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Small Town Monsters

7

Chapter 4

Kurt’s Blazer turned onto the main highway from the dirt road that led from Buren Peoples’s ranch. The tires kicked up a cloud of fresh dust that hung like a plume in the air then settled back to the scrub and crab-grass, which grew wildly along the sides of the highway. Kurt shifted into overdrive and gunned the engine.

Clay sat shotgun, still holding a white handkerchief over his nose to ward off the stink that wafted from the two bulging, black plastic bags in the back of the rig.

“I appreciate your ability to delegate back there,” Clay said.

Kurt looked over at Clay and let an easy smile curl across his lips. Clay would have made a lousy cop in Los Angeles, but he had a certain down-home charm that connected well with the locals of DePalma Beach.

“Don’t mention it, kid.” Clay hated being called kid and Kurt knew it.

“So what is el chupacabra anyways?” Clay asked.

“Some of the more superstitious Mexican migrants used to talk about them. The word means goat sucker. I guess they’re small creatures with feisty attitudes and sharp teeth. They suck blood from livestock.”

Concerning:

Kurt McCammus

Clay Hickman