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It snuffled around the Uohali. Holes where
nostrils had been before decaying away widened. A maggot dropped onto the seat.
The thing giggled and snatched it. The maggot was popped into the mouth and it
chewed and swallowed. A twinge of fear hit it.
“Master . . . master?”
It rubbed its chest where more than nine years before
the knife of Anna Wya Greylov stopped its heart for all eternity. A piece still
wedged in the breastbone, sometimes an annoyance, sometimes a fire of agony. For
all her good works Anna was a saint to most people, Native and non-ani.
But even a saint, if she's Native American and a mother, won't mind a little
blood on her hands for her kid's sake. Old man Greylov found that out the hard
way.
The whisper thread its way overt the wall. Two Swords
rumbled a chuckle. He blew a bubble at the Owl. The scarlet gum stretched wide.
The Owl snapped, “Fight me.” He slashed at
the bubble.
Fire erupted from the bubble, and the Owl shrieked. He
leaped back and cursed Two Swords.
The big aga:ki cocked his head. “Yo, I'm a
fun lovin' dude. Y'know? Boss man says you only go 'round once. Better play it
smart. The kid,” his smile died and was replaced by a hard look, “is
the property of the Sun Wolf and Ma-Eagle. Or ain't you heard?” The cocky
grin returned.
“Now, take my advice and make like a tree and
leave. Your grace, the god of rot.”
Owl spat at the towering giant and fled. The thing
that whined outside the wall stumbled away, a freshly bloodied axe trailing from
skeletal hands.
Benny rubbed the back of his neck. He scowled up at
the only window lit on the rear of the house. Nina's window.
The pool was every bit as cool as he had hoped. It was
nice, sweet after the sullen night air.
Benny pulled a rag from his pocket. In the rage was a
sliver of cracked, blackened soap. The pants joined his boots and jacket on the
verge of the pool. He moved down the side, easing silently into the waters, a
grin on his face. Benny soaped the rag and got to work.
Raising the sweat stained tee shirt to his nose, Benny
gagged.
“Chri-sake, du'e.” They were the only clothes he
had. Don’t wash and wear dirty, or wash and wear wet? Benny cocked his head at
the light in the window. No noise. Not quite silent, either. Nina was OK,
that’s what counted. He sank jeans and T in the pool. Almost, he could see a
gray cloud of dirt around them. Benny pulled them out and attacked the dirt with
what was left of his soap. Then dropped them back in.
Better check on lover boy and the fallen angel.
The unseen Guardian trailing him, Benny moved through
the house. Connel was sitting in a chair, Nina's hand in his. She looked fit to
be tied.
Looked like ol' Connel still wanted to get a little.
Benny listened for a while, smiled, and slipped away.
His stomach rumbled. Rubbing it, Benny grimaced. He
prowled through the house until he found the kitchen. A stack of raw streaks lay
in the refrigerator. He snatched one out and tore into it on his way back to the
pool.
Benny looked at the pool. He smiled and finished the
T-bone. The remains were tossed back in the bushes, no use being an obnoxious
guest, Carl always said. In this heat, the water was tempting. He slid in and
swam a few laps. Connel’s shadow passed the window.
Benny pulled up the clothing. They still smelled
pretty bad, but no longer rank with sweat and old sex.
Man, that Sweet-Bottom was some kind of woman.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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