Blanco County 03 - Flat Crazy by Ben Rehder Page A

had heard about that type of fatal injury: a single puncture wound to the neck. Then it came to him.
    “You gotta admit, it’s pretty strange,” Bobby Garza said. “One day, we got a guy screaming about a chupacabra; two days later, we got a corpse with a hole in his neck.” The sheriff had arrived shortly after the body was discovered. Now, two hours later, he and Marlin were sitting in Garza’s cruiser, having a private conversation before Marlin left the scene. Marlin had already given the deputies a full report, telling them how he had happened upon Searcy’s truck.
    “Oh man, don’t get started on that,” Marlin said. “You’re as bad as Trey Sweeney.”
    “It’s weird, that’s all I’m saying.”
    “Pure coincidence.”
    Bill Tatum, the chief deputy, approached the sheriff’s window. Tatum was short and stout, with biceps that bulged like grapefruits. He had gone straight to police work after a tour in the Marine Corps when he was younger. On the job, he was as tenacious and focused as they come—which was why he had earned the respect of every man and woman in the department. Off the job, he had a dry sense of humor and a fishing addiction that kept him on the lake most weekends.
    “We pulled some prints from the interior of the truck,” Tatum said. “But nothing at all on the steering wheel or the door handle. Not even partials. Looks like they’ve been wiped clean. No footprints anywhere. The caliche’s too damn hard. No other tire tracks in the vicinity, either. Henry’s going over the body right now.”
    Henry Jameson was the young forensics technician Garza had hired seven months ago. The Blanco County budget alone couldn’t afford Jameson’s salary, so Garza had worked a deal to pool resources with several neighboring counties, giving them all access to Jameson’s services.
    “How’s Lem doing?” Garza asked, referring to Lem Tucker, the medical examiner for Blanco County.
    “He’ll be ready to move the body as soon as Henry’s done. Neither of them have said much so far.”
    “How about you? Any thoughts?”
    “Pretty obvious we’re looking at a dump job. No blood at the scene. My guess, someone drove Searcy’s truck with the body in the back, then wiped it down later. We’ll talk to the neighbors, and I’d say somebody needs to have a talk with the vic’s wife.”
    Garza nodded, and Tatum retreated from the car.
    Garza turned to Marlin. “Well, we’re really in trouble now.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Damn chupacabra knows how to drive.”

7
     
    TWO CHINESE DWARVES were having sex in front of Marty Hoffenhauser, and he definitely didn’t like what he was seeing. Marty himself was not particularly aroused by the sight of two small Asians going at it, but there were certain people who not only craved but burned for this type of adult action. Fetishists. Marty had developed a keen eye for what these fetishists liked, and what they didn’t. And this was definitely not working.
    As far as Marty could tell, the dwarves’ hearts just weren’t in it today. They were merely going through the motions—and if they weren’t fooling Marty, they sure wouldn’t fool the audience when the video was released.
    “Cut!” he shouted, making no attempt to mask the frustration in his voice. “Let’s break for lunch, people. Back in sixty.”
    As the crew dispersed, Marty pulled the naked male dwarf to the side. The man’s name—his screen name anyway—was Mike Hung, and Hung was, by far, the leading performer in Asian dwarf pornography. Marty had discovered Hung working as a busboy in a Chinese restaurant in Austin. As Hung had cleared the dishes from a nearby booth, Marty couldn’t help but notice the bulge in Hung’s slacks. Marty called him over and discreetly asked the young man whether he would be interested in an audition. That was two years ago, and since then, Hung’s popularity had skyrocketed (and Marty’s fortune along with it). In crude terms, Hung was the