Stephen Randel - Trail of the Chupacabra

“I’m always hungry.” Private Foxtrot waved for El Coyote’s attention. “What kind of vittles you got to eat around here?”

“My friend, we serve the best menudo in town.” El Coyote smiled. “Spicy! Good for a hangover, too.”

“Hey, Zulu, you like menudo?”

“Sure, but mainly their older stuff, before they went all commercial.”

“No, I mean to eat.”

“Never had it. What’s in it?”

“Stomach,” El Coyote replied.

“Stomach? No way, Jose, I ain’t eating stomach.” Private Zulu shook his head.

“My friend, it’s tripe. It’s good for you.”

“Tripe? Okay. I like tripe.”

“Excellent. Lupe! Two bowls of menudo, pronto.”

“Do you even know what tripe is?” Private Foxtrot asked his friend.

“Sure, it’s like chicken, right? Mexican chicken?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

“He was kidding about the stomach part, wasn’t he?”

“Just trust me.” A few minutes later, the two privates were slurping away at large, steaming bowls of bright red soup with large chucks of honeycomb-shaped material and hominy floating in them. “What do you think?” Private Foxtrot wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his fatigues.

“Spongy.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“Strangest-looking chicken I ever had before.” Private Zulu lifted his bowl to his mouth and drained the last bit of his soup. “Tastes like rubber. They must feed them something different down here, maybe plastic bags. Hey, what the heck has he got over there?” The private pointed to the front of the building, where Ziggy was carrying an iguana about half the size of himself. He made his way to the table and took a seat. He draped the long brownish-green reptile around his neck, like a lizard shawl.

“Where’d you get that?” Private Tango asked.

“Like, this kid, man. I swapped my hacky sack for him.”

“What’s his name?” asked Private Foxtrot.

“Nancy.”

“Nancy?”

“Like, yeah, dude.”

“Why’d you name him Nancy?” Private Zulu moved his chair back from Ziggy a few feet.

“Like, I’m not sure he’s a he, man. Like, I think he digs me, though, dudes. Watch this.” Ziggy kissed Nancy on the head. Nancy hissed and bit his ear. “See!”

“The General is in the can. Better not let him see that thing when he comes back,” said Private Tango. “He’s not much of an animal lover. His dog used to chew on him when he was little.”

“Like, Nancy’s not a dog, man. He’s an iguana. Like, he wouldn’t hurt anyone, dude.” Nancy hissed again and took another snap at Ziggy’s ear. “Like, good boy,” Ziggy said as he stroked the clearly perturbed iguana’s neck. Avery, sitting at the other end of the table, just shook his head.

“You men better stay out of the head for a few minutes,” the General said as he took his seat and wiped his forehead with a Confederate flag handkerchief. “It’s pretty ripe in there. Jesus! What the hell is that damned dinosaur doing wrapped around your neck, boy?”

“Like, it’s a rescue lizard, man.”

“Get it out of here.”

Nancy hissed at the General.

“No way, dude. Homeless iguanas are, like, a major, major problem in Mexico. Nancy, like, needs me, man.”

“Well, he’s not sleeping on the bus,” the General said as he took a swig of his warm beer. “Lizards are like Russian Spetsnaz — they’re most dangerous at night. Now, Mr. Pendleton, let’s go over our plan of attack for capturing an illegal immigrant…”

“A what?” Avery asked.

“A Mexican. Plenty of them around here.” The General lowered his voice and scanned the brothel without moving his head. “You’re after a female of breeding age, correct? This is a target-rich environment.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m a scientist, not a human trafficker. I hired you and your men to escort me in search of a chupacabra.”

“A who?”

“Not a who, a what, and what it is, is simply the last frontier of undocumented creatures. A beast so secretive that it’s classified above top secret. J. Edgar Hoover even had a file on them.”

“You mean to tell me that we stole a vehicle, forded a raging river…”

“It wasn’t that raging, General, sir,” Fire Team Leader Alpha interrupted. “More like lazy. We could have waded across if we had wanted to.”

“Shut up!” the General bellowed as he pointed a pudgy finger in Avery’s direction. “My men are a highly trained militia with a mission of national importance, to stop the invasion of illegal immigrants. Not to chase after Bigfoot.”

“For the record, General, it’s really not advisable to chase after a sasquatch. Better to set up a well-camouflaged blind and wait. Chasing them only makes them angry. There was this one time, in British Columbia, where I…”

“I don’t give a good goddamn about Canada! Don’t even mention Canada. We’ve got enough problems with Mexico as it is. It makes my head hurt.” The General rubbed his bald dome.

“Try the menudo,” Private Foxtrot suggested.

“But don’t get it with the chicken,” Private Zulu added.

“General,” Avery said, “I have contracted with you for a specific service: guide and escort me and my companion…”

“And Nancy!” Ziggy blurted out.

“…And Nancy, during our journey to capture a chupacabra. Our oral agreement is irrevocable and binding, and if you choose to violate the terms of said agreement, I will be forced to employ the formidable resources of the Law Office of Gregory Kennesaw Mountain. You’re no doubt familiar with his extensive experience in front of the Supreme Court.”

“Actually, no.”

“Well, the next time you want to import bulk quantities of recently expired snack foods from former Soviet Republics, you can thank him. He’s what you would refer to as a great American patriot.”

“Sounds like a commie to me.”

“He’d sue you for that.”

“Sue me for what? We’re broke.”

“And that’s exactly why you need me, General. I’m a paying client. Assist me in my mission, and you and your men can pursue whatever extracurricular activities you wish. As long as they don’t interfere with trapping a living specimen for my research.”

“Affirmative.” The General rubbed his chin. “We’ll set out in the morning. Where are we headed?”

“About twenty miles outside of Piedras Negras. It’s not far from here.”

“My friends,” El Coyote said as he gathered up empty beer bottles from the table, “you should be careful in that part of the country. It is very dangerous.”

“Danger is my middle name,” the General responded.

“I thought it was Huey?” Fire Team Leader Bravo asked.

The General ignored him. Fire Team Leader Charlie walked into the brothel and made his way to the table while checking out the gyrating women in the main room.

“Status report!” the General barked at the Team Leader.

“She’s ready to go. I traded some of our supplies to pay the mechanic’s bill. Bus is out front. You going to finish that?” Fire Team Leader Charlie pulled the half-empty beer bottle from Private Zulu’s grasp and drained it.

“Not the duct tape?” the General asked.

“Nope, figured we might need that.”

“Good man. Well, boys, let’s get some shut-eye. Big day tomorrow.”

The men got up and followed the General out to their vehicle. The General wadded up a parking ticket stuck under the windshield wiper as the men climbed onboard. An hour later, the General quietly woke his men. They gathered in the front of the bus for a strategy meeting. Avery was inside the Coyote’s Lair, charging his laptop. Underneath the bus, Nancy was splayed out across Ziggy’s chest as Ziggy slept.