EVERY MAJOR EVIL OPERATION IN the world maintained sleepers in Dubuque, Iowa. Not bush-league evil like Al Qaeda or such dumbfucks. Evil as slow and pernicious as a poisoned cherry pop on a hot summer’s day. Thoom worked a cubicle apart from Bufords but didn’t know it, and every successful office party was one perfectly arranged by a vampire. (Iowa vampires took outstate trips once a month to feed.) Djinns always made sure they were the state’s voting officials. Shiftless spruced themselves as permanent fixtures in coffee bars, and several other factions maintained the primary illusion of that rectangle of map being the quiet little Anglo sanctuary many wanted it to be.
The Jetstreams owned a sizeable plot of land far enough from curious eyes that they could come and go as they pleased. Fiona was technically not allowed in Iowa anymore, so to avoid potential police confrontation she remained behind.
“What are we looking for here?” Neon asked, wondering what exactly cornpone alley had to do with anything. Literally. They walked paths of six-foot corn stalks in the deep of the night.
“Gonna beat the bushes till a winged monkey shows,” said Smoove.
“Huh?”
“Wizard of Oz reference, girl,” said Smoove.
“We should’ve kept Fiona in the group. We stick out,” said Neon.
“That’s the point,” said Ramses. “Nobody comes to Iowa for subtlety.”
Yvonne felt obliged to point out they were creeping through corn stalks.
“First off,” Ramses said, “we’re walking tall and know exactly where we’re going.”
“Share with the class, brother,” said Smoove.
“There’s a shop we use as a base of operations,” said Ramses.
“Don’t tell me it’s a barbershop,” said Neon.
“It’s a Walmart. Every other employee there works with us,” said Milo.
“Sons a bitch,” said Neon.
“Del Fuego Gardening is with us too,” said Ramses.
“Who the hell don’t y’all know? Del Fuegos are burb gardeners,” said Neon.
“And office parks,” said Ramses.
“We never said it was just us,” said Milo.
“This is a real war, then?” said Neon. “Spies and everything.”
“We don’t do this for fun,” said Milo.
“Esoteric yet visceral,” said Smoove.
“And everybody’s aware but they don’t care,” Neon said.
“Right,” said Ramses.
“But,” said Smoove, “they’re busy having babies. No time for war with babies. Every sperm is sacred, yes?”
“What about your friend?” Neon pointed out, not sure if she should mention the missing son.
“Michael Foom,” said Ramses. “was never a baby. My hope is whoever has him has the sense to keep him calm.” He left enough heavy mystery to ensure the ladies left the matter exactly where it was.
“Ow!” said Neon. “Corn stalk. Eye.”
“Sorry, love,” said Smoove.
“Why are we in a freaking corn field!” she snapped.
“On the way to Dubuque,” said Ramses.
“I understand you can’t be flying jets downtown but I’m sure you’ve got golf carts or something in that plane.”
“Slow and steady wins the,” Smoove began.
“Smoove?” said Neon.
“Yes?”
“You hit me in the eye. So shut up.”
“This is probably why you haven’t won yet,” said Yvonne. “Walking when you should be motoring. Slow and steady is a good way to get passed by.”
“And then run over,” Neon pointed out.
“Squished turtle,” said Yvonne.
“Yuck.”
“Nasty.”
“Ladies…” said Milo.
“We don’t have cool names yet,” said Neon. “You can’t tell me he was christened Bubba Foom—”
“He was.”
“—any more than Luscious.”
“I am,” said Captain Luscious Johnny Smoove.
“There are big ass bugs out here,” Yvonne pointed out.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” said Milo.
“Can you fly?” Yvonne asked him.
“No.”
“Stake through the heart kill you?”
“Most everybody.”
“What if you attack us?”
“I won’t,” said Milo.
“What if you do? You might lose control.”
“How many times you get so hungry you bit the head off a chicken?” he asked back.
“Why,” hissed Neon, “are we talking about this in the middle of the night with the children of the corn around us? I swear to God I’ve seen eyes following.”
“Red or just glowing?” asked Smoove.
“Red.”
“Then we’re cool,” said the ghost-talking captain.
“I’m walking through the night with a vampire and I’m just a little uncomfortable,” said Yvonne. “This is very freaky shit.”
The moon, near full, illuminated sparse clouds; visibility was perfect blue eeriness.
“We won’t be here long,” said Milo, and true enough they exited the field not long afterward, but it was along the equally uncomfortable side of a deserted, dark, unlit road. The other side of the road proffered a large stretch of unremarkable nothing. To call this a road implied actual public use by someone other than serial killers.
“Be still a minute,” Milo whispered to the ladies. Both drew closer together and mentally prepared leg muscles to bring knees to nuts.
Everyone scanned the surroundings but visibility was more a matter of vague shapes and hazy perimeters than recognizable details. What might have been a tree was actually the knoll of a hill in the distance. What looked like a boulder sitting suspiciously on an area of flat land was—as eyes scanned over it—definitely moving. Neon squinted (even though it was dark). Parts of the black on black shape distinctly shifted, very slowly and very lumberingly.
And then the boulder stood up.
What Neon and Yvonne saw was something tall and something hairy and something decidedly not beside-a-dark-road friendly. The Jetstreams looked dead at it and held their ground.
It lumbered across the road and looked down a length of reeking fur at them.
Then it pulled a flashlight from somewhere inside its fur and held the light under its chin.
‘Piss ant humans,’ it thought aloud.
“You aware of Foom?” Milo asked coldly, ignoring its show.
‘No.’
“Punk ass bastard,” said Milo.
‘Unwashed prick.’ It shined a light on Yvonne’s chest and snuffed the air for hints of blessed pheromones.
“Fuck off,” said Milo.
‘Fuck you,’ thought Bigfoot aloud, then lumbered off slowly. The shaggy beast flicked its flashlight off and tucked it away.
Milo turned away too. “Let’s go,” he said to the party.
Ramses caught just enough of the ladies’ eyes to quietly shake off any questions. “House about a half mile from here,” he said. “Transportation’s there.”
And of course, they walked the rest of the way in silence.