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Bobcats and Bullets

“Damn it,” she muttered. “What bad timing for you to act up on me again.”

This is a mess. I just got you back out the shop!

She slapped the steering wheel, hoping for the best. Too late to turn back now.

She looked at her gas gauge—a bit over half a tank.

That was plenty. Well, it could be worse.

She was thankful that the truck wasn’t running hot as it did from time to time.

Only a couple more miles to go. She finally made it to her destination, exhaling with relief.

There were rumors that quite a few Lynx-rufus, otherwise known as bobcats, prowled the area.

They weren’t ordinary bobcats, however. The ones spotted in this specific location had unusual coloring: a much darker shade of red.

Several eyewitnesses had remarked about their beauty.

If that’s true, what a find. I’d like to get a photo of ’em.

Since bobcats were nocturnal, loners, and usually rather timid when it came to humans, she didn’t expect to see much activity in the middle of the day, but it was worth a shot.

The Houston Museum of Natural Science, where she was employed, requested the assignment, and she was more than willing to venture out instead of standing in the sterile office with her scalpel dissecting roadkill.

The added bonus would be the slim but conceivable possibility of seeing these magnificent burgundy-hued creatures herself, and sketch their environments, too.

Grabbing her rifle, bookbag filled with a couple of notepads, drawing pencils, and camera, she parked her truck off to the side of the uneven trail, and walked the rest of the way.

It was a beautiful day, the air slightly crisp.

She pulled her dark green hoodie over her thick black curls that were bobby-pinned away from her face, and continued her walk until she found the perfect spot to set up camp for a few hours.

Getting down onto her knees in her jeans, she quietly laid out a blanket to sit on, and began sketching the area.

Not more than fifteen minutes later, she heard something.

She looked sharply to her right but didn’t see anything.

Hmm, maybe a squirrel. She turned back to her paper to continue drawing, then heard the frantic flapping of bird wings.

At least a dozen dark fowl were now soaring above her, some squawking as if frightened and warning others.

Her heart thumped in her ears, a dull pound.

As she slowly eased forward to reach for her rifle that rested against a tree, a shot rang out in the air.

BANG! Followed by a loud, gruff, masculine voice.

“What are you doin’ on my land?!”

She went for the gun again, but fell back when a bullet buzzed past her ear.

“OH MY GOD! Are you crazy?! You almost shot me!” she screamed out.

Another shot rang out, this one sounding as if it were pointed behind her.

“Stop shooting, damn it! I’m unarmed! My gun is in front of me, so I don’t have it in my hand!” She nearly passed out when a taller than life human being emerged from behind several trees after a few seconds of heart-pounding silence. She raised her hands in surrender.

…Oh my, Jesus… It’s the Jolly Green Giant. With a beard and tattoos…

Somehow, he’d blended in seamlessly within the dark folds of the forest, but now, he was gawking at her with some of the brightest, lightest and coldest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

Silver and blond strands of hair from his beard and hair blew softly in the breeze.

He lifted his head, his large gun aimed at her, thus exposing a tapestry of black ink that draped down his neck, hugging his jugular and the flexing muscles of his throat.

His fingers were dipped in the same inky designs, and she suspected his entire body had been used as a canvas.

He moved like a stealthy cat, and as big as he was, that was no small feat.

“What’s your name?” he barked. His voice was rich, deep, and full of grit.

“My… my name is Poet Constantine and I’m just drawing! THAT’S IT!”

“Well Poet, here’s a little stanza for you. Paint it in your mind, if you will: This is my land, this is my place, why shouldn’t I put a bullet in your face?” He smiled after he finished, as if he fancied himself the next Robert Frost.

“Look, I work for the Natural History Museum. I’m a taxidermist. I came to—”

“You come out here to kill these creatures?! Hunt on my land? You’re an animal stuffer?”

“No… NO! I came to see about the possibility of an unusually colored bobcat that was spotted here some months ago, maybe get a picture of it, and at least see the dens. That looks like a bobcat den over there.” She gingerly pointed in the direction of a hollowed tree.

He didn’t follow her fingers. Rather, he looked through her.

His eyes pierced her soul as he towered before her.

He was so menacing, she nearly passed out, and she didn’t see herself being easily unsettled at all.

“I’m not gonna kill you. Stop shaking.” He slowly lowered his gun.

She had no idea that she had been, but wasn’t terribly surprised by the comment.

“I can’t really say that is a choice. It’s a reaction. You scared me.”

“And you’re on private property. You got my reaction to your choice.

You coulda been killed. Not just by me, but there’s things out this way that’ll do you harm.

Not to mention, I’ve got traps all over this place.

I can turn them on and off from my house, but some of them are live wires, and ready right this second.

Lotta vermin come up wit’ rabies. People’s dogs and cats chase ’em, and they get rabies, too.

I gotta trap ’em or put ’em down. Usually put ’em down to take them out of their misery. ”

She looked around, and froze. There, high above in one of the trees, was a tiny blinking light she hadn’t noticed before.

“Security system. Cameras. Drones,” he said, following her line of vision.

“This isn’t exactly the Taj Mahal. Why?” she asked, dumbfounded.

He cleared his throat. “You don’t know what’s going on ’round here, so don’t make assumptions. You came from outta nowhere. This ain’t your stompin’ grounds. I could have piles of gold for all you know.”

She huffed, crossing her arms.

He stood a bit taller, as if that were possible, and his eyes suddenly widened, then narrowed as if he’d made an assessment of sorts. One that was not in her favor…

A nasty smirk creased his lips as he looked her slowly up and down.

She didn’t miss the slow swipe of his tongue along his lower lip.

His ominous eyes twinkled with mischief.

She swallowed as she pretended to scratch her back, relieved when her fingertips grazed the sheathed blade she kept on her most times. Good, I didn’t drop it.

“There’s cottonmouths ’round here. You best be careful. This ain’t a good spot to honker down for too long. ’Specially not to doodle.”

“Oh… okay, well, uh, thank you for the warning. I didn’t know this was private property. See, on the map it says—”

“That map is wrong. I bought this land eleven years ago and since then, folks have been tryna claim it. Wanna build a bunch of apartments ’nd shit due to the housing boom. It’s my land. Every leaf. Every pebble. Every drop of water from the stream that runs through from the river.”

“Okay, my apologies, again.”

“Again? You ain’t say sorry the first time.”

She turned away, rolling her eyes. This man is out of his damn mind. “Let me just, uh, pack up, and I’ll be going.”

“Yeah, you do that. I didn’t blow your head off ’cause you don’t look like the type the devil will send out to spy on me. He’s always doin’ sneaky shit, especially lately.”

Oh good, he’s a religious zealot suffering from paranoia, too. Now the devil is sending people out here to draw, all to get under his tattooed skin. Lord… A mentally deranged maniac with big guns. Just my luck.

“No, not the devil.” She forced a smile as she jammed her notebook into her backpack, trying to ensure that the maniac stayed calm. “Nobody sent me out here except my boss at the museum. You can look me up on the company website. I work there… I’m in the org chart and everything.”

She offered a tilted laugh. He didn’t laugh back.

This time, when she stared at him, she noted that his expression had softened somewhat from the seedy, sexual manner she’d gotten a glimpse of moments earlier.

This one was friendlier, less hostile and hedonistic.

At this point it wouldn’t matter if he were in a priest robe and singing a lullaby.

He still possessed a dangerous vibe, an energy about him that made one wish to either steer clear or explore—if you were into that sort of thing, of course.

“Look at how the sun hits you… You’re fuckin’ pretty, you know that? Wouldn’t’ve taken you for an animal stuffer. Goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

She froze in her steps. It was then that she realized her hood had slipped from her head through all the commotion, exposing her curls. The bobby pins must’ve dislodged. Her black tresses flowed all along her shoulders and back.

“…Thank you. Yeah, appearances can be deceiving. Okay, I have everything now. I’ll be on my way.

I’m going to pick up my gun now.” As soon as she had it in her possession, he snatched it out of her grasp, almost causing her to topple over.

With his eyes glued to her, he opened the chamber, dumped the bullets, then reached out to give her the weapon back.

In a state of shock and fright, she gently took it.

She gave a sad little courtesy, and took a few steps back.

“You want me to escort you back to your red truck you left back yonder?”

A chill ran down her spine. He knows about my truck?! Oh yeah, the cameras… but how long has he been watching me?

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be okay. You have a good day, Mr.—”

“Wilde.”

“…How fitting.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothin’.” She sucked her teeth. “Thank you for the warm welcome, Mr. Wilde. Take care, and sorry for the interruption.”

“Kage is enough. Watch the snakes. Don’t stop for nobody. There’s some weirdos that try and come around here every now and again… Drugged out idiots that’ll try to rob you. Live in a tiny beat-up trailer. I’ve had to run ’em off my property a time or two, too.”

“Will do. Thanks for the warning.” She offered a wilted wave goodbye, and made haste to her truck.

As she sprinted away, she was grateful for the breeze in her hair and for still being in one piece, but then, she had a sinking feeling.

She took a deep breath, paused, and turned to see if he was still back there, watching.

He was gone. Vanished, as if she’d dreamt the entire thing up.

She turned back around and made haste to her vehicle.

Tossing her bag on the passenger’s side, she sat in the driver’s seat and cranked the engine.

She sighed with relief that the jalopy hadn’t decided to rest in peace right then and there.

She kicked it in drive and made about one hundred feet before the truck coughed, vibrated, and gasped.

“No… No. NO!!!”

Moments later, she was outside with the hood up, spirals of smoke and hellish heat lapping at her face.

After a while, she slammed the hood down with a bang, her frustration mounting.

Walking to the back of the truck, she peeked into her work chiller box.

Soft gray and brown lapin. She’d picked up a dead rabbit for a private client and friend before arriving there, and put it on ice.

A pet bunny named Pierre, and his owner wanted him memorialized.

There was no way Pierre wouldn’t spoil as the day warred on.

The ice could only hold for a few more hours before all was lost. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she attempted to dial her boss, but there was no signal.

Aunt Huni couldn’t help, either—she could barely get around town, and hadn’t driven a car in years.

She walked several feet from the truck, still attempting to get a signal, to no avail. Then she tried to send several text messages. Perhaps that was a viable plan B. Undeliverable.

“Shit!” She sighed, grabbed her bag from the truck, and made the trek back to where she’d been. Hoping and praying that she didn’t get shot and killed by the big man with ice for eyes before she had a chance to plead her case…