Savage Saints (Monsters of Saint Mark's)

“The phone runs on minutes?”

Big Jim turns and points to a line of plastic cards hanging from a rack behind him. “How many do you want?”

I’m still trying to figure out how a phone might run on minutes when he plucks a few from the rack and sets them on the glass counter. “One twenty is usually enough. But if you’ve got a lot of business to attend to, you might get two and save yourself a trip to the store when you run out.”

“Very well, I shall take two cards.”

“This one here has data. This phone has internet, maps, and—”

“Did you say maps?”

“Yes. It’s got maps.”

I point to the map gadget in the glass case. “So I don’t need one of these?”

“Those are for hunting—” And just as he says that, the bell over the door jingles and we both turn to find Sheriff Russ Roth entering the store. “Well, look who it is!” Big Jim greets the sheriff with bright and friendly interest. “I’ve got your gun almost ready, Sheriff.”

I try not to look at the man, but he’s big, and handsome, and… just very hard not to look at. He levels his gaze at me, his mirrored sunglasses shining with a glint of sunlight. Then he looks me up and down with keen interest, and I wait for the spark of recognition. I am the one who burned him with fire several weeks ago. Though he can’t really hold that against me. He doesn’t appear to have any marks on him.

“Well, who’s this?” Russ Roth asks.

“This is—what did you say your name was again?”

“Tomas,” I offer.

“Right,” Big Jim chuckles. “Toe-mas. Pretentious name to go with that pretentious accent.” I look at Big Jim, wondering if he’s being hostile. “He’s dating my niece,” Big Jim tells Russ.

Russ looks me over a little harder. “Haven’t seen you around these parts. Where did you say you were from?”

I didn’t say, and I don’t say now, either. But I don’t have to because Big Jim does that for me. “He lives off grid up in the woods.”

Russ Roth slides his mirrored sunglasses down his nose and looks me over even harder. “You don’t say.”

I, again, do not say.

“Well,” Russ says. “That’s very interesting. I’m leading an expedition up into the woods this weekend, in fact.”

“We both are,” Jim says.

“You’re going too?” I ask. “Because I didn’t get that impression from the radio show last night.”

“You were listening to my show?” Big Jim asks.

“Oh, yes. It was grand.”

“Grand.” Russ chuckles. “Anyway. How about you come along? We could use a guide. The woods are weird up that way.”

“A guide? To find the squonk?”

“Not just any squonk,” Russ says. “Buckhead Squonk. He’s different. Mean and nasty. Not all like the regular squonk that inhabits these parts.”

“You’ve seen him?” I ask.

Russ nods his head slowly. “I have. The memory of that beast is burned into my brain forever. I will never forget the ugliness and stench of that beast.”

Ugly and smelly. I would not describe Pell as either of those things. But clearly the sheriff is just making things up because he didn’t recognize me.

“So how about it?” Big Jim asks. “You wanna get in on this hunt?”