Skunk Hunt by J. Clayton Rogers Page A

later my
attention was drawn by several voices raised in protest. Some women
emerged from the back, slapping at the air as though they were
being attacked by rabid bats. Throwing accusatory glances at
Barbara, they raced like the wind out of Starbucks.
    "We can go now," she said, fidgeting
nervously.
    "We've got a couple of minutes left." Sensing
she needed a visual aid, Jeremy explained the concept of time with
a tap on the system tray clock.
    "So there's nothing new?" Barbara asked. When
Jeremy and I shook our heads, she continued: "Then that's it. Let's
go before someone comes in."
    The place was packed. Anyone else coming in
would have had to punch someone out of their chair to sit. I
figured she was talking about a SWAT team charging with guns drawn,
bellowing "Everybody down!" as they busted in.
    "A few more seconds won't hurt," I
reasoned—and was quickly proved wrong. A stench wafted from the
back of the building. It was powerful enough to grab my
half-digested breakfast and try to pull it out through my throat.
"Jesus," I gasped, invoking my less-than-palpable religious sense
against the elements.
    Jeremy's eyes went wide. He found religion,
too. "Christ, Sweet Tooth, you use beach towels for Tampex?"
    A hundred-thousand years of brotherly
compassion for sisters was summed up in that comment. Barbara
assumed the dejected stance of the eternally downtrodden.
    "Where else can I put them?" she complained.
"Anyway, that's not the...problem. I need to go to the doctor about
it. I've got helicopters."
    Jeremy and I were not inclined to hang around
for an explanation. All around us customers were abandoning their
tables, practically gagging on the sulphurous cloud that I'd almost
swear was visible. Yeah...it was a brown cloud.
    "A minute left," said Jeremy, gritting his
teeth. He was damned if he was going to surrender a second of
website time, even if it meant paying with his health. As the
stench trailing Barbara from the women's bathroom grew worse
instead of fading, I was forced to conclude Jeremy was truly
ignorant of the meaning of the message—he was waiting for a final
installment that would never come.
    But holding the key to the secret wouldn't
help me if I was asphyxiated. Usually, a person is not repelled by
his own body emanations, but even Barbara was beginning to lean
towards the exit, although I guess embarrassment also played a
role. I wondered if Starbucks could hold her legally accountable
for loss of business.
    I looked at the laptop just in time to see
the screen change to 'Unable to Display' before running out the
door. Jeremy was not long in following.
    "Where's Sweet Tooth?" he demanded.
    I shrugged. Surveying the parking lot, we
spotted her wandering between cars at the adjoining mall. When she
spotted us coming towards her, she turned away.
    "Hey!" Jeremy yelled, breaking into a trot.
My dread of physical effort is deeply ingrained, and I dropped
behind. When I finally caught up, my brother was holding Barbara by
her arm.
    "You know what it means, don't you!" he was
shouting.
    "No!" Barbara tried to wriggle out of his
grip. "You're hurting."
    "We have a deal," Jeremy insisted.
    "What deal?" Barbara said, breaking loose
with an emphatic jerk of her elbow. "Skunk didn't say anything
about a deal. He just—"
    "Skunk is dead , you twit!" Jeremy lowered his voice,
suddenly realizing a fracas in public would draw attention, even if
one was only stating the perfectly obvious. "We don't know who's
behind this, all right? You must have helicopters in the
brain."
    "How smart you are." Superior knowledge lifted Barbara's
chin. "Helicopters live in your intestines. And don't tell me the
name doesn't make sense, because that's what they're called. The
doctors have their reasons."
    "Helicopters," Jeremy nodded, as though
seeing reason. "I guess that's better than supershit."
    I spent this charming moment scanning the
parking lot. No one seemed to be watching us, but I didn't suppose
spies made it a point to be