The Chupacabra tct-1

by Stephen Randel

  “Really? A whole dollar?” the boy said sarcastically. “Screw that, bro. But you score me a six-pack of Budweiser and you’ve got a deal.”

  “How old are you?” Avery asked, even though it was obvious the kid was no more than fifteen years old.

  “Twenty-three, dude. It’s just that I lost my wallet over in Iraq. You know, it’s like all crazy and shit in Baghdad.”

  Avery pondered his options. He needed gas and he needed to get back on the road. “Okay,” Avery relented. “Give me your shirt.”

  “Killer,” the boy said as he slipped his shirt off. “Remember, I want Bud, not Bud Light. I haven’t drunk that watered-down piss since sixth grade.” The shirt was baggy on the boy. On Avery, it barely fit. Peeking around the corner, Avery watched as the Highway Patrolman entered the gas station. Sneaking around the side of the building, Avery watched through the front windows as the officer waved to the gas station attendant and headed toward the bathroom in the back of the store. Sensing his opportunity, Avery hurried inside.

  “That’s better,” the attendant said as the now fully clothed Avery headed for the beer cooler in back, ducking and weaving his way through the rows of snacks and magazines on the off chance the officer reappeared. Grabbing a six-pack of Budweiser, Avery rushed to the counter.

  “This and thirty on the pump,” Avery said as he pushed the beer across the counter. The attendant rang up the purchase. Avery paid quickly.

  “You want a sack for that?” the attendant asked. Avery didn’t bother to reply. He grabbed the six-pack through the rings and bolted out the door and around to the side of the gas station. The skater was waiting patiently, smoking a cigarette.

  “Here,” said Avery as he handed the boy the beer and started to take off his shirt.

  “Wait a minute, dude,” the boy said as he took a drag on the cigarette. “I forgot something. I need some Camels, too.”

  “No way, you little bastard,” Avery replied.

  “Okay,” said the boy. “Now, I wonder where that police dude went?” The boy scratched his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Buying alcohol for a minor is a pretty big deal around here.”

  “Why, you blackmailing little weasel,” Avery said as he reached out for the boy. The boy easily jumped out of the way.

  “Chill, bro,” the boy said, laughing. “One pack, and then we’re cool. Seriously.” Avery cursed as he ran back into the store, emerging a minute later with the boy’s smokes.

  “Fork over my shirt, man,” the smiling boy said as he put the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

  “Take it, you little hyena,” Avery said as he pulled the T-shirt off and threw it at the boy before hurrying to the gas pump.

  “Pleasure doing business with you, blubber dude,” the boy happily yelled to Avery before disappearing behind the gas station. Avery shoved the gas nozzle into the rental car’s tank. Inside the station, the attendant noticed the shirtless Avery filling his car at the pump.

  “Hey, Bobby,” the attendant said to the highway patrolman coming out of the restroom. “Something kind of fishy going on with that fat boy out there.”

  “I’ll check it out,” the patrolman said as he put on his wide-brimmed hat. Avery nervously pretended not to notice the patrolman as he walked towards the pumps. Avery’s hand shook on the nozzle as the noisy gas meter ticked away. “That your vehicle, boy?” the patrolman asked as he approached Avery.

  “Uh, well, yes, officer,” Avery muttered.

  “You know that spare of yours look pretty shot,” the patrolman said as he leaned down and examined the temporary tire. “Where you headed?”

  “Austin,” Avery said as he impatiently watched the gas meter, praying it would hurry up.

  “You might want to think twice about that. I bet you don’t have twenty miles left on that thing,” the patrolman said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Avery replied. “I’ll be sure and keep an eye on it.”

  “You got some kind of dead animal in there,” the patrolman said as he looked into the back seat of the car and shined his flashlight in.

  “Uh, family pet,” Avery said as the meter stopped at thirty dollars. “Taking it home to rest in peace.”

  “You mind if I take a look?” the patrolman said as he walked around to Avery’s side of the vehicle and looked in the back window.

  “It’s not exactly fresh. Getting kind of putrid, actually,” Avery said as he scrambled to come up with an excuse to not open the car door.

  “Why don’t you just open the door, boy?” the patrolman asked with authority in his voice.

  “Okay, but please don’t touch it. It’s very valuable,” Avery said as he opened the door for the patrolman. “I mean, valuable to the family and everything.” The patrolman bent over to examine the animal.

  “Ugliest damned dog I ever saw,” the patrolman said as he gazed at the bundled-up remains. “You want your shirt, boy?” the patrolman said as he reached for the yellow tracksuit top, covering the stacks of cash.

  “No! That’s okay,” Avery said as he leaned in the back with the patrolman and stopped him from picking up the tracksuit. “Driving like this…it uh…helps me stay awake.”

  “Hell, the stink from that dead mutt will keep you awake by itself,” replied the patrolman as he backed away from the car door.

  “Yes, thank you, officer,” Avery said as he closed the door. “Really should be on my way. Don’t want to be late for the funeral.”

  “Funeral?” the patrolman inquired.

  “Uh, burial, that it,” Avery said as he climbed into the front seat. “Cherished family pet, it was.”

  “All right, then,” the patrolman said. “But watch your speed and get that spare tire looked at. Pronto.”

  “Yes, sir,” Avery replied as he closed the door and pulled out of the filling station. The highway patrolman watched Avery intently as he drove back out onto the highway.

  Avery made the fastest time home he could without getting pulled over. He didn’t even stop to pull another Mountain Dew from his ice chest. Hours later, the familiar outskirts of Austin approached. Just as the sun was coming up, Avery pulled into the garage behind the big white house. Dumping the extra soda bottles from his ice chest, Avery wedged the animal corpse into the cooler with the remainder of the ice. Retrieving a lawn bag from the garage workbench, Avery crammed the stacks of money from the floorboard into it. Putting his tracksuit top back on, he took the cooler and the bag of money and sneaked as quietly as he could into the house. From the top of the main staircase, Max glared down at Avery as he tiptoed up the steps with his heavy load.

  “Move it,” Avery said as he brushed past the little white dog and headed for his room. Max sniffed the strange odor emanating from the ice chest as Avery barged past him. Following Avery down the hall, Max stuck his pug nose under the door that Avery had closed behind him. After taking a few short whiffs, Max sneezed and shook his head before returning to bed with Bennett.

  Inside the dimly lit room, Avery pushed the cooler into the corner and threw a blanket over it. Then he stashed the money sack under his bed. Firing up his computer, he pulled up the “MonsterTruthersMessageBoard” and logged in as NinjaMan. HammerheadSam and Cannibal520 were in the chat room.

  From: NinjaMan – I found it!

  From: Cannibal520 – Found what?

  From: NinjaMan – A chupacabra corpse!

  From: HammerheadSam – OMG! No way. For real?

  From: NinjaMan – Real.

  From: Cannibal520 – Post a picture!

  From: NinjaMan – Not yet. I need to work out my strategy for getting this discovery out to the press. I’m not sure if I should do Sixty Minutes or Good Morning America first.

  From: HammerheadSam – Try The View first. It’ll blow those chicks’ minds. LOL.

  From: NinjaMan – I’ll consider it, but I’m not sure about their scientific or journalistic integrity. Until then, don’t speak of this to anyone outside the group, and watch out for the black
helicopters. Logging off now.

  Avery shut down his computer. Stumbling toward his small bed, he fell face first onto the mattress. He was sound asleep instantly.

  • • •

  Later that morning, in an El Paso–area hospital room, Agent Maria Diaz woke up as she heard the sound of her partner fumbling with the tubes connected to his arm.

  “Hank, take it easy,” she said as she rose to her feet and placed her hand on Hank’s to stop him from pulling the tubes out.

  “Get this junk off me,” Agent Hank Martin said, his voice groggy.

  “Nurse,” Agent Diaz called into the hallway as she sat on the edge of Hank’s hospital bed and held his hand still. “Settle down, partner. It’s going to be all right. You’re in the hospital. Your leg is in pretty bad shape, but the doctor says you’ll be back in the saddle in no time.”

  “Well, good morning, Agent Martin,” the nurse said as she entered the small room. “Let’s make sure you didn’t do anything naughty here.” She checked his tubes and monitors. “You just rest a little. The doctor will be in shortly to take a look at you.”

  “I don’t need a damn doctor,” said Hank. “What I do need are my boots and gun. There’s a big Mexican I need to have a little private conversation with.”

  “Well, that may need to wait a little while, agent,” the nurse said as she made a note on his bed chart. “You’re going to have to stay off that leg of yours for a while until you’re healed up.”

  “Only need one good one,” Hank replied gruffly.

  “Is that so?” a senior-looking border patrol agent asked as he entered the room. “By God, Hank, you’re a hell of an agent, but you really don’t know when you’re licked.”

  “He’s right, Hank,” said Maria. “Listen to the boss.”

  “I’m not sitting around in here while the bastard that shot me and my partner is running loose out there,” Hank protested.

  “Well, he might not be running as fast as you think,” the senior agent replied. “Got a call last night from a Billy Willingham. Also goes by the name of one Private Zulu. Belongs to that militia group you ran into out in the desert. Says he found a body in their headquarters down around Tornillo. I just came from downtown with the report.”

  “Was it a big Mexican?” Hank asked.

  “Well, he used to be pretty tall at some point in his life,” the senior agent replied. “Seems to have been shortened recently by about the length of his head.”

  “Was he a bodybuilder?” Maria asked.

  “I imagine he preferred to spend his free time in tattoo parlors rather than gymnasiums,” the senior agent replied as he took a stack of crime scene photos from a manila envelope and handed them to Agent Diaz.

  “That’s not our guy,” Maria said as she examined the photos of the headless man covered in tattoos. “Did you get a chance to interview Private Zulu about what might have happened?”

  “Yeah, we questioned him a little,” the senior agent explained. “He was really shaken up, but said he was there to meet an Avery Pendleton from Austin about some kind of dead dog he found in the desert. Says Pendleton wasn’t there when he showed up, but that the dog was gone. We’ve got all sorts of prints and forensics from the place, but it’s going to take some time getting them sorted out. The militia’s got seven members that spend a lot of time in the building.”

  “Did he mention anything about the drugs those mules in desert were carrying?” Hank asked.

  “Nope,” the senior agent replied. “The dogs picked up the scent of narcotics in the building, but we didn’t find anything. The EMTs sedated Private Zulu before we could get much more on the drugs. He should be calmed down in a few hours, and then we can sweat him pretty good. We’re trying to round up the rest of his group right now for questioning. I’ve got a feeling these boys stumbled into something with the cartels. If your report of those mules carrying drug parcels was correct and the big Mexican shooter took off without them after he shot you two, then we’ve still got a shipment floating around somewhere. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if your big boy is out there looking for it right now. Or, maybe even has it already.”

  “Additionally, we found two dead men in a jeep not far from your shoot-out. They were most likely cartel soldiers. Looks like they were ambushed. It was a professional job. They could have been waiting to meet the shipment. And, if that’s not enough for you, we also had another body turn up in a motel closet just outside of town. Traveling salesman. He registered a car with New Mexico plates with the front desk when he checked in, but the car is gone. I’ve got a bulletin out to watch for it. Don’t know if they’re all connected, but if they are, your guy doesn’t seem to have a problem leaving bodies in his wake.”

  “Sounds to me like either the shooter has the drugs or this Pendleton fellow does,” said Maria. “Do we know where to find Pendleton?”

  “Sure do,” said the senior agent. “Got an Austin address for him. Lives with his elderly stepfather. The Feds are running the show regarding this pile of bodies we’ve got, but we’re still on the narcotics angle. I was wondering if you felt up to paying him a visit later today?”

  “Love to,” said Maria.

  “Your wing okay?” The senior agent pointed to the sling on Maria’s arm.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied. “How soon can you get me to Austin?”

  “Working on setting up a flight right now.”

  “Hell, no,” interrupted Hank. “She can barely shoot right-handed, much less southpaw.”

  “Shut up, Hank,” Maria replied. “I’m good to go, boss. I don’t plan on shooting him, just questioning him.”

  “I know,” the senior agent said. “We’ll have local P.D. meet your flight and escort you to Pendleton’s house.”

  “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” Hank complained loudly.

  “Nothing,” Maria and the senior agent said in unison.

  • • •

  “Good afternoon, students,” the middle-aged tai chi master in a loose-fitting blue robe greeted his students. “My name is Master Wu, and I’m delighted to have you attend my Tai Chi for Beginners class.” Polly, Jolene, Miss Pearl, and Big and Little Esther stood in their robes and flat-soled shoes near the back of the room in their local YWCA. “Today,” Master Wu continued, speaking to his handful of students, “we’ll be working on mastering three basic tai chi movements: Beginning, Parting the Wild Horse’s Mane, and White Crane Spreads its Wings. Over time, as you master these movements, we’ll continue with an additional twenty-one movements, known collectively as the Twenty-Four Forms. Now, the first thing I’d like you to do…”

  “Excuse me,” said Miss Pearl as she raised her bony little hand. “When do we get to break some boards?”

  “And your name is?” Master Wu asked politely.

  “Pearl,” she replied less than politely. “By the way, Wu, how many men have you killed?”

  “Stop it, Pearl,” Polly hissed.

  “Well, Pearl, while it’s true that tai chi chuan originated as a martial art and that each movement, if executed properly, does have a logical application for personal self-defense,” Master Wu gracefully moved his hands to block an imaginary assailant’s attack, “it’s also true that it takes many, many years of practice to master tai chi as a form of defense.”

  “How long does it take to master it as a form of offense?” Pearl smugly asked.

  “Patience, Pearl,” Master Wu said calmly. “Our class today is designed to introduce you to the basic concepts of tai chi so that you may begin to enjoy the benefits of this remarkable meditative art.”

  “Like what?” Pearl asked.

  “Reduced stress, increased calmness, and improved inner balance,” Master Wu replied, moving delicately on his feet, his arms flowing rhythmically around his body. “Like increased stamina, flexibility, and endurance. Practicing the forms will do wonders for your circulation and blood pressure…”

  “Master Wu,” Polly interrupted. “Ex
cuse me. My name is Polly. Is there any way we can focus on the inner calmness part today?”

  “Why, of course,” Master Wu replied with a warm smile.

  “You sure we can’t just skip straight to the blades,” Pearl asked as she pointed to the rack of straight double-edged tai chi swords at the front of the room.

  “Patience, Pearl,” Master Wu replied. “Just as your name suggests, it takes many years for a tiny, irritating grain of sand inside an oyster to become a beautiful jewel.” Pearl scowled at Master Wu, not quite sure if she had been insulted or complimented. “The jian, or sword, is not for the beginner,” Master Wu continued. “But, if you follow my instructions, you will learn to control your chi and…”

  “My who?” asked Pearl.

  “Your chi,” replied Master Wu. “It’s your life force, Pearl. With it, everything grows. Without it, everything dies. Over time, you will learn to focus your chi, and then even you will be able to break boards.”

  “Well, what are waiting for?” Pearl asked impatiently.

  “Excellent,” replied Master Wu as he clicked “Play” on a tape recorder at the front of the room. Soft sounds of soothing Oriental music filled the room. “Now, for the movement known as Beginning, I would like you to step with one leg to the side like this so that your feet are shoulder-width apart.” The students mirrored his movement. “Now, keep your posture relaxed, but not limp. There should be no tension in your chest or shoulders. Your pelvis should be tilted slightly forward with your bottom tucked underneath you so that your lower back is straightened.”

  “Look,” Jolene said jubilantly as she tilted her pelvis forward as instructed. “It works! I haven’t had my bottom tucked under me since high school.”

  “Honey,” Pearl replied. “You’ve never had that sack of potatoes tucked underneath you then or now.”

  “Hush,” said Little Esther. “I can’t hear Master Wu.”

  “Very good, students,” Master Wu cheerfully encouraged the class. “Now, begin by breathing in. Breathe in deep down into your abdomen. When we begin the forms, I want you to breathe in on open movements,” he said as his arms extended, “and out on closed movements,” and his arms pulled back in toward his body.