A Crab a Rustler and an Ostrich: A Short Story, Page 2

  “Naw, Old Doc Reiman does that. You know how he loves his quail eggs,” said Lester, and dove for his shotgun. But Santo knew Lester too well. He waited until Lester had the shotgun in his hands and gummed it up with fresh fingerprints before he shot him.

  “You shot me!” was all Lester could come up with, Santo’s ears still ringing from the discharge of his Glock 19.

  *****

  The ostrich ran from the barn with Lester’s finger in its beak, and Santo gave chase, pausing only to relieve Lester of his gun.

  The rain had stopped, and a thin fog lay over the land, but Santo could still see the ostrich as it loped toward its fellow captives at the opposite end of the pen. Abruptly, it stopped—the cry of a chicken hawk piercing the night air—and dropped Lester’s finger. As the bird dove for the severed digit, the ostrich disappeared within the safety of the herd.

  The hawk snagged the finger from the ground on its first pass, its hooked talons crunching bone. Then the llamas brayed at Santo, and the herd of ostriches, nineteen strong, began to gather around the corral gate. Santo looked around, doing what every cop had to do in 2013; get your story straight, know the scene, and clean up your mess as best you can before you call for back up—if there was a mess to clean up. Santo laughed, and as he walked past the llama pen, he lifted a loop of tied electrical wire, and the metal gate swung open. He had just done the same to the ostrich corral when Lester came stumbling from the barn.

  “What? Stop them! Close that gate!” yelled Lester, blood pouring from the gunshot wound in his shoulder. The greasy snake oil salesman clutched the wound with his hand, and blood squirted through his fingers, but Santo made no effort to help him. Llamas and ostriches gleefully bolted through the open corral gates, and Santo smiled.

  “Easy eight-finger Lester,” said Santo. “I like the sound of that—your new nickname!”

  “Why are you letting the animals get away?” stammered Lester, as he passed out.

  “Job security,” answered Santo.

  If you enjoyed this story, more information about the author can be found at his website: www.edwardmcfadden.com

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