Too bad Albert Lee wasn’t here. He was an expert on giant spiders, but then again, our librarian had rapidly become an expert on everything. Lee had even instituted a companywide program of our Hunters turning in mandatory after-action reports for every case, all so he could catalog monster behaviors, reactions, and vulnerabilities, then analyze the results, and file them for future reference. It was a really good idea, but I’d hated writing reports at first. It felt too much like school, but after Lee had given me crap for being needlessly stuffy and doing things like never using any contractions in my early reports, I’d loosened up, and now writing about my cases came more naturally.
One of the other Germans spoke English. “Could there be more of these around?”
“For that sort of bounty, there would have to be a colony of them…” Lindemann said. “Which one of you dropped the spider?”
“It was me,” said another of the men, surely speaking English for me and Trip’s convenience. These Europeans were so helpful like that.
“Good work, Hugo. We shall stuff it and make a toy for your children to play on. It will look rather nice in your flat. That is all such a meager beast is useful for.” Lindemann kicked the monster again for good measure. “What game is this Stricken playing at? Why waste all of our time for this?”
“I survived the Stuttgart Massacre,” said Hugo. “I saw horrors you cannot imagine. The chancellor herself personally presented me with the bounty payment and certificate of appreciation. I hate to think we will make far more money for shooting a large bug than for surviving hell on earth. It makes no sense.”
“I intend to collect the bounty promised,” Lindemann vowed. “There is much the American government does that makes no sense…” he looked at me. “No offense.”
I snorted. He wasn’t going to get an argument out of me on that one. “MCB will be coming from the first attack site soon. Cops will be on the way too.”
“Take photos,” Lindemann directed. “I have heard rumor that the Monster Control Bureau will destroy evidence to keep from paying bounties.” That was a new one on me, but two digital cameras were flashing within seconds. These guys were certainly efficient.
Trip took me aside. “Something’s fishy.”
“I know. This is too easy.” I wasn’t about to say anything about Earl’s girlfriend in front of the Germans, but there was no way a single giant spider took out a werewolf.
“A very wise man once said there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch. This seems suspiciously like free lunch territory to me.” Trip looked over at the trailer. “I’m going to poke around.”
“Take Ed. Keep him away from the Feds too. Myers’ whole provisional don’t ask, don’t tell if you’re an orc might not be in effect anymore.” I wish I had thought of that before keeping Edward here. “Where’d he go anyway?”
Trip pointed. Edward had walked over to the dead spider and was examining it. He drew one of the many knives strapped to his body, squatted down, and sawed off the last few inches of one of the legs. He speared the chunk of leg, dropped it into a cloth, wrapped it up, and stuck it inside his coat. “What’s wrong, Ed?”
Edward looked at me, seemingly confused. He struggled to find the words. His English wasn’t nearly as good as his brother’s. “Spy-der…Not real.”
“Looks real to me,” Trip said. “What do you mean?”
“Not real.” Edward shrugged. “Fake.” Our orc patted his coat. “For show.” Then he wandered over to inspect the nearby shed. Curious, I followed him.
Ed held up one hand, motioning me to stop. In one sharp movement he drew one of his swords. Trip and I instinctively shouldered our guns and pointed them at the shed. Lindemann caught the movement and raised his H&K. The three of us fanned out. Edward looked over at me and nodded, then he ripped open the door.
It was a chicken coop.
The light I had seen earlier was a single large bulb designed to keep the birds warm. There were a few straw-covered shelves where the chickens made nests and laid eggs. Edward looked around inside, then sheathed his sword. Trip and I slowly lowered our weapons. Edward picked out a large white chicken, reached down, and scooped it up.
The bird seemed rather nervous. “Edward, why do you have a chicken?”
Edward tucked the chicken carefully under one arm. “Sacrifice…For tail row-tor spirits.” Then he walked toward the trailer. It took the befuddled Trip a second to realize that was where he had been heading to begin with and he followed along.
Lindemann paused by my side. “Your administrative assistant is an odd sort.”
“Chicken theft? That’s totally going on his next evaluation.”