Search our Site
Custom Search
Privacy Policy | Terms of Service

Bookmark and Share


<— Previous Page

Chapter 16: "Tack"


Dixie had the sand that had been left behind when the sharks disappeared, in different glass jars, and had labeled them:

“SHARK SAND NO. 1 (ate Xjiang)”
“SHARK SAND NO. 2 (ate Beep Beep)”
“SHARK SAND NO. 3 (ate Sugar)”

He held jar number one up to the artificial light. He could see pellets of buckshot mixed in with the sand. Beep Beep Beaver and Sugar Beaver were still tabled, still bound, and, so far, still dead. And they were still fresh looking. Dixie had pumped them full of embalming fluids—but the way Smith had heard it, there had already been examples of the fewolves reanimating despite being shoved full of coroner's cocktails.

Janice Allison and the swordfish were still together in repose—Dixie had put the couple on ice—but she must be waiting until the weekend is over before she tries to disentangle them, Smith thought. The seven people killed on the previous Saturday were all still there, though Dixie had mentioned that she was getting plenty of calls from their assorted nexts-of-kin. The four womanimals killed during the same brawl all remained also. There were the victims, in various states and forms, from the original October 11 nightclub murders—the local ones, anyway—and a few of the original best suspects, all still on Pierce County ice as well.

Smith mused about how they were to go about catching a live furry. They didn't seem to come, as far as he could tell or had heard, to the morgue unless they were already dead, the detective thought—that is, the wolf ladies didn't exhibit any tendency or pattern of showing up at the morgues alive—not to pick up their dead friends, or for any other reason. Furthermore, he thought, there seemed to have been a few skirmishes among the various undead banked track derby teams. But the real bile, at least now, seemed to be the freshest and most corpulent not among gangs of ladywolves, rather, it was between the wolves and the land-going sharks. So, the detective considered, perhaps sharks might be good bait to catch one of these hirtuse girls alive. And maybe, the shark dust at hand might be worth sprinkling about some sweet spot set for a womanimal trap. And, on the other hand, maybe a nice, juicy, bound and dead wolflady might make for good sharkbait, the detective thought. Again, he was not solid at all regarding how catching any of these things alive might help actually solve anything, but it seemed to him a logical step, where otherwise the investigations had all been painted into corners by preternatural storybook apeshit monster nonsense.

With a shudder, he locked the door behind him, and made his way home for the night.

...


The rain persevered through the night and into Monday. By about 8 o'clock, the detectives and the lieutenant were sitting around the coffee pot, discussing how exactly there were going to go sharkfishing using dead fewolves as bait; and they talked about how and where and on whom if anyone that they might sprinkle shark dust in order to attract live wolf ladies.

“I guess we'll need a boat. And tackle. We'll just bring a small pile of our werelady cadavers—not all of them, of course. We don't want to run out. We need to conserve them. For now, they are a finite resource, thankfully,” the lieutenant said. Thompson smiled at their boss' animated interest in the new and exciting hunting and fishing opportunities now availing themselves. “Let's try to get this sorted out so we can get out on the water ASAP. I'll call our friend at the Coast Guard back to see if they're interested in such an expedition.”

Thompson offered: “Sounds good, lieutenant. And later this week, we can sprinkle some shark dust somewhere, and lay in the wait to catch a live furry. I'd say a tranquilizer gun, or non-lethal shock gun, and ropes, clubs and nets. And maybe the Davey Jones Lickers will chip in with the effort too.”
Next Page —>

Jump to Overview

Bookmark and Share


New