by J. S. Volpe
* * *
“That was the Snowman who just walked in there,” Captain Strang said, his eyes slightly wider than normal. “We’ve got the Snowman.”
“Maybe,” mumbled Chief Constable Avery as she mopped the sweat from her broad brow.
She, Strang, and Zan were hiding in a small crevice in the gulch’s southern wall and watching the entrance to the building beneath the moraine. They had arrived at the start of the Zombie Hill Boys/robot confrontation, staked out their spot without being seen by anyone, and watched everything that had happened after that. “Wait a while and let the flies walk into our web,” Avery had said when Strang complained about simply watching the bad guys stroll right past. (On the other hand, though she wouldn’t admit it openly, she too had chafed under the yoke of inaction when she saw the robot behead that idiot John Grommet, whose presence here Avery found unfathomable; if ever there were a man who was completely out of his element, it was that spindly little dweeb. Damn it. Now she’d never get compensation for that dead athelok. Then again, she could more than make up for her loss by cutting herself a little sliver of that block of gold once it was in lawful hands. It wouldn’t be the first time a piece of recovered property mysteriously shrank or even outright disappeared while in the constabulary’s possession.)
“What, you don’t think that was the Snowman?” Strang said, his voice rising by an almost imperceptible amount.
“Yeah, it sure looked like the Snowman to me,” said Zan.
Avery snorted. “Since when has the Snowman ever hung out with tavern wenches? That brown-haired girl that was with him works at Moe’s. Didn’t you recognize her?”
“Of course I did, but that doesn’t prove anything. Maybe she’s an accomplice. Maybe she helps the Snowman ensnare new victims.”
Avery shook her head. “There was blood on the Snowman’s shirt, too. Did you notice that? Looked like from a stab or bullet wound.”
“Wait,” Strang said, his back straightening a fraction with realization. “Are you saying that this girl and someone else killed the Snowman and this someone else is now posing as him?”
“I think that’s a definite possibility. Frankly I smell a scam in the works.”
“Since the Snowman seems to be out of the picture, then perhaps we should just move in and start rounding up these bastards,” Strang said hopefully.
“Not yet. Let’s wait a few more minutes and see if we catch any more flies. Still…” She frowned in thought for a moment, then looked around in search of Zan.
“Um, I’m right here,” he said, waving his hand. He was right next to her.
“Oh, there you are. I want you to go inside and see what’s happening, then get back out here with a report.”
Zan nodded. “Yes, sir.”
He trotted off toward the door.