Christopher Moore: The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

“I didn’t say no,” Molly said. “I just thought you ought to know. The narrator is warning me not to talk about my ex over dinner.”

His heart soared. “I think a lot of people are going to be talking about your ex.”

“You’re not intimidated?”

“Of course. But not by him.”

“The narrator says it’s a bad idea. Says the two of us put together might make one good loser.”

“Wow, he is a prick.”

“I’ll get some meds from Dr. Val and he’ll go away.”

“You’re sure that’s good idea?”

“Yeah,” she said, turning back to him again before climbing up to where the pilgrims waited. “I’d like to be alone with you.”

What the man in the driver’s seat didn’t seem to understand was that as far as this Mercedes was concerned, Skinner was the alpha male. The man smelled of fear and anger and aggression, as well as gunpowder and sweat, and Skinner didn’t like him from the moment he got into the car: Skinner’s new mobile territory. So Skinner had to show him, and he did so in the traditional way, by clamping his jaws over the Challenger’s throat and waiting for him to take a submissive posture. The man had struggled and even hit Skinner, but hadn’t said bad-dog, bad-dog, so Skinner just growled and tightened his jaws until he tasted blood and the man was still.

Skinner was still waiting for the Challenger to submit when the Tall Guy opened the car door.

“Good dog, Skinner. Good dog,” Theo said.

“Get this fucking animal off me,” the Challenger said.

Skinner wagged his tail and tightened his jaws until the Challenger made a gurgling sound. The Tall Guy scratched his ears and put some metal on the Challenger’s paws.

“Let go now, Skinner,” the Tall Guy said. “I’ve got him.”

Skinner let go and licked Theo’s face before the constable dragged the sheriff out onto the ground and stood on the back of his neck with one foot.

The Tall Guy tasted like lizard spit. That was strange. Skinner considered it a moment, then his doggie attention span ran out and he bounded out of the car to go see what the Food Guy was doing in the back of the truck. The Tall Guy’s female was breaking out the back window of the truck with a metal stick. Skinner barked at her, trying to tell her not to hurt the Food Guy.

“Is the creature still there?” Gabe asked Molly as he climbed out of the back of the Suburban. Skinner was frisking and jumping on him, and with the handcuffs he couldn’t ward off the damp affection. “Down, boy. Down.”

“No, he’s gone,” Molly said as she helped Val and Howard out of the Suburban. She nodded to Val. “Hi, Doc. I think I’ve had an episode or something. You’ll have to debrief me in session or something.”

Valerie Riordan nodded. “I’ll check my calendar.”

Theo came around the back of the Mercedes. “You guys okay?”

“You have your key?” Gabe asked, turning his back to Theo to show the handcuffs.

“We heard shots,” Val said. “Did…?”

“One of the SWAT team is dead. Burton shot him. A few of your patients are scraped and bruised, but they’ll be okay. Winston Krauss was eaten.”

“Eaten?” The color ran out of Val’s face.

“Long story, Val,” Theo said. “Mavis set it all up after you guys left. Catfish and Estelle came in and drew the monster out. Winston was sort of the bait.”

“Oh my god!” Val said. “She said something about my not being in trouble.”

Theo held his finger to his lips to shush her, then nodded to where Sheriff Burton lay on the ground. “It never happened, Val. None of it. I don’t know a thing.” He spun her around and unlocked her handcuffs. Then did the same for Gabe and Howard.

The gaunt restaurateur seemed more morose than usual. “I had really hoped to lay eyes on the creature.”

“Me too,” said Gabe, putting his arm around Valerie.

“Sorry,” Theo said. To Val he said, “The reporters from those helicopters are going to be here in a few minutes. If I were you, I’d get out of here.” He handed her the keys to the Mercedes. “The district attorney is sending a deputy to pick up Burton, so I’m going to stay here. Will you give Molly a ride back into town?”

“Of course,” Val said. “What are you going to tell the reporters?”

“I don’t know,” Theo said. “Deny everything, I guess. It depends on what they ask and what they got on tape. Having lived most my life in denial, I may be perfectly suited for dealing with them.”

“I’m sorry I was—I’m sorry I doubted your abilities, Theo.”

“So did I, Val. I’ll call you guys and let you know what’s going on.”

Gabe called Skinner and they loaded into the Mercedes, leaving Theo and Molly facing each other. Theo looked at his shoes. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. Then without a word she crawled into the back of the Mercedes with Howard and Skinner and closed the door.

Theo watched them back away, then turn and head across the pasture and out of the cattle gate.

“You’re going down with me, Crowe!” Burton screamed from the ground.

Theo spotted something shiny lying in the grass near the back of the Suburban and went over to it. It was Molly’s broadsword. He felt a smile breaking out as he picked it up and went over to where Burton was lying.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Theo said. “I suggest you exercise that right. Immediately.” Theo plunged the sword into the ground half an inch from Burton’s face and watched the sheriff’s eyes go wide.

Winter in Pine Cove is a pause, a timeout, an extended coffee break. A slowness comes over the town and people stop their cars in the street to talk with a passing neighbor without worrying about a tourist honking his horn so he can get on with his relaxing vacation (damn it!). Waiters and hotel clerks go to part-time shifts and money slows to a creep. Couples spend their nights at home in front of the fireplace as the smell of rain-washed wood smoke fills the air, and single people resolve to move somewhere where life is a full-time sport.

Winter near the shore is cold. The wind kicks up a salty mist and elephant seals come to shore to trumpet and rut and birth their pups. Retired people put sweaters on their lap dogs and drag them down the street on retractable leashes in a nightly parade of doggie humiliation. Surfers don their wetsuits against the chill of storm waves and white sharks adjust their diets to include shrink-wrapped dude-snacks on fiberglass crackers. But the chill is crisp and forgiving and settles in a way so that the town’s collective metabolism can slow into semihibernation without a shock.

At least that’s the way it is most winters.

After the coming of the Sea Beast, winter was a juggernaut, a party, an irritation and a windfall. News footage from the helicopters was beamed out over satellites and Pine Cove displaced Roswell, New Mexico, as the number one crackpot travel destination. There wasn’t much on the tapes, just a crowd of people gathered on the shore and the fuzzy image of something large in the water, but with the footprints and the eyewitness accounts, it was enough. Shops filled with cheesy serpent souvenirs and H.P.‘s Cafe added to the menu a sandwich called the Theosaurus, which was the official scientific name of the Sea Beast (coined by biologist Gabriel Fenton). The hotels filled, the streets congested, and Mavis Sand actually had to hire a second bartender to help serve the imported wackos.

Estelle Boyet opened her own gallery on Cypress Street where she sold her new series of paintings enigmatically entitled Steve, as well as the new Catfish Jefferson CD entitled 'The What Do I Do Now That I’m Happy? Blues.'