Stephen Randel - Trail of the Chupacabra

“By me.”

“Outrageous! Counter-sue back.”

“On what grounds?”

“Legal incompetence. Is the reason you call your business a practice because you aren’t very good at it? What are the maximum damages I can ask for?”

“Don’t push your luck, city boy,” Mountain said as he balled his meat hook–sized fists.

“Did you even go to law school?”

“See that little piece of paper on the wall over there!” Mountain pointed to a crooked frame on the wall next to a taped-up torn-out page of Miss October. “It says ‘Vanderbilt’ on it!”

“My good man, I can get you one from Harvard from a Russian online auction site in ten minutes. Want to time me?”

“Son, if crazy were dirt, you’d have enough to cover half the King Ranch,” Mountain said with a chuckle.

“That’s not a half-bad idea,” Avery said, scratching his unruly beard. “Then I could make claim to the mineral rights underneath. Look into it and get back to me.”

“Avery, I can’t keep representing you like this.”

“Of course you can. I’m the perfect client. I’m highly litigious and soon to be wealthy beyond imagination.”

“Did you find financing for Project Alpine yet?”

“I’m still working on it,” Avery replied as he chewed on his fingernails. “Are the articles of incorporation ready to go?”

“Get the money lined up first.” Mountain pulled a fifth of whiskey from his desk drawer and took a slug. “Want some?” He offered the bottle to Avery as he coughed into his sleeve.

“No, thanks. I came by to let you know I’m going to be leaving the country for a while.”

“Son, I hate to be the one to point out the fly in your buttermilk, but that’s not a real good idea, considering the terms of your latest probation. What the hell were you doing breaking into that research lab, anyway?”

“I’ve always wanted a pet monkey.”

“Avery, let me remind you, your probation officer is a real asshole. He’s as mean as rattlesnake with an elephant standing on its tail. Can I give you a little advice, son? Never kick a turd on a hot day. One more slip-up, and you’re headed to the pokey.”

“You don’t intimidate me.”

“I’m not trying to intimidate you, Avery. I’m your friend. I’m trying to advise you.”

“I can walk down the street and get all the advice I need, and for free, I might add. What I’m looking for is counsel, imaginative counsel, courageous counsel, and, most importantly, the kind of counsel that’s slightly left of legal. You know, the kind that actually works.”

“Well, then, as your attorney, I strongly advise you not to leave the country.”

“Duly noted. By the way, what are the documents currently needed for entry into Mexico?”

“Mexico? Sweet Jesus, Avery, you’re so damn nuts I swear I can see the squirrels juggling chainsaws inside your head.”

“And what’s the current exchange rate these days?”

“Please tell me you aren’t really going.”

“Okay, I’m not going.”

“Really?”

“No, just trying to make you feel better. Is it working?”

“No,” Mountain said as he took another pull from his whiskey bottle. “Why the hell is going to Mexico so important? You do remember that little incident a while back at Bennett’s house with that cartel hombre , don’t you? South of the border might not be the safest place for you.”

“The Mexican assassin? I’m sure he’s forgotten about me already. It’s tequila under the bridge.”

“What do you plan on doing there? Vacationing? You know, they’ve got some really nice beaches around Galveston or Corpus.”

“My search for the chupacabra must continue. I have strong reason to believe that the perfect time to observe and capture one is at hand.”

“Dammit, son, how many times do I have to say this? There’s no such thing as a flipping chupacabra!” Mountain pounded his bottle on his desk for effect.

“That’s what they used to say about witches.”

“Witches don’t exist, either!”

“Of course they do. Austin elected one mayor.”

“For the record, I think this is a really bad idea. Typically, with someone like you, the law down there won’t be on your side. If you get in trouble, I can’t promise I can get you out. But if you insist on going, take this,” Mountain said as he wrote down a phone number on the cover of a racing form sitting on his desk before tearing the page off. “When, not if, things go tits up, you call this number and ask for Enrique Montalban. Mention my name. He’s an attorney in Mexico City. We go way back. When we were still just kids, we used to run rum out of Havana to the Keys. He’s pretty handy in a knife fight, too. But whatever you do, don’t play cards with him. He’s a world-class cheat.”

“Explains why you two got along. Hey, you aren’t billing me for this, are you?”

“Of course I am. But don’t worry about it — I’ll just tack it onto my lawsuit.”

“Well played, Mountain. Well played.”

“So exactly where in Mexico are you headed?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Hell of a plan.”

“It’s in progress. I like to marinate an adventure before cooking it.”

“Well, boy, you’re headed straight into the hot oven. It’s shit-ass crazy down there right now.”

“Your shirt looks like crap.”

“At least I’m wearing one. What’s the deal with yellow, anyway? You look like a fat banana with a beard.”

“Yellow? Did you miss Fashion Week this year?”

“Unfortunately,” Mountain said as he spit in his trash can. “I, too, was busy shaving my chest and bleaching my…”

“Yellow is the new black,” Avery interrupted.

“The new black. Who knew? Well, I suggest starting in Matamoros. I know this one little sugar shack down there — you can really wet your whistle, if you know what I mean,” Mountain said with a wink. “Seen some things there that words just don’t do justice. You ever seen one of those shows with the donkey and the two…?”

“Thanks, but this is a business trip. Just a heads-up, I’m having all my mail forwarded here while I’m gone,” Avery said as got up to leave. “Pay the bills, throw out the ads, and save the coupons. I’ll reimburse you, obviously.”

“Sure you will.” The attorney rubbed his aching head. “ Adios, amigo .” Mountain waved and drained his bottle while watching Avery exit his office. “Stay out of trouble,” he called out before violently vomiting in his trash can. “And get the Project Alpine money!” he shouted before ducking down and vomiting again.

After leaving his attorney’s office, Avery sneaked along for several blocks before finding what he was looking for. Approaching a postbox at the corner of a busy intersection, he looked left and right to make sure he wasn’t being watched before dropping a letter into it.

To: Loan Department

7th National Bank of Austin

Dear Money Lenders:

I’m writing to express my desire for a small business loan. I’ve closely reviewed your institution’s loan forms and documents, and have found them cumbersome, redundant, and completely useless. Personal information is called “personal” for a reason. I’m sure you understand. Please accept this correspondence as a more than capable replacement. For the time being, I cannot divulge the entirety of my business plan for competitive reasons. The global business markets are savagely cutthroat. Secrecy is the devastatingly long lever of the first mover’s advantage.

Executive Summary:

Give me ten million U.S. dollars immediately.

Top Secret Plan Overview (that can be revealed at this time):