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.“So, where you wanna go?”“Earl, may I ask a personal question?”“Sure.” They were bouncing along a narrow dirt track, heading off the ranch.Tool turned down the radio, some sappy song about loneliness and heartbreak on the road.“Now, it’s none of my business,” Maureen said, “but I’m curious how you can afford a chariot like this on a bodyguard’s income.”Tool thought about his answer while he took a long draw of lukewarm Mountain Dew.“Well, you gotta unnerstand,” he said, “some cases pay better’n others.”“This turned out to be a good one, then?”“I’d have to say yeah, all things considered,” he said.“So, now it’s my turn for askin’ a question, ’kay?”“Fair enough.”“What’s your all-time fantasy vacation?”“You mean, if we could go anywhere in the world?”“That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you,” Tool said.“We can go anywheres.You just name the place.”Maureen gazed out the window.Her hair seemed thinner and grayer in the direct sunlight, though her eyes were as blue and bright as the sea.Tool could easily picture her as a young woman, not from her features so much as from her open, untroubled expression.She said, “It’s still springtime, isn’t it?”“April, yes, ma’am.Goin’ on May.”“I was thinking of those pelicans.They’ll be heading north, I suppose.”“All the way to Canada is what it said on that TV show.”“Yes, to Canada.I remember,” Maureen said.“Isn’t that just remarkable?”“Must be one helluva thing, thousands a huge white birds comin’ down from the sky all together.Flyin’ home,” Tool said.“I’d sure like to see that operation.”“Me, too, Earl.”“It’s a mighty long haul.Sure you’re up for it?”She leaned across and boxed him on the ear.“Don’t worry about me, buster.You just drive.”“Yes, ma’am.” Tool was beaming as he reached for the radio.“How ’bout some music?”Karl Rolvaag had a dream that he was being strangled very slowly with a pale silken noose.He woke up clutching at his throat and discovered it snugly enwrapped by a sinewy albino tail.After a few interesting moments the detective managed to extricate himself and turn on the lamp.He trailed the departing length of python across the sheets, beneath the bed and into a ragged hole in the box spring.When Rolvaag cut the ticking away, he found not one but both of his absent companions, balled together in platonic contentment.Upon inspection neither of them manifested any doggy- or kitty-size lumps.To the contrary, the snakes appeared taut and hungry.Rolvaag was relieved, though not entirely surprised, as the pets missing from Sawgrass Grove had earlier turned up unharmed.Pinchot, the geriatric Pomeranian, had been located at the county pound, where it had been quarantined after nipping a slow-footed Jehovah’s Witness.Pandora, the lost Siamese, had been ransomed back to the Mankiewicz family by neighborhood hooligans in exchange for a case of malt liquor.The detective felt vindicated, but one piece of unfinished business remained.He removed the muscular animals from their box-spring hideaway and draped them carefully over his shoulders; a colorful, though hefty, adornment.He crossed the hallway to Mrs.Shulman’s apartment and knocked three times.It was a blessing that she was too short for her security peephole, for otherwise she never would have opened the door.“Nellie, you owe us an apology,” Rolvaag said.Mrs.Shulman shrank away in revulsion.“You degenerate monster! Get away from me with those slimy things!”“Not until you say you’re sorry.”“The only thing I’m sorry about is not getting you into court, you twisted freak.Now go!”By now the pythons had taken notice of little Petunia, hopping madly at Mrs.Shulman’s slippered feet.The reptiles raised their milky heads and feathered their rosy tongues, tasting the air.Rolvaag could feel their coils tightening in expectation.“Easy, fellas,” he whispered.Nellie Shulman’s pinched, mean eyes widened to fearful bulges when she saw the snakes begin to twitch
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