“What?” Theo said.
Gabe was obviously amped and trying not to show it. He put his hands in his pockets to keep from waving them around. “I”—he looked at Val and smiled—“we think that this creature, if it exists, may be attracted to prey with low serum serotonin levels.”
Gabe bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for his statement to sink in. Theo sat there, staring at him, with no discernible change in expres-sion from the weariness he’d worn since they came through the door. He guessed that he was supposed to say something now.
“Molly was here,” Theo said. “The creature exists. It ate Mikey Plotznik, and Joseph Leander, and who knows who else? She said it’s a dragon.”
Gabe’s grin dropped. “That’s great. I mean, that’s horrible, but it’s great from a scientific point of view. I have another theory about this species. I think it has some specialized mechanism to affect its prey. Have you been horny lately?”
“There’s no need to be arrogant, Gabe. I’m glad you two had a good time, but there’s no need to rub it in.”
“No no, you don’t get it.” Gabe went on to explain about Val Riordan’s decision to take her patients off antidepressants and how the lowering of serotonin levels could lead to increased libido. “So Pine Cove has been full of horny people.”
“Right,” Theo said. “And I still can’t get a date.”
Val Riordan laughed and Theo glared at her. Gabe said, “The rats I found alive near this trailer, where we think the creature might have been, were mating when I found them. There are some species of carnivorous plants that give off a sex pheromone that attracts their prey. In some species, the behavior of the male—a display, a dance, a scent—will stimulate the ovaries in the female of the species without any physical contact. I think that’s what’s happened to us.”
“Our ovaries are being stimulated?” Theo rubbed sleep from his eyes. “I gotta be honest with you, Gabe. I’m not feeling it.”
Val turned to Gabe. “That’s not very romantic.”
“It’s incredibly exciting. This may be the most elegant predator that the world has ever seen.”
Theo shook his head. “I have no home, no job, no car, there’s probably a warrant out for my arrest, and you want me to be excited over the fact that we have a monster in town that makes you horny so he can eat you? Sorry, Gabe, I’m missing the positive side of this.”
Val chimed in, “It may be the reason that you’ve been able to quit smoking pot so easily.”
“Pardon me? Easily?” Theo wanted to jump off the couch and bitch-slap them both.
“Were you ever able to go this long before?”
“She could be right, Theo,” Gabe said. “If this thing affects serotonin, it could affect other neurotransmitters.”
“Oh good,” Theo said. “Let’s open a detox clinic. We’ll feed half of the patients to the monster and the other half will recover. I can’t wait.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” Gabe said. “We’re just trying to help.”
“Help? Help with what? Bar fight? I can handle it. Skateboard theft? I’m on it. But my law enforcement experience hasn’t prepared me for dealing with this.”
“That’s true, Gabe,” Val said. “Theo’s little more than a rent-a-cop. Maybe we should call the sheriff or the FBI or the National Guard.”
“And tell them what?” Theo asked. Rent-a-cop? I’m not even that now, he thought.
“He has a point.” Gabe said. “We haven’t seen anything.”
“That old Blues singer has,” Val said.
Theo nodded. “We need to find him. Maybe he’ll…”
“He’s living with Estelle Boyet,” Val said. “I have her address in my office.”
Twenty-four
Sheriff John Burton stood by the ruins of Theo’s Volvo, pounding the keys of his cell phone. He could smell the cow shit he’d stepped in coming off his Guccis and the damp wind was blowing cowlicks in his gelled silver hair. His black Armani suit was smudged with the ashes he’d poked through at Theo’s cabin, thinking there might be a burned body underneath. He was not happy.
Didn’t anybody answer their goddamn phone anymore? He’d called Joseph Leander, Theophilus Crowe, and Jim Beer, the man who owned the ranch, and no one was answering. Which is what had brought him to Pine Cove in the middle of the night in a state of near panic in the first place. The second shift of crank cookers should be working in the lab right now, but there was no one around. His world was falling down around him, all because of the meddling of a pothead constable who had forgotten that he was supposed to be incompetent.
Crowe’s line was ringing. Burton heard a click, then was immediately disconnected. “Fuck!” He slammed the cell phone shut and dropped it into the pocket of his suit jacket. Someone was answering Crowe’s phone. Either he was still alive or Leander had killed him, taken his phone, and was fucking with him. But Leander’s van had been parked at Crowe’s cabin? So where was he? Not at home,
Burton had already checked, finding nothing but a sleepy baby-sitter and two groggy little girls in nightgowns. Would Leander run and not take his daughters?
Burton pulled out the phone and dialed the data offices at the department. The Spider answered.
“Nailsworth,” the Spider said. Burton could hear him chewing.
“Put down that Twinkie, you fucking tub of lard, I need you to find me a name and an address.”
“It’s a Sno Ball. Pink. I only eat the marshmallow covers.”
Burton could feel his pulse rising in his temples and made an effort to control his rage. In the rush to get to Pine Cove, he’d forgotten to take his blood pressure medication. “The name is Betsy Butler. I need a Pine Cove address.”
“Joseph Leander’s girlfriend?” the Spider asked.
“How do you know that?”
“Please, Sheriff,” the Spider said with a snort. “Remember who you’re talking to.”
“Just get me the address.” Burton could hear Nailsworth typing. The Spider was dangerous, a constant threat to his operation, and Burton couldn’t figure out how to get to him. He was immune to bribes or threats of any kind and seemed content with his lot in life as long as he could make others squirm. And Burton was too afraid of what the corpulent information officer might really know to fire him. Maybe some of that foxglove tea that Leander had used on his wife. Certainly, no one would question heart failure in a man who got winded unwrapping a Snickers.
“No address,” Nailsworth said. “Just a P.O. box. I checked DMV, TRW, and Social Security. She works at H.P.‘s Cafe in Pine Cove. You want the address?”
“It’s five in the morning, Nailsworth. I need to find this woman now.”
The Spider sighed. “They open for breakfast at six. Do you want the address?”
Burton was seething again. “Give it to me,” he said through gritted teeth.
The Spider gave him an address on Cypress Street and said, “Try the Eggs-Sothoth, they’re supposed to be great.”
“How would you know? You never leave the goddamn office.”
“Ah, what fools these mortals be,” the Spider said in a very bad British accent. “I know everything, Sheriff. Everything.” Then he hung up.
Burton took a deep breath and checked his Rolex. He had enough time to make a little visit to Jim Beer’s ranch house before the restaurant opened. The old shit kicker was probably already up and punching doggies, or whatever the fuck ranchers did at this hour. He certainly wasn’t answering his phone. Burton climbed into the black Eldorado and roared across the rutted ranch road toward the gate by Theo’s cabin.
As he headed out to the Coast Highway to loop back to the front of the ranch (he’d be damned if he’d take his Caddy across two miles of cow trails), someone stepped into his headlights and he slammed on the brakes. The antilocks throbbed and the Caddy stopped just short of running over a woman in a white choir robe. There was a whole line of them, making their way down the Coast Highway, shielding candles against the wind. They didn’t even look up, but walked past the front of his car as if in a trance.