Page 6 of The Cauldronball Run (Outlaw Country #2)

G rizz

Grizz crouched behind a parked delivery truck across the street from The Red Ball Garage, binoculars pressed to his eyes. Unfortunately, he'd been holding them backwards for the past ten minutes, wondering why everything looked so damn far away.

"Daddy," Smokie whispered, "I think you got them binoculars turned around wrong."

"Mr. Snuggles says that makes sense," Smokie said, adjusting the teddy bear's tiny knitted hat and winter coat. "He's getting cold, Daddy. Should I start the patrol car heater?"

"Shut up, boy. We're on a covert surveillance operation.

" Grizz swept the binoculars across the garage's parking area, cataloging every vehicle and criminal he could see.

"And if you start that engine, every lawbreaker in Manhattan will hear us coming.

That patrol car sounds like a garbage disposal full of marbles. "

What Grizz saw through the properly oriented binoculars made his blood pressure climb higher than a cat up a telephone pole. The Red Ball Garage was crawling with supernatural freaks and monsters, all gathered around vehicles that looked about as legitimate as a campaign promise.

"Start writing, boy," Grizz commanded, never taking his eyes off the scene. "I want a complete record of every lawbreaker, miscreant, and ne'er-do-well down there."

Smokie fumbled for his notepad, dropping it twice before managing to get his pen ready. "What should I write, Daddy?"

"Everything I tell you, and don't you dare miss a word. Mr. Snuggles can help you spell if needed."

Grizz focused on the nearest vehicle. It was a black hearse parked directly in front of the garage bay doors.

Two figures in priest robes were having what appeared to be a heated theological discussion while trying to jumpstart their vehicle with cables that were definitely not standard automotive equipment.

"Team One: Two demons masquerading as men of the cloth. Vehicle is a hearse covered in suspicious religious symbols that are probably upside-down or backwards or some other blasphemous nonsense."

"How do you know they're demons, Daddy?"

"Because real priests don't have horns poking through their holy hats, you numbskull." Grizz squinted through the binoculars. "Now write it down before I forget the details."

The hearse was parked next to a high-end Tesla, except it kept flickering in and out of visibility like a bad television reception. Tiny figures swarmed around it, gesturing wildly at each other.

"Team Two: Bunch of pixies with a fancy electric car that's got more illegal modifications than a moonshiner's still.

Vehicle appears to have some kind of cloaking device, which violates about fifteen federal regulations and the laws of physics.

" Grizz watched one pixie smack another pixie with what looked like a tiny wrench.

"They appear to be having technical difficulties. "

"Pixies can drive cars, Daddy?"

"Apparently these ones think they can. Look at 'em running around like roaches when you flip on the kitchen light."

Next to the Tesla sat a classic Aston Martin that belonged in a museum, not on the street.

A pale man in an expensive tuxedo was attempting to charm a group of female racers near the garage entrance, flashing what Grizz was certain were fake credentials while doing some kind of elaborate hand gestures.

"Team Three: Vampire in a fancy foreign automobile, pretending to be some kind of international secret agent.

Vehicle's got more unnecessary gadgets than a late-night infomercial, none of which are street legal.

" Grizz snorted as he watched the vampire's sunglasses slide down his nose.

"Fool's wearing sunglasses at midnight and trying to convince people he's sophisticated.

Probably thinks he's James Bond instead of Jimmy Buffoon. "

The thunderous roar of motorcycle engines echoed off the surrounding buildings as a group of leather-clad bikers pulled up to the garage.

When one of them got excited and accidentally shot a stream of fire six feet into the air, setting off three car alarms and singing his own eyebrows, Grizz knew exactly what he was dealing with.

"Team Four: Dragon motorcycle gang with anger management issues and no understanding of basic fire safety.

Every time they rev their engines, they breathe fire like defective flamethrowers.

That's gotta violate city emissions standards, fire codes, and probably several international treaties about weapons of mass destruction. "

"Dragons have motorcycles now, Daddy?"

"Apparently they do, son. World's going to hell in a handbasket with rocket boosters.

" Grizz moved his binoculars to observe a sparkling Lamborghini that was leaving a glitter trail thick enough to cause traffic hazards.

Two identical figures were fighting over the steering wheel while music pounded from the vehicle.

"Team Five: Fairy twins in a sports car that's shedding glitter like a craft store explosion.

Environmental hazard, noise pollution, public nuisance, and probably tax evasion. "

"Why tax evasion, Daddy?"

"Look at that car, boy. Nobody makes that kind of money legally in New York City, especially not by sprinkling sparkles on people."

The strangest sight yet was a massive monster truck with two enormous figures trying to squeeze it into a parking space clearly marked “Compact Only.”

"Team Six: Two trolls in an oversized monster truck with the combined intelligence of a bag of particularly stupid rocks.

Vehicle exceeds legal size limits for city parking by approximately four hundred percent, and the drivers appear to believe that moving the parking sign constitutes a viable solution to their dimensional challenges. "

"Maybe they're just having trouble with spatial reasoning, Daddy."

"Smokie, they've now tried to squeeze a vehicle the size of a small building into a space designed for a motorcycle.

One of them is currently trying to deflate the tires to make it shorter.

" Grizz shook his head in disbelief. "And the other one is consulting what appears to be a children's picture book about shapes. "

The most unsettling sight was a silent black hearse that seemed to absorb streetlight rather than reflect it. The driver sat motionless behind the wheel, and Grizz couldn't tell if they were breathing, blinking, or even alive.

"Team Seven: Banshee in a hearse that makes no sound whatsoever. That ain't natural, boy. Vehicles are supposed to make noise, especially in Manhattan. You got trucks, sirens, car horns, and construction equipment. Silence is suspicious as hell in this city."

"Maybe it's just really well-maintained, Daddy?"

"Son, there ain't no such thing as a silent engine in New York City. That's supernatural nonsense, and it's probably illegal in twelve different ways, starting with noise ordinance violations for being too quiet."

Grizz was adjusting his binoculars when he spotted the vehicle he'd been waiting for.

A white ambulance with all the proper markings pulled up to the garage, but something about it was wrong.

The engine sounded too powerful, and the way that massive orc moved around it suggested modifications that definitely weren't factory standard.

"There," he breathed, his voice tight with vindication. "Team Eight: J.J. Grimjaw in a fake ambulance that's about as legitimate as a unicorn in a petting zoo."

"How can you tell it's fake, Daddy? It looks like a regular ambulance to me."

Grizz shot his son a scornful look. "Boy, you wouldn't know a real ambulance from an ice cream truck playing 'Für Elise.' Listen to that engine. That ain't no standard emergency vehicle motor. That's a racing engine wearing an ambulance costume."

"It sounds normal to me, Daddy."

"That's because you got ears like a deaf mule. And look at how that orc moves around it, like he built every bolt and gasket himself. Real ambulances don't get custom modifications that make them sound like purring lions."

Grizz watched as the massive orc climbed out of the driver's seat, followed by a woman with dark hair who had to be his recruited partner. She was checking equipment through the back windows, looking every inch the professional paramedic who had no idea she'd been recruited for criminal activity.

"Look at that poor little lady," Grizz muttered, adjusting the focus on his binoculars. "Innocent as a newborn lamb, thinking she's doing legitimate medical work while that green sumbitch is using her credentials to cover his illegal racing operation."

The woman was nodding seriously as J.J. explained, gesturing toward the back of the ambulance with the kind of elaborate hand movements that screamed total fabrication.

"She's buying his story hook, line, and sinker," Grizz observed. "That orc's got more lies than a campaign speech, and she's believing every word."

"Are you gonna arrest them now, Daddy? Mr. Snuggles thinks we have enough evidence."

"Not yet, boy. Right now, it just looks like a regular ambulance making a pickup at an auto garage. I need to catch them in the act of racing before I can prove criminal intent and conspiracy."

Inside the garage, Grizz could see someone addressing the gathered racers. It was probably the race coordinator giving final instructions. The supernatural crowd was listening with the intensity of students before a final exam. Their engines were idling, ready to bolt at the first opportunity.

"This is it. Soon as they leave that garage and start speeding like bats out of hell. They'll be in violation of more traffic laws than I can count on both hands and feet."

Suddenly, chaos erupted across the parking lot.

The demon priests' hearse roared to life with a sound like the gates of hell opening for a fire sale, shooting flames from the exhaust pipes and playing what sounded like death metal hymns.

The pixies' Tesla hummed to life in a spark of light, then promptly vanished entirely, causing them to run around frantically looking for their own car.

The vampire revved his Aston Martin with theatrical flair while practicing secret agent poses, setting off every car alarm in a three-block radius.

The dragons' motorcycles rumbled like thunder, accidentally setting fire to a nearby trash can when one of them got overly excited.

"Sweet mother of pearl," Grizz muttered, watching the controlled chaos unfold. "It's like a circus designed by someone who'd never seen a circus, but had it described to them by a lunatic."

The fairy twins were still fighting over who got to drive their Lamborghini, their argument now loud enough to be heard across the street.

The trolls had given up on parking and were now trying to fold their monster truck in half to make it more "compact-shaped.

" The banshee's hearse continued to sit in ominous silence, somehow managing to be more disturbing than all the noise around it.

"Look at all these freaks and weirdos," Grizz muttered, "thinking they can just ignore the law because they're different or special or magical. Well, they're about to learn that different don't mean exempt, especially not when Sheriff Grizzley T. Lawman is on the case."

J.J.'s ambulance started with a purr that was definitely not standard emergency vehicle equipment. The orc gave some kind of signal to his partner, who climbed into the passenger seat with the trusting enthusiasm of someone who had no idea she was about to become an accessory to federal crimes.

"Daddy," Smokie said quietly, "what if some of them are just trying to have fun? Like, what if they're not really bad people? Mr. Snuggles says they look more confused than criminal."

Grizz turned to stare at his son and the teddy bear. "The law don't care if they're having fun. Illegal is illegal, whether you're human, monster, or something in between that defies classification. You start making exceptions, and next thing you know, you got anarchy on your hands."

"Yes Daddy."

"Besides," Grizz added, turning back to watch the racers line up like contestants in the world's most dangerous game show, "that J.J. character made a fool out of me once. That makes this personal, and personal means I'm gonna enjoy every minute of bringing him to justice."

The garage doors rolled up completely, and one by one, the vehicles began pulling out onto 31st Street. No dramatic starting signal here, just a steady stream of suspicious vehicles leaving an auto garage at midnight and immediately exceeding every speed limit posted in the five boroughs.

"Gotcha, you law-breaking sumbitches." Grizz grinned. "Smokie, get on the radio and alert all units. The Cauldronball Run just officially became a criminal conspiracy, and Sheriff Grizzley T. Lawman is about to shut it down like a crooked poker game."

As they headed back to their patrol car, Grizz was already planning intercept routes and roadblocks. The Holland Tunnel, the Lincoln Tunnel, the George Washington Bridge, the Queensboro Bridge—he'd have them all covered with more law enforcement than a presidential motorcade.

"This time, that green sumbitch isn't going to escape," Grizz declared, climbing into their patrol car, which immediately began making the grinding noise that meant the transmission was held together by wishful thinking and prayer.

"This time, every freak and monster in that illegal race is going to learn that nobody—absolutely nobody—breaks the law in Sheriff Grizzley T.

Lawman's territory and gets away with it. "

"Hold on tight to Mr. Snuggles, boy," Grizz said as he fired up the patrol car, which coughed to life like a chain smoker on a cold morning. "We're about to show these supernatural speed demons what real law enforcement looks like."

As they pulled away from the curb, their patrol car trailing black smoke, Grizz felt the thrill of the chase beginning. This time, justice would prevail.

Even if he had to be in hot pursuit in a patrol car that sounded like a dying rhinoceros.