Voodoo Children - A Bubba the Monster Hunter Short Story by John Hartness Page A

town?”
She asked.
    “ Hunting.”
    “ It’s not hunting season for
another month. Trust me, once it is you won’t be able to swing a
dead cat in here without hitting some jerkoff in an orange vest
bragging about the one he almost got.”
    “ The deer or the
girl?”
    “ Yeah.” She toasted my
pitcher with her cup and I caught her taking stock of what she saw.
It didn’t bother me, when you’re this damn big you get used to the
staring. And the questions, which I figured were about to
start.
    “ You a wrestler or football
player or something?” Right on cue.
    “ Or something. I’m a
hunter.”
    “ What does that even
mean?”
    I leaned in close, setting the pitcher on the
edge of the stage. I locked gazes with the girl, my brown eyes with
her green ones. I stared deep into her eyes and said “There are
more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in
your philosophy.”
    “ What the fuck are you
talking about? Are you high?”
    “ It’s Shakespeare, dammit. A
buddy of mine said quoting Shakespeare to a chick was guaranteed to
get me laid.” Damn that Skeeter, I should have know better. That
boy couldn’t get laid in a whorehouse. And if I kept listening to
him, I wouldn’t either.
    “ Well your friend was a
dumbass. But if you wanted to get laid, you shoulda said
something.”
    “ Yeah?”
    “ Yeah, then I wouldn’t have
wasted my time and you wouldn’t have wasted your beer. I ain’t
screwing you. One, I don’t mix business with funtime. And two,
you’re a big boy. If you’re that big everywhere…”
    “ And I am, I promise you.” I
grinned, showing my recently repaired smile, new false tooth and
all.
    “ Then there’s reason number
two right there. You’re liable to split me right in two! So why
don’t we just have a beer, make stupid jokes about the floppy
titties on Brandy up there, and then you can maybe get a lap dance
once the night shift comes in.”
    “ I won’t be here when the
night shift gets here.”
    “ Why not?”
    “ I gotta work. A brother’s
gotta earn a living, you know.”
    “ Yeah, about that. You never
did say what you hunted.”
    “ You’re right, I didn’t.” I
drained the last of my pitcher, dropped a couple of bucks on the
stage for Brandy and her floppy tits, and headed out the
door.
    *****
    Whoever invented titty bars must have
installed a damn time machine in every one. I coulda sworn I’d only
been in there long enough to have a beer or two, and maybe irritate
one cocktail waitress, but somehow it had gone from four in the
afternoon to full dark, and my wallet was two hundred bucks lighter
when I got into the truck. I put the little Bluetooth thingy in my
ear, pushed the button and said “You there, Skeeter?”
    “ Yeah, boss. I’m here.” Came
the voice on the other end of the phone. He even sounded skinny, something
I never managed to understand.
    “ Well that thing about
quoting Shakespeare to women is bullshit, Skeeter. I no more got
laid with that Horatio bullshit than I did that time I gave Erlene
a cactus instead of flowers for her birthday. That’s the last time
I take advice on women from a homo.”
    “ The fact that I’m gay has
nothing to do with the fact that you’re a complete disaster with
the opposite sex. I bet you tried that line on some floozy at a
topless bar, didn’t you?”
    I took a minute to look for the camera before
answering. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out the little shit had
me bugged. “No, I didn’t. I was talking to a nice lady. A
librarian, I’ll have you know.”
    “ You usually find those in
libraries, Bubba. Not in places called the Ride ‘Em Cowboy
Saloon.”
    “ And how do you know I’m at
the Ride ‘Em?”
    “ I track your GPS and cell
phone, remember?” Oh yeah. He started doing that when I got bit by
a manifestation of Apep, the Egyptian snake-demon. I kinda wandered
off into the desert for a couple weeks after that. Skeeter was
worried about me. It was cute, how upset