Claw

by Katie Berry

  Austin said, “I’d say our bear qualifies as something existing in our world today, size-wise and thick hide-wise, that is.”

  Christine took one of the rifle’s shells out of an ammo box in the locker and held it up for Austin to see. “The 750 grain, .577 calibre shell from this rifle can stop pretty much anything on the planet.” She twirled the fifty gram, ten-centimetre long shell in her fingers. “This shell should be able to go into one side of Angus and out the other, and then impact another bear his size, without barely slowing down at all.”

  “Sounds like it must have quite a kick.”

  “You better believe it. This rifle has three mercury recoil reducers built into the stock. If you’re not well-braced before firing, this thing will take your shoulder right off if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Ouch! I guess I’ll leave that to the professionals.”

  “That’d be me!” Christine said. “I’ve had training on a rifle like this several years back and scored top marks with it at the range.”

  “Nice.” Austin nodded appreciatively.

  Christine took the gun back to the locker and placed it in a soft, kevlar-based gun case already there. She added a box of shells, then zipped it all up and put it back in the locker.

  “What? You’re not going to take it with you?”

  “No, I want to travel light today and just do some reconnaissance. But I am going to bring my .30-06 because you just never know.” She removed the Remington from the cabinet and placed it on the counter for a moment. “So, anyway, I thought I’d keep you up to speed with the weapon update and all since you’ve been involved with this from the beginning. And with you being head of Animal Control for the City of Lawless, I thought you could appreciate this weapon. And speaking of animals, I have to say, you’ve been much more helpful than the police in this town.”

  “Ah, yes, Chief Reggie VanDusen and the ever-faithful Constable Oscar Olsen, among others.”

  “How did a man like VanDusen get the job of Chief of Police in this town, anyway?”

  “It helps to be friends with the Mayor, apparently.”

  “He’s almost as unpleasant as the mayor, that's for sure. Did one of them rub-off on the other or something?”

  “Well, one of them is always rubbing somebody the wrong way.”

  “I can believe that! When I got into town last week, I bumped into ‘His Lordship’ at city hall when I was picking up the keys to the forestry office. Your mayor is quite a piece of work, to say the least!”

  “Yes, Bob Nichols is a treat, isn’t he?”

  “That’s a very diplomatic way to put it. But a treat, though? I can think of several other words that are not quite so complimentary,” As she spoke, she noted some disorder on the work table and started to square it away.

  “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Not at all. When Carl up and disappeared, the conservation got locked up, with new locks placed on the doors as a precaution. The ministry had contacted the locksmith and asked them to drop off the new set of keys at city hall so that I could pick them up when I got into town.” Christine finished straightening a couple of items on the counter next to the gun locker.

  “And?”

  “And I was picking up the keys to the office from the front desk at City Hall when the Mayor, Ray Chance and Chief VanDusen walk in from the street. I recognised the Mayor right away, thanks to the huge portrait of him hanging in the lobby. So anyway, I approached him to introduce myself.” She stopped, grinning and shaking her head slightly from side to side.

  “What happened — what’s so funny?”

  “So I stick my hand out and say, ‘Hello, I’m with the BC Conservation Officer Service. My name’s Christine Moon, and I’ve just been reassigned from the coast! I added how I'd be serving Lawless and the surrounding area.’ He looked me up and down, paused for a moment, then said, ‘I’m sure you’ll do just fine with all that.” Then he adds, “Tell you what, why don’t you just put me down for three boxes of Mint Melties and you can have the girls from your troop deliver them to the front desk here whenever they come in.’”

  “That sounds about right!” Austin laughed. “The Mayor is off in his own little world most of the time. Personally, I think he’s suffering from dementia.”

  “I can believe that. So after the Mayor and the Chief stroll away, muttering to each other, Ray Chance walks up to me, looks me up and down and says, ‘You can come up to my casino anytime, toots, and help me conserve some of my poker chips!’ With that, he staggers away. But speaking of Ray, I wouldn’t want to put him anywhere near an open flame! The fumes that come rolling off of him are incredible!”

  Austin laughed. “Ah, yes, the always lecherous and forever fuming Ray Chance!” Austin looked toward the daylight flooding through the window. “Well, I need to get back to the boys and make sure we get the rest of those signs up.” He pulled his cell phone out to text Trip.

  “I’m going to head up toward Gold Ridge to try and track Angus. I marked the spot that I tracked him to with my GPS, so I'm hoping I can pick up his trail again while this beautiful sunshine lasts.” She beamed another smile at him in concluded, saying, “But I’ll drop you off on my way, first.”

  “Thanks! I’ll let Trip know and get their location.” Austin started to type on his cell and saw his signal strength meter wavering between one bar and nothing. The building’s metal roof and structure were interfering with the phone’s antenna. He moved toward the window to try to improve the reception.

  Watching him, Christine said, “That reminds me! I almost forgot to show you the other thing I had sent up yesterday!” Christine pulled out what looked like an oversized walkie-talkie. But this was no ordinary radio; it was an Iridium Extreme Satellite Phone. “This will come in handy around here, let me tell you!”

  Austin looked up as he finished texting Trip and put his phone away. He recognized the industrial-looking, ebony-hued device in her hand. “Oh, that’s awesome! I’ve been bugging the city to get a satellite phone for a little while now, but they haven’t allowed for it in their current budget, yet. Things have been a little tight recently, especially after purchasing the howitzer as well as the added expense of the cleanup from the quake. Until they get more cell repeaters in this area, a satellite phone is practically a necessity if you get into trouble out in the backcountry around here.”

  “Exactly!” Christine stuffed the satellite phone back into her parka pocket. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your putting more signs up. It’ll give me a chance to get out there and try to track Angus while the weather holds. I’d like to avoid further incidents like the campsite massacre.” Christine grabbed her .30-06 from the counter, slung it over her shoulder and began walking toward the shop door.

  Austin suddenly said, “Say, that reminds me!”

  She turned. “It does? Of what?”

  “Trouble in the backcountry! I was going to let you know about our survivor from the attack!”

  “Right! I was going to ask about him. How is he doing?” Christine asked, concern in her voice.

  “Well, his name is Jerry Benson, and it turns out, he’s doing well. Apart from some obvious PTSD, he just has a forearm fracture, amazingly enough. But it’s what he said about our monster bear that I thought might interest you more.”

  “Okay, I’m listening.” She tilted her head, quizzically.

  “He said he thought the bear might have come from this new cavern that he discovered up on Gold Ridge near the glacier.”

  “Really? A new cavern?”

  “Yeah, he thinks it may have followed him from there back to the campsite, and you know what happened next.”

  “That is horrible to hear! But at the same time, it sounds like that would be a perfect place for a creature like Angus to make his lair. This great news! I’ll know where to focus my search now. Thanks!”

  “No problem,” Austin said, following along behind her. As he walked, he texte
d Trip asking, ‘What’s your 20?’. Climbing into Christine’s truck, he felt his phone vibrate in his hand. Trip had just texted back that he and Alex were only a few blocks from the conservation office.

  A couple of minutes later, Christine and Austin rolled to a stop. Alex was finishing up, pounding another sign into the ground with Trip holding it steady. Alex gave the post one more whack for good measure then looked up at the sound of the approaching truck. He smiled and waved when he saw Christine. She waved back, saying, “That is a handsome young man you have there,” then added softly, “He certainly takes after his father, I must say.”

  Austin blushed slightly and smiled at the compliment, saying, “Thanks, I’m sure Alex would like to know that an attractive woman such as yourself just called him handsome.”

  Now it was Christine’s turn to blush. “Well, thank you.” She cleared her throat slightly and said, “I really appreciate your help with the signs and everything, by the way.”

  “Not a problem, we should be done pretty soon.” Austin stepped down out of the truck.

  “If I can track Angus successfully, maybe I can use my new boom-stick today.”

  “Just be very, very careful, okay?”

  “Thanks, I will. I’m a big girl, you know -- with a gun,” she reached around and patted her Remington affectionately in the gun rack behind her.

  “That’s true, but remember that rifle is untested against Angus, so don’t get cocky, kid. “ He said with a slight smile.

  “I know. I want to see if I can locate some more of his tracks now that the weather has cleared. I’ll be careful.”

  “Please do, and don’t forget to try and make it back before nightfall.” Austin closed the passenger door and walked around the front of the truck. He stopped next to Christine’s window, and she rolled it down. Austin concluded, saying, “Remember the ice fog warning.”

  “Yes, mother,” Christine said with a grin. She rolled up her window and pulled out onto the road, tooting her horn and waving to Alex and Trip in the process.

  The sun dazzled Austin, reflecting off the truck’s rear window. He smiled, thinking the blinding brilliance of the sun overhead paled in comparison to the shining light that radiated from within the woman now driving away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Mayor Bob Nichols wove his Cadillac Escalade SUV through the sinuous curves of Provincial Highway #4. He was on his way to the Golden Nugget Casino and Resort to see what was what. Scowling at the numerous ‘Bear In Area’ signs along the way, his bony fingers dug farther and farther into the steering wheel with each new sign he saw. He blew by two more, one on each side of the road. This had to be number seven and eight, at least, since he’d begun his climb up the hill. “Goddamned bear! Scaring all of my customers away and costing me God knows how much money! You big, bastardly, hairy son of a bitch!”

  The fact that the day had cleared, and the sun was beautiful and brilliant in the cold late-January sky was lost on Nichols. He was ruminating on what to do with the theft up at the mine, and now the issues with this supposed bear. Things had gone from phenomenal to horrible in a matter of only a few days.

  Rounding a corner, the Eiffel tower suddenly popped into view as he maneuvered through the last bend up to the resort. Bob’s face brightened temporarily when remembered the frantic, excited phone call he’d received from Ray Chance just after the quake in mid-January. The minute his handyman, Watkins, had departed, Chance had been on the phone with the news, saying, “Jesus Jiminy Christmas! I think we’re going to be goddamned billionaires, partner!”

  Chance told Nichols that he presumed Watkins hadn’t known what he’d found up at the cavern was real gold. Bob had concurred, figuring if Watkins had known it was real, he most likely wouldn’t have told Chance about it and given any of it to him -- of that, he was quite sure. Now, however, as far as they both knew, Watkins was AWOL and making up for lost time and money, most likely on his way to Palm Springs with several bags of nuggets and not a care in the world. “Bastard!” Nichols muttered.

  They’d quickly come to an agreement regarding how to deal with the fortune in the gold they hoped to extract from the cavern. Like their partnership, it was supposed to have been a fifty-fifty affair. But Nichols was pretty sure that Chance was probably stepping over the line now, taking his share from fifty percent into the more lofty and profitable sixtieth or seventieth percentiles. Bob knew from years of experience that he couldn’t trust that little tub of lard as far as he could throw him, and he knew that wasn’t very far.

  Under the guidance of Nichols and Chance, the first wave of gold removal by Willy Wilson senior and junior had been a great success. Most of it had been quite easy to extract, given the fact that the majority of it was in the form of nuggets scattered throughout the main cavern’s floor. When that ran out, additional effort had been needed to extract the gold ore from the cavern walls itself. But the effort had been minimal, as there were several big, beautiful veins of gold running throughout the cavern. It just sat there, glistening in the rock, waiting for two entrepreneurial individuals like them to come along and scoop it up -- just like it was meant to be. He smiled to himself for a long moment.

  Nichols's good mood had returned, thanks to these new thoughts of golden nuggets dancing in his head. He pulled around the back of the main building and parked his Cadillac in the reserved spot with his name on it next to Chance’s Land Rover. As he climbed down out of his gleaming, black SUV, he almost fell on his ass. Despite their shared desire to save as much as they could on maintenance around the resort, they really needed to get on top of the sanding around this place. Walking carefully over to the Rover, he stopped for a moment to examine it. Apparently, Ray had done an admirable amount of damage to the front end of his vehicle when he’d terminated that raccoon the other day.

  “Nice job, Ray,” Nichols muttered aloud. “That’s going to cost you a couple of pretty pennies.” And then he concluded, “Not that you can’t afford it, you cheap little prick!”

  Feeling even better now after seeing Chance’s damaged Rover, Nichols continued inside, humming to himself. The lobby was vacant, with several slot machines scattered near the entrance chiming and pinging happily away to an audience of none. Walking to the elevator, he pressed the large, glowing button marked with a number two and looked about the room as he waited for it to descend.

  A contingency of about a dozen seniors from the local retirement home, or God’s waiting room, as Nichols thought of it, was also in attendance today. In the far corner, a couple of video blackjack regulars were kicking about in one corner as well. He almost didn’t register the fact that Ester Cunningham was glued to her usual trio of slot machines, the woman being such a fixture at the place. She almost seemed like a piece of the furniture, having played the slots almost daily since they’d opened the casino. It did his heart good to see her in here day after day, feeding the machines, blowing hundreds of dollars every hour or so. After all this time, Bob still had no idea where she got her money. Of course, he didn’t really care either, as long as she had money to waste. Maybe she has her own gold mine, he mused to himself, smiling slightly at the thought. Apart from the ragtag assortment of regulars, the casino wasn't making much money today. “Goddamned bear,” he muttered.

  The bell dinged, and the beautiful brass-trimmed doors opened into the gleaming, mirrored elevator. He stepped inside and turned around, looking across the lobby at the front desk. Chance’s current front desk attendant, Al something or other, looked over to Nichols and smiled blandly at him for a moment. Bob scowled back and pressed the button labelled 'Two'. As the door slid closed, he looked at his expression in the mirror. Feeling he didn’t look as pissed as he felt, he frowned a bit more. No, definitely not angry-looking enough. He frowned harder until his reflection looked positively demonic. There, that was much better, he thought, his scowl was now perfect.

  The bell dinged, and the doors slid open. Nichols breezed through the frosted outer door into Ch
ance’s office and was greeted by his pin-head receptionist, Roxanne Rooney. “Good morning, Mayor Nichols. Do you have an appointment with Mr. Chance today?” She put down her nail brush for a moment, her red-taloned hand reaching for the intercom button as she spoke.

  “Always,” Nichols said, and gusted past her desk toward Chance’s mahogany office door.

  “Sir! You can’t just barge in there!” she exclaimed.

  “Sure I can; it’s easy! Just watch!” He pushed the door open and entered Chance's office. Turning quickly, he slammed the heavy door in the receptionist’s concerned face.

  “Bob! How the hell’s it going?” Ray Chance asked as Nichols barged into his inner sanctum. He placed his brandy snifter back on his desk and glowered across the room at Nichols.

  “You know as well as I do,” Nichols said in a low voice, approaching the desk. He sat down in the worn leather chair opposite Chance.