“Don’t expect my further patronage of your establishment,” Avery said contemptuously as he turned and walked away.
“Have a nice day.” Consuela smiled.
Avery stormed down the street, mumbling and cursing under his breath. He wandered several blocks looking for an appropriate place to sit and eat. Noticing a local coffee shop with a small wrought-iron table and chair out front, he stopped and sat down, preparing to eat. A slim college-aged man wearing dark, skinny jeans and a faded Elvis Costello concert T-shirt swept the sidewalk in front of the shop.
“What can I get you?” the young man asked Avery.
“World peace,” Avery replied without looking up from the taco he was unwrapping.
“No, I mean, what would you like to drink? You can’t sit there without purchasing something.”
“I’ll have a large Mountain Dew,” Avery replied, sniffing the contents of the roll of tin foil containing the cilantro and pushing it away in disgust.
“Look, sir, this is a coffee shop,” the young man said, leaning on the broom handle.
“Good for you. One large Mountain Dew, please.”
“Dude, we just sell coffee.”
“Not interested,” Avery replied as he stuffed an entire taco into his mouth.
“Angus!” the young man yelled into the open door of the coffee shop. “This dude won’t order.”
A few moments later, Angus strode through the door, stood in front of Avery, and placed his toaster-sized hands on his hips. Avery could tell the large man with the sleeves cut off his shirt and sporting a shaved head and goatee meant business. The man glared at Avery and pointed down the street. Avery, realizing he was outnumbered, scooped up his belongings, less the package of cilantro, while struggling to keep the taco from escaping his overly stuffed mouth.
“Mmmfffgggrrrsss!” Avery angrily mumbled at the two men as he left, spewing some of the taco from his mouth.
Avery shuffled down the street with his load until he was out of sight of the coffee shop. Struggling to balance his load of books, tacos, and drink, Avery spotted a bench at the corner bus stop. An elderly man in a dark suit sat quietly at one end of the bench. Avery collapsed down on the other. He unwrapped another taco and pushed it into his mouth. His woolly cheeks bulged as he slowly chewed the taco, some of it sneaking out the corner of his mouth. Ever so slightly, the pace of his chewing increased until finally, in one gulp, he swallowed it.
“Sonny,” the old man said as he stood up to board the city bus pulling up to the curb. “You got a little something on your face.” He pointed to his cheek.
“So do you,” Avery replied. “The extraordinarily unattractive nose of a leper.”
“Agh!” the old man exclaimed, waving his hand as if to swat Avery away as he climbed aboard the bus.
Avery returned to ravaging another taco. As the bus pulled away, Avery spotted a pretty young woman across the street, walking down the block with something tubular slung across her back. Avery wondered if he’d seen her before, as he shoved another taco in his mouth. Maybe it was somewhere earlier today. Yes! That’s it. It has to be her. Of course she changed her disguise, he thought. She’s been tailing me all day.
Avery snatched up his books and remaining food and sprinted, well, stumbled as quickly as he could down his side of the street until he was a block ahead of the woman. Crossing the street, he ducked into the doorway of a small camera store. Frantically searching his fanny pack, he found a small plastic dental mirror. He poked the mirrored end out past the edge of the doorway ever so slightly.
“There you are,” Avery mumbled to himself as the woman walked down the sidewalk toward him.
Avery monitored her progress toward his position with his mirror until she was only a few feet away. He sprang from the doorway and stood directly in the path of the startled woman.
“Who are you?” Avery demanded.
“Jesus, you scared me,” the woman said, staring at the yellow-clad man with the crazy food-studded beard blocking her path.
“Who are you? Who you working for?”
“What?” the woman asked, taking a step back.
“CIA?” Avery said, taking a step forward. “Interpol? Mossad? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been shadowing me for hours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, stay away from me, or I’ll call the cops.”
“Go ahead. Local authorities don’t have jurisdiction in our deadly dance. Now, take that folding sniper rifle off your shoulder and place it on the ground.”
“It’s a yoga mat, you freak.”
“Right, yoga. Sure thing. Like Downward Facing Suck My…”
The sound of the smack as the woman slapped Avery across his face rang in his ears. The following knee to his groin dropped him to the pavement. His books, soft drink, and tacos scattered across the sidewalk as the young woman sprinted past him and down the street.
It took a full ten minutes for Avery to regain his composure from the blinding pain of the unexpected attack. He was furious with himself for letting the woman get the drop on him. Gathering his items, he decided he’d had enough for one day and turned toward home as quickly as possible. Limping down the street with a still throbbing cramp in his nether region, he struggled to carry his remaining belongings. Quietly whimpering as he walked, he failed to notice the squad car pulling up beside him.
“Excuse me, sir,” the officer said through the open window of the cruiser. “Please stop right there.”
“What?” Avery asked as his soda bottle slipped from his grasp and rolled off the curb and into the street.
“We’ve had a report of someone harassing a young woman in the area.”
“Why are you stopping me?”
“Because, sir, you pretty much fit the description,” the officer replied, indicating Avery’s bright yellow tracksuit.
“If you’re implying it was me, you’re badly mistaken,” Avery retorted. “In fact, I’m the victim of a recent assault. Most likely by an operative of a foreign intelligence agency.”
“I see. Well, I’ll need to see some I.D.,” the officer said as he exited the car and approached Avery.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“I don’t need one to see your I.D., sir. Please hand it over.”
Avery cursed himself for not having brought his fake passport along with him as he placed his books and remaining two tacos on the ground before fishing in his fanny pack for his license. He removed the license from the pack and handed it to the officer.
“Let me be exceptionally clear with you, officer. I view this annoyance as a clear case of unreasonable search and seizure. I plan on filing a full complaint with the Austin Police Department when I reach my office.”
“Avery Bartholomew Pendleton,” the officer recited from the dirty and mangled license. “Is this current address correct?”
“Indeed it is.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Back to my office to recover from my wounds.”
“And where is your office?”
“Same address as my residence.”
“Unit seventeen,” the police officer’s radio announced. “We have a ten sixty-four armed robbery in progress in your vicinity. Are you able to respond?”
“Roger,” the officer said into the radio mike attached to his chest. “I have your information, sir.” He handed the license back to Avery. “If we get another report of someone being bothered, we’ll come looking for you.”
Avery stood and watched as the officer jumped into his car and closed the door. As the cruiser pulled into traffic, the car’s rear tire rolled over Avery’s plastic Coke bottle, exploding its contents all over Avery. Dripping with soda, Avery leaned over and slowly gathered his belongings and limped his way back home. After a few feeble steps, an audible rumble emanated from his stomach. Clinching his sphincter, Avery quickened his pace to reach the safety of his toilet at home.
“Onions,” he whimpered. “That
banshee poisoned me!”
• • •
Back at the house, Maximilian patrolled the perimeter of his yard. It was his yard. He knew it, his master knew it, the stinky one knew it, and the postman knew it. Even the stuck-up poodle that lived down the block knew it, too. She’s nothing but a conceited bitch, Max thought as he sniffed the ornamental iron fence that garrisoned his property. The French bulldog had a smooth, solid white coat and a snub black nose and short tail. His bat-like ears seemed oddly too big for his flat, square head, as did the wide tongue that protruded from his mouth as he panted. It’s my yard, and my yard alone, Max thought as he continued his inspection.
Some might think of think of him as a dog of leisure, a lap dog meant solely for companionship, just a silly four-legged court jester for his master’s entertainment, but they would be wrong. He was an adventurer, an explorer, and a mini-backyard warrior cloaked in alabaster fur. His name, Maximilian, was Latin for “the greatest,” and it fit the courageous little dog perfectly. They don’t name emperors Buddy or saints Rover, the muscular little dog thought as he lifted his hind leg to mark the fence. They name them Maximilian!
Most importantly, he was a world-class excavator, a digging machine of epic renown. His front paws clawed in fury at the grass and dirt, dredging open a shallow hole that he promptly buried his face into, his short, rapid snuffles muffled by the soft dirt.
Everything seems good here, Max thought, as an overwhelming urge to lick his crotch completely engulfed him. That’s better. He wrapped up the necessary duty and pranced to the next section of fence, his identification and vaccination tags jangling from his red leather collar as he bounced along.
His only fear was water. He hated puddles. Couldn’t stand them. On walks with Master after a storm, the journey lasted twice as long, as he had to carefully circumnavigate the awful pools of rainwater.
He had known his tall white-haired master his entire life. He couldn’t remember anyone before him. Then, all of a sudden, the lady and the stinky one in the bathrobe moved into the house. He liked the lady. She fed him tasty snacks when the master wasn’t looking and scratched his belly with her fingernails just the way he liked it and was the only one who called him Maxi. He had loved her very much, but not as much as Master. Then, all of a sudden, she was gone, leaving him alone with just Master and the stinky one. He didn’t like the stinky one. He never gave him snacks and even yelled at him when he tried to enter his room. Fortunately, the stinky one spent most of his time in his room, leaving Max free rein of the house with Master.
Suddenly, Max spotted something in the back corner of the yard. The small mound of dry dirt in the ocean of green grass was definitely out of place. It just didn’t seem right to him as he trotted over and sniffed the anthill-like pile of dirt. No, he definitely didn’t remember doing this. Puzzled, he cocked his head sideways.
Max immediately set to work, burrowing a hole out of the mound with his stubby front paws. His claws evacuated the soft soil back between his hind legs. Sufficiently satisfied with its depth, he jammed his squat face into the depression and sniffed. Instantly, he launched himself backward several feet, landing with his head low to the ground and haunches raised. His little tail pointed straight up and quivered with excitement. Max enthusiastically barked twice, quickly spun around in a circle, and immediately resumed his head-down, tail-up pose. Slowly he inched his body toward the hole and hesitantly took another sniff. He launched himself again, this time bouncing up and down on his short but powerful front legs once he landed.
It’s definitely a mole, Max thought as he carefully approached the shallow pit for a second time. Max would not share his yard with anything, especially a mole. He was the only one who dug here! Flashing red rage filled his canine brain.
Max attacked the hole with violent aplomb this time. His paws were a blur, a whirlwind of nonstop activity. Dirt rooster-tailed out behind him like wood from a chipper. Quickly he switched to the opposite side of the hole and continued his frenzied mining. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop if he wanted. The scent of the creature had taken him over. It was intoxicating. Dig faster, the gallant little dog frantically thought. I can’t let it get away.
A foot beneath the concave depression, a mole sensed something was very wrong. The small, grey subterranean creature’s skin-covered eyes could barely tell night from day, but the pink nose at the end of its pointy snout warned him that something from above the roots of the grass was coming. Slowly, the mole used its broad front paws to push itself back into its tunnel, sluggishly moving deeper and deeper into its labyrinth-like lair.
Max continued his spastic burrowing, the front half of his body now swallowed up by the ever widening hole. Abruptly, Max stopped his frenzied digging. Burying his nose into the tunnel, he took a series of quick sniffs. The infernal rodent smell was fading. A rattling growl emanated from the little dog’s throat, followed by a sharp bark, as if to make sure the mole knew who it was dealing with and how unwelcome its presence was.
Hopping out of the hole, Max shook himself free of dirt and grass and lay down on the soft lawn beside his creation. Rubbing his face on his paws, he cleaned his wrinkly face.
Satisfied that his backyard was once again safe, Max scampered over to a small limb that had fallen overnight from one of the large oak trees that canopied the backyard. The branch weighed as much as Max and was nearly four times as long. Max took the fallen bough in his mouth and pulled. The little dog strained to move the branch across the yard. After dragging his awkward burden across the yard and next to the back door of the house, he set it down. Placing his front paws on top of his possession, he attempted to chew off one end.
Suddenly, Max heard the sound of the front gate being opened. Dropping his newly found toy, he scampered quickly around the side of the house and crouched down in the shadow of the bushes next to the front porch. Yes, it was the lady with the hair.
Aunt Polly struggled to push the gate closed with her ample backside as she clung to the two overloaded sacks of groceries in her arms. The short, heavily bosomed woman wearing a floral dress was built almost squarely, nearly as wide as she was tall. She wore a large, floppy white hat with a yellow flower tucked into the band. Beneath the wide brim, chaotic curls of bright reddish-orange hair exploded in all directions. She had stubby legs and chubby ankles that seemed to strain the tan stockings she wore. Her feet were crammed into white high-heeled shoes a half size too small. The stiletto heels in back waged a valiant battle to keep her aloft. Aunt Polly teetered back and forth in the heels, struggling to balance her unwieldy load and navigate the treacherous walkway to the front steps.
Just wait for her, Max thought. Just a little farther, and she’s all yours. The Frenchie was small, but his predatory instincts passed down genetically from wolves and jackals burned like fire within him.
Aunt Polly breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the first of the front porch stairs. Then the bushes exploded. A quick succession of high-pitched barks and yaps filled her ears, causing her to lose her balance once again. Max tore through the bushes and launched himself into the air at the lady with the crazy hair. Barking wildly, Max landed on his hind legs and leaned his full weight into the woman with his muddy front paws planted squarely on her pretty dress.
Aunt Polly stumbled backward, this time completely losing her equilibrium on the towering heels. As she fell backward, she let out a terrified screech. Extending a pudgy hand to help break her fall, she landed with a thump squarely on her backside, spilling one of the grocery bags in the process.
Max, seeing the vulnerable prize on the ground, immediately stuck his head in the fallen sack, his nose sniffing wildly. Quickly sifting through oranges, a stalk of celery, and canned goods, Max found what he was after. The little raider pulled a paper-wrapped porterhouse steak out of the grocery bag. Suddenly, Max felt the strangest sensation. It was as if he was flying, Max thought before realizing it was just his master yanking him up and away from his treasure.
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“Come here, you naughty little gremlin!” Bennett scolded as he tucked Max under one arm.
It’s my kill! Max thought as he struggled furiously in his master’s tight grasp.
Trying his best to subdue the wriggling beast, Bennett extended his long arm down to Aunt Polly and helped her to her feet.“I’m terribly sorry, Polly, but you fell right into his trap,” Bennett chuckled.
Aunt Polly brushed herself off and held the back of her wrist to her forehead. “Lord have mercy,” she exclaimed in her East Texas twang that was decidedly not from Austin. “I thought for sure I was being ambushed by a demonic white tiger. My life flashed before my eyes. I thought I was ready to meet the heavenly maker. That little beast will be the death of me yet!”
“Oh, settle down, Polly, he didn’t mean to startle you. Now, you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’m most certain I nearly broke a heel during my fall, and my dress is a disgrace.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll straighten your dress right up.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about the dress, just my delicate nerves. I can feel my blood pressure escalating.” A look of panic crossed Polly’s face as she grasped Bennett’s arm. “Bennett, you’re a doctor. What should I do?”
“Come on, Polly, let’s get you and the tiger inside so I can clean up these groceries,” Bennett said as he helped Aunt Polly up the steps. “Come on in and see Kip. He’s in the parlor. I’ll bring you a glass of cold lemonade. You’ll be just fine.”
“Thank you, Bennett. You’ve always been such a decent gentleman,” Polly said as she took his arm and climbed the porch stairs.
Bennett walked to the back of the house and put Maximilian in the kitchen. He gave the mischievous dog a disapproving look as he closed the door behind him.
Max trotted over to his water dish and took a long, sloppy slurp. Sufficiently satisfied with the morning’s outcome, he curled up under the kitchen table and almost immediately began to snore.
The Chupacabra: A Borderline Crazy Tale of Coyotes, Cash & Cartels (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 1) Page 5
