Sam LaCroix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
necroslacker) wrote2013-12-01 10:29 am
necroslacker) wrote2013-12-01 10:29 am
seattle ; sunday ft
It was dark when they finally got home, and, despite the nap, Sam was still tired. There was a tranquility to the house, with everyone ensconced in individual activities. He headed to my room with a wave to James. He needed some quiet time to think.
Which was totally not going to happen, because Sam found Brid curled up asleep in the middle of his bed. It hadn’t been long since James had ordered my new bed, but every time he walked into my room, Sam hoped it would be there. Especially now. Brid shouldn’t be curled up on a mattress and a box spring on the floor. Even with the hurt of what was going on, Sam wanted something better for her than that. She looked pale, and there were bruised patches under her eyes, probably because she wasn’t sleeping, which wasn’t too surprising. People handled grief one of two ways; they either cocooned themselves in blankets and slept too much, or sat hollow-eyed in their living rooms, sleeping too little. Sam had learned that when Haden died.
Sam slid slowly onto the mattress, doing his best not to wake her. Of course, what he should have done was tiptoe out and shut the door so that she could grab some of that much-needed sleep, but he didn't. He just lay down beside her, taking comfort from his friend.
"I'm awake," Brid mumbled though she didn't move. "What's that smell?"
“What you’re smelling,” Sam said, “is the scent of the outdoors. Of rugged manliness. That is the stench of Bigfoot.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Was he sick? Because you also smell like rotting things.”
“Oh, right. What I meant to say was that’s the smell of rugged manliness and Douglas’s putrefying corpse.”
“Gross.”
“Indeed.”
“You realize you’re getting dirt all over your sheets, right?” She plucked at Sam's shirt with her fingers.
“It’s my bed,” Sam said defensively.
“Just making sure you’re aware. Your sheets, your call.”
With a sigh, Sam crawled out of bed and went about disposing of his clothing into the laundry hamper so he could change into something clean. He didn't want James bitching about laundering his sheets and he didn't want Brid having to deal with his nasty smell either. Once he was in clean clothes, he crawled back into bed beside her. They were quiet for a moment.
"I don't know what to do," Brid eventually said.
“Me either,” Sam said. “I feel like I’ve been chasing my tail. Tracking down each little clue or lead. How the hell do detectives do this? It feels like I’ve made zero progress.”
“My dad made everything look so easy.”
Sam sighed and nodded. “Yeah, he did. But he’d also been at it a long time.”
“What if I screw up?” It hurt to hear her sound so scared and broken. The Brid Sam knew was brash and fierce. This side didn’t pop up too often. As he tried to think of a properly reassuring thing to say, he realized that Brid probably didn’t get to let this part of her out on a regular basis. You had to look confident and assured, or people started to lose faith in you.
“People screw up,” Sam said. “Just try your hardest and fix mistakes as best you can when they happen.”
“Most people would have simply replied ‘you’ll do fine.’”
"I'm not most people," Sam pointed out. “And you will do fine, but you know that deep down, I’m sure. You’ve had a bad shock, and you’re hurt, and that would shake anyone’s faith. But your dad picked you, Brid. If you can’t dig up faith for yourself, at least trust in his abilities. He knew you could do it.”
She cried then, and Sam held her while she sobbed. He knew that hurt, and it’s a terrible thing to lose someone who is such a fixture in your life. He'd been having a shit year, but Brid’s was worse. She’d had all my bad days pushed into a few months. The loss of her father, the sudden thrust into a position of power she wasn’t expecting, being kidnapped and tortured by a psycho. It was a lot to take, even for someone as strong as her.
Sam held her tight to my chest. “I know it’s hard,” he said. “In fact, if there’s anyone who knows, it’s me. That kind of loss and then, right after it, before you can even take a breath, you get sucker punched with your new position.”
Brid shifted and looked up at Sam. Her eyes were puffy, and her face was red and splotchy. I brushed her hair out of her face, running my thumb along her chin. “All those people watching you, waiting for you to screw up. Not helping, just judging and piling more things on you while they do.” Sam felt my own frustration well up. “But you know, as much as I’d like to complain, I look at you and think, ‘Well, shit, Brid’s had all that at an accelerated pace and she’s not bitching and moaning, is she?’”
“I am a little,” she said with a sniff.
Sam gave her a bit of a grin. “You’re not wallowing, though. And you know what? Screw those other people. I think you’re doing great.”
“I’m so tired of crying,” she said.
“I know.” Sam wiped an errant tear away. “If you need a break, I can cry for you for a bit. We can take turns.”
She smiled a little and nudged me. “I just bet you would, sissy.”
“Hey,” Sam said, pretending to be insulted. “I'm just a sissy on days that end in Y."
Brid laughed and curled up closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her, bringing her closer and providing comfort. Eventually, she dozed off. Sam stayed awake though.
****
Sam stayed where he was, letting Brid doze. She'd shifted in her sleep and throw an arm over his medicine pouch. Sam had to yank it from under her because the lump of an egg had started digging painfully into his chest. He pulled the egg out of his pouch and tossed the medicine pouch away.
He held the egg up to get a better look at it. The carving really was exquisite, and even though it had been sitting in the pouch, close to his skin, it was still cold. That was weird, but it made some sense after Ashley saying it had some sort of death magic mixed up in it. Sam held it in his hand for a minute, fingers tightly closed. The chill remained. Was everything in this house weird? Maybe he was starting to get paranoid. Pretty soon he might accuse the coffeemaker of talking to me or think that the old recliner was the reincarnation of Winston Churchill.
But the house did have some strange things in it. Wasn’t that why San had to take the property in the first place? His lawyer had said something about how normal people couldn’t move in because who knew what Douglas had left behind.
Cautiously, Sam traced the edges of the egg, looking for hidden latches or something. It seemed too small to hide anything in, but what the hell did he know? Finally, he closed my eyes to try and look at it with my mysterious magicky bits. There was probably a proper name for what he was doing like “using his sight” or his “third eye” or something, but again, what did he know?
Very little, and it felt like the more Sam learned, the more his ignorance increased.
But whatever you wanted to call it, Sam looked at it and the damn egg lit up like a small moon. A blue, swirling moon. Crap. He recognized that particular nauseating swirl. Whatever kind of magic was involved, Douglas had done it, but was that really a surprise? His house, his egg, his magic. Duh. Still, he was dead. Shouldn’t the magic have deactivated or something? Of course, I had no idea.
His phone rang. Sam rolled away from Brid and jumped out of bed. That caused Brid to jolt awake.
“Where’s the fire?”
Sam didn't answer, reaching to grab for his phone. "Yeah?"
“Hi,” the gruff voice said on the other end. “This Sam LaCroix?”
“That depends entirely on who is calling.”
“You realize that by saying that, you’ve basically admitted that you are?”
“No, I implied that I might be, which is not the same thing at all.”
“Fair enough. This is Gary—Murray’s cousin?”
“Oh, right, Sexy … um.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed. “This is Sam. What’s going on?”
“Right, I’m the sexy one.” And then he made a rawr noise into the phone.
Okay. Sam guessed he'd asked for that.
“Murray told you I’ve been seeing some weird stuff out here, right?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get the impression that things were urgent. Has something changed?” Brid was sitting up in bed, attempting to follow the conversation. Sam mouthed that I would fill her in later.
“Well, I found a scent that was pretty unnatural and started to close in and, well, I found something. I know it’s getting late, but I think you should see this now. Things being as they are, I think it’s best if I get it out of the woods and bring it to you.”
Sam hesitated, knowing he needed to ask, but for some reason fearing he already knew the answer. “Is it something that applies to me because I’m Council or because I’m, you know, me?”
“Both, but mostly because you’re you.”
Sam got up to get a clean shirt before making sure Gary had my address. “How long until you can get here?”
“I’m out toward Cougar Mountain, and I have to gather a few things … maybe forty-five minutes?”
Sam told him okay and hung up. He stared at my phone for a minute, thinking about what he should do. To trust or not to trust, that was the question. Sam dialed his mom and asked for Uncle Nick. Sam didn’t think he had anything to do with it, really, though he wanted to keep open to the possibility, and Sam figured if he was involved, including him would be the fastest way to find out. After Nick agreed to come over, Sam got up and finished getting dressed.
Sam filled Brid in on everything while he changed before moving to head out the door. He stopped though, before he left. “Does your pack have a patron saint, deity, creature, or some other thing that I don’t know about?”
Brid nodded, puzzled. “Patron goddess—Bridget. She’s the goddess of hearth, home, and, oddly enough, blacksmithing. I’m named after her—Bridin is a derivative of her name. All the firstborn girls in my line are. It’s tradition. Why do you ask?” She'd gotten up and was ready to follow Sam now.
“Just wondering.”
After Sam tripped and almost fell down the stairs, he slowed down. He had no idea why he was in such a damn rush. Nick wouldn’t get here for at least twenty minutes, and Sexy Gary was going to take longer than that. Though it was getting on the later side, just about everyone was still up. Sam could hear them making a ruckus outside. He peeked out the window and saw Ramon tearing up our new half-pipe. Frank and Sean were seated in the grass, some very awestruck gnomes scattered around them.
James padded up on his little cat feet. He hopped up onto the windowsill. “Just making my rounds. Everything seems fine. What are you doing up?”
His tone seemed to imply that he would have preferred that Sam be back in bed, resting.
“Got a call from Murray’s cousin—he’s bringing something over for me to look at. Nick’s coming too.”
“Yes, Ramon mentioned that your uncle was back in town.”
Sam frowned down at James’s little kitty form. “Why a cat?”
“Pardon?” His ears pricked forward and whiskers twitched.
“Generally, when I see you outside your room, unless you have to be human for something, you’re in kitty form. Why?”
His tail twitched in irritation, and Sam saw him trying to decide how he should answer. “This form is good for sneaking. People don’t look down much.” He stared through the glass, and Sam watched as his pupils dilated while he followed Ramon’s spinning form. “I suppose I’m used to it. It’s comfortable.”
“Okay,” Sam said.
“Okay?” He seemed confused by my response.
“Yes, okay, as in I’ll stop forcing you to go human except when I actually need you in that form. I didn’t realize that you weren’t as comfortable that way.”
He turned his silver eyes towards Sam and stared, pupils narrowing as he contemplated what those words. “Thank you?” He drew it out like a question, and Sam wasn’t sure if it was because he thought what had been said was odd or if it was because he didn’t quite believe me yet.
The temptation to give his little kitty head a scratch was kind of overwhelming for a moment, but Sam didn’t think he’d appreciate it. Sure, Sam had petted him once before, but he didn’t know he was a person then.
“Look, James, it’s pretty obvious I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I’m winging it and hoping I do okay, but I just wanted you to know that I appreciate all the help you’ve given me and, well, I … I hope you like it here.” Sam wanted to tell him that he hoped they’d be friends someday, but he stumbled over it for some reason. Sam guessed he wasn’t sure if they were friends now or not. Either way, James just scrutinized Sam for a good long time, then went back to staring out the window. Sam turned away quietly and headed to the bathroom to check on Taco, a creature he knew he could pet without getting my hand bitten off. You know, as long as he’d been fed first.
Taco was happy to see Sam, crawling quickly out of his nest, up is pant leg and onto Sam's shoulder. This might have been a bad habit to let him get into because, once he’d gained his weight back, he might be kind of heavy, but on the other hand, he had very sharp claws and teeth, and it might have been an equally bad idea to refuse him.
By the time Nick got there, Sam was sitting on the porch watching the guys and Taco, who was chasing after a tennis ball and playing his new favorite game of “fetch the ball and chew on it instead of giving it back.” To Sam's surprise, Nick wasn’t alone. Haley waved at Sam as she got out from behind the wheel.
“What are you doing here?” Sam asked.
She cocked her head to the side in amusement. “You really think Nick could sneak out of the house without me knowing?”
Nick flopped down next to Sam on the porch. “I tried to talk her out of it, I really did, but she had the car keys.”
Taco jumped out of Sam's lap and went to sniff Haley. “Trust me, I of all people know how impossible it is to talk Haley out of anything.”
Haley put her palm out for Taco to sniff. “So what’s the haps?”
Sam filled them in, which took all of a second because he didn’t know anything.
A van pulled up a short time later, its green sides sporting the logo of the parks department on it. It was obvious to Sam, if not everyone, that Gary was wearing his purchased glamour when he got out of the car. How did Sam know that? Because he just looked like a really big handsome dude and not a huge shag carpet, that’s why.
Sam introduced him and had Frank order the gnomes to stand down while he and Gary shook hands.
“Why don’t you come in, and we’ll take a look at what you’ve got.”
Gary nodded, a genial smile on his face. He walked around to the back of the van and wrenched the doors open. Then, to Sam's surprise, he pulled the body of a man, bound and gagged, out of the back. The man didn’t struggle as Gary flung him over his shoulder.
“C’mon, you’re going to need some light for this, and I wouldn’t say no to a beer if you have any.” And with that, he walked into the house.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from Necromancing the Stone. Warning for: post length but nothing else objectionable in this part.]
Which was totally not going to happen, because Sam found Brid curled up asleep in the middle of his bed. It hadn’t been long since James had ordered my new bed, but every time he walked into my room, Sam hoped it would be there. Especially now. Brid shouldn’t be curled up on a mattress and a box spring on the floor. Even with the hurt of what was going on, Sam wanted something better for her than that. She looked pale, and there were bruised patches under her eyes, probably because she wasn’t sleeping, which wasn’t too surprising. People handled grief one of two ways; they either cocooned themselves in blankets and slept too much, or sat hollow-eyed in their living rooms, sleeping too little. Sam had learned that when Haden died.
Sam slid slowly onto the mattress, doing his best not to wake her. Of course, what he should have done was tiptoe out and shut the door so that she could grab some of that much-needed sleep, but he didn't. He just lay down beside her, taking comfort from his friend.
"I'm awake," Brid mumbled though she didn't move. "What's that smell?"
“What you’re smelling,” Sam said, “is the scent of the outdoors. Of rugged manliness. That is the stench of Bigfoot.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Was he sick? Because you also smell like rotting things.”
“Oh, right. What I meant to say was that’s the smell of rugged manliness and Douglas’s putrefying corpse.”
“Gross.”
“Indeed.”
“You realize you’re getting dirt all over your sheets, right?” She plucked at Sam's shirt with her fingers.
“It’s my bed,” Sam said defensively.
“Just making sure you’re aware. Your sheets, your call.”
With a sigh, Sam crawled out of bed and went about disposing of his clothing into the laundry hamper so he could change into something clean. He didn't want James bitching about laundering his sheets and he didn't want Brid having to deal with his nasty smell either. Once he was in clean clothes, he crawled back into bed beside her. They were quiet for a moment.
"I don't know what to do," Brid eventually said.
“Me either,” Sam said. “I feel like I’ve been chasing my tail. Tracking down each little clue or lead. How the hell do detectives do this? It feels like I’ve made zero progress.”
“My dad made everything look so easy.”
Sam sighed and nodded. “Yeah, he did. But he’d also been at it a long time.”
“What if I screw up?” It hurt to hear her sound so scared and broken. The Brid Sam knew was brash and fierce. This side didn’t pop up too often. As he tried to think of a properly reassuring thing to say, he realized that Brid probably didn’t get to let this part of her out on a regular basis. You had to look confident and assured, or people started to lose faith in you.
“People screw up,” Sam said. “Just try your hardest and fix mistakes as best you can when they happen.”
“Most people would have simply replied ‘you’ll do fine.’”
"I'm not most people," Sam pointed out. “And you will do fine, but you know that deep down, I’m sure. You’ve had a bad shock, and you’re hurt, and that would shake anyone’s faith. But your dad picked you, Brid. If you can’t dig up faith for yourself, at least trust in his abilities. He knew you could do it.”
She cried then, and Sam held her while she sobbed. He knew that hurt, and it’s a terrible thing to lose someone who is such a fixture in your life. He'd been having a shit year, but Brid’s was worse. She’d had all my bad days pushed into a few months. The loss of her father, the sudden thrust into a position of power she wasn’t expecting, being kidnapped and tortured by a psycho. It was a lot to take, even for someone as strong as her.
Sam held her tight to my chest. “I know it’s hard,” he said. “In fact, if there’s anyone who knows, it’s me. That kind of loss and then, right after it, before you can even take a breath, you get sucker punched with your new position.”
Brid shifted and looked up at Sam. Her eyes were puffy, and her face was red and splotchy. I brushed her hair out of her face, running my thumb along her chin. “All those people watching you, waiting for you to screw up. Not helping, just judging and piling more things on you while they do.” Sam felt my own frustration well up. “But you know, as much as I’d like to complain, I look at you and think, ‘Well, shit, Brid’s had all that at an accelerated pace and she’s not bitching and moaning, is she?’”
“I am a little,” she said with a sniff.
Sam gave her a bit of a grin. “You’re not wallowing, though. And you know what? Screw those other people. I think you’re doing great.”
“I’m so tired of crying,” she said.
“I know.” Sam wiped an errant tear away. “If you need a break, I can cry for you for a bit. We can take turns.”
She smiled a little and nudged me. “I just bet you would, sissy.”
“Hey,” Sam said, pretending to be insulted. “I'm just a sissy on days that end in Y."
Brid laughed and curled up closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her, bringing her closer and providing comfort. Eventually, she dozed off. Sam stayed awake though.
****
Sam stayed where he was, letting Brid doze. She'd shifted in her sleep and throw an arm over his medicine pouch. Sam had to yank it from under her because the lump of an egg had started digging painfully into his chest. He pulled the egg out of his pouch and tossed the medicine pouch away.
He held the egg up to get a better look at it. The carving really was exquisite, and even though it had been sitting in the pouch, close to his skin, it was still cold. That was weird, but it made some sense after Ashley saying it had some sort of death magic mixed up in it. Sam held it in his hand for a minute, fingers tightly closed. The chill remained. Was everything in this house weird? Maybe he was starting to get paranoid. Pretty soon he might accuse the coffeemaker of talking to me or think that the old recliner was the reincarnation of Winston Churchill.
But the house did have some strange things in it. Wasn’t that why San had to take the property in the first place? His lawyer had said something about how normal people couldn’t move in because who knew what Douglas had left behind.
Cautiously, Sam traced the edges of the egg, looking for hidden latches or something. It seemed too small to hide anything in, but what the hell did he know? Finally, he closed my eyes to try and look at it with my mysterious magicky bits. There was probably a proper name for what he was doing like “using his sight” or his “third eye” or something, but again, what did he know?
Very little, and it felt like the more Sam learned, the more his ignorance increased.
But whatever you wanted to call it, Sam looked at it and the damn egg lit up like a small moon. A blue, swirling moon. Crap. He recognized that particular nauseating swirl. Whatever kind of magic was involved, Douglas had done it, but was that really a surprise? His house, his egg, his magic. Duh. Still, he was dead. Shouldn’t the magic have deactivated or something? Of course, I had no idea.
His phone rang. Sam rolled away from Brid and jumped out of bed. That caused Brid to jolt awake.
“Where’s the fire?”
Sam didn't answer, reaching to grab for his phone. "Yeah?"
“Hi,” the gruff voice said on the other end. “This Sam LaCroix?”
“That depends entirely on who is calling.”
“You realize that by saying that, you’ve basically admitted that you are?”
“No, I implied that I might be, which is not the same thing at all.”
“Fair enough. This is Gary—Murray’s cousin?”
“Oh, right, Sexy … um.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed. “This is Sam. What’s going on?”
“Right, I’m the sexy one.” And then he made a rawr noise into the phone.
Okay. Sam guessed he'd asked for that.
“Murray told you I’ve been seeing some weird stuff out here, right?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get the impression that things were urgent. Has something changed?” Brid was sitting up in bed, attempting to follow the conversation. Sam mouthed that I would fill her in later.
“Well, I found a scent that was pretty unnatural and started to close in and, well, I found something. I know it’s getting late, but I think you should see this now. Things being as they are, I think it’s best if I get it out of the woods and bring it to you.”
Sam hesitated, knowing he needed to ask, but for some reason fearing he already knew the answer. “Is it something that applies to me because I’m Council or because I’m, you know, me?”
“Both, but mostly because you’re you.”
Sam got up to get a clean shirt before making sure Gary had my address. “How long until you can get here?”
“I’m out toward Cougar Mountain, and I have to gather a few things … maybe forty-five minutes?”
Sam told him okay and hung up. He stared at my phone for a minute, thinking about what he should do. To trust or not to trust, that was the question. Sam dialed his mom and asked for Uncle Nick. Sam didn’t think he had anything to do with it, really, though he wanted to keep open to the possibility, and Sam figured if he was involved, including him would be the fastest way to find out. After Nick agreed to come over, Sam got up and finished getting dressed.
Sam filled Brid in on everything while he changed before moving to head out the door. He stopped though, before he left. “Does your pack have a patron saint, deity, creature, or some other thing that I don’t know about?”
Brid nodded, puzzled. “Patron goddess—Bridget. She’s the goddess of hearth, home, and, oddly enough, blacksmithing. I’m named after her—Bridin is a derivative of her name. All the firstborn girls in my line are. It’s tradition. Why do you ask?” She'd gotten up and was ready to follow Sam now.
“Just wondering.”
After Sam tripped and almost fell down the stairs, he slowed down. He had no idea why he was in such a damn rush. Nick wouldn’t get here for at least twenty minutes, and Sexy Gary was going to take longer than that. Though it was getting on the later side, just about everyone was still up. Sam could hear them making a ruckus outside. He peeked out the window and saw Ramon tearing up our new half-pipe. Frank and Sean were seated in the grass, some very awestruck gnomes scattered around them.
James padded up on his little cat feet. He hopped up onto the windowsill. “Just making my rounds. Everything seems fine. What are you doing up?”
His tone seemed to imply that he would have preferred that Sam be back in bed, resting.
“Got a call from Murray’s cousin—he’s bringing something over for me to look at. Nick’s coming too.”
“Yes, Ramon mentioned that your uncle was back in town.”
Sam frowned down at James’s little kitty form. “Why a cat?”
“Pardon?” His ears pricked forward and whiskers twitched.
“Generally, when I see you outside your room, unless you have to be human for something, you’re in kitty form. Why?”
His tail twitched in irritation, and Sam saw him trying to decide how he should answer. “This form is good for sneaking. People don’t look down much.” He stared through the glass, and Sam watched as his pupils dilated while he followed Ramon’s spinning form. “I suppose I’m used to it. It’s comfortable.”
“Okay,” Sam said.
“Okay?” He seemed confused by my response.
“Yes, okay, as in I’ll stop forcing you to go human except when I actually need you in that form. I didn’t realize that you weren’t as comfortable that way.”
He turned his silver eyes towards Sam and stared, pupils narrowing as he contemplated what those words. “Thank you?” He drew it out like a question, and Sam wasn’t sure if it was because he thought what had been said was odd or if it was because he didn’t quite believe me yet.
The temptation to give his little kitty head a scratch was kind of overwhelming for a moment, but Sam didn’t think he’d appreciate it. Sure, Sam had petted him once before, but he didn’t know he was a person then.
“Look, James, it’s pretty obvious I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I’m winging it and hoping I do okay, but I just wanted you to know that I appreciate all the help you’ve given me and, well, I … I hope you like it here.” Sam wanted to tell him that he hoped they’d be friends someday, but he stumbled over it for some reason. Sam guessed he wasn’t sure if they were friends now or not. Either way, James just scrutinized Sam for a good long time, then went back to staring out the window. Sam turned away quietly and headed to the bathroom to check on Taco, a creature he knew he could pet without getting my hand bitten off. You know, as long as he’d been fed first.
Taco was happy to see Sam, crawling quickly out of his nest, up is pant leg and onto Sam's shoulder. This might have been a bad habit to let him get into because, once he’d gained his weight back, he might be kind of heavy, but on the other hand, he had very sharp claws and teeth, and it might have been an equally bad idea to refuse him.
By the time Nick got there, Sam was sitting on the porch watching the guys and Taco, who was chasing after a tennis ball and playing his new favorite game of “fetch the ball and chew on it instead of giving it back.” To Sam's surprise, Nick wasn’t alone. Haley waved at Sam as she got out from behind the wheel.
“What are you doing here?” Sam asked.
She cocked her head to the side in amusement. “You really think Nick could sneak out of the house without me knowing?”
Nick flopped down next to Sam on the porch. “I tried to talk her out of it, I really did, but she had the car keys.”
Taco jumped out of Sam's lap and went to sniff Haley. “Trust me, I of all people know how impossible it is to talk Haley out of anything.”
Haley put her palm out for Taco to sniff. “So what’s the haps?”
Sam filled them in, which took all of a second because he didn’t know anything.
A van pulled up a short time later, its green sides sporting the logo of the parks department on it. It was obvious to Sam, if not everyone, that Gary was wearing his purchased glamour when he got out of the car. How did Sam know that? Because he just looked like a really big handsome dude and not a huge shag carpet, that’s why.
Sam introduced him and had Frank order the gnomes to stand down while he and Gary shook hands.
“Why don’t you come in, and we’ll take a look at what you’ve got.”
Gary nodded, a genial smile on his face. He walked around to the back of the van and wrenched the doors open. Then, to Sam's surprise, he pulled the body of a man, bound and gagged, out of the back. The man didn’t struggle as Gary flung him over his shoulder.
“C’mon, you’re going to need some light for this, and I wouldn’t say no to a beer if you have any.” And with that, he walked into the house.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from Necromancing the Stone. Warning for: post length but nothing else objectionable in this part.]