Dogs of the Never Never : Where in the World is Carmen Sandeigo?

Wordcount: 1.179 words
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Summary: A clue is found, now off to arrest the killer! Err, sort of!

Please note, this is currently a very rough draft from NaNoWriMo 2007. There will be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, flat out contradictions, and uneven characterization and pacing. (Content is also subject to constant change as I take an editing chainsaw to the story.)

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Where in the World is Carmen Sandeigo?

When he returned home from work he found Hunter waiting for him on the couch. He ignored her for a moment, to dump off his tools and change clothes. Thus he was startled when she walked through his bedroom door as he was changing.

“Hey! Privacy!” He shoed her back towards the door, scrambling into his jeans as he did so.

She just rolled her eyes and walked back through the door, leaving him to finish dressing alone.

“Stay out of my bedroom,” he complained as he reemerged, “I do not care how long you’ve been dead, you can not have forgotten that.”

She gave him a half way innocent look and then pointed to the pile of random objects on the coffee table. “I have located the Hindsman’s location ”

“Yeah, well so have I.” Jon dropped a copy of the local paper on the table, flipped to the article about the dead teen. “People do not just drop dead without anyone noticing.” Although he was really really hoping that the police never connected him to the crime. “So we know where he lived, so what? He’d dead.”

“True, but there should be additional clues in his residence.” She pointed to two objects he did not recognize. One was some sort of pocket watch that looked older than ancient and the other was a pair of chopsticks with small metal spoons attached to the ends. They were much too small to eat with, even a baby wouldn’t get a mouthful from them.

“And those are clues?” He reached down to pick up one of the chopsticks and spun it around between his fingers.

“Those are for the blood gifting ritual ” Jon dropped the spoon with a curse, letting it clatter onto the table and wiping his hand against his jeans in disgust. ” and this,” she picked up the pocket watch, solidifying her hand as she did so, “is not as old as it looks.” She popped it open and then pried the face of the clock open, showing him the digital displays hidden behind it. “It seems you have indeed found the organization I had spoken of.”

“The Dead Man Mafia?”

She frowned, “Yes, although I wish you would not call them that.”

[Hunter heads out into the big wild world to search for clues and leaves Jon behind. The Dogs decide to help him defend himself.]

Jon had a feeling this was a bad idea. A very very bad idea. He looked down at the gun Athen had dropped at his feet and tried not to wonder if it was the same gun from the fish warehouse. Tos growled in annoyance and he finally stooped to pick it up, noticing thankful that it did not seem to have and blood on it. It also did not have a clip, which made the handgun a tad less useful than he’d been expecting. He showed Athen the empty gap where the clip would be and the dog shrugged. Or whatever dogs do when they shrug, the emotion was the same even of the action was not. Tos snorted, having obviously thought it was pointless to even try and arm him. Jon sighed and pocketed the gun, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally shooting himself. Although he’d have a fun time if a cop caught him with it. Somehow he did not think ‘I got it from some ghost dogs who found it in the woods’ was going to fly.

He’d never actually fired a gun before, but it looked easy enough on TV. Still, until he got a clip and bullets it was not much good for doing anything but throwing at people. He tucked in into a box or random odds and end that he had stashed under his bed. He actually had a lot of stuff under his bed, it was a repository of random things and he doubted anyone would go looking past the first few boxes. Akela made a protesting noise as he hid it away.

“What? I can not use it.”

She cocked her head and blinked.

“No bullets.” Jon sighed as she just tilted her head the other way, staring in downright confusion. “It throws little rocks.” She nodded after a moment of chewing on concept. “I have no little rocks. Therefore it has nothing to throw.”

There was another pause and then Akela wuffed in comprehension. However the dog did not leave to go fetch him ammunition, instead she just curled up on the bed. Half solid, she alternately compressed and melded through the piles of bed liens and clothing. He sighed and reached over to skritch her head and the dog eagerly faded her head in for the attention. Which only made her look odder, but Jon was starting to get used to the random permeability of the canines.

[Hunter figures out where the Hindsmen kid had lived, they go to investigate.]

“And this doesn’t strike anyone else as a bad idea?” Jon shot Tos an incredulous look but the older dog just looked bored.

“Bad why?” Hunter finished checking her weapon and looked over curiously. She is faded out again, stark and solid only where her hands met the gun.

“Because you’re killing innocent people!” He gestured at the surrounding apartment complexes. “There are people who live here; boring, unimportant, every day people.”

“So?” She holstered the gun, and solidity rippled up from the hostler as she settled into reality.

“So ” he searched for something that might connect ‘bad’ and ‘death’ in a more meaningful way. “So, they’d be dead. People do not like being dead.”

“True.” She frowned thoughtfully, “But they will be dead eventually, will they not?”

Jon looked to Akela for help but the alpha female was giving him the same confused look. Veil creatures had the same nonlinear grasp of death and Jon gave up the argument. “Alright, then do not kill them because it will make me feel bad.”

“As you wish.” Hunter moved past him to the door of the motel room. Her Dog following behind only slightly heavier than a shadow.

His own Dogs were in various stages of existence, but they bore the same expressions of resigned frustration. He was probably the only Huntsman they’d ever had who’d insisted on minimizing collateral damage. Then again he was the only Huntsman in centuries that had finally completed the blood gift and had been able to exert any control over Pack behavior.

He still was not sure how much it helped.

[More stuff happens here, including some clue finding. Probably.]

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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