Stephen Randel - The Chupacabra

“Don’t expect my further patronage of your establishment,” Avery said contemptuously as he turned and walked away.

“Have a nice day.” Consuela smiled.

Avery stormed down the street, mumbling and cursing under his breath. He wandered several blocks looking for an appropriate place to sit and eat. Noticing a local coffee shop with a small wrought-iron table and chair out front, he stopped and sat down, preparing to eat. A slim college-aged man wearing dark, skinny jeans and a faded Elvis Costello concert T-shirt swept the sidewalk in front of the shop.

“What can I get you?” the young man asked Avery.

“World peace,” Avery replied without looking up from the taco he was unwrapping.

“No, I mean, what would you like to drink? You can’t sit there without purchasing something.”

“I’ll have a large Mountain Dew,” Avery replied, sniffing the contents of the roll of tin foil containing the cilantro and pushing it away in disgust.

“Look, sir, this is a coffee shop,” the young man said, leaning on the broom handle.

“Good for you. One large Mountain Dew, please.”

“Dude, we just sell coffee.”

“Not interested,” Avery replied as he stuffed an entire taco into his mouth.

“Angus!” the young man yelled into the open door of the coffee shop. “This dude won’t order.”

A few moments later, Angus strode through the door, stood in front of Avery, and placed his toaster-sized hands on his hips. Avery could tell the large man with the sleeves cut off his shirt and sporting a shaved head and goatee meant business. The man glared at Avery and pointed down the street. Avery, realizing he was outnumbered, scooped up his belongings, less the package of cilantro, while struggling to keep the taco from escaping his overly stuffed mouth.

“Mmmfffgggrrrsss!” Avery angrily mumbled at the two men as he left, spewing some of the taco from his mouth.

Avery shuffled down the street with his load until he was out of sight of the coffee shop. Struggling to balance his load of books, tacos, and drink, Avery spotted a bench at the corner bus stop. An elderly man in a dark suit sat quietly at one end of the bench. Avery collapsed down on the other. He unwrapped another taco and pushed it into his mouth. His woolly cheeks bulged as he slowly chewed the taco, some of it sneaking out the corner of his mouth. Ever so slightly, the pace of his chewing increased until finally, in one gulp, he swallowed it.

“Sonny,” the old man said as he stood up to board the city bus pulling up to the curb. “You got a little something on your face.” He pointed to his cheek.

“So do you,” Avery replied. “The extraordinarily unattractive nose of a leper.”

“Agh!” the old man exclaimed, waving his hand as if to swat Avery away as he climbed aboard the bus.

Avery returned to ravaging another taco. As the bus pulled away, Avery spotted a pretty young woman across the street, walking down the block with something tubular slung across her back. Avery wondered if he’d seen her before, as he shoved another taco in his mouth. Maybe it was somewhere earlier today. Yes! That’s it. It has to be her. Of course she changed her disguise , he thought. She’s been tailing me all day.

Avery snatched up his books and remaining food and sprinted, well, stumbled as quickly as he could down his side of the street until he was a block ahead of the woman. Crossing the street, he ducked into the doorway of a small camera store. Frantically searching his fanny pack, he found a small plastic dental mirror. He poked the mirrored end out past the edge of the doorway ever so slightly.

“There you are,” Avery mumbled to himself as the woman walked down the sidewalk toward him.

Avery monitored her progress toward his position with his mirror until she was only a few feet away. He sprang from the doorway and stood directly in the path of the startled woman.

“Who are you?” Avery demanded.

“Jesus, you scared me,” the woman said, staring at the yellow-clad man with the crazy food-studded beard blocking her path.

“Who are you? Who you working for?”

“What?” the woman asked, taking a step back.

“CIA?” Avery said, taking a step forward. “Interpol? Mossad? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been shadowing me for hours.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, stay away from me, or I’ll call the cops.”

“Go ahead. Local authorities don’t have jurisdiction in our deadly dance. Now, take that folding sniper rifle off your shoulder and place it on the ground.”

“It’s a yoga mat, you freak.”

“Right, yoga. Sure thing. Like Downward Facing Suck My…”

The sound of the smack as the woman slapped Avery across his face rang in his ears. The following knee to his groin dropped him to the pavement. His books, soft drink, and tacos scattered across the sidewalk as the young woman sprinted past him and down the street.

It took a full ten minutes for Avery to regain his composure from the blinding pain of the unexpected attack. He was furious with himself for letting the woman get the drop on him. Gathering his items, he decided he’d had enough for one day and turned toward home as quickly as possible. Limping down the street with a still throbbing cramp in his nether region, he struggled to carry his remaining belongings. Quietly whimpering as he walked, he failed to notice the squad car pulling up beside him.

“Excuse me, sir,” the officer said through the open window of the cruiser. “Please stop right there.”

“What?” Avery asked as his soda bottle slipped from his grasp and rolled off the curb and into the street.

“We’ve had a report of someone harassing a young woman in the area.”

“Why are you stopping me?”

“Because, sir, you pretty much fit the description,” the officer replied, indicating Avery’s bright yellow tracksuit.

“If you’re implying it was me, you’re badly mistaken,” Avery retorted. “In fact, I’m the victim of a recent assault. Most likely by an operative of a foreign intelligence agency.”

“I see. Well, I’ll need to see some I.D.,” the officer said as he exited the car and approached Avery.

“Do you have a warrant?”

“I don’t need one to see your I.D., sir. Please hand it over.”

Avery cursed himself for not having brought his fake passport along with him as he placed his books and remaining two tacos on the ground before fishing in his fanny pack for his license. He removed the license from the pack and handed it to the officer.

“Let me be exceptionally clear with you, officer. I view this annoyance as a clear case of unreasonable search and seizure. I plan on filing a full complaint with the Austin Police Department when I reach my office.”

“Avery Bartholomew Pendleton,” the officer recited from the dirty and mangled license. “Is this current address correct?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Back to my office to recover from my wounds.”

“And where is your office?”

“Same address as my residence.”

“Unit seventeen,” the police officer’s radio announced. “We have a ten sixty-four armed robbery in progress in your vicinity. Are you able to respond?”

“Roger,” the officer said into the radio mike attached to his chest. “I have your information, sir.” He handed the license back to Avery. “If we get another report of someone being bothered, we’ll come looking for you.”

Avery stood and watched as the officer jumped into his car and closed the door. As the cruiser pulled into traffic, the car’s rear tire rolled over Avery’s plastic Coke bottle, exploding its contents all over Avery. Dripping with soda, Avery leaned over and slowly gathered his belongings and limped his way back home. After a few feeble steps, an audible rumble emanated from his stomach. Clinching his sphincter, Avery quickened his pace to reach the safety of his toilet at home.