Structophis Page 6

  He turned. Now that the impromptu game of Let’s Do What Markus Does had concluded, Blodgette’s fascination with the nature she’d seen so little of had returned. She had climbed to her feet and waddled over to the brook. A tentative toe in the water convinced her it wasn’t something horribly destructive or dangerous, so she waded in and flopped down again, splashing about like a toddler in a kiddie pool.

  “Good, good. That’s fine. Now, you just stay here. I’ll see if I can fetch the bottles and fill them up here.”

  He stood and took a step. By the time he’d reached the top of the hill, he had a soggy, enthusiastic pizza dragon beside him again.

  “… Or we can just wait here until Gale gets back…”

  #

  In Italy, Dimitrios had his feet up on a table that, unbeknownst to him, cost more than the remaining mortgage on his house. It was the centerpiece of an office that a family of four could comfortably live in, and, aside from serving as a footrest, also held a tray of fruit and cheese.

  “You’ve got some excellent wine, Hearst,” he said, sipping at his third glass.

  “I’m pleased you approve,” Hearst said.

  The tycoon sat at a large desk with an excessively modern design. He was working diligently on a thin, silvery laptop and taking an endless series of calls. The phone on the desk rang and he snatched it up.

  “Yes… yes. Excellent. Make the information available to Ms. Grumman. Thank you. Yes. Yes, I see the attachment. Good work.” He hung up. “Mr. Spiros, I—”

  “Dimitrios.”

  “Dimitrios, I have a team of experts who have assembled a short list of questions regarding the history of our mutual point of interest. I wonder if you would be willing to answer a few more questions. I shall record the answers for analysis.”

  “You keep the wine flowing and I’ll answer anything you want!” he said.

  “Yes…” He clicked the record button and took a seat beside Dimitrios. “We shall begin with the most pertinent question, and I urge you to be honest with me in light of the significant sum of money I have already paid you. Do you have any idea where the Structophis gastrignae is right now?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” he said, taking another sip.

  “And you realize that the conditions of our agreement stipulate that full payment is contingent upon the timely retrieval of the creature?”

  “We’ll find it. The thing can’t have gone far. It’s huge. Maybe it just wandered off.”

  “The lack of significant news or police attention in the area would suggest otherwise. We shall set that point aside for now and focus instead on those things that will help us to identify it.”

  “That shouldn’t be too difficult either. It isn’t as if there’re pizza dragons roaming the streets to get it confused with.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ve found more information is always superior to less. As I understand it, you misplaced the literature associated with the Structophis gastrignae at some point, which had the mixed blessing of bringing you to my attention.”

  “Didn’t misplace it. Set it on fire. Big difference. Misplacing something is careless.”

  “Setting aside the fact that you have misplaced the entire creature, is immolating something somehow not careless?”

  “Nah. That’s just putting it in the wrong place at the wrong time when fire is part of the mix.”

  “A nuanced distinction. At what point in the creature’s development did this occur?”

  “It was after it hatched but before it came out of the oven. Probably about four years ago.”

  Hearst nodded. “And how well versed were you in the care of the creature at that level of development?”

  “What’s to know? You shovel in chunk charcoal in the morning and sweep it out at night. It’s a real pain, mind you. I learned that once Markus lost his nerve.”

  “Yes, Markus…” Hearst tapped the name into his computer. “Once again, that would be your great nephew?”

  “That’s him. He’s the only other person I trusted to do the shoveling. Loads of people would have been eager to steal a great idea like a pizza dragon mascot. You want someone you can trust, keep it in the family.”

  “A fine policy. As the primary care until the true emergence is entirely limited to cleaning and feeding the incubation oven, is it fair to say Markus was the primary caregiver?”

  “Again, until he up and quit. Started going to school for maintenance or something.”

  Hearst tapped some more. “Veterinary medicine.”

  “Same thing. That’s maintenance for animals.”

  The mogul leaned aside and tapped his intercom. “Get me an update on Markus Spiros.”

  “Veterinary medicine…” Dimitrios mused. “Handy, really. Probably should have given him a call when the thing started busting out of the oven. He might have been able to help, and it would have saved me a plane ride. … Eh, next time. Say… I think I still had him as my emergency contact for this little project. I’ll bet he’s got the dragon.”

  “Yes, Dimitrios, this was established almost immediately upon your involvement, you’ll recall.”

  The voice of Hearst’s secretary interrupted his monologue. “I’m afraid there was still no answer at the home number or the mobile, and the last contact with friends, family, and acquaintances was a series of calls to his aunt and the visit to the bistro. We are attempting to gain access to local law enforcement, but our field team in Colorado is limited.”

  “Stay on it,” Hearst said. “Dimitrios, with his background in veterinary medicine, do you believe Markus would know what treatment was necessary for the Structophis gastrignae?”

  “Probably. He’s a sharp cookie.”

  “And do you believe he would endeavor to provide it?”

  “Sure. He’d do anything for his ol’ Great Uncle Dimitrios.”

  “That the Structophis gastrignae hasn’t shown up in the news suggests he demonstrates a keener understanding of the legal issues of this matter than you. Fortunate for us in that it retains the possibility of the surreptitious acquisition of the creature, but it does complicate its location.”

  “Sir,” interjected the secretary again, “we have an identification on the female who was seen with Markus Spiros as well as the vehicle used.”

  “Excellent.”

  “The woman is a graduate student, Gale Dekker. Former classmate of Markus, currently pursuing a degree in zoology. Focus on exotic megafauna. Her name is on six waiting lists for Structophis gastrignae research.”

  Hearst raised an eyebrow. “Excellent work. That is exceedingly relevant. And the vehicle?”

  “It was the catering truck registered to the business. We have distributed a description and the license number to the field team.”

  “Fine work. Though with a five-hour head start, we may need to cast a very wide net to locate it. I trust you have already placed inquiries into any research and treatment centers with the facilities to care for a Structophis gastrignae?”

  “Yes, sir. No positive responses, but we are still awaiting answers from three of them.”

  “Splendid work. Keep me posted.” Hearst leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. “Dimitrios, given your lackadaisical relationship with details and precision, I think it is safe to assume that the years in your care may have left the specimen somewhat the worse for wear. Now that we know it is currently in the possession of not one but two people with at least partial training in animal care, I think we can also safely assume they will take actions to correct any health issues that may have resulted from your mishandling. For that reason, knowing the precise nature of your mishandling could be crucial in determining their current location.”

  “I was doing just fine. The thing was the size of a cow. Bigger, maybe. Hard to tell when it’s standing up…”

  “We’ll start with the oven. Where did you acquire the clay and bricks for the oven, and what size did you build it?”
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  “Pff. Clay and bricks. We don’t do any of that trendy art-house cooking. Good old-fashioned deck ovens. Two of them. About… call it six feet tall. Maybe four feet wide and four feet deep.”

  “As I understand it, that is not a suitable choice.”

  “It is when you want it to be a mascot for your not-at-all-brick-oven bistro.”

  Hearst shut his eyes. The faintest flutter of his nostrils served as the only evidence of his mounting frustration.

  “Let us move on, shall we? Post-emergence, it is extremely important to have a source of water to help regulate temperature. Did you have the foresight to have a pool or large tub accessible to the creature?”

  “See, now that’s the sort of thing that would have been useful to know. That’s the sort of stuff I came here looking to find out.”

  The mogul shut his eyes again and stifled a fresh tremor of irritation. “You are aware that the terms of our agreement require you to hand over a healthy and thriving creature, are you not? At this rate it does not sound as though this creature is going to survive long enough for my associate to arrive in the United States to supervise its final acquisition.”

  “Bah. I’m sure Markus and that girl are doing an excellent job of taking care of our investment…”

  #

  “Keep pushing!” Gale grunted.

  In hindsight, their current predicament was entirely predictable, if perhaps not entirely avoidable. Once Gale returned with a fully fueled van, a few bundles of firewood for Blodgette to snack on, and a bag of hoagies, they had to load up and head out. Blodgette treated the prospect of climbing back into the truck with the same enthusiasm as a dog being loaded into a pet carrier in preparation of a vet visit. Unlike a dog, however, that she outweighed the largest of her caretakers by easily a factor of five meant she was far better equipped to resist.

  At the moment she had propped a hand against the two top corners of the van’s rear doors, and her legs were hooked over the rear bumper. Gale and Markus each had their shoulders against her chest, pushing and shoving with all their might. They were doing a better job of getting the van rolling than actually getting Blodgette inside.

  “It’ll be fine, Blodgette. Honest. If you want, I’ll drive. Please want that!” Markus said.

  The dragon’s only response was an obstinate chirp every time either of her keepers shoved.

  “Okay, okay,” Gale said, giving up on the shoving for a moment.

  She took a seat on the bumper. Markus sat beside her, and after it became clear they were no longer trying to load her inside, Blodgette settled down beside them. She wrapped her arm around Markus, because heaven forbid he have a few minutes of not being constricted by her poorly calibrated affection.

  “You know, if you and your uncle had been raising her properly, she’d have a much better understanding of the language and we could probably just talk her into getting inside,” Gale said.

  “I’m not thrilled about getting back inside. I don’t think language is the issue here,” he said.

  “Okay, fine. I’m a bad driver. I’m a city girl. It’s mostly busses and cycling for me. But that doesn’t help us right now, does it? And we’ve got to hurry. The sun’s getting ready to set, and if you don’t like my day driving, you’re going to hate my night driving.”

  “Not to mention it’s only a matter of time before the old lady who runs this place comes out to investigate again. Bear or no bear, she’s bound to be pretty curious about a delivery truck from half a state away that’s rocking back and forth behind her garage.”

  “What’s this about bears?”

  “Never mind. What we need is some positive reinforcement, right? A treat or something.”

  “The wood’s already in the back. If she was that interested in it, she’d have gone for it by now.”

  “No, no…” He squinted into the distance. “See that orange flower over there?”

  He pointed. She adjusted her glasses and followed his gesture. “There’re a bunch of flowers over there. Do you mean the Sphaeralcea coccinea or the Ipomopsis aggregata?”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “What?” she said. “I took Ornamental Horticulture as an elective. There aren’t that many orange flowers in the Colorado mountains, so it’s pretty easy to differentiate them at this distance thanks to the elongated—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Markus hissed. “Go get one of them and bring it over here. Blodgette likes flowers.”

  “She does? That’s great!” Gale said, digging for her notebook. “She should start developing interests and potential hoarding behavior soon, and flowers are a strong indicator that she’ll start—”

  A door in the distance opened. The owner of the garage was heading back out.

  “Notes later,” Gale said, stowing the pad.

  She rushed toward the flowers, and the very moment she tugged them from the ground, Blodgette took a dedicated interest in what she was up to. The dragon heaved herself to her feet, nearly causing the van to wheelie, and took Markus by the hand to plod along toward Gale.

  “Excellent. Excellent. This is a wonderful sign of proper intellectual development,” Gale said, carefully sidestepping the interested creature so that she could climb into the rear of the van.

  Blodgette followed her right up to the doorway, then hesitated.

  Markus glanced behind them. The woman was in plain sight now. She must have been badly nearsighted, or else she’d have been running and yelling already, but their luck wouldn’t hold out much longer.

  “Come on!” Markus said, trying to sound more encouraging than panicked. “Let’s go look at those flowers. Those are orange flowers. You’ve never smelled an orange flower before.”

  He stepped inside. Blodgette tried to tug him back out.

  “Oh? You don’t want them?” Gale said, waggling the little bouquet. “Then I guess I’ll just keep them for myself…”

  She motioned as though she was going to tuck them into her pocket. This was the last straw. Blodgette ducked her head and climbed into the van to grab the flowers. As she sniffed happily at them, Markus reached back and slammed the rear doors.

  Blodgette turned to look at them, then quickly whipped her head back around to see Gale slipping through to the driver’s seat. The pizza dragon narrowed her eyes and glared at Markus, warbling a chirp of betrayal.

  “I’m not any happier than you are, Blodgette, but it’s for your own good,” he said. “And mine, since I can’t imagine she wouldn’t call the cops on me.”

  “Okay, I’m going to try to make it before sundown, and that means I’m going to have to pick up the pace, so things might get a little bumpier.”

  Gale started the engine and set about getting it into gear. Blodgette whimpered. Markus spread his arms in preparation for the comforting embrace the dragon would need.

  “Let’s do this,” he said.

  The dragon dropped the flowers and hugged him tightly as Gale peeled off onto the road.

  #

  “That’s right! You get out of here, you hooligans!” called the garage owner as the poorly parked and highly suspicious truck sped off.

  She took a look around, muttering to herself all the while.

  “Rotten teenagers think they can park their ol’ jalopies here, like I won’t see ’em. Probably want to drink their beers and smoke their doobies without the police knowing any better, then leave a mess all around for decent, hardworking people to clean up.”

  Her investigation failed to turn up any offending drug or alcohol paraphernalia. There was, however, a mangled yield sign tossed into the brush beside the garage.

  “Vandals. I suppose these hooligans were fine with just tearing up my nice, neat soil with their party vans and wrecking city property or… well… what have we here?”

  She crouched down and looked over one of Blodgette’s footprints. “Looks kind of small to be a bear… but deep. Whatever it was, it must have be
en a heavy one. Ignorant kids don’t even know how close they came to being some big critter’s lunch. Good riddance, that would have been.” She turned back and headed for her office again. “But I can’t be doing business with a big ol’ critter traipsing about. Better go see what’s what so’s I can let the animal-control folks know what they’re dealing with.”

  She made her way back to the office and unlocked the door to a dusty back room. Inside sat what was perhaps the last VHS tape–based security system in operation. She twisted some knobs and flipped through some different camera views. Wavy, low-resolution footage rolled backward as she nudged switches and turned dials. Eventually she found the best view of where Markus, Blodgette, and Gale had been engaging in their comedy of errors.

  The distance, angle, and antiquated technology combined to produce what could charitably be called a “bigfoot-sighting-quality” view of their shenanigans. It wasn’t good enough to identify any of the players involved. Mostly it was barely enough to make it clear that one of them was extremely large and extremely not-human.

  “What in the world…?” she murmured, squinting at the screen.

  She rolled back and forth, eventually watching them lumber out of view. The van jerked and rocked for a while, then finally sped off with no sign of the animal afterward.

  The elderly woman pulled out a much-abused yellow pages and flipped through, then punched in the number she found.

  “Yeah… Animal control? You might want to send some boys down this way. At first I thought I had a bear problem, but… I don’t know. Looks like somebody was stealing a…” She rewound the video. “Heck, it could be a bear. Lord knows what else might stand on two legs like that. … Well heck, I don’t know. Maybe it’s an illegal circus. They must have them. They got an illegal everything else, why not a circus? … Just send down some boys. You can see for yourself. But something fishy is going on, that’s for certain.”

  #

  Forty-three minutes later, Gale turned onto the gravel road that, if the navigation app could be believed, would bring them to the quarry-turned-camp-turned-nature reserve. She leaned down to get a better view of the gorgeous vista. Both of its past lives had combined to give it a truly unique aesthetic. Ahead of them, a huge, almost white pit with unnaturally steep sides leading down to a glassy lake marked where the excavators had taken their share of the mountain. Peppered here and there like garnish were elements of the summer camp that it had become, mostly in the form of decorations that were tap-dancing on either side of the ethnic-sensitivity line. Like so many other camps, they’d gone with a Native American theme. Totem poles and other attempts at authentic decoration ranged from merely inaccurate to stunningly stereotypical with brief flashes into a vague racial faux pas or two.