow was in his mid-sixties rather than his late-forties, but his birth certificate was clear on the matter.
"None, Sheriff," Mandy said as she started over at the far corner of the office.
For a moment, it seemed the sheriff was about to chew Mandy out for not being thorough enough with the broom, but the dullness of the evening had apparently affected even the notoriously gruff and grumpy Artie Rains. "All right. I'll be in the back. Keep me posted," he said as he reached up to loosen his necktie and undo the top button of his uniform shirt.
"Will do, Sheriff," Mandy said while displaying a perfectly professional expression that melted into a frown as soon as the sheriff left the front office. Sighing, she returned to her Sisyphean task of sweeping up the sand.
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The pool tournament had gone through several highs and lows for Team Goldsboro. The two junior players - Geoffrey Wilburr, jr and Roscoe Finch - had both lost their Best-of-Three matches against a pair of juniors from Cavanaugh Creek, but the seniors Ernie Bradberry and Wyatt Elliott had won their Best-of-Fives against stiff opposition. The results had left the tournament tied at two wins for each team after four matches. In short, the final Best-of-Five would decide it.
Wynne squinted hard as she chalked her cue during a beer-break. Her game face was present and set in stone. A quick glance at the scores that had been updated on a whiteboard proved it was do-or-die-time: of the current Best-of-Five, she had won two games but had lost the most recent one. Though she was still leading overall, tension continued to mount. Her bone-tough opponent from Cavanaugh Creek - Bernadine Russell; a lady in her early fifties whose Mrs. Wholesome Apple-Pie looks and subdued clothing hid a banshee with a pool cue - had just as many playing skills as she, so it would all be down to the luck of a clean strike.
To ramp up the intensity even further during the break between games, Moira MacKay presented the tournament's sponsor and the prizes the winning team would receive. "Yes, that's right," the owner of the bar and grill said as she held up a small pack, "Easy-On Condoms by the Preston-Farley Pharmaceutical Company will never let you down no matter how eager you or your partner are. And don't forget, first prize will be a fifty-piece value pack of the brand new, award-winning Rib Edge condom designed by specialists to maximize your pleas-"
"Mercy Sakes! Fitty o' them there rubbahs?!" Wynne cried at the top of her lungs. She counted to two before she fired off the rest of the zinger: "What'll we use fer the rest o' the month, then?!"
Everyone among the players and spectators broke out in various shades of snickers, chuckles and belly laughs at the risqué joke - everyone except Moira who shot Wynne a dark look, and the ever-virginal Wyatt Elliott whose facial skin was rudely invaded by a tidal wave of scarlet rarely seen outside cartoons.
Still chuckling at her own joke, Wynne emptied her latest Double Zero and put the can on one of the tall café-tables by the video poker machines. She and Bernadine Russell briefly locked eyes which proved the combatants were ready to play for the honor and glory of their home towns. Grabbing her chalked cue, she went back to the pool table to do her best.
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Only a few balls were left on the table. Wynne had a steely glare in her pale-blue eyes as she focused hard on her next shot. If she flubbed it, the highly skilled Bernadine would sweep the table, win the round and the entire tournament for Team Cavanaugh Creek - not to mention take home the grand prize.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, Wynne moved the cue back and got ready to let rip with the shot of a lifetime.
At that exact moment, the power cut off. Everything shut down inside Moira's Bar & Grill including the range hoods, the stoves, the refrigerators, the video poker machines, the jukebox and - worst of all - the lights above the pool table.
RRRRRRRRRRIP!
"Lawwwwwwwwwwwr-die!" Wynne cried as the unfortunate sound of torn felt filtered through to her brain. Stepping back, she put down the cue, clapped a hand over her eyes and let out the mother of all pitiful groans.
Everyone around her seemed to hold their breath. Bernadine Russell let out an embarrassed chuckle at the gruesome sound and the rest of the dark spectacle. Ernie was the only one who came over to Wynne - he patted her back while trying to come up with words that would comfort his perennially unlucky friend. He even held out his latest beer like he was offering it to her.
"Sonovabitch!" Moira MacKay roared from her spot at the door to back room. "Did I just hear the felt being torn?! That's a seven-hundred dollar piece of felt! Which one of you sons-a-bitches did it?!"
Wynne tried to look over to where the irate lady stood, but the darkness inside the establishment was too dense to see anything - her only stroke of good fortune in the whole mess. "Weeeellll… that sombitch would prolly be li'l ol' me, Moira," she said in a monotone.
"Wynne, for cryin' out loud! What the hell?"
"Wussen mah fault… Ah coudden see nuttin' when them there lights went out an' all… an' Ah wus alreddy, uh… thrustin' ahead."
"Goddammit… that was all I needed!" Moira barked before she stomped back to the office to find some candles. Reaching the doorway, she reconsidered and turned back around. "For Chrissakes, pull those curtains apart so we can see ourselves! And Ernie… get your thumb outta your ass and do something useful for a change! Go out back and check the Goddamned fuse box and the power lines!"
Ernie whipped off his baseball cap and nodded hard. "Yes, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am. Consider it done, Ma'am. Wynne, I better…" he said as he fumbled through the dark room to get to the main entrance.
"Yuh, Ernie. I got things ta do as well. Like writin' mah last will an' testament," Wynne mumbled as she inched back to the dark refrigerators to get her next can of Double Zero.
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Sheriff Rains' response to the blackout was even more colorful and profane than Moira MacKay's - he roared out all sorts of juicy expletives in his customary booming style. Mandy smirked as she stood by the windows overlooking the dark Main Street. The verbal artillery assault grew in loudness until the door to the crew room was flung open and the sheriff stomped out like a man on a mission. Barry Simms, Rodolfo Gonzalez and Thomas Kincaid followed him like goslings to a mother goose.
"Deputy Jalinski, what the hell just happened?" Artie Rains boomed as he whipped out his service firearm to check the clip. Finding that it was all set to blast the responsible party, or parties, to Kingdom Come, he stuffed the pistol back into its holster before he crossed his arms over his chest.
"I don't have an answer, Sheriff. Looks like the power's out all over town."
"I won't allow it!" Sheriff Rains roared as he thumped a fist onto the top of the nearest desk - it made every last item on it dance about. "Deputy, grab a radio and a Mossberg and go out on patrol. Now! I'll bet we're under attack from some weird creature like all the other- wait… where's that waste of space Donohue at?"
Mandy furrowed her brow at the derogatory comment about her partner. It was no secret that Artie Rains despised Wynne for numerous unexplained reasons, but the words still stung. "Miss Donohue is over at Moira's Bar and Grill for the pool tournament, Sheriff," she said in a chilly voice.
"All right. Deputy Kincaid," Sheriff Rains said and spun around to face 'Tom Thumb,' "go over there and make sure that none of those beer-brained fools do anything stupid. If anyone complains, arrest the sonovabitch for gross misconduct toward an officer of the law!"
"Yes, Sheriff," the youngest of the four deputies said before he zipped out of the office and crossed over Main Street.
Mandy and Rodolfo shared a long look before Mandy donned her thick winter jacket and went over to the gun cabinet. She was soon holding one of their Mossberg pump-action shotguns that she loaded to full capacity.
---
A short ten minutes later, the power was yet to return. Mandy stood under Goldsboro's only traffic light - at the intersection of Main and Second Street - shining a flashlight up at the box that could only hang there and look sorry for itself. She had sent Rodolfo Gonzalez up to the other end of Main to check out the movie theater, Kulick's Bang-N-Beatin' Body Shop and the Spartan Wings sports goods store. While she waited for an update, she strode back along the sidewalk to get to Moira's.
Before she could reach the front door, she met up with Ernie Bradberry who came out of the narrow alley next to the building. "Good evening, Mr. Bradberry. Do you have an idea what's going on here?" she said as she put the Mossberg over her arm in the regulatory stance for non-threatening situations.
"Beats the hell outta me, Deputy," Ernie said as he ran his flannel shirtsleeve across his brow. Once he had done that, he wiped his hands on an old rag that he proceeded to stuff into his back pocket. "Nobody got any power, but it ain't the fuses, the local cables or the connections. Must be somethin' out in the desert. Maybe one of the cables has snapped off a pylon… or maybe one of the big things has gone down… or somethin'."
"Those theories are as good as any," Mandy said and looked up and down the dark Main Street. Here and there, the residents had put lit candles in the windows which added a tiny amount of light, but it wasn't enough to penetrate the inky darkness.
Some of the players and spectators had begun to drift away from Moira's Bar & Grill now the tournament had been cut short. The usual Chevrolet, GMC, Dodge and Ford trucks were started and driven away from the curb. Someone had even shown up in a Toyota Tundra, and Mandy was relieved that Sheriff Rains wasn't there to see it - she was sure he would have demanded an arrest for downright unpatriotic behavior.
Ernie was about to add that Wynne had been dumped into her usual crock of poo through no fault of her own, but the squawking of the walkie-talkie on Mandy's belt interrupted him before he could get started. Instead of waiting, he tipped his Built Ford Tough cap and went back inside Moira's.
'Mandy, this is Rodolfo… are you listening, over?'
"I read you five by five, Deputy. Go ahead," Mandy said after she had pressed the button on the side of the old-fashioned portable radio.
'Everything's calm up here at this end of Main. The movie house didn't have a showing tonight so the blackout hasn't affected them as such. A few citizens have shown up to act as a vigilante posse. I told them to guard the theater and Kulick's auto shop just in case. They leaped at the task… I'm guessing the goblin-infestation at Halloween is still fresh in their minds. They're expecting the worst. Over.'
"All right. Maybe they should," Mandy said and let out a subdued chuckle at the thought of the countless otherworldly problems that had struck Goldsboro and the surrounding area over the years. "I just spoke to Ernie Bradberry. He said there was nothing wrong with the local power lines. It must be an external problem, over."
'Yeah, okay… is there anything you want me to check while I'm up here?'
"That's a negatory, Deputy."
'Then I'll make my way back. Gonzalez out.'
"Roger that," Mandy said and put the walkie-talkie back on her utility belt. Before she had time to move her hand back up, the portable radio crackled to life again:
'Deputies, this is the Sheriff. I've just had the commander of the Air Force Base on the horn. They briefly lost power before their own generators kicked in, so the blackout obviously affects a very large area. Jalinski, Gonzalez and Simms, I want you to follow the power lines southbound on the State Route. The moment you see anything out of the ordinary, call it in. Deputy Kincaid, return to the office.'
Mandy waited for her fellow deputies to acknowledge the Sheriff's orders before she keyed the small button on the side of the walkie-talkie. "Roger that, Sheriff. Deputy Jalinski moving out."
---
Inside Moira's, all the heavy curtains had been pulled aside in an attempt to make the conditions just a little brighter. With the fact the outside world was as black as the interior of the Bar & Grill, the effort had mostly been a waste of time. Wynne stood by the windows wearing the world's longest hang-dog face while drinking an H.E. Fenwyck Pale Lager.
She had promised Mandy only to drink one regular beer on any given day, and this was it. She had to make it count, so for a change, she gave herself enough time to actually taste it - that it had an aftertaste of bitter defeat was unfortunate.
When the three roaming deputies suddenly ran to their Durangos, Wynne hurried outside to see what was happening. She and Mandy shared the briefest of brief looks before the deputy climbed aboard the first of the large police vehicles and turned on the emergency lights. Wynne held up her can of beer as a parting salute, but Mandy had already made a U-turn and was on her way southbound on Main Street with her two colleagues in tow.
The evening air of early December was too chilly for the jacket-less Wynne, so she shuffled back inside where she leaned against one of the tall café-tables while sipping her beer. Moira continued to walk around igniting tealights and small stumps of candles so they could have some light, but everyone's mood had taken a huge knock at the depressing way the fun evening had ended.
More commotion at the door proved to be Geoffrey Wilburr, jr, who came back inside the Bar & Grill carrying a couple of electronic gizmos. "Hey, ev'rybody… my police scanner 'll be up and runnin' in a flash… then we can keep track of what's going on," he said as he put the items on the ruined pool table.
The young farmer - who was obviously the son of Geoffrey Wilburr, one of the veteran cattle ranchers north of Goldsboro - wore rugged fatigues, work boots and a John Deere Tractors baseball cap. Being in his early twenties, Geoffrey Junior was barely dry behind the ears so he was immensely proud of the row of fuzzy downs that had begun to spread across his upper lip.
Wynne let out a dark grunt at the news. "Haw, that sure is nice an' all… but it ain't gonn' do ya no good, there, young fella. Them there po-leese scannahs need powah to run, dontchaknow."
"Yes… and that's why I got my fully charged power bank as well," the young man said and held up the other item. He soon connected the two which allowed the scanner to come alive.
A sigh escaped Wynne's lips before they were busy draining the rest of the Pale Lager. "Lawrdie, I ain't got no clue what a powah bank is… dag-nabbit, I'm gettin' old an' worthless… I'm doomed ta pump out backed-up crappahs fer the rest o' mah life," she mumbled into the can that soon turned empty.
While Geoffrey Junior fiddled with the knobs to pick up the proper channel for listening in on the police frequencies, Ernie fumbled over to Wynne with a fresh can of beer. "Here ya go, Wynne. This is a good'un. A Midnight Velvet Stout that's as smooth as silk."
"Much obliged, Ernie," Wynne said; she took the can but put it down onto the tabletop without opening it. "But I can't. I promised mah sweet, li'l De-per-ty Mandy that I ain't gonn' drink all them reg'lar beers no mo'. Espe-shu-lly one o' them there strong brews. Naw. But I 'preciate the thought."
"Aw, that's all right. I'll take it!" Ernie said with a grin. "Ya want another Double Zero instead?"
"That would be jus' what the doctor an' De-per-ty Mandy ordered, yessirree," Wynne said as she reached out to thump her friend's shoulder.
Scattered radio traffic from various sources crackled through the scanner's small loudspeaker before Geoffrey Junior found the frequency he had been searching for. Soon, Deputy Gonzalez' voice could be heard sending a report back to base. After a little fine-tuning, the transmission turned crystal clear, and everyone hunkered around the scanner like they were trying to listen to Mike Joy calling the final few laps of the Daytona 500.
'Base, this is Deputy Jalinski,' Mandy said - Wynne replied with a loud "Lawrdie! If it ain't mah sweet, li'l De-per-ty!" that caused much amusement among the people around the scanner.
'Go ahead, Jalinski,' Sheriff Rains said at the other end of the connection - which was in fact right across the street from Moira's.
'We've found the cause for the blackout. We're thirteen miles south of Goldsboro. One of the power pylons has suffered a great deal of damage. Six of the eight high-voltage cables have been torn off and are lying on the desert floor. The pylon itself has been… no, we need to get closer. Stand by, base.'
'Base standing by,' the sheriff said before the transmission ended.
Wynne and Ernie shot each other a puzzled look while a can of H.E. Fenwyck Double Zero non-alcoholic beer traded hands. It was soon opened and gulped down as everyone in Moira's waited for Mandy to resume speaking.
'Base, this is Deputy Jalinski,' Mandy continued after a short delay. 'It appears that a large chunk of the pylon is actually missing. Most of the arms that support the high-voltage cables have been twisted out of shape. That's why the cables snapped and fell down, over.'
'What could have caused that, Deputy? Do you have debris on the ground?' the sheriff said from the other end of the connection.
'Yes, but only scrap metal from the pylon itself, Sheriff. It's almost like something has taken a giant bite out of it only to spit it out afterward…'
Wynne, Ernie, Moira and Geoffrey Junior all stared at each other. A quiet "Lawwwwr-die…" had time to escape Wynne's lips before Sheriff Rains answered:
'Deputy Gonzalez, I demand a second opinion on that cockamamie theory. What can you see from your vantage point?'
'Sheriff Rains,' Rodolfo's voice said from the small speaker on the portable police scanner, 'I tend to agree with Deputy Jalinski. There are teeth or perhaps claw marks on the pylon itself… also, there are several deep indentations in the ground near the pylon that could be footprints-'
'Gonzalez, that's the worst load of pure, unadulterated bullsh-' the sheriff barked, but he stopped himself as he remembered the regulations for proper radio use - it carried his name on the last page so it would only cause trouble if he didn't adhere to it. 'Bull manure I've been exposed to for years! I expected Deputy Jalinski to come up with idiocy like that, not you!'
Wynne's face scrunched up into a sour mask at the sheriff's words. The can of Double Zero had to pay for Artie Rains' remarks by first being emptied in a single gulp and then crushed between her strong fingers.
'Well, that's what they appear to be, Sheriff…'
'Bull! I'll call NorPower so they can get a crew out there to fix the damn thing. Meanwhile, I want all three of you to remain where you are. Keep your searchlights going so the workers have something to aim for.'
As Mandy, Rodolfo and Barry Simms acknowledged the sheriff's orders, Wynne took a step back from the police scanner and crossed her arms over her chest. The conversation seemed to be over, so Geoffrey Junior turned down the volume and went up to the bar counter to buy himself a Sarsaparilla. Wynne had a strong hankering for something far more potent - like a few shots of whisky - but Mandy's words of warning about her unbridled, and certainly unhealthy, consumption echoed in her mind.
She missed being buzzed, she missed Blackie and Goldie, and - above all - she missed holding, hugging, squeezing and kissing her sweet, little Deputy Mandy.
"Breaker one-nine to Wynne Donohue. Ya got your ears on, good buddy?" Ernie Bradberry said with a grin as he cracked open a can of H.E. Fenwyck 1910 Special Brew.
Sighing, Wynne lowered her arms and put her hands on her hips instead. "Yuh. Yuh, I'm he', Ernie. Lawrdie, this ain't mah evenin'. Artie Rains is drivin' me cah-razy with all his puke… mah Mandy's out there where it's dark an' dain-gerous… on top o' that, I wus playin' well an' winnin'… an' then the whole, durn thing turned ta crap like always. Can ya tell me why? 'Cos I sure as flies on cow dung ain't got no clue. No dang-blasted clue, Ernie…"
Ernie took a long swig and wiped the foam off his drooping mustache with his shirtsleeve; then he answered his friend by shaking his head. "Naw. I don't. All this bad stuff that continues to happen is gettin' peculiar, though."
"It's gettin' mi'ty peculiar, that's a dog-gone fact… yessirree."
"Sure is." Ernie reached out to pat Wynne on the shoulder. He used the hand that held the can of 1910 Special Brew, and the amber liquid inside the can sloshed around as a result - a few droplets even escaped their home and went onto his fingers, but he simply licked them off so nothing would go to waste. "Wynne, uh… can I ask you a question… on a personal-kinda level?"
"Yuh… I guess. What's on yer mind, there, friend?"
Ernie performed a sideways glance at the lady who had been Wynne's opponent in the final Best-of-Five before it had been cut short. When she turned her head to look in his direction, he snapped back to Wynne at once. "Bernadine," he said in a quiet voice. "Whaddaya think of her?"
"What I think o' her? She done played a mean game o' pool, that's fer dang sure."
"No, I mean… what do you think of her… ya know… like… ya know…" Ernie said in a voice that grew quieter while his cheeks grew redder.
"Oh. Huh," Wynne said with a grin. She cast a brief glance in Bernadine Russell's direction before she came back to her friend from the trailer park. "Yuh, well, she's good-lookin'. Ain't no doubt 'bout that. She got that there married look to her, tho'… y'all better watch yer ass if ya be gettin' the hots fer a married lady."
"She ain't married. I asked around," Ernie said, and by now, his voice was barely louder than a whisper.
Wynne chuckled and cast another brief glance at the lady in question. Bernadine spoke to one of the other members of the Cavanaugh Creek team; while she did that, she sipped from a tumbler that appeared to contain a soft drink. "Shoot, Ernie… in that case, lemme suggest ya go fer it. But why even ask me?"
"Aw, I just wanted to hear the opinion of a pro… ya know…"
"Izzat a fact?" Wynne said while sporting a broad grin. "Well, the opinion o' this he' ol' pro is ta go fer it."
"Great!" Ernie said and drained the last of the 1910 Special Brew in a single gulp. "Anyhows, the refrigerators ain't got no power so Moira is givin' away all her fresh sandwiches and stuff. Ya want something from the fridge?"
"Naw, I'm good. Thanks, anyhow."
"Yer welcome. An' ya sure I can't tempt ya with a Midnight Velvet, either?"
Wynne licked her lips several times before she broke out in a nod that seemed just a little exaggerated - perhaps to make sure she wouldn't fall into the same old trap where one beer would lead to another and another and another until it would finally end in the day from hell because Mandy was upset with her. "Y'all can tempt me, awright, but I ain't gonn' say yes. I wanna, but I ain't gonna. Nosirree. Howevah… if ya really offerin' ta buy me som'tin ta drink, I sure woudden say no to a soda pop… a Coke. An' ask the young Mista Slow Lane ovah behind the countah there ta put some ice cubes an' a slice o' that there lemon in it. I still got a bad taste o' defeat in mah mouth I need ta strangle."
"That's what I call a deal, Wynne," Ernie said with a grin before he went up to the bar counter with the order.
-*-*-*-
Thirteen miles south of Moira's Bar & Grill, Mandy Jalinski let the cone of light from her flashlight roam across the wind-swept desert floor. The indentations that Rodolfo had discovered were real: they were two feet deep, four feet wide and nearly six feet long. And 'feet' was the proper term to use since it was possible to count five toes at the leading edge of each of the indentations.
"I've seen plenty of weird stuff lately, but this takes the cake…" Mandy mumbled as she looked at the footprints. She moved her Mountie hat back to scratch her forehead, but the gesture didn't provide any insight as to the possible origins of the strange tracks.
A cloud of cigarette smoke drifted past her nostrils indicating that Deputy Simms was present at the site as well. Scrunching up her face, she needed to fan her nose to survive the poor quality of the tobacco that Barry used for his home-rolled cigarettes. Even thorough fanning wasn't enough to escape the foul air pollution, so she turned away and strode back to the Durango she had arrived in.
The late-twenty-something Barry Simms with the unhealthy chain-smoking habit was in the process of lighting his next smoke with the last quarter-inch of the old one. He was such a heavy smoker he couldn't afford to buy proper cigarettes; instead, he bought wholesale tobacco-waste directly from the factories.
Before he had joined the MacLean County Sheriff's Department where the rules and regulations banned facial hair, he'd had a mustache and a chin beard, but after setting each of them alight more times than he cared to admit, he had gone clean-shaven. His habit meant he wasn't a pretty sight: his complexion was gray, his teeth were stained and yellow, and his fingers had been exposed to so much nicotine they had gained a permanent amber tinge. The deep draw he took of his new cigarette proved he didn't care what it did to him.
Rodolfo Gonzalez had climbed up onto the roof of his Durango so he could get a better view of the area near and below the power pylon - to do that in the blackness of the desert night, he used the two powerful LED searchlights installed up there. Swiveling them around slowly, he stared hard at the ground in the hope of having the cones of light reveal something that could explain the situation.
A grunt escaped him when he realized he had just seen something odd. The lights had already moved past whatever it was, so he moved them back slowly until the cones of light illuminated it once more. "Damn! Mandy! Mandy, you need to see this!" he said loudly to catch the attention of his fellow deputy.
Mandy quickly got out of her Durango and ran over to the other SUV. "What?" she said, looking up at Rodolfo who was pointing out into the dark desert.
"More footprints! Where the cones cross," Rodolfo said; it made Mandy look out to the spot lit up by the lights, but it was impossible to see anything from her vantage point. She needed to get closer if she wanted to get to the bottom of it.
"I'll check it out. Keep the lights on it… and try not to dazzle me with those damn LEDs!" she said before she jogged a distance of roughly thirty-five yards from the SUVs. Once she reached the spot where the cones crossed, she was able to pick up a new set of footprints. To add a little light of her own, she turned on her flashlight and let the smaller cone roam across the desert floor. "Okay… you're right, Rodolfo. They're identical to-"
"Huh? I can't hear ya!" Rodolfo shouted back.
Mandy grumbled under her breath before she reached for the walkie-talkie on her belt. "Can you hear me now? Perhaps you need to clean your ears, Deputy. We're less than forty yards apart!"
'Uh… the breeze stole your words- never mind. I read you. Go ahead.'
"These new footprints are identical to those over by the pylon," Mandy said and pointed the flashlight at the ruined structure to get a sense for the distance to it. "They're moving east to west. I'm no expert on animal tracks, but I'd say they're unhurried. And by that, I mean they weren't made by something running. There are no irregular mounds so no dirt has been kicked up… not as far as I can see, anyway. They appear to have been made by a creature walking in a regular cadence. They're all fairly similar in size and appearance."
'Ten-Roger.'
"They do appear older than the other ones, though… other animals have left tracks inside several of them. So they may have been here for a while," Mandy continued into the portable radio as she stepped into one of the two-foot-deep indentations. Crouching down, she ran her fingers through the fine sand at the bottom.
The startling depth of the footprint protected the sand at the bottom from the stiff breeze that swept across the rest of the desert floor, so she was able to see several details. "Hmmm… a closer look reveals a pattern in the sand at the bottom of the indentations. It makes me think of the paw-pads on a large feline or perhaps a primate… an ape," she said into the walkie-talkie before she released the transmit key.
Barry chose that moment to add his two cents' worth to the conversation: 'Curse Of The Monkeyman! That's King Kong out there, people! Raaaaaaaah, hail Kong! Hail Kong!' - then he broke out in a laugh that soon turned into gross-sounding hacking and coughing.
Mandy let out a dark grunt at her fellow deputy's sense of humor. Getting up, she let her flashlight cut further through the darkness. When she couldn't see anything of importance - or anything that could pose a danger to her - she made her way back to Rodolfo's Durango.
On her way there, her ears picked up a distant though familiar sound. She turned around to see better, but the strong LED searchlights atop the Durango hindered her efforts. "Turn off the lights!" she shouted, but all she got out of it was a 'Can't hear ya!' that drifted away from her on the edge of the wind.
Instead of shouting her lungs out, she took the walkie-talkie off her belt and repeated the polite request: "Kill the lights, Rodolfo! Now!" she said in a bark.
'Ten-roger… sorry 'bout that…'
Though the searchlights were turned off as soon as Rodolfo had jumped down onto the ground and had flicked the switch mounted under the dashboard, it took nearly fifteen seconds for Mandy's eyes to re-adapt to the darkness. When they had, she was able to pick up a group of red and green beacons flashing high in the sky a good distance from the ruined power pylon. Now and then, the desert wind carried the sound she had heard closer to her: flapping rotors.
'Jesus frickin' Christ on crutches, what's that out there?!' Barry Simms cried into his walkie-talkie around his latest cigarette - a moment later, he cringed when he realized that he had broken the no-profanity/no-blasphemy rules set up by the sheriff. And worse, the sheriff would have been at the watch desk listening in on their conversation.
"Choppers," Mandy said after keying the mic. "Three of 'em. Hueys by the sound of it. I'm guessing it's an Air Force recon patrol. It's a good bet they're out here looking for answers like we are."
'Man, I was just kiddin' about that King Kong thing…' Barry said, followed by another bout of hacking and coughing.
Rodolfo chimed in: 'Or maybe they're trying to reel in something that got away from them. Perhaps an experiment of some kind, over.'
"Huh. I guess that's a possibility…" Mandy said to herself as she watched the flashing beacons in the sky. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she thought back to the time when she and Wynne had been in serious danger not too far from the location she found herself at now. Then, they had battled aliens from outer space whose hunter UFOs had been equipped with highly destructive lightning-beam weapons, and who hadn't been afraid of using them.
'Base to unit one, two and three. Base to unit one, two and three. Come in, unit one, two and three, over,' Artie Rains' voice suddenly said from the portable radios.
"This is Deputy Jalinski. Go ahead, Sheriff," Mandy replied as she made her way back to the SUVs.
'An update from NorPower. They have a team inbound to your position. ETA is ten to fifteen minutes or so. One unit needs to stay there to maintain on-site help when the technicians show up. Also, a citizen has called in to inform us that a truck has driven into the ditch two miles further south of where you're at. One unit needs to go there to assist while the last returns to base, over.'
As a reflex, Mandy turned to look further south although she knew full well they were too far from the State Route to see anything. "Ten-roger, Sheriff. Standing by for the technicians."
'Very well. And Deputy Simms… I heard ya cussin' before! I'd like a word with you when you get back! Sheriff Rains out.'
Barry scrunched up his face at the unwelcome news. It gave the cigarette in his mouth a little jolt which in turn made the tip of ash fall off. The glowing bit followed it onto the desert floor, and that made him scramble for his Zippo so he could continue to feed his habit. "Guys… guys, I'd like to volunteer to wait for the technicians," he said as soon as he had lit up once more.
Mandy let out a semi-amused chuckle at her fellow deputy's surprising - or not, considering the circumstances - willingness to stay behind, all alone in the middle of the big, barren desert while a large creature of some kind was on the prowl. "Works for me, Barry. I'll deal with the truck in the ditch. Rodolfo, that means you're free to go back to base. The sheriff's all yours," she said and opened the door to her Durango.
Rodolfo drew a deep breath that was intended to become a fair-sized whine, but he soon realized there wasn't anything he could do other than to wave at Mandy as she drove off with the emergency lights flashing. The trail of dust and little desert pebbles kicked up by the SUVs off-road tires was snatched by the wind and sent directly into his path, and he needed to clamp down on his Mountie hat and run to the other side of his own Durango to avoid being pelted.
-*-*-*-
Mandy soon reached the safety of the two-lane blacktop. Turning south on the State Route, she gave the large police vehicle plenty and had it up to seventy-five in no time despite the gusts of wind that tried to move it sideways and into the opposite lane.
As she raced along with all the lights flashing, she couldn't help but recall the incident on Halloween where the radiator hose had come loose - that medium-sized drama had later turned into a full-sized disaster when the Durango had fallen off the back of the wrecker truck driven by Wynne at the time.
A depressed chuckle escaped her. Before she had moved to Goldsboro, she had only experienced the usual amount of life's little mishaps. After she had arrived in the small desert town, there hadn't been a quiet moment. The only bright spot in the frustrating mess had been meeting Wynne - but she wished they could live their life together under better and less stressful circumstances.
Shaking her head to get rid of all the negative thoughts, she concentrated on driving through the darkness and the stiff breeze that sent large and small pieces of debris like tumbleweeds, twigs and pebbles hurtling across the blacktop. It wasn't long before she spotted a pair of amber hazard lights flashing furiously in the middle distance. She reached the scene of the potential accident in no time and drove over to the wrong side of the two-lane Route to be able to use the headlights to illuminate the scene - the Durango she had chosen had yet to be upgraded with the set of roof-mounted LED searchlights.
The entire front half of an older-model Dodge Ram four-by-four truck - equipped with a camper box that covered the entire bed behind the cab - had slid into the ditch on the eastern side of the State Route. The darkness of the night and the color of the road's surface meant Mandy couldn't see any skidmarks, so she couldn't build an impression of what might have been the cause for the spin into the ditch.
There didn't appear to be any major damage to the body panels or the windows which offered a hint the impact might have been a glancing blow rather than a hard stop. The possibility of the driver being injured was still present, so Mandy jumped down from the tall Durango and ran back to its rear. The double doors were soon opened; she slipped the strap for a first-aid kit over her shoulder before she prepared a crowbar in case she needed to smash a window or pry open the door to get to the driver.
Running over to the four-by-four, she went for the door handle praying it would open. It did without any problem whatsoever which made her let out a quick sigh of relief - the paperwork would have been mountainous in case she had needed to use the crowbar.
The overwhelming stink of beer and hard liquor inside the vehicle's cab provided the biggest clue as to the nature of the accident. The female driver had fallen into the footwell, but it appeared it was by design rather than a result of the accident.
"Ma'am… Ma'am, I'm Deputy Jalinski from the MacLean County's Sheriff's Department. Can you hear me? Are you injured?" Mandy said as she let the cone of light from her flashlight roam over the cab's interior to check for blood. When all she found were empty beer cans, a half-full bottle of sour mash bourbon and what appeared to be a small plastic bag containing several marihuana joints, she let out a dark grunt.
The steady stream of drunken giggles that rose to greet Mandy from down in the footwell proved the driver couldn't be too worse for wear, all things considered. "Huh? The po-leese?" the woman said with a distinct slur.
"The MacLean County Sheriff's Department, Ma'am. You've been in an accident."
"Huh? I done wrecked mah truck?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Mandy said and took the opportunity to roll her eyes repeatedly. When the woman down in the footwell broke out in an ungraceful mix of drunken giggles, snorts and hiccups, Mandy put the first-aid kit down on the ground and reached in to try to help the drunken woman out of her precarious position near the pedals. It took a little grunting and plenty of elbow grease , but she managed to get the woman upright and even out of the Dodge Ram without either of them ending up butt-first on the cold ground.
The woman turned out to be a bottle-blonde whose age could be anywhere from mid-twenties to late-thirties - it was almost impossible to discern through her overdone pancake makeup. Her eye-color was difficult to determine as well, except that it was in the category known as 'swimming.' She wore brightly-colored cowboy boots, a tight skirt that looked far too cold for comfort in the chilly weather, a rhinestone Western shirt and finally a suede jacket with plenty of fringes.
"Ma'am, I need to see your driver's license," Mandy said while she tried to stay out of the worst of the woman's alcohol-laced breath.
"Huh? Where is it?"
"I don't know, Ma'am. But I need to see it."
"Uh… uh… it's in mah wallet."
After checking the woman's pockets with no success, Mandy shone the flashlight into the Dodge's cab - there wasn't anything there, either. "Where's your wallet, Ma'am?"
"In mah pocket…"
"I'm afraid it's not there."
"Damn! Some asshole done stole mah wallet! I wanna file a report-"
Mandy's eyes made a slow, rolling tour of the dark sky above before she looked at the drunk driver once more. She decided to start over, and to take it so slow that even the woman before her could keep up. "What's your name, Ma'am?"
"Huh? Name? I got a name? Charlie Brown?"
"Somehow, I don't think so," Mandy said and rolled her eyes once more. "Ma'am, I need to breathalyze you… do you understand me?"
"Huh? Breathally… breath- asation…?"
"Something like that, yes," Mandy said and moved back to the Durango to get the proper tools. She was soon back at the wrecked truck and held up the small electronic apparatus. "Ma'am, you need to blow into this-"
The intoxicated woman blew a raspberry and immediately broke down in a fit of drunken laughter; Mandy needed to hold onto her with both hands or else she would have collapsed into a heap. A long, slow sigh escaped the Deputy Sheriff as she wrestled with the woman and the small tool needed to perform the test.
---
Mandy squinted as she viewed the result on the readout. Nodding, she put the tool away and turned back to the woman. "Ma'am, I'm detaining you for drunk driving. You're so far over the limit the results go beyond the scale."
"Huh? Aw, damn… ya can't… can't ya… kinda… look the other way, or som'tin?" the woman said while her swimming eyes tried to gain the saddest, doe-eyed expression she could muster.
"I cannot, Ma'am."
"How 'bout if I slipped ya a couple-a greenbacks or som'tin?"
"It would only make it far worse for you, Ma'am. I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
"Oh, but… crap," the woman said as she shook her head - it continued to move left-to-right even after she had stopped the motion which proved she had zero control over her faculties. "Ev'rybody got so damn drunk when the pool turning- turnip- tourna- thing wus cut short I just didn't think 'bout how much I had drinked… drunk… drank… whatever."
Mandy furrowed her brow at the worrying news. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly while a million thoughts flashed through her mind - most of those revolved around Wynne and their agreement.
"An' then when I got out here, some damn animal or buffalo or whatever the hell it was ran right across the damn road and I hadda avoid the damn thing… and I guess I ended up in the damn ditch."
"There aren't any buffalo here, Ma'am."
"Huh? There ain't? It was ass-big whatever it was," the drunken woman said and spread out her arms to illustrate her point. "Maybe some circus or som'tin lost an elephant or som'tin. It was bigger than a big thing…"
"We'll deal with that later. You'll spend the night in a holding cell in Goldsboro. Once you have sobered up, we'll go on from there. Come on," Mandy said and grabbed hold of the woman's arm.
---
Once the driver of the crashed Ram camper-conversion had been put onto the back seat of the Durango, Mandy moved around the front of the police vehicle and leaned against the hood. She let out yet another sigh of deep concern before she reached for her private smartphone.
Wynne's number was soon found in the registry; Mandy felt her heart rate increase while she waited for it to be picked up. She would only need to hear her sweetheart's voice for a second to know exactly what went on at Moira's.
'Howdy, there, darlin'!' Wynne said in a voice that was certainly cheery but far from beery. The noises in the background proved it was a lively affair, all right, but perhaps no more so than on one of the year's holidays.
"Hi, Wynne. I just wanted to hear your voice."
'Awwww! We been lissenin' in on ya, De-per-ty! Yessirree! Geoff Junior got one o' them there po-leese scannahs an' we kinda been eavesdroppin' on that there conversa-shun o' yers. What's goin' on with them there footprints y'all found?'
"Can't say too much right now, so I better not say anything at all."
'Yuh, okay. No problemo, De-per-ty.'
"Listen, Wynne," Mandy said and shifted around uncomfortably; a sign the conversation might stray into touchy waters, "I just came to the rescue of one of the guests at the pool tournament. She had driven her four-by-four into the ditch out here near mile marker two-four-three-"
'Lawwwrdie! She all right?'
"Yes, but drunk as a skunk. Maybe a little stoned as well."
'Mercy Sakes… who is it?'
"I don't know. She can't remember her name and I can't find her wallet. She's around thirty or so. A bottle-blonde wearing a classic Western outfit with a rhinestone shirt, a fringe jacket and everything. She drove a red Dodge Ram with a camper conversion… it's about ten-fifteen years old or so. Did you happen to notice such a truck on Main?"
'Naw, I didden… the only trucks in front o' Moira's wus them there reg'lar ones. Ain't no campahs or nuttin'. She might'a parked 'round the cornah. I didden check.'
"All right… it was worth a shot."
'Yuh. I did see me one o' them there Toy-otahs, tho'. Kinda neat-lookin' truck, but don't tell nobodda I said that! The driver done showed off the engine but it didden even have a carburetor or a vee-eight or nuttin'… can ya believe that? I mean, that jus' ain't right… anyhows, there wus plenty o' gals he' an' I do seem ta recall somebodda wearin' classic Western garb… but I ain't sure. Lawrdie, I ain't got no reason ta check them there gals out, ya know, ha-ha!'
Mandy grinned along with her partner for a while before it faded under the weight of the next part of their conversation.
'I guess the mood's been kinda lively he' tho' we ain't got no powah or nuttin',' Wynne continued. 'Seems ta me them there guests outta Cavanaugh Creek can't hold their liquor 'cos one o' them is sleepin' it off across the pool table an' another is lyin' in a heap on the floor beneath it. Yuh. Sure ain't no perdy sight the way that fella is droolin' an'… an'… Lawrdie, I guess he's kinda wet down the other end as well.'
"Charming. Now we're on that subject-"
'Naw, naw… Ah know exactly whatcha gonn' say, De-per-ty, an' mah answer is a naw. But fer a single reg'lar, Ah ain't had nuttin' but Double Zeros all evenin'. Cross mah heart hope ta choke on a peanut. Ah mebbe a li'l slow on the uptake on a buncha stuff, but Ah ain't dumb. Nosirree! Ah know what's good fer me… an' that's you!'
A warm sensation rolled over Mandy at Wynne's heartfelt words, and she couldn't stop a wide grin from gracing her features. "That's great to hear, Wynne," she said as she moved away from the Durango's hood. "Would you mind talking to Moira about the drunk driver? I know she'll lay down the law with the remaining players and spectators."
'Ummm… 'bout Moira, yuh, weeelll… I kinda had a li'l accident when we wus playin' an' them there lights went out at the wrong dang-blasted moment so… uh… so I be thinkin' it'd be kinda bad fer mah health if I got too close ta Moira right now. I'mma-gonn' ask Ernie. She likes Ernie jus' a leeeettle bettah than she likes me right now, if ya catch mah drift.'
"Uh-huh? Well, please do. Oh, I better get a move on. It's gonna be a long night…"
'No doubt 'bout that, De-per-ty… see ya some time. Mmmua!'
After Mandy had returned the kissy with a similar one plus a bonus for Wynne for staying off the potent beers, she put the warm telephone into her pocket and moved back to the driver's side door of the Durango. Just as she reached for the handle, her sixth sense tingled which made her nape hairs stand on edge. They weren't alone.
She froze in place and tried to strain her hearing. The constant breeze and the drunk driver on the back seat babbling incoherently negated the efforts to listen - it caused an entire river of icy shivers to run up and down her spine.
She had heard something unusual. It had only been there for the briefest of moments, but it had been enough. Heavy breathing and even heavier footfalls. They had been some distance away but had perhaps been moving closer. Out of nowhere, Barry Simms' joke about King Kong flashed into her mind. "Sonovabitch…" she said in a hoarse whisper as she inched around to stare into the pitch-black desert.
Even though she took her flashlight off her utility belt and held it out, its cone of light was far too weak to do any good. Cursing under her breath, she looked up at the roof of the Durango. The rack for the searchlights had already been installed behind the lightbar that contained the regular emergency lights, but the actual LED-arrays had yet to be attached - that work was scheduled to be carried out the very next day.
Her train of thought was interrupted by further heavy breathing that sounded much closer than the first instance had been. At first, it was a constant wheezing that reminded her of Councilwoman Mary-Lou Skinner and her chronic asthma, but that particular image was erased at once as the sound of a foot or a paw thumping hard into the ground reached her ears. The image of Mary-Lou was instantly replaced by that of a raging bull getting ready to charge.
"Aw, screw this!" she said as she spun around and hopped into the Durango. The flashlight was thrown onto the passenger seat before she started the engine and selected reverse. After driving clear of the wrecked Dodge Ram, she performed a quick U-turn and headed for Goldsboro with her foot buried down on the floorboards.
-*-*-*-
Inside Moira's blacked-out Bar & Grill, Wynne nursed the last can of H.E. Fenwyck Double Zero. She hadn't had more than one-and-a-half six-packs of the non-alcoholic beers, but Moira didn't keep a large stock of them because none of her regular customers seemed to enjoy drinking a beer that didn't produce the wanted buzz.
She occasionally glanced over to the ruined felt on the pool table. Though it was still occupied by the sleeping guest from Cavanaugh Creek, the tear was visible in the candle-lit surroundings. A deep sigh escaped her - if she had to cough up seven-hundred dollars to pay for it, she might as well drive out to Maynard Canyon and take the big step into oblivion. The last few drops were drained from the final Double Zero before she threw it into a special trash can labeled Aluminum recycling.
Moira MacKay was a stickler for collecting all the spent cans for the good of the environment; the fiery owner was also a stickler for keeping her house in order. Mandy's news that one of the guests from Cavanaugh Creek had driven into the ditch in a drunken stupor had sent the short-tempered firebrand into overdrive - verbally more so than physically - and she had personally gathered up all the car keys from those patrons who had become too inebriated to drive home. Ernie Bradberry had helped her, but she had declined Wynne's assistance with a long burst of cusswords that had been highly inventive but not particularly polite.
Ernie and Moira soon returned to the bar and grill after escorting the penultimate group of drunken town guests over to Mrs. Peabody's hotel - the family-owned boarding house had recently finished going through a first-class refurbishing after being comprehensively wrecked by the goblin horde at Halloween. With Moira's telephone ringing all of a sudden, she was unable to help Ernie get the last group over to the Peabody establishment.
Wynne saw her chance to do something useful for a change and quickly donned her wool-lined jacket, her sheepskin gloves and finally her beloved, battered cowboy hat. Once her attire was in place, she put her pool cues into the bag, zipped it and swung it over her shoulder. "C'mon, Ernie," she said as she pulled on the arm of one of the young, semi-conscious fellows from Cavanaugh Creek, "les'get these he' drunken fools ovah to the hotel so I can go home to mah dawggies."
"These guys and gals sure can't hold their liquor. Look at 'em! Rag dolls each and every one of 'em," Ernie said and grabbed hold of the young man's other arm that was just as floppy as the one held by Wynne.
"Yuh… Lawrdie, I sure do hope he ain't gonn' spew while we be carryin' him, that's all I'm sayin'! Anyhows, wus ya able ta make any progress with that there nice lady Bernadine?"
"Maybe… maybe," Ernie said with a cheeky grin. He used his free hand to open the door. The fresh, chilly breeze streamed in and swirled around their legs for several long moments before they fumbled outside and began the short trek up to the Peabody hotel.
Wynne grinned back at her friend. "Awright! I sure hope she ain't as drunk as the rest o' them darlin's he'…"
"She ain't. She's stone sober 'cos she ain't been drinkin' nothin' but Coke all evenin'. I oughtta know 'cos I paid for a buncha 'em."
"Huh? Weird, that…"
"Not really. Cavanaugh Creek is a hot spot for the righteous and religious. The Virgin Tower folks has a chapter down there… it's their largest congregation outside of Collinstown. Betcha ten bucks these guys and gals ain't allowed to drink nothin' but the altar wine. Scratch that, I'll betcha ten bucks they ain't allowed to drink, full stop! So when they get outta town for somethin' like this, there ain't no holdin' 'em back."
"Ah ain't got ten bucks ta bet. Dang-blasted, what a shitty night this turned inta bein'…" Wynne mumbled as she concentrated on moving her feet so they wouldn't be tangled up with the passed-out fellow between herself and Ernie.
---
Once the last guest had been delivered into Mrs. Peabody's matronly custody, Wynne and Ernie stepped back out onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel. The constant breeze made the conditions inhospitable, so they were soon on their way south on Main Street; Wynne's hard heels clicking on the pavement while the rubber soles on Ernie's work boots made him move near-silently.
"What do ya think the deputies found out there?" Ernie said after a while. "Big footprints in the sand… sounds too crazy to be true. Of course, your Mandy ain't prone to exaggeration, so…"
"Dunno, Ernie. I ain't got no clue whaddahell's goin' on in this he' town no mo'," Wynne replied in a monotone. "Seems ta me we all be goin' straight ta hell in a neatly-woven handbasket… Mercy Sakes, who's ta say we ain't there alreddy? Mebbe this is all some kinda sick fantasy? Lawrdie, I woudden put it past the dag-nabbin' yoo-niverse to feed us a turd sandwich an' call it roast turkey."
Ernie let out a loud laugh at Wynne's colorful comments. "Yeah, huh? Well, in that case… we only got the fun we make ourselves, so could I tempt you and Mandy to come over tomorrow afternoon for some Tex Mex ribs on the barbecue, a couple-a beers and some classic NASCAR Winston Cup?"
"Tomorra afternoon? We could deffa-net-ly do that, Ernie! O' course, it's gonn' hafta be aftah we get back home from that there travelin' demoli-shun derby show out at Thundah Park. That's at noon. Ya ain't goin' ta that?"
"Nope. I caught it up in Warren Springs last week. It's always the same, ain't it? Crash, boom, bang. Cheerin'. New buncha cars… crash, boom, bang…"
"Yuh, I guess," Wynne said with a laugh. "Okay… what kinda Winston Cup races can ya offer a couple-a swell gals, then? It's gotta be som'tin awesome 'cos De-per-ty Mandy ain't really inta that there racin' deal."
"Well, I've been swappin' video tapes with a friend in Tennessee, and his latest batch had a couple-a real goodies among 'em. The Bristol night race from 'ninety-nine! Remember that?"
"Lawrdie, I sure do! You got that?"
"Yep! That's such a classic. Fast racin' and tons of great wreckin'!"
"Awrighty… y'all got yerself a deal, there, friend," Wynne said and reached over to thump Ernie's shoulder. "An' ya better make a whole buncha them there ribs 'cos they sure wus awesome the last time ya made 'em. Ooooh, an' don't ferget that there spe-shul hawt sawce o' yers, neithah!"
"Aw, ya don't hafta worry 'bout that, Wynne. I never run outta beer or home-made hot sauce!" Ernie said vehemently - and every word was true.
---
As they arrived at the Sheriff's Office, Wynne glanced inside but couldn't see Mandy anywhere. Two of the three Durangos were parked on Main Street next to Sheriff Rains' private Dodge Intrepid - that sported a brand new left-front fender after the old one had suffered a blast from a shotgun at Halloween - but it was impossible to figure out if Mandy had already left again.
"Durn… can't see mah sweet, li'l de-per-ty nowhere," Wynne mumbled as she craned her neck to look inside.
"Didn't ya say she brought in a D-U-I?"
"Yuh, she did. I mean, that's what she said ovah that there ray-dee-ohh, anyhows. Lawrdie, that's right… she gonn' be keepin' watch ovah yondah in them there holdin' cells," Wynne said and hurried away from the first set of windows so the sheriff wouldn't catch her peeping.
Reaching the next door down Main Street, Wynne looked up so she could be filmed by the security video camera installed above the upper doorjamb of the jail house - she remembered to take off her cowboy hat like any proper Cowpoke would. "Breaker one-nine, breaker one-nine, De-per-ty Mandy!" she said loudly to be heard through the reinforced door - and by the small microphone next to the camera. "This he' be the one an' only, the cute an' cuddly Wynne Donohue talkin'! Mah inten-shuns are as pure as silk bedsheets, but y'all better gimme a real thorough top-ta-bottom friskin' ta make sure I ain't he' ta bust out one o' them there prisonahs o' yers!"
"Holy shit, Wynne," Ernie croaked as a red tide rolled over his face. "I didn't need to hear that…"
"Uh… what?"
"That!"
A puzzled Wynne was about to ask a second time about the specifics when the door to the jail house opened to reveal one of the deputies. Unfortunately for all concerned, it wasn't Mandy Jalinski but Thomas 'Tom Thumb' Kincaid. The junior deputy sported a nasty ear-to-ear grin as he took in the sight of the tall, denim-clad woman in general and her shapely curves in particular. "We can certainly arrange a frisking, Miss Donohue. No problem," he said before his eyes finally met Wynne's.
In his mid-twenties, Thomas Kincaid was nobody's dream son-in-law. Over the summer, he had been transferred from Barton City where he had spent most of his time working in the archives at the police headquarters. The indoor post had left his pale-brown hair neat and his skin milky-pale and unblemished unlike most other people in the Sheriff's Department who had to go out on patrol regardless of a baking sun or driving rain. Being an archivist had also been the perfect career for the perennially work-shy 'Tom Thumb' who had earned his nickname by being an expert in dealing cards.
A sour expression fell over Wynne's face as she sent a strong, pale-blue glare at the young deputy. "I wus obvi'sly expectin' De-per-ty Mandy. Where she at?"
"Manly's out back, pissin'," Thomas said with a grin that only grew wider when he saw Wynne's sour expression from the use of the derogatory term.
"Not anymore," Mandy said as she came up to stand behind her fellow deputy. She ran a wet wipe across her fingers and hands but soon threw it into a trash can. Her expression was no less sour than Wynne's which provided a hint she had overheard at least parts of the conversation. "Thank you, Deputy Kincaid. I'll take it from here," she continued as she took her colleague's Mountie hat from the desk and handed it to him.
"Oh, I'm sure you will," Thomas said as he brushed between Wynne and Ernie to head outside and back to the office next door.
Even Ernie let out a mumbled "Rotten to the core, that creep sonovabitch…" before he reached up to pat Wynne's shoulder. "Don't let 'im getcha down, Wynne. He ain't right in the head," he continued in his regular voice.
"Yuh," Wynne growled as she tracked Deputy Kincaid walk into the sheriff's office just up Main Street. "That dirty mouth o' his gonn' get 'im in ass-deep trubbel one day… not that I'm advocatin' violence or nuttin'. But I'm tellin' ya, it's like that ancient Greek proverb thing. Can't remember them there dang words exactly, but this he' deal is jus' like that."
"Nemesis?" Mandy said from inside the jail house - but Wynne just shook her head.
"Nuh… that ain't it, De-per-ty Mandy…"
"What goes around always comes back to bite ya in the ass?" Ernie offered.
"Yuh, it's som'tin like that… yuh," Wynne said and pushed her cowboy hat back from her brow while thinking hard about what she was trying to convey. When it failed to come to her, she shrugged and forgot all about it.
Ernie nodded solemnly. "Anyhows, I think I hear a beer callin' my name. Catch ya tomorrow, yeah? At around five or so. Ribs and racin'. Can't beat that combination."
"Nosirree, ya sure can't! See ya tomorra, Ernie… drive safely an' don't be urinatin' in any o' them there alleys, ya hear?" Wynne said with a grin before she shook hands with her friend from the trailer park. Once Ernie had crossed Main Street, they waved at each other before he went into Moira's and Wynne entered the jail house.
-*-*-*-
"Naw. I mean yuh, I actually do 'member her from Moira's an' all, but… naw, I ain't got no clue 'bout her name or nuttin'. She wus jus' loiterin' around in the background cheerin' on them there folks on that there Cavanaugh Creek team… tho' I be thinkin' she ain't from there 'cos she sure don't look like any of 'em. She wussen one o' them playahs, that's a durn fact," Wynne said after she had pulled back from peeking into Holding Cell One where the unfortunate, bottle-blonde drunk driver was sprawled over the bunk bed fast asleep and snoring loudly.
"Too bad," Mandy said as she closed the inner door, locked it and gave the handle a twist to make sure it held. Grunting, she moved back to the metal desk and put the keys into a glass ashtray that had turned a sickly orange from years of exposure to tens of thousands of burning cigarettes. She cast a brief glance at the black-and-white television hooked up to the camera monitoring the holding cells before she sat down on the uncomfortable, rock-hard chair.
Wynne nodded as she strolled over to the same desk and rested her right cheek on the corner. The bag with her pool cues got in the way, so she swung it off her shoulder and leaned it against the desk. "Yuh," she said as she began to toy with a pile of paperwork. Mandy took it at once, tapped it into ruler-straight order and put it onto the desktop down at the other end where it was out of Wynne's reach - the action had been so natural that no words had been needed.
Chuckling, Wynne put her hands in her lap instead. "So, De-per-ty Mandy… whaddahell did y'all find in that there big, bad desert o' ours? Don't tell me our damn curse is about ta strike ag'in! Lawrdie, aliens an' ghosts an' zombie cannibals an' them there buhtt-ugly goblin-things…"
"Well, we found footprints from a large animal. A very large animal. A very, very large animal… that's what Jane Doe-"
"Buh… who?"
"The unknown lady in Holding Cell one," Mandy said and pointed her thumb at the locked inner door.
Wynne followed the finger and stared at the door for a while until the proverbial light bulb lit up above her head. "Oh… yuh, okay. Gotcha. G'wan, there, De-per-ty."
"She told me she had to evade a large animal. She thought it was a buffalo or possibly an escaped circus elephant or some such," Mandy said and leaned back on the hard chair. Its metal frame hadn't been built for anything but sitting upright, so she needed to move back to a ninety-degree angle before long. "And I heard something similar as well-"
"Lawwwwr-die! When?!"
"Just prior to racing back here! Heavy breathing and thumping footfalls. There was definitely something out there. My flashlight wasn't strong enough to pick it up… and I'm not sure I would have wanted to either."
Wynne let out a dark grunt while she shook her head. Taking off her beloved cowboy hat, she wiped her brow on her jacket's sleeve before the battered piece of headwear was planted firmly on her locks once more. "Snakes Alive, ya'd think we wus stuck in one o' them there crittah fittahs on that there crapola Schlock Channel. Y'all remember them there crooks who robbed us blind?"
"Oh, I remember," Mandy said and briefly locked eyes with her partner. "Especially when the next installment of the attorney's fee is due. Nine damn years later, and we're still paying for being so damn naïve."
"Yuh. They sure wus a buncha cutthroats, awright…" Wynne said and wiped her nose. She and Mandy had been approached by several interested parties working for various film studios after their encounter with the white aliens from outer space. The kind of money mentioned for being listed among the producers of what would undoubtedly be a sensational, ten-star summer blockbuster of a movie were intoxicating and had made them throw all common sense to the wind.
When the film had premiered on the Schlock Channel a year later, it had turned out to be a bottom-of-the-barrel grade-Z monster flick that had contained next to nothing of their original story. It may have featured hammy actors and stinky-cheese special effects, but it certainly never made any bread - and Wynne and Mandy were left holding the proverbial bag when their contacts at the studio brushed them off by pointing to the fine print. "Yuh…" Wynne said again as she shifted around on the table.
Before she could go on, the jail house's outer door was unlocked and swung open. A pair of identical grunts were released simultaneously as Artie Rains and Wynne Donohue found themselves staring at each other.
"Donohue!" the sheriff barked. His angry eyes only grew angrier at the sight of the denim-clad woman, and it was underscored by the force he applied to slamming the front door shut behind him. "This ain't no Goddamned warming shelter! You can't be in here unless you're under arrest… wait! Please tell me you finally did something stupid enough to get yourself arrested!"
"Naw, Sheriff," Wynne mumbled. "Jus' a social call 's all."
Artie Rains stepped closer to the woman who was a few inches shorter than he. His powerful presence didn't make her shy back like so many others in Goldsboro and the surrounding countryside, but it didn't stop him from invading her personal space. When he sniffed the air around her and found plenty of evidence of heavy consumption of beer, he broke out in an evil grin. "Or perhaps you have. Deputy Jalinski, I want you to perform a breath analysis of Miss Numbskull here. Oh, I'm sorry… Donohue."
Mandy's lips had been reduced to narrow lines in her face as she reached into the desk's upper drawer and found an analysis kit. The sterile tool was soon unwrapped and readied for use. Getting up, she moved over to her sweetheart. "Wynne, you're to blow into this reed. See it?" she managed to say though her jaw was set in stone.
"Yup. Ah see it, awright."
"Blow hard-" - Mandy squinted at the sheriff who hadn't picked up the jibe - "until this LED changes from red to green. The subsequent analysis will determine the level of alcohol in your system. Do you understand what you need to do?"
"Ah sure do, De-per-ty Mandy. Jus' blow inta that there li'l thing… but Sheriff Rains… lissen… this ain't gonn'-"
Artie Rains held up his hands at once like he didn't want another word out of the tall woman. "Shut up and do the test, Dumb-ahue!" he said in a growl.
"Yuh, Sheriff," Wynne said and put the reed between her lips after taking a deep breath. The force of the exhale soon made the LED change to green - the test was done.
Wynne and Mandy shared a brief look; they both knew from several experiments they had conducted in private that even after drinking an entire crate of H.E. Fenwyck Double Zeros, the reading would come back negative or at least well within the limit. That was the case in the present test as well, and it left Sheriff Rains with a severe case of the grumbles.
"All right," he said as he wrapped his fingers around Wynne's upper arm and gave her a strong shove toward the front door. "I don't know how the hell you did that-"
" 'Cos I ain't had nuttin' but them there Double-Zeros-"
"Shut up! I'll let you know when you can talk! Get the hell outta here! Now!" he roared while he pointed at the door.
"Yuh, yuh, Sheriff… I ain't deaf," Wynne said, briefly shuffling back to the watch desk to retrieve her bag with the pool cues - the sheriff didn't look too pleased with the short delay. Once the cues were back in Wynne's hands, she shuffled out of the door and onto the sidewalk.
"No, you ain't deaf… you're just a Goddamned moron!" Artie Rains barked before he slammed the door shut and spun around to face Mandy. "And Jalinski, I just had the team leader of the technicians on the horn, and he fed me the same bullshit you and Gonzalez did regarding those Goddamned footprints! You and the rest of the deputies are working twenty-four hour shifts from now on until all this crap has been resolved. And that's not up for debate!"
"Yes, Sheriff," Mandy said, but she was speaking to an empty spot on the floor as the irate sheriff had already left the jail house to stomp back to the office itself. Sighing, she sat down on the chair with a bump and promptly rubbed her face. She only looked up when she heard someone tapping on the plate glass windows.
Outside, Wynne waved and offered her partner a few kissies that were reciprocated in kind; then she strolled back to her old truck to drive home to the trailer park and their two dogs - despite not winning the pool tournament after all, her work in Goldsboro was over and done with for another day.
-*-*-*-
Several hours later - 01:32 AM.
Wynne rolled over onto her back and cracked open an eyelid. The first glance confirmed the trailer's bedroom area was still dark so it couldn't be anywhere near the time to get up. The eyelid in question was soon slipping shut again, but not for long as an odd sound intruded on the nocturnal serenity.
"Mandy? Zat you?" she whispered into the darkness without getting an answer.
When nothing happened, she reached over the empty side of the queen-sized bed to find and press the small button on their alarm clock. Once she had read the time, she settled down again in the hope of returning to the nice dream she had left behind.
She was but an even breath away from entering a dreamy state when the sound that had initially alerted her returned once more. "Whaddindahell is that…?" she said into thin air. Sitting up, she rubbed her face and pulled her loose hair away from her ears to hear better. "Sounds jus' like one o' them there hawt air balloons me an' Mandy saw at the autumn fair… naw, can't be. Do them things even fly at night? Naw… or… mebbe… naw."
Blackie and Goldie shared a large doggy-basket out in the narrow hallway like they always did, but the strange sound didn't appear to come from either the black German Shepherd or the golden-furred Golden Retriever.
Wynne's eyes slipped shut once more even while she was sitting up in bed. Her breathing evened out all over again, but this time, it was joined by another wheezing breath that could only come from a large animal.
"Breathin'… somebodda's breathin'… hev-vy breathin'," Wynne mumbled, caught in the fuzzy zone between being fully awake and fully asleep. When she realized what she had said, her eyes popped wide open and she clutched the duvet around her. She whipped her head around to look out of the three windows in the bedroom-end of the trailer, but she had drawn all three curtains when she had gone to bed.
"Snakes Alive… De-per-ty Mandy said som'tin 'bout hev-vy breathin'… Ah don't bah-lieve mah rotten luck… sonovabitch!" she croaked as she threw the duvet aside and put her bare feet down on the Native American rug that graced their bedroom floor. One sock was put on in a hurry, but the other had apparently packed its bags and moved south to New Mexico because it was nowhere to be found.
When the heavy breathing was repeated somewhere close, Wynne decided to call off the search for the missing sock with a growled "Ya no-good sonova-dirty-skunk!"
Instead, she jumped to her feet - frantically pulling her shorts up and her denim-lookalike cotton sleeping T-shirt down so the chill wouldn't go where it had no right to be - and ran over to the nearest window. The curtains were soon pulled aside, but the desert beyond it was pitch-black so the operation garnered little success.
She tried to stare out into the darkness for a moment or two before she gave up and went for plan B: her binoculars that were equipped with a night scope. She had wanted to pawn off the advanced instrument several times since she rarely had any use for it, but Mandy had always advised her against doing so. Thus, it remained stored away in a cardboard box atop one of the cabinets in the kitchenette.
To get to it, she needed the metal stepladder. After performing a one-socked, two-legged jump over Blackie and Goldie's doggy-basket, she set up the ladder and climbed up onto the ice-cold top step. The cardboard box was soon retrieved - not to mention blown clear of dust and cobwebs - and the valuable binoculars were pulled out.
By now, Blackie had woken up from her own beauty sleep. Moving her black head to get an impression of what was going on, she let out a puzzled Woof-Woof? at her owner. The gentle woof'ing made Goldie stir as well, and the golden scaredy-cat responded with a very typical whimper.
"We got company… there's som'tin out yondah, girls. Somehow I getta feelin' it ain't he' fer Ernie's Tex Mex ribs or his awesome hawt sawce," Wynne said without lowering the binoculars. She had found a good vantage point to see a wide stretch of the desert, and she swept the night-scope from right to left to pick up as much as she could. Everything was bathed in shades of green as the scope was able to turn night into simulated day.
Her trailer had been the first to be put up at the site, so she had the best view of the desert of all six mobile homes. The front porch she had built with her own hands was a frequent witness to spectacular sunrises, and she and Mandy had spent many a glorious summer morning out there just celebrating Mother Nature and each other. That the porch was so crooked they couldn't leave a full pitcher of lemonade - or beer - on its own or else it would spill over was another story entirely.
Wynne shook her head when all she was able to see was plenty of nothing. "I can hear that sombitch breathin' but I don't see nuttin'… gives me the dag-nabbin' creeps, I'm tellin' ya! Y'all may not know this, gals, but I sure ain't good with no large animals… nosirree. Lawrdie, I done fell off a horse once when I wus but knee-high ta a Pontiac an' then the darn thing done trampled me! Yuh… mah ass wus sore fer a week aftahwards. I be thinkin' that's where it comes fr-"
She stopped speaking from one syllable to the next when the night scope picked up a very large object some ninety-five yards east of her trailer - and she could tell the exact distance because it was projected onto the image by the scope's advanced electronics. Goldie whimpered but Blackie let out an impatient Woof? Woof-woof-woof! that either meant she wanted to hear the rest of the story or that she had heard enough already.
Wynne's jaw slipped down until it hung loose, and she forgot all about blinking as she took in the outrageous sight. When she tried to speak, all she could produce was a comical croak that made Blackie Woof? at her all over again.
"Ho… ly… shhhh- itttt!" she finally exclaimed as she stared through the night scope at the unusual sight of a forty-foot tall beast with clear humanoid features: its muscular torso, trunk-like limbs and large hands appeared near-human in origin, but the shape of the skull and several details around the face - like a heavy brow, deep-set eyes, a pronounced jaw and a terrifying set of large, pointy tusks in its mouth - seemed to suggest some kind of cross-over with the animal kingdom.
The beast had no fur or indeed hair of any kind save for a dark patch at the juncture of its legs and a pair of patches in its armpits. It walked erect though perhaps slightly hunched-over; the muscular arms were longer than usual and ended in large fists that were only a couple of feet off the ground.
"Holy shittttt! Wouldya look at that dang-blasted crittah ovah yondah!" Wynne exclaimed all over again when the night scope picked up further details. She was unable to discern the beast's real color because of the green tinge added by the advanced electronics, but her gut told her the big thing was held in a well-camouflaged mix of dark grays and shades of brown.
She needed to put down the expensive instrument in order to rub her eyes just in case she was hallucinating. When she resumed staring into the desert night that had been artificially illuminated by the scope, she could only shake her head in awe of the unusual sight. "Mercy Sakes… that ain't good… Lawwwwr-die, that ain't good at all… nosirree!"
By now, Blackie jumped up and down while barking her head off like she always did whenever there were monsters in the vicinity to chase and chew on. She was able to get her paws up onto the windowsill and immediately began to nudge her owner like she was begging to be let out.
"Nuh-uh, Blackie! Nuh-uh! Down, Blackie… down, girl!" Wynne said as she struggled to hold back her beloved guard dog. "Ya ain't gonn' be goin' nowhere this time! Blackie, this he' crittah is outta yer league! Hell, it's way outta mah league… awright, so that ain't sayin' much… but anyhows!"
Blackie continued to bark until she had maneuvered herself sufficiently onto the windowsill to look out - then she stopped to stare with a great deal of puzzlement etched onto her doggy features.
"Yuh! I tole ya so, Blackie! I done tole ya so," Wynne said and pulled the black dog back down onto the bed so the hairless creature outside wouldn't get any bright ideas like using either of them as a toothpick. "Naw, I gotta call that there cavalry… gotta call mah sweet, li'l De-per-ty Mandy," she continued as she began looking around for her telephone.
The futile search ate up three minutes of precious time before she remembered that she had left it in the charger in the living area. When the power had disappeared earlier in the evening, her neighbor Diego Benitez had fired up his old diesel generator which could easily be set up to provide juice for the entire six-home-strong community out there in the trailer park.
Mumbling, grumbling, cursing and swearing in an increasingly loud fashion about where she kept her head sometimes, she padded in there on a sock and a bare foot and took the telephone off the arm of the sofa where she had left it - the charging cable was too short for most of the other power sockets.
"Ohhhh, Mandy… please have yer phone on… please have yer phone on…" she said in a mumble as she hurried back into the bedroom. Crawling onto the queen-sized bed, she picked up the night scope binoculars to see if she could figure out what the somewhat over-sized trespasser was intending to do now it had found a settlement to play in. The big, hairless thing just stood there breathing like it couldn't make up its mind on what - or who - to eat next.
'Hi, honey-'
"Mandy! Hoah-brothah, Ah'm so glad Ah caught'cha!" Wynne cried and slapped a hand across her eyes in relief. "We's got ourselves a dang-blasted situa-shun out he', Ah'm tellin' ya! A one-helluva-insane situa-shun! Ah'm starin' out at a forty-foot garillah-beast kinda crittah. It's butt-ugly, too! The durn thing is a hairless garillah… an' its entire package is jus' danglin' there! Ah mean, it makes mah gut churn like Ah be reddy ta spew green! Can ya bah-lieve that? A hairless garillah! Whaddindahell is goin' on with all these he' weird, weird deals these days…?"
'A gorilla…?'
"Yuh-huh! A forty-foot hairless boy garillah! An' I know fer dang sure it's a boy 'cos, dag-nabbit, it ain't even wearin' no jockstrap or diaper or loincloth or nuttin' like them there chimps did in the ol' Tarzan movies on tee-vee! It ain't no perdy sight, De-per-ty Mandy… it sure as stink on shoot ain't no perdy sight!"
'Wynne, you're not making any sense!'
"Dat's 'cos there's a dang-blasted forty-foot nekkid garillah standin' in our back yard lookin' reddy ta eithah take a massive dump or head home ta momma fer a buncha human pancakes and a cuppa hot lard!" Wynne cried as she threw her free hand into the air.
A series of fumbles were heard through the connection before a new, and far less comforting, voice cut through the hiss: 'Donohue! If you disturb Deputy Jalinski just once more tonight, I swear on President Reagan's grave I'm gonna come out to ya and make sure ya keep silent from now on! Do you understand what'm talkin' about?!'
"But Sheriff, there's a giganto garillah-"
'Shut up! Do you understand what I'm tellin' ya, vaporhead?'
"Yuh, Sheriff… yuh, Ah do…"
'Good! Now stop callin'!'
"Yuh, but-" Wynne's protest was to no avail since Sheriff Rains had already terminated the call from the other end. She stared at the dead telephone for a brief moment before she threw it down onto the bed. "Lawrdie, I ain't sure I like that fella… an' how da'hell are we saposed ta deal with that there crittah ovah yondah on our own?" she mumbled under her breath; then she looked out at their visitor once more while Goldie whimpered and Blackie let out an annoyed Woof…
-*-*-*-
The mood was about sixty degrees below zero inside the sheriff's office in Goldsboro despite the abundance of lit candles that did their best to add a little homeliness to the proceedings. Artie Rains had ordered Deputy Kincaid back to the jail house to watch the detainee; that way, the sheriff would be able to keep a strict eye on Mandy Jalinski in case of further calls from her better half.
The large man sat at the watch desk going through some of the paperwork. Now and then, he squinted over to Mandy who was busy at the other desk. As always, the smaller of the two metal desks had been buried under vast piles of case files and assorted other works meant for the filing cabinets. He had ordered her to clean up the mess, and - much to his annoyance - she had proceeded to do just that with her regular efficiency and professionalism.
'Deputy Simms to base. Deputy Simms to base,' Barry Simms' voice said from the battery-operated radio set that Artie Rains had moved over to the watch desk so he didn't have to move his hefty bulk too far when a call came. The request was followed by a hacking cough before the deputy could release the key.
Mandy momentarily stopped working as she watched the sheriff pick up the radio mic and twiddle with a knob to get the sound clearer; she was soon back tapping a stack of papers into order before she put it into the appropriate drawer in one of the filing cabinets.
"This is Sheriff Rains. Go ahead," the sheriff said as he leaned back on the swivel-chair at the watch desk - the first thing he had done after taking over watch duties was to throw the uncomfortable chair into the back room and find a new, old chair in their storage. It didn't match his wide rear perfectly, but it was a far better fit than the rock-hard seating arrangements that had been there before.
'Sheriff, NorPower is almost done cleaning up the electrical debris. The team leader tells me the power won't be restored until they can get a mobile crane out here to put up a brand new pylon. That won't happen until tomorrow at noon at the earliest, over.'
"Son of a bitch!" Artie Rains barked before he keyed the mic: "Very well, Deputy. Get back here as soon as the technicians are done. I still need to have a word with you. Over."
'Sheriff, ah… perhaps it would be wisest-'
"I want you back here, Simms! Don't argue with me!"
A short crackle of static was heard before Barry said: 'Yes, Sheriff,' in a downcast voice; as always, it was followed by a hacking cough before he let go of the transmit key.
"Good. Base out," Rains said before he put the mic back onto the radio set. His angry eyes squinted over at Mandy who continued to go about her business. When he couldn't find anything to complain about there, either, he let out a dark grunt and focused on the paperwork.
---
Half an hour later, Rodolfo Gonzalez came into the office and took off his Mountie hat. Sighing, he scratched his slicked-back hair that had become severely untamed after the assignment he had just finished. His usually so pristine uniform sported several dark stains, and hay of varying length had become stuck in the oddest of places. "Deputy Gonzalez reporting back, Sheriff. Mort and Evie Fredericksen's chicken coup is full once more. The electrical fence had failed and their generator-"
"Get yourself cleaned up, Deputy," Artie Rains said in a surly fashion after shooting the young man a brief glare. "You look like a Goddamned hobo. I don't want any of my deputies to meet the citizens looking like that."
"Yes, Sheriff. I'll get to it at once," Rodolfo said while he and Mandy briefly locked eyes. They sent each other a silent message of support before the younger of the two deputies moved through the office to get to the shower facilities at the back.
---
Another short half hour went by with no activity. The sheriff used the lull to rest his eyes at the watch desk while a portable gas burner was going full blast to make a potful of coffee the old-fashioned way - the three officers present needed all the help they could get to keep going for the rest of the night. Barry Simms had yet to return, and Rodolfo and Mandy couldn't fault him for that since they had both been on the receiving end of enough of Artie Rains' so-called 'words' to know they were no fun at all.
Moira MacKay had been by with a few sandwiches that threatened to go bad with no power to keep the refrigerators running, so the watch desk was home to several spent napkins as well as bread crumbs and spilled globs of sour cream and other types of seasoning sauce - the latter also graced the sheriff's uniform despite the strict dress code that carried his name on the dotted line.
The piles of old case files on the second desk had been reduced dramatically by Mandy's hard work. A great deal of those remaining needed the sheriff's signature to be fully closed, but she couldn't work up the enthusiasm needed to stir the angry man awake. Instead, she looked over at a squeaky-clean Rodolfo who stood by the gas burner holding an empty mug for whenever the coffee was ready.
Nodding to each other, they both left the main office and went into the crew room at the back. "I'm worried about Wynne," Mandy said quietly so the sheriff couldn't eavesdrop in case he woke up. "She called me about an hour ago saying there was a huge animal close to the trailers. She called it a gorilla… a hairless gorilla… but that sounds too crazy. You know how Wynne can be."
"Yeah. So…?"
"So Rains caught wind of it and went ballistic. She hasn't called back since. I need to know if she's all right, but I can't call her with the sheriff yanking my leash the whole damn time. I need you to do it."
"Oh, sure! Sure… I'll do that right away. Hey… I got an idea!" Rodolfo said and moved even closer to Mandy so he didn't have to speak louder than a whisper: "I know a real doll, Dolores de la Vega, who works on the Circle X cattle ranch a few miles south of where you guys live. She's a livestock trader and she's recently moved into a separate home on the southern pasture to be close to the action at all times. She's a… well… night owl, so I'll bet she's still up. Hmmm…"
"Well, that's neat for you, but I'm not sure I see where you're going with that?"
"Hold on… hmmm… hmmm… okay… okay, got it!" Rodolfo said while his expression changed from deep thought to a grin. He briefly looked at the closed door to the main office before he returned to Mandy: "I'll call her and ask her to call the sheriff and report a trespasser… and make sure he understands she's an Article F so it needs to be a female deputy. Even Rains can't ignore that so he'll send you."
Mandy rubbed her mouth as she considered the implications; a grunt escaped her before she furrowed her brow and shook her head. "Is your friend an Article F?"
"Oh, no."
"The women protected by Article F are survivors of rape or domestic abuse. There's no way in hell I want to use that as part of a charade, regardless of the intentions."
"Well, okay… you're right," Rodolfo said and performed a one-shouldered shrug. "That was out of line. I'm sorry."
"Even beyond that, filing a false report is dead-against the law. She'd only get in trouble with her employers… and we'd be lying through our teeth to the sheriff. That's a career-ending stunt right there for all concerned."
"True. But you'd be able to drive home and check up on Wynne."
"Yeah. Dammit, if only Artie Rains wasn't so pig-headed…" Mandy fell quiet while she went through all the possible scenarios - good and bad. Ultimately, she broke out in a resigned nod. "All right. Call your lady friend. Ask her to cook up a story… but not the Article F thing. That's where I draw the line."
Rodolfo grunted affirmatively as he reached into his pants pocket to find his personal telephone. "Will do. Dolores is real clever… she'll think of something."
While Mandy's fellow deputy found the number and made the call, she let out a long, deep sigh. "Lie or no lie, Wynne is more important to me than my star," she mumbled to herself while Rodolfo spoke Spanish to his acquaintance.
-*-*-*-
Ten minutes later, Mandy raced southbound on the State Route on her way home - she had the Durango going at nearly one-hundred miles per hour while the countless emergency lights flashed to warn others of the fast-moving vehicle.
Sheriff Rains had mouthed plenty of profanity, racial slurs and misogynistic putdowns as a very convincing Dolores de la Vega had delivered an Oscar-winning performance over the telephone. Angry to begin with, the sheriff had grown white-hot around the edges and had sent Mandy on her way with a direct order to inform the hysterical woman to attend a few classes in English so people could understand her - though he had used fewer words than that. That Dolores was the top livestock trader in all of the cattle-heavy MacLean County, and that she spoke four languages fluently never seemed to get into Rains' somewhat thick skull.
There were only eight miles between the southern end of Goldsboro and the trailer park, so it didn't take long before Mandy drove off the two-lane blacktop and moved onto the dusty trail that ran the final stretch to the mobile homes.
The speed had been far too high for her to use her telephone while driving, and now that she had arrived, there wasn't any point. The downside to returning home without having heard from Wynne was that she had no idea what to expect. Her body responded to the potential crisis by shooting a solid dose of adrenaline into her system that heightened her senses and made her heart rate pick up.
After the Durango had come to a rocking halt in the central area between the six trailers, she quickly turned off the emergency lights and jumped out. Wynne's old Chevrolet truck was sitting where she always left it; the hood was cold indicating it had been a while since it had been driven.
Mandy moved away from Wynne's truck and drew her service firearm from its holster. Holding it in the regulatory two-handed grip, she performed a full turn to check out her surroundings.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for a distinct stench of animal feces in the air. It seemed to come from the desert itself, but it might have originated closer to the trailers. She wasn't sure, and she didn't particularly feel like extending her search to look for fresh dung heaps.
The trailers were mostly dark as they would be at that time of the night. Dark, but not quiet, as the diesel generator at Diego Benitez' trailer chugged away like an old fishing cutter to keep the power going. The only lights seen were a naked bulb over the door to Zoltan Petrusco's place and a faint, orange hue that shone from one of the rooms in the trailer belonging to Frank and Estelle Tooley. Mandy knew from spending many a Sunday afternoon with the Tooleys that it came from a night light where their youngest daughter Renee slept.
She moved ahead in a slow, deliberate fashion while forcing herself to breathe evenly. Her pistol was carefully aligned with her line of sight so she would be able to respond quickly in case it came down to a firefight against an unknown opponent. Gravel crunched under her boots as she slowly moved around the perimeter of the trailer she shared with Wynne and their two dogs.
A sound reached her ears that made her freeze in place: a muted growl. It had sounded like it came from a far smaller animal than a forty-foot gorilla - or whatever it was that roamed the desert - but even a charging coyote could cause plenty of painful damage.
When the sound was repeated a scant ten seconds later, Mandy had to let out a relieved chuckle. The growls had been produced by Blackie, and it had sounded like the feisty German Shepherd was most upset with something.
The last few steps over to the front door of the trailer she and Wynne shared were carried out with just as much care and caution as the first part. She had worn a uniform long enough to know that the most dangerous situations always arose when the police officer or deputy sheriff in question had let down their guard thinking they were home free.
Moving backward up to the front door so her pistol could cover the open terrain beyond the trailers, she let out a mumbled curse at the crookedness of the wooden step that nearly made her lose her balance. The screen door was soon opened to allow access to the inner door. It was locked, but she had her keys ready so it was quickly dealt with.
Mandy stepped into the narrow corridor and noticed at once the doggy-basket where Blackie and Goldie usually slept was empty. The door to the bedroom was closed, and the living room off to the right was dark. "Wynne?" she said quietly without lowering her pistol. "Wynne? It's me…" she said in a voice that was a little stronger to be heard through the closed door.
Fumbles and scrapes from the bedroom area offered a clue as to the whereabouts of the residents - and all doubts were swept away when a 'Lawwwr-die! De-per-ty Mandy! Mercy Sakes, Ah sure be glad yer he'!'
Two seconds later, the bedroom door was flung open, and Wynne, Blackie and Goldie flew out into the narrow corridor. "Mah sweet, li'l De-per-ty!" Wynne cried as she wrapped her long arms around her partner's compact, athletic body. Down below, the two yapping dogs zipped around in blurry circles while their tails wagged so hard it was a miracle they didn't act like rotors and made the canines take off.
"Whoa! Gun… gun, Wynne!" Mandy said into Wynne's cotton sleeping T-shirt while she tried to re-holster her firearm. The task was accomplished when Wynne took a brief step back, but full-body contact was established once more as soon as the deadly weapon had been put away - a deep, sizzling-hot kiss fueled by equal parts fright and relief was in order and duly delivered.
"Lawrdie, this he' cah-razy deal out-weirds everythin' we evah been part of!" Wynne croaked when they finally pulled apart. "I wussen lyin' ovah the phone, De-per-ty Mandy… there really wus a dang-blasted forty-foot nekkid garillah right ovah yondah… 'bout a hundred yards inta the desert. Saw it in the night scope! Yessirree, that there thing wus the ugliest sombitch I ever clapped mah eyeballs on, an' that includes them there rottin' zombie cannibals an' dear, ol' Artie Rains!"
"Wynne…"
"Naw! Naw, De-per-ty, I ain't lyin'! An' I sure ain't drunk, neither," Wynne said and shook her head vehemently. "I'll say it real slow-like so y'all know I be tellin' the truth… forty-foot… nekkid… boy… garillah. Cross mah heart hope ta get zapped by a lightnin' bolt! I dang-near puked at the sight o' his-"
"All right, all right… you've convinced me," Mandy said and put up her hands in the age-old gesture known as Stop. "Is it still out there?"
"Naw, it done took a hike 'bout ten minutes ago."
"Dammit!"
"Whaddaya mean, 'dammit' ? I sure be countin' mah lucky stars that there giganto sombitch ain't he' ta crap on our parade! I sapose the darn thing got tired o' stompin' around. That's all it evah did while it wus he'… stompin' an' breathin' an' stompin' an' breathin'. Aw-yeah, an' it did som'tin over behind Ernie's trailah, but I coudden see what it wus an' I sure as shit wussen about ta go out there an' ask!"
"We'll need to chase it down before it gets too far. Maybe take it out if we have to."
Wynne just stood there with her mouth agape and her eyes caught in a somewhat comical stare where the left one was wide open and the right partly closed. Even Blackie responded with a prolonged Wooooof? "Y'all gotta be shittin' me…" she croaked after several seconds of shock-induced silence. "Y'all have ab-ser-lutely gotta be shittin' me, De-per-ty… it's a forty-foot nekkid garillah! Ya wanna clue me in as ta how ya expect us to take out a forty-foot-"
"Wynne, it bit apart a power pylon!"
"So?!"
"So who knows what it'll be up to next. At some point, it might get a taste for human flesh. We can't allow that to happen!"
"Well, obvi'sly not…" Wynne said while she scratched her cheek. Down on the carpet, Blackie let out a concerned Woof-woof while Goldie whimpered some more - they were clearly thinking about being put on the menu.
"We'll find a way," Mandy said before she pulled the taller Wynne down toward her to place a modest peck on her lips. "I'm glad you and the girls are safe. I was really worried about you."
"Awwww, gee golly whiz, there, De-per-ty Mandy… we wus nevah in any real dangah, but it sure wussen the funniest bizz I evah been involved in-"
"I can imagine. Get dressed. We've got work to do."
Another few seconds went by where Wynne could only stare at the shorter woman in her arms. "Ya wussen abducted by a buncha them there evil space aliens on yer way back an' replaced by one o' them there pod people, wus ya? 'Cos… Mandy… that darn crittah out there is a forty-foot… ya ain't lissenin'."
"I'm listening. And I'm also drawing battle plans," Mandy said in a steely tone to which Wynne could only reply:
"Lawwwwwr-die…"
At least Blackie seemed enthusiastic about the upcoming mission - the black dog Woof-woof'ed with great gusto while her tail slammed down onto the carpet in eager anticipation. Goldie just whimpered and buried her golden head in her companion's fur.
-*-*-*-
A short time later, an unusual hunting party consisting of a German Shepherd, a Golden Retriever, a flashlight-wielding, denim-clad woman in cowboy boots and a battered hat, and finally a heavily armed deputy sheriff trekked through the night-time desert on the prowl for something unfathomable.
The two women and their canine companions followed an oft-used trail for a short mile until it ended and turned into proper wilderness. The change in scenery didn't create more than a slight obstacle for the intrepid adventurers who carried on toward the unknown. At least the winds had died down - the constant breeze that had been blowing for more than three days had at long last found greener pastures elsewhere.
"Ah can't bah-lieve ya didden wanna gimme one o' them there scatterguhns," Wynne mumbled as she held out her EverReady flashlight so they could see where they were going. "An' I even asked real nice an' all. But nooo, them there scatterguhns be oh-so-dain-gerous-"
"Are you going to moan about that all night, Wynne?" Mandy said while she held one of the police-issue Mossberg pump-action shotguns over the arm in the proper position for carrying.
"Ya durn tootin' Ah am!"
"Your shotgun permit had expired. As an officer of the law, I can't risk giving someone without a valid permit a firearm. The paperwork alone would be murder."
"I coudden afford ta renew the darn thing… hell, I coudden even afford the gas so I could drive ta the county courthouse up in that there Barton City ta get it done!" Wynne mumbled as she kicked a pebble taking up space where she wanted to go. The small rock went flying until it hit a larger one with a crack not too far away.
"If I recall correctly, I offered to pay for it."
"An' like I said at the time, De-per-ty… there ain't no way… no way I'mma-gonna let somebodda else pay mah dues. Nosirree."
Goldie could sense the downcast mood of her denim-clad owner, so she offered the proud woman a few merry yaps and a sideways nudge to cheer her up - it worked as Wynne leaned down to give the golden fur a little rubbing.
---
Mandy had put four spare clips and two handfuls of twelve-gauge shells into various pockets to have plenty of firepower for the Mossberg shotgun and her regular service firearm if the situation called for it. She carried Wynne's night scope binoculars around her neck, and she had attached a spare police-issue flashlight to the side of the Mossberg by way of a strong magnet. It was meant to be used alongside Wynne's, but with the other flashlight going so well, there was no need to have both running at the same time - having the spare one turned off would also save the batteries in case they needed to spend the entire night in the desert.
"Ain't nuttin' out he', dag-nabbit," Wynne said as the cone of her EverReady shone onto the bleak desert floor. "That durn crittah prolly went up to that there Thundah Park Raceway ta get a ring-side seat fer them there cool folks an' their travelin' demoli-shun derby. They gonn' be performin' tomorra at noon. No, they ain't… tomorra is taday! Aw, dang-blasted… we gonn' miss it!"
"Wynne…"
"Lawrdie, I can almost taste them there awesome popcorn they make… an' also mebbe a Double Zero or two or three… or mebbe, mebbe, mebbe even one o' them there reg'lar beers. Mercy Sakes, I sure could drink a Fenwyck Dark Lagah right 'bout now. I thought them dark lagahs wus like that there bittah imported beer I tried last year. Remember that, De-per-ty? The one in the black can? Good shit almi'ty, I hadda pour the last half o' the can down the drain 'cos it wus so awful an' all, an' that don't happen often, nosirree! But Ernie introduced me ta them there Fenwyck Dark Lagahs, an' it wussen bittah at all. I guess-"
"Wynne… please. We're trying to listen for this mythical beast of yours, remember?" Mandy said, breaking into the soliloquy at the first opportunity.
"Yuh, okay… I sapose…"
They moved on in silence for a short minute before Mandy added: "And remind me to have a word with Mr. Bradberry when things are back to normal."
"Uh… will do, De-per-ty," Wynne said and adjusted her old cowboy hat to cover for a rare bout of embarrassment.
---
"Dammit," Mandy said a quarter of an hour later. The small group of monster hunters came to a halt so the deputy sheriff could scan their surroundings using the night scope. After performing a full turn to sweep the entire horizon, she let out a frustrated breath and came to the conclusion that: "There isn't a damn thing out there."
"Now, I do bah-lieve I jus' said that not so awf-ly long ago, there, De-per-ty…" Wynne said and pushed her cowboy hat back from her forehead. The night was chilly out there in the middle of nowhere, so she pulled up the jacket's wool-lined collar to make it cover her neck a little better.
"Yeah. You did," Mandy said before she checked out the night scope once more - the results were just as disappointing as the first sweep. "Where the hell could it have gone? We haven't even seen any footprints!"
Blackie and Goldie grew impatient and began to play around with each other while their owners did nothing. The two dogs ran around in wide circles pretending to chase the other just to stay warm now the hunt had fizzled out.
"Mebbe it went home? Mebbe it's livin' in one o' them there caverns in them there rock forma-shuns… ya know? Ovah by Maynard Canyon…"
"Could be."
"How far 'r we from the canyon, anyhows?"
"About four or five miles," Mandy said and let out another sigh. "No. This isn't getting us anywhere. Let's turn back-"
"Lawwwr-die! I thought ya wus nevah gonn' say that! Get reddy, bedsheets, 'cos mah buhtt's comin' straight atcha!" Wynne said and punched the air in delight.
"-so we can take the Durango. We can cover much more ground in that," Mandy continued like she hadn't heard Wynne at all. Blackie caught on at once and let out a entire sequence of happy barks - it sounded like the monster bash was back in full swing.
While Mandy finished speaking, Wynne came to a complete standstill like someone had accidentally flicked her off-switch. Her mouth was open, she didn't blink and she still had an arm pointed straight up after the victorious punch. The arm slowly fell down and the rest of her features soon followed. "Come again? Ya gotta be shittin' me, De-per-ty… Mista Nekkid Garillah ain't he' no mo'! It's durn cold an' Ah'm freezin' mah patootie off! An' it's in the middle o' the dang-blasted night! Y'all know how grumpy Ah get if Ah don't get mah seven hours o' beauty sleep!"
"You don't have to come along, Wynne," Mandy said as she turned around and began the long trek back to their trailer.
"Yuh, right!" Wynne said and gave another pebble such a hard kick it flew off to God knows where. "Like I'mma-gonn' let yer outta mah sight while y'all an' them there dawggies o' ours go off chasin' a hairless, nekkid garillah… yuh, right!"
---
"I ain't sure I be likin' mah life right 'bout now…" Wynne said in a surly tone some time later. She and Mandy sat on the Dodge Durango's front seats while their two dogs occupied the rear. They were all shaken and stirred as the four-wheel-drive SUV performed a perpetual rocking and rolling motion on its way across the uneven terrain. All four windows had been rolled down so they could continue to listen for the beast's footfalls and heavy breathing - to compensate for the chill that snuck in, the heater ran at full blast.
Mandy had learned her lesson the first time and had chosen the Durango that was equipped with the newly-installed searchlights on the roof when she had left the Sheriff's Office. The powerful LED arrays lit up a large part of the desert floor ahead of them, and she was able to rotate the lights by manipulating a joystick next to the steering wheel.
Even so, their search had yielded nothing. Wynne grumbled, Goldie whimpered and Blackie woof'ed impatiently as the Durango strode steadily across the peaks, planes and hollows of the sandy, rocky landscape like a boat caught in choppy seas. Mandy was too preoccupied steering and listening to join the others in their disharmonic concert. A particularly steep hill needed her undivided attention so she let go of the joystick to put both hands on the steering wheel.
It made the searchlights swing around on their own. As the lights went on a lazy, unguided tour of the scenery, they picked up a somewhat large figure sitting on the ground near a hollow no more than thirty yards from the police vehicle. The brown-and-gray creature let out a surprised grunt and jumped to its feet the moment the dazzling lights fell on it.
Wynne saw it out of the corner of her eye. Four seconds went by - where she processed what she had seen - before she whipped her head around to look in the direction where the lights were pointing. By then, the large figure had already taken off running toward the dastardly intruders.
"Hooooooaaah! Boogeyman!" she cried at the top of her lungs as she caught an eyeful of the muscular creature charging them at full speed. Clutching her beloved hat with one hand, she used the other to point out of the open window. "Boo- boo- boo- boogeyman!" she continued in a voice that was an octave higher in pitch than usual.
"I see it! Holy hell, it really is naked-"
"Ah done tole ya so! Ah did! Ah tole ya it wus a nekkid garillah! Who's the cah-razy one now, huh?!"
"Goddammit! Hang on, Wynne!" Mandy roared as she slammed her boot down onto the gas pedal. The Durango responded by letting out a roar matching that of its driver before it took off in a cloud of sand and desert dust. As the coarse off-road tires found grip, pebbles were blasted out in all directions, including peppering the underside of the vehicle itself.
Blackie broke out in a barking frenzy while she scrambled to swap over to the other side of the back seat - the black German Shepherd was clearly most annoyed with the fact that she had been on the wrong side of the SUV when the monster had finally shown up. Goldie settled for letting out a frightened whimper and diving for cover down in the footwell.
The ride across the rough desert floor had been unpleasant even at five miles per hour, but it was pure torture at thirty. The four occupants of the vehicle were thrown around so violently it was a wonder none of them whacked their head against the ceiling or flew out of the open windows. Even though Mandy had her boot buried on the throttle, the uneven terrain slowed down the Durango to such an extent the creature had nearly caught up with them - and the big thing on their tail had no problems clearing the hard, rocky patches or the soft, sandy hollows.
Faster and faster they went - and rougher and rougher the ride became - before the inevitable happened and the giant beast caught up with them. A split second later, it let out a triumphant roar and wrapped its large hand around the entire rear section of the Durango.
With their forward motion suddenly arrested, Wynne and Mandy were turned into involuntary guinea pigs who tested the efficiency of their seat belts. As the safety features were pulled tight across their chests to stop them from slamming into the steering wheel and the dashboard, respectively, Wynne's hat blew off and sailed out of the open window.
It led to the inevitable "Lawwwwwr-die! Mah hat! Ah done los'mah hat!" but she was too busy hanging on in general and keeping the loose hair out of her eyes in particular to do more than that.
In the back, Goldie let out an annoyed sequence of yaps as she was pressed up against the backrest of the front seat with her tail pointed up and her muzzle pointed down. The fearless Blackie did one better and jumped out of the window while barking her head off.
"Goddammit!" Mandy roared as the charging beast continued to shake and rattle the police vehicle. The large creature was able to toy with the SUV like it was an empty tin can, and it even lifted it three feet off the ground simply to see what happened when it let it go.
The hard landing did no favors for the suspension, the new searchlights on the roof or for the two women and the remaining dog inside. Now Mandy's expensive Mountie hat - she had to pay for it herself - flew off as well, and that prompted an even larger roar from the deputy than the potential loss of the vehicle. In the back, Goldie had had enough and jumped out of the open window to get away from the drama before it could get even worse.
As the large brute suddenly clenched a fist and raised its right arm high in the air, Mandy reached down at once to unbuckle the seat belt. "We gotta abandon ship, Wynne! Get out! Now!"
"Mercy Sakes," Wynne croaked as she fumbled with the belt's release, "this is gonn' be one o' them there situa-shuns we's gonn' be laughin' 'bout in ten years' time when we be sittin' by the fire sharin' a mug a-hot cocoa or som'tin… shit, Ah can't get the… Ah can't get it to… can't… Mandy! De-per-ty! That durn sombitch piece-a shit thing won't open! Ah'm stuck! Ah'm stuck he'!"
Moving quickly and with her regular cool efficiency, Mandy reached over to release the proper latch that was several inches away from where Wynne had her long fingers. The lock released at once. She offered her sweetheart a brief look - no words were necessary - before she grabbed her stray Mountie hat, her Mossberg and the night scope binoculars and hurried away from the vehicle.
Wynne parachuted out of the other side at the exact same time. She had barely put her boots on the sandy ground before the creature let out a thunderous roar and slammed its clenched fist down onto the tail section of the Durango.
The initial strike seemed to provide it with much pleasure because it repeated the destructive gesture over and over until there was hardly anything left of the white-and-gold vehicle - the Durango's siren activated itself through the penultimate thump, but it could only let out half of an impotent wail before it was silenced for good a few seconds later.
"Holy shitttttt!" Wynne cried as she scrambled around on the desert floor to get away from the debris. "That durn nekkid garillah done killed the Durangah but good! Holy shit, De-per-ty, wouldya look at that pile o' trash ovah yondah!" she continued at a similar volume as she pointed at the steaming, hissing, crushed, cracked and crumpled mess that had been a pristine police vehicle not twenty seconds earlier.
Jumping to her feet, she patted all her pockets for her EverReady flashlight before she remembered she had put it down in the footwell. It was high time for Plan B, so she took off like a scalded cat in the opposite direction of where the big creature was, regardless of her pitch-black surroundings.
She had only made it sixty feet or so away from her starting spot when she noticed that nobody had come with her. "Mandy? Mandy? Mandy?! De-per-ty Mandy, where ya at?!" she cried as she spun around in a circle to take in as much as she could - and that wasn't much considering how dark it was out there in that part of the desert. "Lawrdie, Ah'mma-gonn' barbecue that there giant, nekkid sombitch's ass in mohlasses if he as much as breathes on mah sweet, li'l De-per-ty! Mandy?! Dang-blasted, where could she be?"
'Over here! Wynne! I'm here! And pipe down… that thing is still on the prowl!' Mandy said in a strong stage-whisper from somewhere out in the darkness of the night.
"Awwwww… thank the Almi'ty," Wynne said and rubbed her face repeatedly. "But where ya at? Ah can't see nuttin' ovah he'. Ain't nuttin' ta see out he', anyhows, but y'all know what Ah mean! Cantcha turn on that there flashlight o' yers or som'tin so Ah can see where Ah need'a be goin'?"
'That would show the creature exactly where I am!'
"Snakes Alive! Durn thought nevah crossed mah mind… ferget Ah even opened mah yap…"
'Keep going, Wynne… straight ahead…'
"Yes, Ma'am! It's a start, anyhows…"
'Keep going… keep going…'
"On mah way!"
'Straight ahead.'
"Ah'm workin' mah way back to ya, De-per-ty! Yes, Ma'am!"
'Dammit… stop! Stop, Wynne! Stop!'
"Lawrdie, will ya make up yer durn mind! Go, stop, go, stop… y'all know how li'l it takes ta get me con-few-sed, an' Ah'm tellin' ya, De-per-ty, Ah'm feelin' a mi'ty big con-few-shun comin' on-"
Wynne came to an abrupt halt and piped down like someone had pressed her Mute button when the air around her was suddenly filled with nothing but heavy breathing. Tremors from monster-sized footfalls soon moved up her timberlogs and into the seat of her pants. The facts added up to Wynne Donohue being in monstrous trouble for the umpteenth time in her life. How bad the current iteration of those troubles might be was yet to be seen, but it certainly wasn't out of the question that it could become a brand new bestseller in the endless chronicles of drama and despair of the perennially unlucky Wynne.
The only positive side to the whole thing was that if she couldn't see a hand in front of her face, neither could the big beast. She clenched her jaw hard so her teeth wouldn't chatter and thus reveal her position. The tremors and the heavy breathing seemed to recede somewhat, so she took a probing step forward.
When the tip of her boot hit a rock of a larger size than the usual pebbles, she nearly tilted forward - she had to flap her arms severely just to stay erect. Such a situation would ordinarily have been accompanied by several exclamations of a colorful nature, but she forced herself to keep it all inside for the time being.
'Wynne!' Mandy whispered from somewhere afar.
"Yuh-huh?" Wynne whispered back, but she knew it didn't carry further than her nose. When she tried another step forward, her personal dark cloud moved away for a moment to allow her a modicum of success in getting ahead. Another step followed, then another, then another - and then the ground shook to such an extent she nearly took a tumble.
The epicenter had been not three feet behind her, and a moment later, someone literally breathed down her neck. Although the air quality of the breath was putrid and the force of it made her hair shoot out in all directions, it was the least of her problems.
Her face twisted and contorted into several different expressions, none of which were particularly charming. Holding her own breath - the big brute behind her breathed plenty for both of them - she tried to inch ahead but found it tough going as the many small pebbles would inevitably crunch under her boots.
'Wynne! Don't move!'
"Nuh-uh…" Wynne croaked as all kinds of snorts and heavy breathing took place immediately behind her. The sounds grew louder and louder until they were at such a volume, and so close, there could only be a matter of inches between them.
From somewhere out in the darkness, the sound of Mandy working the action of her Mossberg mixed with the breathing and the snorting. Wynne just grimaced as she tried to think about what she could do to escape the big, hairless beast. That took some time even on her best days, and the drastic situation she was stuck in put a heavy lid on her capability to do much more than spell A-B-C.
Fortunately for all concerned - and especially herself - Wynne ultimately didn't need to rely on her intellect to get out of the mess as two dog-shaped shadows suddenly came storming out of the darkness.
Blackie and Goldie barked at the top of their doggy-lungs at the large, hairless threat to get it to move away from their owner. The German Shepherd and the Golden Retriever were soon flying around the vast being literally snapping at the toes, heels and everything else they could find.
The big beast responded by letting out a fierce, high-pitched roar that sounded more like a terrified howl than a threat of violence. Within moments, it jumped to its feet and began to dance a frantic jig to get away from the two attackers, but they were so much faster than the large, lumbering thing that it was a lost cause from the outset.
As soon as the creature left Wynne to her own devices, she let out a yelp and a "Lawwwwwr-die!" before she took off in a fast sprint.
Blackie and Goldie never eased off their frantic barking and bee-sting attacks which finally made the beast spin around and race off into the desert. Its large arms flailed madly in the air, and the high-pitched howling continued as it stormed ahead to get to safety far, far away from the relentless canines. It put its long, powerful legs to good use and was soon gone from the scene.
"All right!" Mandy cried as she clambered up from the firing position she had been in. She whipped up the night scope binoculars and was able to follow the fleeing creature until it had gone out of range of even the advanced instrument.
Soon, Blackie and Goldie gathered at Mandy's feet - the dogs were panting and dusty, but ultimately victorious. "Well done! Awwww, I love you girls!" she said and crouched down to dish out plenty of fur-rubbing.
When Blackie let out a couple of puzzled Woof-woofs? with regards to the missing person, Mandy got to her feet and used the binoculars again. She was soon able to locate Wynne, and the denim-clad, though hatless, woman was even going in the right direction for a change.
Yapping, Goldie took off into the desert to intercept her owner. Halfway there, she spotted something and made a slight detour.
"Howdy, De-per-ty Mandy!" Wynne shouted once she was close enough to see anything. "Mercy Sakes, ain't nobodda gonn' bah-lieve this he' deal, neither. An' look at that there Durangah! Howdahell 'r we gonn' explain that ta dear, old Artie Rains?"
"That's a good question. I'll think of something," Mandy said and let out a relieved chuckle at the sight of her partner strolling back into the family circle. A moment later, Goldie returned as well holding a very valuable object between her teeth.
"Mah hat! Lawwwwwr-die! Mah hat!" Wynne cried and crouched down at once so she could first take the battered, old cowboy hat and then give Goldie another thorough rubbing that made the dusty Golden Retriever yelp in delight. "Who loves ya? Who loves ya, Goldie? Snakes Alive, mebbe this he' night ain't so bad aftah all!"
Chuckling, Mandy put the Mossberg over her arm in the regulatory stance. The flashlight was still attached to it despite all that had happened, so she turned it on to give them enough light to walk by. "C'mon, Wynne. Let's go home. I think there's an H.E. Fenwyck waiting for you in the fridge," she said and reached out to hook her free arm inside her partner's.
"Awrighty! Now ya talkin'! Yeeeeeeee-haw!" Wynne cried as she, Mandy, Blackie and Goldie all set off for home.
-*-*-*-
As the two women and their brave four-legged companions strolled into the central area between the six trailers, Wynne crinkled her nose severely at the strong smell of excrements that greeted her - she even needed to take off her hat to fan her nose. "Yuckety-yuck… that durn stink is even worse than it wus befo'! All right, girls, time ta come clean… which one o' ya took a dump where ya wussen saposed ta? Hoah-brothah, this he' shit be stinkin' like I ain't nevah smelled shit stink befo', lemme tell ya! Whaddindahell's goin' on he'?"
"I don't know, Wynne, and I don't really care… let's find out tomorrow," Mandy said in a voice that offered a strong hint that even the tireless deputy sheriff had found her limit.
"Sounds like a plan, yessirree… hey, lookie there," Wynne said and tapped Mandy's dusty shoulder to make her look at the silver-and-metallic-blue Ford F350 Super Duty truck that had been parked behind Ernie's trailer. "Unless mah eyes be playin' one o' them there dirty tricks on me, that there blue-oval vee-hickel is Ernie's truck. Haw, sure is… an' them there windas be all fogged up. Now I wondah what ol' Ernie might be up to at this time o' night that can make them there windas fog up like that… wanna find out?" she continued, nudging an elbow into Mandy's side.
Mandy chewed on her cheek for a moment before she changed direction and strode over to the Ford truck. "He better not have driven home under the influence… that would really make me annoyed with him."
Three quick, but certainly decisive, taps on the driver's side window caused someone inside to let out a brief shriek. Wynne had taken a step back while Mandy conducted her official business, but she broke out in a goofy grin when she realized it had been a female voice doing the shrieking.
The window was eventually rolled down to reveal a strongly blushing Bernadine Russell and a widely grinning Ernest Bradberry - the latter sat on the passenger-side seat looking like a swell daisy.
"Lawrdie!" Wynne said from her spot at the back when she clapped eyes on the identity of Ernie's female companion; then she started giggling.
"Uh… good evenin', Deputy. What seems to be the problem?" Ernie said as he leaned across Bernadine to look at the dusty deputy sheriff outside. After a few seconds, he took off his Built Ford Tough baseball cap to appear more sincere.
"Have you consumed alcoholic beverages tonight, Mr. Bradberry?" Mandy said in a cool and fully professional voice.
"A ton! But I sure ain't been drivin' after doin' so. Bernadine here drove me home. And she ain't been drinkin'!" Ernie said with a grin that only broadened.
"Ma'am?" Mandy said, turning to the blushing lady.
The expert pool player from Cavanaugh Creek gulped several times before she broke out in a shy, nervous smile. "That's Reverend, actually… Reverend Bernadine Russell of the Church Of The Holy Crusader. It's true, Deputy. I haven't been drinking alcohol. It would be breaking the Sixteenth Commandment of our Scripture."
Wynne's giggling reached a new high over by the trailer, and she barely had time to exclaim a: "Rev'rend?! Ernie, ya ol' sombitch!" before she really got going with the giggles.
Mandy sniffed the air for traces of liquor or beer before she took a closer look at the lady behind the wheel to get a feel for her sobriety. After a few moments, she nodded and reached up to tip her Mountie hat. "Have a pleasant night, Reverend Russell. And you, Mr. Bradberry."
"Why, thank you, Deputy!" Ernie said while he rubbed his hand up and down Bernadine's thigh. "Hiya, Wynne! Uh… ya got a moment?"
Still chuckling, Wynne strolled over to the Ford and leaned against the open window. She pushed her cowboy hat a bit forward to look her best. An even cheekier chuckle escaped her when she spotted the fifty-piece value pack of Preston-Farley Rib Edge condoms in one of the Ford's small trays. "Howdy there, Rev'rend… nice ta see ya ag'in," she said as she put a couple of fingers to the hat's rim in the age-old gesture.
"Likewise, Miss Donohue…" Bernadine said with a polite smile.
"Say… are y'all connected ta them there Virgin Towah folks?"
"We're not. The Church Of The Holy Crusader is an independent organization… all under the same Lord, of course. Only different interpretations. We don't do any active missionary work."
"Aw, that's good ta hear an' all 'cos I wus jus' 'bout gettin' worried fer mah friend Ernie there." - Wynne's comments made Ernie grin and shake his head. Wynne grinned back before she continued: "Anyhows. Y'all be playin' a mean game o' pool, that's fer dang sure… an' I see ya scored them there rubbahs too, huh? Neat. I be kinda surprised none o' them things go against them there commandments y'all wus talkin' 'bout… but it really ain't none o' mah dang beeswax."
Reverend Bernadine Russell licked her lips several times like she was trying to come up with an answer - but Wynne cut her off when she turned to Ernie Bradberry with a: "Anyhows. Whassup, Ernie?"
"Y'know, uh… would it be possible- hey, you're all filthy-like! Whatcha been up to?"
Wynne looked down at her dusty self; she patted her jacket which made some of the desert leftovers flutter down to the ground. "Aw, we wus jus' playin' a li'l go-go-garillah out in the desert with them dawggies."
"Oh!" Bernadine said, "At this time of night? Sounds dangerous!"
"Weeeellll, yuh, it sure wussen much fun fer me or De-per-ty Mandy, that's a dag-nabbin' fact, there, Rev'rend… but them dawggies had a blast, I'm tellin' ya."
Ernie furrowed his brow. It was clear he understood there was more to it than that, but he had neither the time nor the interest to pursue it at that particular moment - not with a lady of Bernadine's caliber next to him. "Yeah, okay… but anyway, would it bother you if we took a rain check on the ribs and racin' thing?" he said while playing a little honky-tonk on the Reverend's thigh. "I'm guessin' you gals have some catchin' up to do, anyhow, and, uh, well… Bernadine and me might be a little busy come afternoon…"
"Ya might?" Wynne said with a knowing grin playing on her lips. She offered Reverend Russell a blue wink that earned her a double-cheeked red blush in return. "Yuh, we might be a li'l busy… ribs an' racin' is good, but ya know… other things sure is good too. Yuh? Ain't that right, Rev'rend?"
Bernadine nodded shyly - the blush never left her cheeks. "Very much so, Miss Donohue."
"Aw, call me Wynne. Ain't nobodda not callin' me Wynne… except that there Sheriff Rains, but that's a whole 'nother story. Have fun, Ernie… don't do nuttin' I woudden do, ya hear?" Wynne said and tapped her knuckles on the roof of the customized truck. She could still hear Ernie's somewhat lewd chuckling ringing in her ears as she walked back to her trailer.
---
Once inside, Wynne took off her beloved cowboy hat and wiped her brow on her sleeve - just in time, too, because her face cracked open in a huge yawn only moments later which would have made the operation a perilous one. Smacking her lips several times, she moved into the bedroom intending to shed her boots and the rest of her dusty attire. "Jus' so ya know an' all, Ernie done called off our li'l get-ta-gethah this aftahnoon… hey… where'd ya go, there, De-per-ty Mandy? Ya ain't gonn' be writin' no dang papahwork or nuttin' right now, are ya? Mandy?"
'In here, Wynne,' Mandy said from the living quarters of their trailer.
"Lawrdie, I'mma-gonn' be a li'l P-O'ed if mah butt ain't gonn' be intradooced to them there bedsheets perdy dang quickly… wotcha doin'?"
Mandy sat on the armrest of their couch with her portable radio in her hand. The glum expression etched onto her face told a tale of being about to do something she really didn't want to do. "I need to call the sheriff and let him know about the Durango," she said in a monotone.
"Awwww-hell… ya wanna call that mean ol' sombitch Artie Rains now?" Wynne said in a distinct whine. "That Durangah ain't gonn' be drivin' no mo' anyhows. Can't it wait until tomorra? Mercy Sakes, I ain't got the stomach fer lissenin' ta ol' Artie now…"
"Me neither. But putting it off won't make it any better," Mandy said and pressed the little button on the side of the radio. "Deputy Jalinski to base. Deputy Jalinski to base. Sheriff Rains, do you copy?"
They could only hear static at first, and that made Wynne mumble: "Mebbe we lucky fer a change an' he's out back takin' a dump or some such…"
'Sheriff Rains here. Go ahead, Deputy.'
Wynne rolled her eyes at the sound of Artie Rains' voice that was as gruff and hostile as ever - they could never, ever catch a break.
"Sheriff Rains, I'm afraid I have some bad news. The Durango's been wrecked. There's nothing left of it. Over," Mandy said into the radio while looking at Wynne for support.
'It's… what? Another one?! You wrecked another of our Durangos?! Do you have any idea how much those vehicles cost, Jalinski?!'
The deputy in question let out a grunt as she looked up at Wynne who leaned against the wall. "Oh, I'm fine, Sheriff. Not a mark on me. Thank you for caring," Mandy said in a mocking tone that made Wynne let out a tired snicker. Sighing, the transmit key was pressed once more. "I do, Sheriff. If I could have done anything about it, I would have… but it was out of my control. Over."
'Son of a bi-' the Sheriff barked before he seemed to remember the radio code. Instead of swearing directly, his mouth began to spew out a volcanic eruption of surprisingly clever near-profane and blasphemous words that ended up all over the radio waves.
The heated words grew in intensity and volume until even Mandy had had enough. Keying the mic once more, she said: "I'm real sorry, Sheriff, but the reception is poor. You're coming in broken and garbled. Deputy Jalinski out."
With that, she twisted the little knob on top of the portable radio to the 'off' position. It silenced the irate sheriff from one syllable to the next, and it allowed a little peace and quiet to enter the mobile home.
"Well, that's going to be a fun face-to-face conversation," Mandy said as she hooked the radio back onto her belt. Thinking ahead, she turned off her personal telephone as well in case Sheriff Rains wasn't about to let her go that easy.
"Mmmm-yuh…" Wynne said before her face cracked wide open in another yawn. "Lissen, there, De-per-ty… can we please hit the sack now? I'm so dang-blasted tired I could sleep standin' up. Lawrdie, I think I be sleepin' right now, ack-chew-ly…"
Mandy smiled and got up from the armrest. After placing a nice, little kiss on Wynne's lips, she went into the narrow corridor where she finally unzipped her uniform jacket. "I need a shower first. I'm way too sticky and filthy to go to bed," she said as she began to loosen her necktie as well.
"A shower? Now? Aw, that ain't right, De-per-ty! It's awful late! Or awful early… hell, it's both!" Wynne said, but even her expert whines couldn't stop Mandy from taking off the rest of her uniform and head for the shower stall.
---
Five minutes later, a horrendous howl that filled the air between the trailers caused a semi-undressed Wynne to hurry over to one of the windows in the bedroom section. She quickly yanked the curtain aside and peeked out. It didn't appear the hairless beast had returned for round two, but there wasn't any logical explanation for the howl, either.
Only a couple of moments after that, Ernie could be heard shouting at the top of his lungs: 'Whodahell crapped out a frickin' gigantic two-ton turd all over my porch?! Whaddindahell?!'
Wynne scratched her cheek as she pulled back from the window. The unfortunate news not only explained the stench of feces in the air, but also what the creature had been doing while it had been out of sight. She had already begun to draw plans about putting her clothes back on, finding a shovel and helping her good buddy with his brown problem when the door to the bathroom cracked ajar.
"What was that?" Mandy said in a dripping-wet state.
"Oh, ain't nuttin' in parti-coo-lar…"
"Okay. The water's just right tonight," the wet deputy sheriff continued with a certain gleam playing in her eye. "Just right for two, that is."
"Izzat a fact, De-per-ty Mandy? Weeeellll… I'm kinda tired an' all… but I sapose it would be a cryin' shame ta let purr-fectly good watah go ta waste… aw, make way, darlin', 'cos I'm comin' through!" Wynne said and pulled off her last remaining item of clothing before she slipped into the bathroom.
In the doggy-basket in the narrow hallway, Blackie and Goldie snuggled up tight and even let out a couple of knowing yaps and woofs - and for a brief moment in time, everything was all right in the Donohue-Jalinski household.
*
*
EPILOGUE
Seven miles east of the delightful splishing-splashing, a forty-foot, brownish-gray creature swung a leg over the edge of the deep ravine known to the human settlers as Maynard Canyon. It soon found sure footing and climbed down the sheer rock face at a speed that seemed impossible given the creature's massive size. A narrow ledge some three-hundred feet down from the top was soon reached; there, the beast side-stepped and moved onto the ledge.
The narrow landing turned out to be the doorstep of a deep cavern. A large boulder blocked the entrance to protect the interior from the raging elements, but the vast rock was soon rolled aside to give the creature access. Once the large brute was safely inside, it rolled the boulder back to its original spot before giving it a thump to make sure it was firmly in place.
Turning around, the hulking beast tip-toed through a twisty section of the cavern that led to the sleeping quarters at the back. The tip-toeing didn't work as well as it had hoped, however. It had hardly peeked around the final corner before an ear-shattering wail greeted it.
The wailing was soon joined by a moan that caused the creature to let out a long grunt - it knew what was coming. Sure enough, not a moment went by before a female of the species jumped out of a double bedroll to check up on their young'un who was wailing its lungs out in a small crib.
When the female noticed her mate had returned from his frivolous night on the town, she drew a deep breath and let rip in a barrage of growls, grunts, groans and other types of inarticulate noises that all proved she wasn't too pleased with the way her other half conducted his business.
The male creature nodded, shook its head and shrugged in all the right spots, but the display of sincerity didn't appease the female. Before long, she threw a single bedroll and a pillow at him and pointed at a distant spot in the cavern - quite some distance from where she had been sleeping.
Shuffling over there, the male creature unfurled the bedroll and put that and the pillow onto the cold, hard ground. He tried to wish his mate a good night, but the growl he got in return proved the night was anything but. There was no point in trying again, so he got down on the rocky floor and slipped inside the bedroll. He soon put his hands behind his large head and looked up at the low ceiling in the part of the cavern he had been relegated to.
It took a little while before the wails created by the young'un petered out. When peace had been restored to the cave, the male creature drew a breath intending to apologize, but his mate's stern glare and wagging index finger told him he needed to pipe down for the rest of the night. Nodding to show that he understood, he began at once to draw plans to find some flowers and maybe even a box of tasty lizard-snacks the next time he could see an opportunity to sneak out of their cave…
*
*
THE END.