Please enjoy the next post in Murdertrout, Chapter 8 of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. Comments are welcome. Tips via the PayPal link to the right are also welcome but always optional.
Merry Christmas and happy reading.
Brett and Cindy laughed until the idiot fisherman slunk away muttering “Can’t teach ‘em a damn thing.”
Cindy, on the rebound from The Curmudgeon’s fool notions, was now more amenable to Brett’s similar but more palatable fool notions. “So, how do we get video of a gay hawk?”
An hour later Cindy was scrolling through a collection of audio tracks that Brett had assembled during his thesis studies. Cindy would play the track for a few minutes on the News Van’s P.A. system while Brett scanned the skies with binoculars. Brett admitted he wasn’t sure which sounds were best. They’d cycled through dozens of audio tracks to no avail. Not far away The Curmudgeon sat sullenly, tossing the occasional pine cone into the flowing waters.
“I am the very model of a modern major general.” the P.A. System squawked.
The Curmudgeon’s patience had worn thin. “Gilbert & Sullivan? Really? You’re looking for a hawk, not a theater major!”
They ignored him, scrolling next to a lilting piano solo.
“Liberace? Really? How old are you?”
“Shut up!” Brett shouted.
“If you want gay piano, what about Elton John!”
“Shut up!” Brett shouted.
On a whim, Cindy scrolled and soon “Tiny Dancer” was oozing from the van.
“Cindy stop listening to him!”
“What about Freddy Mercury? Gay doesn’t mean lame you know.”
Cindy cued up Queen.
“Flash! Ah ah… it’s a miracle!”
Cindy felt her toes tapping to what had to be the dumbest song she’d heard in years.
“Stop it!” Brett shouted, while staring through his binoculars.
Cindy, happily listening to music in the van, was rudely disturbed as The Curmudgeon stuck his head in the open door. It wasn’t the first time Cindy wondered if she should start carrying mace. Wild-eyed, The Curmudgeon glanced around.
“Nice van.”
“Get out!”
“I saw motion on the hillside for Queen. I figured it out. You need stupid with a hook.”
“Get Out!”
“Try…” The Curmudgeon closed his eyes, thinking hard.
“Try Boy George.”
“Who?”
“This cross-dressing freak from the ‘80’s. Played a lot on the radio. Nobody knows why.”
Cindy couldn’t help but be moved by The Curmudgeon’s optimism, he just didn’t give a shit that they knew he was nuts.
“Karma Chameleon” He smiled. “It’s got everything… dumb song, great hook, sung by a gender ambiguous one hit wonder…”
“Cindy, why is the lunatic in the van?” Brett called out anxiously.
The Curmudgeon waved another bag of M&Ms.
“I’ve got candy…”
“Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon…” The P.A. system emitted the world’s most pointless lyrics wound into a powerful hook.
“Dammit!” Brett stomped toward the van, unsure of what he could do to the lunatic, who was much older but seemed to glow with the vitality of madness. In fact, why the hell was it his problem that…
-SWOOSH-
A hawk flew inches over Brett’s head to perch happily on the P.A.’s speaker. It looked like any regular hawk but prouder and taller. It swayed along with Boy George’s song as if nothing could make it happier.
Brett and The Curmudgeon all watched in amazement. Cindy whipped out her makeshift camera and started recording. There was something very odd about the hawk.
“I think,“ Cindy paused, “I think it wants to be an eagle.”
“Yes.” Brett agreed. “Something about its posture looks eagle-like.”
“It’s closer to being an eagle than laying an egg.” The Curmudgeon agreed sarcastically.
“I’ve never seen a bird look so much like an eagle without being an eagle.” Brett whispered. Cindy, spellbound, merely nodded. The hawk stretched its wings and posed flamboyantly from its perch. It certainly thought itself impressive.
“There’s something about that bird,” The Curmudgeon scowled. “It’s like I’ve see it before.”
When the song ended, the hawk took flight. As if a spell was broken, the three stood there for several minutes; basking in the newfound knowledge that trans-species raptors were a thing.