SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

I got the call at three AM that Enrique had passed away. I sent word to Burgess to meet me at his residence with the Box Man, then called Gomer and had him pick me up. By the time we arrived, the body had been removed by the morgue and the police had already left. Burgess waited in a paneled truck. I’d asked him to wait while I spoke with the family. Gomer and I had both agreed that the timing of the death was both inopportune as well as convenient for anyone trying to obscure our path.

It took several minutes of negotiations before I was able to talk our way inside. Clearly the family felt the death was a natural one. I wasn’t going to do anything to change their minds. Whatever I discovered wouldn’t be for their benefit, but for ours. As it was, I could see the relaxation in their shoulders, as if the death was a great burden taken from them.

So it was with the family safely in the kitchen, coffee brewing, eggs sizzling, their conversation lightening as they increasingly realized their newfound freedom that we gathered inside the small bedroom of the recently deceased.

Gomer and I stood side-by-side against the far wall, trying to stay out of the way.

Lance Corporal Burgess Washta, a Lakota from Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota who’d made his escape by joining the military and surviving Vietnam, brought two creatures into the room. The first was the Box Man who was led in with a leash attached to a metal box completely covering his head. Rusted, riveted, and made of old iron, the weight of the box made the Box Man move like a hunchback, favoring one side over the other as he tried to keep the incredible weight upright yet still manage locomotion. A fine mesh screen covered the mouth and eye areas. The only other opening was a circular door on the very top of the box through which he was fed and from where he began his divinations. Behind him and walking free of a leash was the Licking Boy. Of small stature and with his eyes sewn shut, he wore a black jumpsuit and black boots. The only splash of color was the red unit path of Special Unit 77 on his shoulder. Not really a boy, he was an achondroplasiac, or dwarf. His real name had been Walter Scoggins, but he was now known as the Licking Boy.

Why Burgess had brought him, I didn’t know. I shot him an enquiring look.

“Gunnery Sergeant Chan asked that I bring him.”

To that, I turned to Gomer.

“I got a gut feeling we might need him.”

I knew that Gomer liked spending time at our special warehouse. My worry was that he’d go soft on our singular acquisitions. God knew it was bad enough to have them. If they didn’t like what they did, we’d never even use them. Harvey had been that way at first as well. Even I felt a tug at my heart, especially when I witnessed the Singing Girl do her thing. But I reminded myself that these were tools, much like a marine was a tool to take a beach or a pilot was a tool to fly an airplane. These creatures were purposely made by some arcane hand and were now ours to treasure and use. Feeling sorry for them would cause no end of problems.

Gomer recognized my look. “He doesn’t get out as much as the others. I think he could really do some good here.”

I nodded. We’d see about that.

Burgess searched the corners of the room and then under the bed, but didn’t find what he was looking for. Instead, he reported a Santeria egg and several colored candles. He checked behind the bureau as well, but no joy. The lady of the house was a conscientious cleaner and we were hard-pressed to find what we needed.

I gestured toward the headboard. Little known fact was that most spiders in bedrooms lived behind headboards, and sure enough, a meaty house spider sat hunched against the wood.

Burgess pulled a glass Gerber baby food jar out of his pocket, removed the top, and scooped the spider from the web, then handed it across the bed to me.

I moved over to the Box Man. “Okay, Boxie. Let’s get this done.”

“Done and done,” came the high-pitched raspy voice from inside the metal box.

I twisted the screw open that kept the door shut on the top of the box and opened it, revealing the scarred top of the Box Man’s head. Wisps of oily brownish gray hair shot up in lonely clumps around massive scarring. “Spider’s coming, Boxie.”

“Mamma says yum yum.” He made obscene smacking sounds with its mouth.

I couldn’t help wrinkling my nose as I dumped the spider onto the Box Man’s head then closed the door, making sure to tighten the screw.

I nodded for Burgess to release the leash and stand back.

“Spidle tickles.” The Box Man laughed, then jerked. “It bites. Bad spidle. Bad, bad spidle.” It began to gyrate, jerking its head left, then right. “Ah, I get it. Spidle wants to play. Spidle didle fo middle.”

It twisted fully around, smashing into the bureau. Burgess was barely able to step aside. The Box Man crashed to the floor where it slammed the metal box several times against the ground.