Free The Case of the Vampire Vacuum Sweeper by John R. Erickson Page B

sewer. You know who these guys were? Not Buster and Muggs, as you and Miss Viola had suspected all along, but Rip and Snort the coyote brothers. Pretty shocking, huh? You bet it was. And fellers, all at once I was in a world of trouble.
    They were staring at me, licking their chops, waiting for . . . something. Lunch perhaps, or supper. Nothing that would do me any good.
    I tossed a glance back to the house. Slim was nowhere in sight. Racing back to the house was out of the question. I knew I couldn’t outrun them. I turned back to the brothers and tried to squeeze up a casual smile.
    â€œWell! As I was saying, Snort, it’s great to have you back in our neighborhood. How have you been?”
    â€œBeen hungry.”
    â€œYeah? And how’s old Rip?”
    â€œBeen hungry.”
    â€œI see. Well . . . uh . . .” Just then I noticed an important detail. “Say, Snort, did you know you’ve got a porcupine quill in your nose? You know, porcupines are very interesting . . .” BAM. He clubbed me over the head. “I guess that’s a sensitive subject, so . . . how’s the, uh, family?”
    â€œEverybody hungrier and hungriest.” He grinned and licked his chops. “Been long time for not eat big yummy food.”
    â€œOh, you mean rabbits and, uh, rodents and such as that, I suppose. I mean, that’s what you guys eat, right?”
    He shook his head. “Guys hungry for bigger something, maybe nice fat ranch dog, oh boy.”
    â€œFat ranch dog, huh? Gee, it’s a shame I’m so skinny, right? I mean, just look at these ribs showing.”
    â€œToo dark for seeing ribs, and coyote not care anyway. Ribs good for chewing.”
    â€œYes, but . . . listen, Snort, if being hungry is your problem, how about this. We’ve got worlds of dog food, great stuff, no kidding, you’d love it. Crunchy. Delicious. You’ve tried our dog food, right? Remem­ber how good it was?”
    He shook his head. “Snort remember crunchy sawdust. Too boring for coyote.”
    Boring. I ran that through Data Control and began to formulate a desperate plan.
    â€œI’m beginning to understand, Snort. See, your basic problem isn’t hunger, it’s boredom. Isn’t that true? You’re bored with your life, with the dull routine of being . . . well, of being a cannibal. You get up, crawl out of your hole, howl at the moon, go out on the prowl, hunt, eat, and go back to bed. Snort, no wonder you’re bored. That’s a very boring life.”
    They stared at me without the slightest expression on their faces.
    â€œSee, just look at you now, staring at me with bored eyes and bored faces. You don’t know what to say because you’re both so boring, you can’t talk.” They held a conference and whispered back and forth. Then Snort came over and clubbed me on the head with his paw. “Hey, what was that for?”
    â€œCoyote brothers bored, hit dummy ranch dog on head for fun, ho ho.”
    â€œThere! So you admit it, you ARE bored.”
    â€œCoyote brothers not admit for nothing.”
    â€œOkay, don’t admit it, but you and I both know it’s true.” He clubbed me again. “Hey, what was that for?”
    â€œCoyote not like truth coming from dummy ranch dog!”
    â€œOh, so that’s it. You don’t enjoy hearing the truth about yourselves, that you’re just a couple of miserable boring flea-bitten cannibals—and even your fleas are bored. Isn’t that right?”
    Their yellow eyes were flaming. “Hunk talk stu­pider and stupidest. Better shut stupider mouth.”
    I paced back and forth in front of them and gave them a minute to think. Then I continued.
    â€œOkay guys, I called this meeting because . . . well, frankly, I’ve been worried about you. Lately, you’ve looked so . . . well, lifeless. Listless. Unin­spired. Bored, shall we say.” I stopped pacing and