10:31pm.
He’s thirty-one
minutes late. Grundy was never good about keeping time, but he’s never left me to
wait this long. Something’s happened.
The dishes clatter
in the back as broken Spanish curse noodle-fingers and aching backs. I finish
up the cold coffee and place a five on the counter. I smile at the waitress and
she nodded a wink.
The February chill
cut me to the bone. It hadn’t snowed all season; the drought saw to that.
I turned the
corner and slipped on wet cement, catching myself against the wall. Warm and sticky- with a heavy whiff of iron
and alcohol… I nearly heave at the sight of Grundy’s headless form prostrate
on the ground, arms and hands frozen defensively in front of him. Giant teeth marks
where his collarbone should have been said it all- the beast is awake, here,
and on the prowl.
