absolutely motionless as he spoke, save for one crabbed hand fingering the black pouch about his neck. “However, a third member seems to have disappeared—a young girl named Cynabelle—Cindy, to you. But I must confess that she may have fallen with a bad crowd and vacated, too, for more adventurous exploits in the city.” Everd paused, as if about to say something difficult. “She lacked the standard of morality that my clan lives by, and I’m afraid several of the girls have fallen by the same wayside in the past. Not many, but a few. I feel it’s my failing ultimately.”
“Trickin’ herself out, you mean.” Trey got the gist. “Everd, your Squatters have a lower crime rate than the general population. From a police officer’s point a’ view, they’re about as low-maintenance as you can get.”
“Don’t kick yourself in the tail,” Sutter added some consolation. He was actually relieved by the extent to which Everd was reasonable about things. “You run a tight ship with your people, and we’re grateful. But you can’t go blamin’ yourself because a few girls go bad. They’re ain’t nothing you can do about it. In any community, there’s always gonna be a few girls who decide they can make more money with their bodies than workin’ a proper job. Been that way for thousands of years. And there’s always gonna be a few fellas who go bad too. Don’t worry about it.”
“Nevertheless, I apologize for such mishaps,” the man intoned. “I will try to keep a closer rein on it. But I’ve also come to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Just earlier,” Everd said. He kept touching the pouch. “Some ruffians from the city attempted to corrupt one of our young girls. She came immediately and told me. She said that you and your deputy repelled these two criminals convincingly.”
“Oh, yeah,” Trey said. “Couple drug dealers tryin’ to sell their crap in our town. We sent ’em packin’, didn’t we, Chief?”
“You won’t have to worry about them boys anymore, Everd,” Sutter guaranteed. Every so often, he’d cast a glance to the pendant, at first paying it no mind, but gradually growing more curious.
Everd looked him right in the eye, his own eyes green as emeralds, flecked with blue—another trademark of Squatter heredity. “You men have the utmost gratitude of my clan. This I cannot emphasize enough. I’d like to invite you both to my home tonight for a meal prepared in the tradition of our ancestors. Marthe will be serving an andouille-style sausage made with slow-smoked muskrat, crab-and-chickpea bisque, cattail cakes, and the seasonal delicacy this year, something we call custa.”
“Custa? What’s that?” Trey inquired.
“Cicadas roasted in wild mint and cracked white peppercorns.”
Yow! Sutter’s doughnut-filled stomach lurched as if kicked. “That’s, uh, mighty generous of ya, Everd, and we definitely will take you up on that kind offer down the road. But, see, Trey and I have some important police work to do for the next few weeks.”
Everd nodded. “In the future, then, when it’s more convenient to your busy schedule. You’re always welcome at my home. And remember the clan cookout next week.”
“We’ll be there for sure,” Trey said.
“So until we meet again, gentlemen, I bid you a pleasant day.” But before Everd turned to leave, Sutter couldn’t resist: “Everd, tell me somethin’, will ya? What is that thing around your neck?”
The old man seemed unfazed by the question, untying the sack. “It’s called a tok.” He removed something stiff and twisted.
What in shit’s name!
It was a chicken head.
“It’s the severed head of a black cock—not an ordinary chicken, mind you,” Everd explained. “Upside down in the pouch. It preserves wisdom.” He started to take it off. “Here, I’d like you to have it, as my gift.”
Yow! Sutter held up his hand. “Aw, no, Everd, I couldn’t. But thanks just the same.”
“Very well. But
“Trickin’ herself out, you mean.” Trey got the gist. “Everd, your Squatters have a lower crime rate than the general population. From a police officer’s point a’ view, they’re about as low-maintenance as you can get.”
“Don’t kick yourself in the tail,” Sutter added some consolation. He was actually relieved by the extent to which Everd was reasonable about things. “You run a tight ship with your people, and we’re grateful. But you can’t go blamin’ yourself because a few girls go bad. They’re ain’t nothing you can do about it. In any community, there’s always gonna be a few girls who decide they can make more money with their bodies than workin’ a proper job. Been that way for thousands of years. And there’s always gonna be a few fellas who go bad too. Don’t worry about it.”
“Nevertheless, I apologize for such mishaps,” the man intoned. “I will try to keep a closer rein on it. But I’ve also come to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Just earlier,” Everd said. He kept touching the pouch. “Some ruffians from the city attempted to corrupt one of our young girls. She came immediately and told me. She said that you and your deputy repelled these two criminals convincingly.”
“Oh, yeah,” Trey said. “Couple drug dealers tryin’ to sell their crap in our town. We sent ’em packin’, didn’t we, Chief?”
“You won’t have to worry about them boys anymore, Everd,” Sutter guaranteed. Every so often, he’d cast a glance to the pendant, at first paying it no mind, but gradually growing more curious.
Everd looked him right in the eye, his own eyes green as emeralds, flecked with blue—another trademark of Squatter heredity. “You men have the utmost gratitude of my clan. This I cannot emphasize enough. I’d like to invite you both to my home tonight for a meal prepared in the tradition of our ancestors. Marthe will be serving an andouille-style sausage made with slow-smoked muskrat, crab-and-chickpea bisque, cattail cakes, and the seasonal delicacy this year, something we call custa.”
“Custa? What’s that?” Trey inquired.
“Cicadas roasted in wild mint and cracked white peppercorns.”
Yow! Sutter’s doughnut-filled stomach lurched as if kicked. “That’s, uh, mighty generous of ya, Everd, and we definitely will take you up on that kind offer down the road. But, see, Trey and I have some important police work to do for the next few weeks.”
Everd nodded. “In the future, then, when it’s more convenient to your busy schedule. You’re always welcome at my home. And remember the clan cookout next week.”
“We’ll be there for sure,” Trey said.
“So until we meet again, gentlemen, I bid you a pleasant day.” But before Everd turned to leave, Sutter couldn’t resist: “Everd, tell me somethin’, will ya? What is that thing around your neck?”
The old man seemed unfazed by the question, untying the sack. “It’s called a tok.” He removed something stiff and twisted.
What in shit’s name!
It was a chicken head.
“It’s the severed head of a black cock—not an ordinary chicken, mind you,” Everd explained. “Upside down in the pouch. It preserves wisdom.” He started to take it off. “Here, I’d like you to have it, as my gift.”
Yow! Sutter held up his hand. “Aw, no, Everd, I couldn’t. But thanks just the same.”
“Very well. But
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