Stephen Randel - The Chupacabra

“Hey,” said the wiry-looking man behind the counter wearing a battered Texas Tech ball cap. “You can’t come in here without a shirt.”

“I just need some gas,” the weary Avery replied.

“I don’t give two jackrabbit turds what you want. We got standards. Now put a shirt on, or get out.”

“But there’s nobody in here,” pleaded Avery.

“That ain’t the point. Now, vamoose before I get that lawman involved.” Avery turned and looked back at his car. A Texas highway patrol officer had pulled up to the pump next to Avery’s and was peering into the darkened back seat of the rental car. The officer’s back was to the station. Avery quickly exited the gas station and slipped around the corner. Hiding in the shadows, he watched as the officer walked around the car and looked in from the other side.

“Got a smoke, bro?” a voice asked from behind Avery. Spinning on his heels, Avery spotted a boy holding a skateboard.

“No!” Avery hissed as he turned back to watch the officer.

“What’d you do, bro?” the skater said as he peeked around the corner with Avery.

“Nothing,” Avery replied.

“Why you hiding from that cop, then?”

“I’m not hiding,” Avery said. “I’m just considering my options.” Avery noticed the boy’s baggy T-shirt with an anarchy symbol on the front. “Look, kid,” Avery said. “I’ll give you a dollar to borrow your shirt for five minutes.”

“Really? A whole dollar?” the boy said sarcastically. “Screw that, bro. But you score me a six-pack of Budweiser and you’ve got a deal.”

“How old are you?” Avery asked, even though it was obvious the kid was no more than fifteen years old.

“Twenty-three, dude. It’s just that I lost my wallet over in Iraq. You know, it’s like all crazy and shit in Baghdad.”

Avery pondered his options. He needed gas and he needed to get back on the road. “Okay,” Avery relented. “Give me your shirt.”

“Killer,” the boy said as he slipped his shirt off. “Remember, I want Bud, not Bud Light. I haven’t drunk that watered-down piss since sixth grade.” The shirt was baggy on the boy. On Avery, it barely fit. Peeking around the corner, Avery watched as the Highway Patrolman entered the gas station. Sneaking around the side of the building, Avery watched through the front windows as the officer waved to the gas station attendant and headed toward the bathroom in the back of the store. Sensing his opportunity, Avery hurried inside.

“That’s better,” the attendant said as the now fully clothed Avery headed for the beer cooler in back, ducking and weaving his way through the rows of snacks and magazines on the off chance the officer reappeared. Grabbing a six-pack of Budweiser, Avery rushed to the counter.

“This and thirty on the pump,” Avery said as he pushed the beer across the counter. The attendant rang up the purchase. Avery paid quickly.

“You want a sack for that?” the attendant asked. Avery didn’t bother to reply. He grabbed the six-pack through the rings and bolted out the door and around to the side of the gas station. The skater was waiting patiently, smoking a cigarette.

“Here,” said Avery as he handed the boy the beer and started to take off his shirt.

“Wait a minute, dude,” the boy said as he took a drag on the cigarette. “I forgot something. I need some Camels, too.”

“No way, you little bastard,” Avery replied.

“Okay,” said the boy. “Now, I wonder where that police dude went?” The boy scratched his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Buying alcohol for a minor is a pretty big deal around here.”

“Why, you blackmailing little weasel,” Avery said as he reached out for the boy. The boy easily jumped out of the way.

“Chill, bro,” the boy said, laughing. “One pack, and then we’re cool. Seriously.” Avery cursed as he ran back into the store, emerging a minute later with the boy’s smokes.

“Fork over my shirt, man,” the smiling boy said as he put the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

“Take it, you little hyena,” Avery said as he pulled the T-shirt off and threw it at the boy before hurrying to the gas pump.

“Pleasure doing business with you, blubber dude,” the boy happily yelled to Avery before disappearing behind the gas station. Avery shoved the gas nozzle into the rental car’s tank. Inside the station, the attendant noticed the shirtless Avery filling his car at the pump.

“Hey, Bobby,” the attendant said to the highway patrolman coming out of the restroom. “Something kind of fishy going on with that fat boy out there.”

“I’ll check it out,” the patrolman said as he put on his wide-brimmed hat. Avery nervously pretended not to notice the patrolman as he walked towards the pumps. Avery’s hand shook on the nozzle as the noisy gas meter ticked away. “That your vehicle, boy?” the patrolman asked as he approached Avery.

“Uh, well, yes, officer,” Avery muttered.

“You know that spare of yours look pretty shot,” the patrolman said as he leaned down and examined the temporary tire. “Where you headed?”

“Austin,” Avery said as he impatiently watched the gas meter, praying it would hurry up.

“You might want to think twice about that. I bet you don’t have twenty miles left on that thing,” the patrolman said.

“Thank you, sir,” Avery replied. “I’ll be sure and keep an eye on it.”

“You got some kind of dead animal in there,” the patrolman said as he looked into the back seat of the car and shined his flashlight in.

“Uh, family pet,” Avery said as the meter stopped at thirty dollars. “Taking it home to rest in peace.”

“You mind if I take a look?” the patrolman said as he walked around to Avery’s side of the vehicle and looked in the back window.

“It’s not exactly fresh. Getting kind of putrid, actually,” Avery said as he scrambled to come up with an excuse to not open the car door.

“Why don’t you just open the door, boy?” the patrolman asked with authority in his voice.

“Okay, but please don’t touch it. It’s very valuable,” Avery said as he opened the door for the patrolman. “I mean, valuable to the family and everything.” The patrolman bent over to examine the animal.

“Ugliest damned dog I ever saw,” the patrolman said as he gazed at the bundled-up remains. “You want your shirt, boy?” the patrolman said as he reached for the yellow tracksuit top, covering the stacks of cash.

“No! That’s okay,” Avery said as he leaned in the back with the patrolman and stopped him from picking up the tracksuit. “Driving like this…it uh…helps me stay awake.”

“Hell, the stink from that dead mutt will keep you awake by itself,” replied the patrolman as he backed away from the car door.

“Yes, thank you, officer,” Avery said as he closed the door. “Really should be on my way. Don’t want to be late for the funeral.”

“Funeral?” the patrolman inquired.

“Uh, burial, that it,” Avery said as he climbed into the front seat. “Cherished family pet, it was.”

“All right, then,” the patrolman said. “But watch your speed and get that spare tire looked at. Pronto.”

“Yes, sir,” Avery replied as he closed the door and pulled out of the filling station. The highway patrolman watched Avery intently as he drove back out onto the highway.

Avery made the fastest time home he could without getting pulled over. He didn’t even stop to pull another Mountain Dew from his ice chest. Hours later, the familiar outskirts of Austin approached. Just as the sun was coming up, Avery pulled into the garage behind the big white house. Dumping the extra soda bottles from his ice chest, Avery wedged the animal corpse into the cooler with the remainder of the ice. Retrieving a lawn bag from the garage workbench, Avery crammed the stacks of money from the floorboard into it. Putting his tracksuit top back on, he took the cooler and the bag of money and sneaked as quietly as he could into the house. From the top of the main staircase, Max glared down at Avery as he tiptoed up the steps with his heavy load.