“Shame. I was hoping munchkins would come sing the ding-dong song in your shop.”
“She’s not dead.”
“We could knock off a couple of verses if you want. I’ll start. You come in on ‘which old witch’?”
“She’s not dead.”
“How long’s she been out?”
“About twenty minutes, then thirty minutes, that’s when I called you, then”—he checked his watch—“about fifteen minutes.”
“So she came to and you rezapped her?”
“Until I could figure out what to do.”
“You miss the job, don’t you?” Cavuto pushed his hat back on his head and looked to Rivera for the confession. “You know, technically, you being active reserve, you can ride along with me anytime you feel like Tasing someone. Zapping random hippie chicks in your store can’t be good for business. You’ll have to buy lunch, of course.”
When they were both on the job, Cavuto usually started talking about lunch while he was still eating breakfast.
“She’s not a normal hippie chick.”
“No doubt, most people are just down then right back up. That’s a long time to be out from a stun gun.”
Rivera shrugged. “It’s her best quality, as far as I can tell.”
“You’re going to have to figure something out, you can’t keep stunning her, I can smell burning—is that Scotch?”
“Peat, I think. Yeah. That’s not from the stun gun, that’s just how she smells.”
“Want me to cuff her? Take her in? I can probably get a psych hold on her for the outfit alone.”
“I think she might be a supernatural being,” Rivera said. He rubbed his temples so he didn’t have to look at Cavuto’s reaction.
“Like the alleged bird woman you allegedly shot nine times before she allegedly turned into a giant raven and allegedly flew the fuck off ? Like that?”
“She was going to kill Charl
ie Asher.”
“You said she was giving him a hand job.”
“This one’s different.”
“No hand job?”
“No, in that she’s a completely different creature. This one doesn’t have claws that I can see. This one just screams.”
“But you’re sure she’s supernatural because . . . ?”
“Because when she screams my head fills with images of people dying and other horrible things. She’s a supernatural being.”
“You’re a supernatural being, ya berk,” said a female voice from the floor. She sat up.
Rivera and Cavuto jumped back, the latter with a slight yip.
“One of those wee soul collectors, ain’t ya? Sneakin’ about all invisible-like.” She tossed her hair out of her face—a twig flew out onto the carpet.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” said Cavuto, acting as if he hadn’t just yipped in fear like a tiny frightened dog.