Free Highway to Hell by Rosemary Clement-Moore Page B

protection that the psychic fence represented; maybe he just observed the effect. “So, what's your take on this chupacabra business? Fact or fiction?”
    “Depends what you mean by fact.” A plate hit thepass-through from the kitchen with a clatter, and he retrieved it, answering with his back to me. “Something is killing livestock. I can't say what it is.”
    Someone plopped onto the seat beside me. “What what is?” It was Dave from last night, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He hooked a boot heel on the rung of the barstool. “Hey, Hector. Hey, Miss Maggie.”
    Hector set my
taquito
in front of me with a deadpan expression. “Good morning, Dave.” The barman's flat intonation made me snort into my coffee. I had to respect anyone who could do such a perfect imitation of HAL the computer.
    “Coffee?” Hector asked.
    “Keep it coming.” Dave turned to me, and I checked him out in the daylight. He had a Jake Gyllenhaal thing going on, a kind of nice-guy handsomeness that made him look like someone's brother or boyfriend.
    “You asking Hector about Ol' Chupy? Wasting your time. He doesn't believe in it.”
    Hector's craggy features twisted in skeptical humor. “Do I believe in a supernatural bogeyman or an alien space pet? No.”
    “Alien space pet?” I failed to keep the laughter out of my voice.
    His tone was dry. “That's what some people think it is. A pet left by UFOs.”
    Dave picked up his coffee mug and said pointedly,
“Other people
think it's some kind of undiscovered animal, maybe a crossbreed or something.”
    I unwrapped my breakfast taco before the eggs got cold. “So, you subscribe to the giant squid theory?”
    “The what?”
    “People used to think the giant squid was a myth, because it lived so deep in the ocean, but now they know it's real.”
    He slapped the bar with an enthusiastic hand. “Exactly! There's a hundred thousand acres of nothing out here. Who knows what could be hiding.”
    Hector shot me a wry glance. “Thanks for giving him ammunition, Maggie.”
    Dave was on a roll. “The drought makes food scarce, and Ol' Chupy has to come in close to get something to eat. That's when people get a glimpse of it.”
    I fished for anything more specific than the vague mishmash of description I'd gotten last night. “Have
you
seen it?”
    “Nope. My Tía Rosa, though, she swore that it came to her place one night and carried off her puppy. My granddad found what was left of the dog out in the pasture, wouldn't let her see it. Said it wasn't natural. Forty years ago or so, and she's never forgotten about it.”
    The stark retelling had more impact than Teresa's melodrama the night before. I leaned forward, elbows on the bar. “Did
she
see it?
El chupacabra
, I mean?”
    “Swears so.” Dave nodded decisively. “Red eyes in the dark, rustle of wings …”
    I sat back in disgust, and Hector laughed at my expression. “Oh, for crying out loud. That's the same thing everyone says.”
    “Yeah, but Ol' Chupy is going to get careless. Sooner or later, someone's got to get a clear shot at him, with a rifle or a camera.” His eager tone indicated exactly who he thought that person might be. “And that lucky bastard is going to make a fortune.”
    “Has
no one
ever seen a whole one?” I asked in frustration.
    Dave shrugged, sipping his coffee. “Not a live one, anyway.”
    Finally, a glimmer of hope. “Someone's seen a dead one?”
    “Well, sure. There's a skeleton in the museum up the road.”
    I set down my mug and turned on the barstool to look at him. “A real skeleton?”
    “Sure.”
    “How far is the museum?”
    He rubbed his chin and thought about it. “Maybe twenty miles down seventy-seven, going on toward Brownsville. Right on the highway.”
    Hector spoke up at last, his face comically expressionless. “Tell her what kind of museum, Dave.”
    “I forget the name,” Dave said blithely. “But you can't miss it. Has a big sign that says ‘Two-Headed