Friday, February 29, 2008

XVI. 2/29/08 heh heh heh

"Someone's been baiting the fields," Three said.


"Look over here." Grimironie crouched down and examined the pile of birdseed. There was something in it, something man-made. She pulled a vial from her pocket, donned latex gloves and carefully scooped up a sampling. Background music and artistic close-ups of she and Three looking pensive added to the drama as they marked off the fields with flags and tied off a rope grid to plot the evidence.

"We have to send this to the lab," she said. "I'm calling Gristle." Three nodded grimly. When the chopper landed, they gave their most serious and purposeful stares.

Gristle studied the vial; his blue eyes revealed that he was thinking many intelligent thoughts.

"What is it? Do you know?" Grimironie asked.

"It isn't Bam," Gristle mumbled, "I can't be sure. I have some ideas but I'll need a few hours to run tests. Good work. Right now you two need to get back on the case."

"Yes sir."

* * * *

They crossed the Wisconsin border. Had they run ahead of Capon Frank's path? Perhaps not. The Death Chickens they encountered were more frenetic, and strayed further from their usual feeding and nesting habits.

As they pulled into a pleasant little town for a decent meal and stay at a quality hotel, like a Comfort Inn, Grimironie searched for a silver trailer. She found none and relaxed a little. A banner announced "Annual Cheese and Brat-Fest." Heathens. She bit her tongue; she needed to loosen up a bit if she wanted to blend in with the locals.

They got seperate rooms at the Super 8. When Grimironie came out of the shower, she found a quaint Wisconsonian outfit draped across her bed: a Packers jersey and a pair of Wranglers. She was touched. She put them on, but left the cheese hat in the hotel room.

She met him at the festival. Three sat at an outdoor table. His white, silk shirt accentuated his man-cleavage, and his white pants said Look at me! I have joie de vivre! He waved a foam "We're Number One" hand when he spotted her.

"Exotic, isn't it?" Three smiled.

"Yes. And thank you for these," she said, curtsying as best as she could in the oversized jersey.

She was having the time of her life. Among the crowd of rowdy natives and full of Milwaukee's best, she wanted to abandon herself to the moment. She sauntered to a blazing garbage can, swilled her cup of beer, and dropped it into the flames. The melting plastic smoked like red-hot passion. Three walked to her.

The music swelled, and they danced the forbidden dance. She wanted the song to last forever- Hey! Marcarena!

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