Wanted: Undead or Alive

We Call Him The Weiner Man

Once I'd scarfed down a protein bar and a glass of orange juice, I changed out of the semi-professional all-black-everything I'd worn to the jail, into the easy-to-move-in-with-lots-of-pockets-all-black-everything I normally wore for work. I tied my hair up in a ponytail and grabbed two pairs of cuffs and a tazer. A garden gnome, arrested for public indecency, didn't seem like the kind of fugitive I needed heavy warding and an automatic weapon for.

When I pulled up to the curb in front of my grandparents' house, Busia waved at me from where she sat perched on a short, wheeled stool between cute chalkboard-style signs that indicated broccoli would be on her left and Brussels sprouts on her right once the weather turned consistently warm enough for such things to grow. Other houses in the area had yards full of discarded tires and three-foot-tall nettles. My grandparents had neat rows of produce without a weed or scrap of litter in sight.

I hopped out of the car and waved toward the house, one hundred percent certain my grandfather was watching both a soccer match and the scene outside the window from his La-Z-Boy recliner. A young boy, maybe fifteen years old, lay in the dirt beside my grandmother with his green bandana pulled down over his eyes. He had seven tally marks tattooed above his left eyebrow. Eesh.

Busia held out her short chubby arms and I bent down and accepted the most wonderful hug in the universe. "I'm so glad you came to visit, Tygrysku. I'm planting broccoli. I have the taste for it, so I sent Jaja to the store to get the frozen kind. It's not as good, but still, I'm going to make the casserole. You should stay."

My grandmother's broccoli casserole consisted of a wide pan full of florets covered in Velveeta cheese. This would be topped with crushed Ritz crackers, and then she'd pour an entire pound of melted butter over the top before baking it to a gooey, crunchy consistency. If a person listened very carefully after taking a bite, they could hear the cholesterol piling up in their arteries. It had to be the least healthy way to prepare a healthy food, ever.

"Sorry, Busia, I can't this time. I'm actually in the neighborhood for work."

"Oh, are you still working for the man with the body?" Nick had been with me once when I'd stopped by to check on Jaja after a nasty fall. His recovery had been suspiciously quick. I didn't ask. Nick didn't tell.

"He does have a body, yes" I said. Just saying it made my fingertips tingle with the urge to touch him. Thinking of touching him made other parts tingle, too.

"His eyes..." She sighed like a schoolgirl with a crush.

I might have done the same.

"Well." She pulled a hand spade from the pocket of her apron and jabbed it into the dirt. "You're here to catch a bad guy, then?"

The kid pushed his bandana up and glared at me. I was on thin ice. I didn't want to be the eighth tally mark.

"No one who'd be a friend of you and Jaja," I said, hoping that conveyed the fact that I wasn't looking for a gang member.

"This is the monster hunter?" the kid asked.

Busia beamed with pride. "Our Olivia was born during a thunderstorm under the full moon on the vernal equinox. The wild adventure runs deep in her veins."

"Ain't no monsters in this neighborhood but the human kind."

Being of a superstitious bent, Busia had pieced together what kind of work I did and, though I'd never provided details, she'd pretty much nailed it. I really didn't have the energy for denials and evasions. "We don't call them monsters. They find it offensive." I held out a picture of Tobar Pesgrel. "Do you know this man?"

They both leaned in close and peered at it. Busia gave the boy a significant look, and he fell back onto the soil, cackling. "It's the hairy wiener man!"