A Crying Shame (5 page)

Growling filled the room in reply.

The stench of the beast drifted into the closed room, almost overpowering her with its odor.

Leave me alone!” she warned, her voice shaky.

The beast was moving, stalking her, a couch separating the upright man/creature in vague human form from the woman, terrified, rooted to her spot by fear. She raised the pistol just as a flash of lightning cut the night, momentarily illuminating the office.

And she witnessed the creature, saw it in all its hideousness: the huge head, the malformed grotesqueness of the half-human, half-animal body, covered with hair; the dangling arms, the fangs that dripped stinking slobber from apelike lips, the hot yellow eyes that seemed not to blink.

It roared at her, its breath fouling the air. The beast lifted its arms, holding out its hands—almost, it seemed to Linda, beckoning to her.

She sighted the pistol on its chest, her finger taking up trigger slack.
I'll kill you,” she cried, tears of fear and stark terror staining her cheeks.

The creature leaped for her. She began firing, the muzzle spitting lead and flame. The beast howled at the slugs that tore its flesh.

The last thing Linda remembered was the sound of her own screaming as the beast reached for her.

Morning, boys,” Sheriff Mike Saucier greeted his deputies in the lounge of the Fountain Parish Sheriff's Department. The lounge was actually an old storage room that had been converted. It held an old table, four rickety chairs, and a coffee pot. It sometimes was used as an interrogation room.
That was one hell of a storm we had last night, eh?”

Oui,”
Deputy Wagner said, with an accent that caused Mike to cringe.

Good God!” Mike said, pouring a cup of coffee.
Roy, don't ever cross the Fain River and attempt to speak French. My coonie cousins over there will be laughing all the way to supper.”

Ah cain't hep it, Shuriff,” Roy drawled.
How alse kin ah practice ma coonass talk?”

The small room was still echoing with laughter as the sheriff took his coffee into his office. He was chuckling and shaking his head, thinking: Hopeless—the man is hopeless. He wants to learn Cajun French so badly, but he'll be a rolling-hills redneck till the day he dies.

He looked up as his chief deputy walked in.

Chief Deputy Joe Ratliff had a frown on his face ... as usual. Joe was an outstanding lawman, and took his job very seriously; he was a bulldog until a case was concluded. He was also a hard-shell Baptist—which he took even more seriously—constantly bitching about the
bad language” used in the department. Joe had once tried to initiate a morning prayer service in the department. For a week he had tried very hard. For a week nobody showed up. Joe still groused about that.

Joe.” Mike smiled.
How you this morning?”

Joe, as usual, came right to the point. When they passed out the ability to chitchat, or to engage in even the slightest of social amenities, Joe, as one of his coworkers once said, was standing behind the door.
Quiet night, Sheriff,” he said.

Joe then proceeded to bring Mike up to date on the night's activities. Mike had never asked for this verbal report; indeed, he would have much preferred to scan the arresting reports himself. But it was something Joe felt he should do. And he did—every morning. He would call Mike at home on the weekends, except that the last time he did that, Mike was entertaining a lady, and was unusually blunt with his chief deputy. Profanely so. It never happened again.

Sheriff Saucier sighed with relief.
Glad to hear it was quiet. Well, Joe ... if it was that quiet, perhaps then we can dispense with the—”