by Ann Charles
“Try explainin’ that to my prostate.”
“Oh, sweet Lord! Your prostate is going to get me shot one of these days.” It had landed me in jail already due in large part to the prickly detective now dinking around inside of the shack.
“Don’t be pourin’ short sweetenin’ into long,” he said. “Sit tight. I’ll be quick as a jigger-wiffer.”
Having no idea what a jigger-wiffer or short sweetening was, I huffed. “Pee right there next to your door. I promise not to look.”
“I’m not going to show my doodads to the world right here.”
“Why not? You flash them at the ladies down at the senior center every weekend.”
“That ain’t one hundred percent gospel. Besides, I got me one of those shy bladders. Like a turtle, it doesn’t like to stick its head out of the shell too quick and when it does, it takes its time tellin’ a tale.”
I held out my hand to make him stop. “That’s too much information for a Friday morning.”
“Then ya shoulda let me take care of my business without badgerin’ me.”
“Fine, go already. But leave me the keys in case Cooper comes running.”
He tossed the keys on his seat and shut the door. Instead of going through the rickety gate like his nephew, Harvey detoured around the right side of the house and meandered on back toward what looked like an ancient, two-story woodshed. Several of the windows in the upper floor were broken. The gray weathered wood reminded me of an old, tired lumberjack whose shoulders were weary from lugging an ax around for centuries.
“Just pee already,” I muttered.
Harvey disappeared around the side of the woodshed, leaving me alone.
Alone in Slagton.
My stomach knotted.
I locked the pickup doors and huddled inside my quilted down coat. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Outside, nothing moved besides the falling snow. My gaze darted back and forth between the front door of the ramshackle house and the old woodshed, willing Harvey and his nephew to get their butts back to the pickup pronto.
At the five-minute mark, I sat up and scowled at the woodshed. How long did it take the ol’ buzzard to drain the lizard, dammit?
More seconds ticked by. Still there was no sign of life from either man. My patience was growing tired of pacing.
I wiped away the steam my breath left on the side window with my coat sleeve and peered through the smeared glass. If Harvey didn’t return soon, I was going to honk the horn, even if it brought the town nutters out in full force.
Something moved on the other side of the woodshed back near the pine trees. Something dark and lower to the ground.
“What’s that?” I pressed my nose against the glass.
It sort of looked like a large cat—mountain lion size. But its fur was dark, more black than tan. Its body was longer, too, sleeker even, reminding me of a Doberman pinscher mixed with a panther. The head was thick, like a mini-lion with a full mane encircling it. Was this one of those weird dog hybrid breeds I’d heard about from my daughter, the wanna-be vet?
I wiped off the window again and tried to see the creature clearly through the heavy snowflakes. It moved like a predator, slinking low as it crept along the tree line toward the woodshed, hunting.
My heart quickened.
Crap. Had Harvey slipped and fallen in the snow? Was that dog-thing stalking him? Pickings in the forest food chain were slim this time of year. A human would make a tasty meal.
I felt under the seat for Bessie. My fingers touched her cold barrels. I pulled her out, careful not to blast myself to smithereens in the process.
When I looked back at the woodshed, the creature was no longer in sight. I opened the door, listening for a growl or a bark.
My ears were muffled thanks to the falling snow, but my fingers tingled. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it deep inside. Anxiety played me like a harp, plucking my nerves one by one.
I glanced at the shack, willing Cooper to step outside.
The porch remained empty.
“Bloody hell!” I stuffed the pickup keys into my pocket. Cooper was going to be doubly pissed now. Careful of Bessie’s trigger, I crawled out of the pickup, easing the door closed. Maybe Harvey and I would return before Cooper noticed we’d disobeyed his order and went on a walkabout. Although there’d be no hiding our footprints in the snow.
The snow sloshed and crunched under my suede boots. Silly me, since while choosing my outfit today, I’d gone for fashionista, not frontier woman. I should have known better considering that I lived in the hills, where winter snowstorms were as legendary as Wild Bill.
I followed in Harvey’s footsteps, hugging the fence line. The snow fell with purpose now, covering much of the ugliness surrounding the old shack and matching woodshed. It made for a peaceful scene, looking like one of those bucolic scenes Thomas Kinkade sold by the thousands.
I followed Harvey’s trail around the side of the shed. I thought about shouting his name, and then remembered Cooper’s order to stay in the pickup and kept my lips pinched.
Harvey’s tracks led into the open door on the backside of the woodshed.
So did the predator’s.
I bent down to take a closer look at the creature’s tracks. I’d expected paw prints, the sort I used to make on steamed covered windows on the school bus alongside the hearts and various boys’ names over the years. These weren’t paw prints, though. I reached down and held my hand over one, fingers spread. There were three, forward-facing “toes” as long as my middle finger, if not longer. A fourth toe of about the same length pointed to the side, reminding me of a dewclaw.
Standing upright, I frowned toward the tree line, searching the shadows underneath for movement.
What kind of animal had finger-like toes on its feet? The prints reminded me more of a bird, but what I’d seen through the window was no bird. Could they be long claws rather than toes?
Something clunked inside the woodshed.
I turned back to the doorway, trying to listen over the commotion of my pounding heart.
All was silent.
I lifted Bessie’s double barrels, keeping my finger off the trigger, but nearby just in case. After one last glance to my right and left, I eased into the woodshed.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
A board creaked overhead.
Something rustled to my left.
There was a soft clink in front of me.
“Harvey?” I squinted into the shadows. “Are you in here?”
Something huffed behind me.
I whirled around, Bessie leading the way.
A hand grabbed the barrels and yanked her out of my grip. “Dammit, Parker! Did I not tell you to stay in the pickup?”
The sight of Cooper made me breathe a sigh of relief in spite of his glare.
“Your uncle had to see about a mule.”
“A man.”
“What?”
“He had to see a man about a mule.”
“Whatever. Are you going to stand there and correct my English all day, Detective Wordsmith, or help me find your dang uncle?”
“I wasn’t correcting your English, Parker, only the idiom you were using incorrectly.” When I held my fist up in front of his face, he almost cracked a smile. “Why do we need to find him if he’s just taking a piss?”
“Because he’s been gone too long.”
“His prostate slows him down some.”
“Dammit, Cooper. I know all about your uncle’s stupid prostate. I’m telling you, something is wrong. He’s taking too long and I saw something prowling around this woodshed.”
“What do you mean, something?”
I pointed out the doorway. “Look at those tracks. Whatever made those is hunting your uncle.”
He stepped over to the door. “Those look like turkey tracks.”
“Then that’s one big-ass turkey with long, fat toes.”
This time he smiled wide.
“Reminds me of you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you looking for another black eye? Because the last one I gave you has almost faded and I’d hate to have the boys down at the Deadwood dog pound be left with nothing to yip and bark about over their daily doughnuts.”
“Touch me, Parker, and I’ll handcuff you again.”
“Handcuff me and I’ll—”
Something growled off to our left from inside the shed.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up on their tiptoes.
Cooper raised the shotgun, pointing it in the direction of whatever was hiding back in the shadows.
“That is no turkey,” I whispered.
He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me behind him.
I tugged free. “I can handle myself, remember.”
“Fine, get yourself killed, but first make sure you write a note in blood to your boyfriend that I tried to save you.”
Doc Nyce and I had exchanged a note written in blood before. Once was enough for me. “Shut up and give me back that gun.” I reached for Bessie.
He shoved my hand away and moved deeper into the shadows.
I followed behind him, practically stepping on his heels. “Fine, then hand over your pistol.”
“No fucking way in hell.”
“Dammit, Cooper.”
“Go outside and wait for me.”
“If it’s one of the others, neither gun will protect you.”
Cooper and I had faced off with other supernatural creatures before that only grew more ferocious when filled with hot lead. Apparently, the detective hadn’t learned his lesson.
“You’re overreacting. It’s probably just a mountain lion.”
“That is no mountain lion.” I could feel that truth in my bones. “It’s more like a cat and turkey mixed. A cat-urkey.”
“A cat-urkey?” He snickered. “Are you still drunk from last night?”
“I’m not drunk. I know what I saw.” I looked around for a makeshift weapon, picking up a weathered two-by-four. The pointy end of two rusty nails stuck out from the wood, one bent, one straight. I hefted the board, practicing my swing.
When I looked up, Cooper was frowning at me. “Seriously, Parker?”
“Whether you like it or not, hot shot, you need me.”
“ ‘Hot shot’?”
“You know. You like to fill things with hot shots of lead.”
“Jesus, Parker. I need you like I need a—”
From the darkness came a shed-rattling roar. Something dark and lithe flew between Cooper and me so fast that all I saw was a blur of black before the creature disappeared into the shadows at the opposite end of the shed.
The shotgun boomed next to me.
“What the fuck was that?” Cooper shouted.
My ears rang from the shotgun blast. “I don’t know, but it’s not a freaking three-toed turkey.”
“Then what’s with the damned feathers floating in here?”
He was right. Small black feathers, like goose down, drifted to the ground between us. I bent to pick one up and noticed a long gash in Cooper’s pant leg. “You tore your pants.”
“I did?” He looked down.
“Yeah, right here,” I pointed at his knee. The material looked wet. I touched it, frowning at the red on my fingers when I pulled them back. “Cooper, you’re bleeding.”
“Get back up here.” He hooked me under the armpit and hauled me upright. “That thing must have sliced me with its claws as it passed.” He squinted into the shadows. “How did it move so fast?”
“Is the cut deep?”
He put weight on his leg, grimacing. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
Cooper was covered in scars. I had a feeling his definition of flesh wound and mine were quite different. I stepped between him and whatever the hell was in here with us, blocking him from another attack.
“You should go outside,” I said, raising the two-by-four.
“You’re in my way, Parker.”
“Cooper, this thing isn’t a normal animal. I’m telling you that what I saw sneaking around the woodshed was unnatural. Your informant has a pet he forgot to tell you about.”
“My informant didn’t tell me anything.”
“Why not? Did you piss him off, too?”
“The house was empty. He’s missing.”
“Missing?” I took a step forward. “Or dead?”
“I don’t know.”
Something blocked the light in the doorway.
We both turned, Cooper with the shotgun raised, me with the board cocked to swing.
“What in tarnation are you two doin’ in here?”
I frowned at Harvey. “What are you doing out there?”
“I was waitin’ fer ya in the pickup and then I heard Bessie’s sweet music.”
She had more of an eardrum-exploding bellow. “Your nephew got trigger happy.”
“Yer bleedin’, Coop,” Harvey said. “Did ya shoot yerself again?”
“Again?” I asked.
“That’s none of your business,” Cooper told me.
The creature growled.
“Shit.” I gripped the board, my right elbow out, ready to hit a home run.
“What was that?” Harvey whispered.
“Something that doesn’t belong here,” I said loud and clear. “Neither do you two right now.”
“Give me Bessie,” Harvey told Cooper, who complied without argument and then pulled out his handgun.
Focusing on the growls, I inched further into the shadows.
“Parker, get back here.”
I sniffed, picking up a cloying, mildew odor. The hair on my arms lifted, my warning system lighting me up. The urge to bludgeon and destroy drove me deeper into the darkness.
“Where are you?” I said aloud. There was no use trying to hide. It had a better vantage point. I needed to rely on my instincts. “Come out and play.”
“Jesus, Parker. You think it speaks English?”
“Scharrrrrrrfrichterrrrr,” said a scratchy voice from the shadows.
The creature knew my name—the killing one, anyway. I could hear it breathing through its teeth. I tightened my grip on the board.
“Don’t kill it.” Cooper came up behind me. “I need to know where my informant is.”
“I’ll try not to.” I stalked closer.
My eyes weren’t of much use, so I zeroed in on the creature’s sounds. The quick huffs of breath. The scratch of claws on wood. The rumble of its low growl.
“What are you?” I asked.
Garbled sounds were its reply.
“That sounds like turkey talk,” Harvey said.
“I told you, Parker.”
“Shut up, Cooper.” I was thinking more of a crow than a turkey, or maybe a raven.
“What did it say?” Harvey asked, cocking his shotgun.
“I don’t know. My ears are still ringing from Cooper firing your damned gun.”
I heard the start of its roar deep in its chest. Reaching behind me, I shoved Cooper toward the opposite wall.
The scratch of its claws on wood as it sprang from the shadows gave me the cue I needed to anticipate its course. I kicked out, connecting with its flank and sending it sprawling sideways into a chunk of log. It scrambled upright onto its four legs, hissing at me, its long fangs bared.
It looked more like a big cat than turkey, but the snout was longer, wider than normal, filled with a shitload of teeth. Tufts of fur and black feathers rounded its mane and sprouted from its elbows. Armed with finger-like toes ending in wicked talons, this beast could take down a human with a single swipe.
The creature lunged.
I swung the board, nails facing out, landing a hit to the side of its skull. The blow was so solid it jarred my teeth.
A screech of pain filled the woodshed, followed by a crackling boom. I stepped back, shielding my face.
When I lowered my arm, fine gray powder covered my coat. I touched my hair, coming away with more powd
er, and sniffed my hands. The smell of rotten eggs made me recoil.
That wasn’t powder. It was ash.
Harvey coughed. “Holy hell’s bells!” He brushed ash off his chest and shook out his beard. “The darn thing done exploded.”
“Goddammit, Parker!” Cooper glared at me. Ash coated him from head to toe. He must have been at ground zero. “I told you not to kill it.”
I winced, letting the board clatter onto the floor. “Oops.”
Chapter Two
In spite of the modern conveniences of the day, I had no frickin’ cell phone signal all of the way back to Deadwood. Harvey blamed the whangdoodles back in Slagton, claiming they had some sort of radar that short-circuited cell signals in order to help keep their secrets safe from the government.
Unfortunately, Harvey’s phone was sitting on the counter at Doc’s house where he’d left it in his haste to pick up Cooper and me this morning, so I couldn’t see if he had enough signal to reach the outside world. Cooper scoffed at my useless phone and declared it a piece of junk that sent random incoherent messages. After I called him a few not-so-nice, yet very coherent names, he refused to let me use his phone. On top of it all, he then proceeded to blame me for the missing state of his informant.
My request for Harvey to pull over and kick his nephew out at the top of Strawberry Hill went unheeded.
Due to my lack of signal situation, I wasn’t able to warn Doc that I was about to tornado into his office, which I did with Cooper spinning in right behind me while Harvey parked the pickup.
“Doc?” I called as I stomped off the snow from my wet suede boots on his back doormat inside the dimly lit hallway.
Cooper bumped me from behind. “Don’t stop in the doorway.”
“Wait your stinking turn, pushypants.”
And stinking we still were from that gray ash on our clothes and in our hair. We’d used snow to wash off what we could, but it would take a long, hot shower to scrub off the rest of the exploded remains. I shuddered at what might be soaking into my pores.
“That’s ‘Detective Pushypants’ to you, Parker.” He nudged me again, closing the door behind him.
“I don’t want to get snow all over Doc’s wood floor.” I elbowed Cooper into the door while tugging off one arm of my coat. “I thought you needed to rush back to all of that paperwork you keep crying about.”