Page 75 of Among the Screaming Trees

ME: 5.47 p.m.

Dark clothes, masks

COP: 5.47 p.m.

Yes…

ME: 5.48 p.m.

To pursue female students

COP: 5.48 p.m.

On campus?

ME: 5.49 p.m.

No, sir. In the woods behind.

COP: 5.49 p.m.

I’m listening.

His lean shifts forward; he’s practically salivating. Should he break open a case, there might be celebratory doughnuts. This man would be the kind to judge a woman by her appearance, and a restaurant by the wings and beer. Everything comes down to sex and fuel.

ME: 5.50 p.m.

Dozens of them…

COP: 5.50 p.m.

Dozens?

ME: 5.51 p.m.

Yes. All masked, all unidentifiable.

COP: 5.51 p.m.

Are you messin’ with me, son?

ME: 5.52 p.m.

It’s Fox, not son. And I wouldn’t dare. You have cuffs and demand respect.

COP: 5.52 p.m.

Damn straight.

ME: 5.53 p.m.

See!

He leans his bulbous body forward, as if we’re about to share some crazy secret. All it does is worsen his body odor, which wafts a cloud straight to me.

COP: 5.54 p.m.

Are you okay, son?