Page 3 of Cannon

“Sure thing. Get my number from Molly and you can let me know what time is good for you.”

“Oh, I have your number, Cannon. Don’t worry on that score.” She hooks her arm through Molly’s, and she almost drags her into the practice.

I watch until they are both safely inside the building, then I jump back into my truck. I look at Barbara’s Toyota as I pull out and can’t help thinking that her ‘old Toyota’ only looks to be a couple of years old. Maybe it is just high mileage.

Heading away from the practice, I enjoy the scenic route out to the pet crematorium. I’ve been surprised by how busy the place is. I know it isn’t something that most people would think about on a daily basis, but pet deaths seem to be a far more common occurrence than you’d think.

Also, I guess most people think of pet deaths as dogs and cats, I know I did at first. Since we’ve been open though, we’ve had some very rare and exotic animals to burn. No! Cremate. I’m going to say that to a damn customer one day and cause a fight.

The biggest we’ve had was a plow horse. It was freaking enormous. I didn’t think we’d get it into the furnace without chopping it up. Winger managed to sort that out though, and I’m never revealing how he got that done.

We had a phone call from a little girl only last week asking how much to take care of her goldfish. Her momma interrupted that conversation so we didn’t have to upset her by refusing. I don’t think we would have. We would have come up with something. She sounded a real sweetheart.

Once at the crematorium, I check in with the guys and see if I’m needed today. Zion, Prophet and Winger have all taken to the business like ducks to water. Although I’m the manager in title, Prophet takes care of everything on a day-to-day basis. There is certainly enough work going through the place to cover all the operating costs and still give the club a tidy profit.

“Hi, Prophet, Zion. Where’s Winger?” These three amigos aren’t usually far apart these days.

“He’s out back preparing our latest exotic customer,” Prophet tells me with a shake of his head.

“Oh yeah? Tell me more, “ I ask, wondering what exotic covers.

“A guy dropped by earlier and asked if we could ‘squeeze’ in a rush job. Apparently, he has a ‘crushing’ schedule and was in a rush to have his pet cremated before his wife got home, or something. Anyway, we said we had a free period this morning, so with that, he fetched a bag from his trunk and paid the going rate Winger quoted him, which was higher than normal, I might add. Since Winger was so keen to quote him, we’ve left him to do the job.” Prophet grins at Zion and I wait for the punchline I’m sure is coming.

“The guy said his pet was a python, but when Winger opened the bag, it was the biggest python I’ve ever seen. I think it came from the Everglades, judging by the size of it. I’ve only seen snakes in zoos or on TV, so I don’t have any experience to call on, but it could certainly eat a pet cat, maybe even an average-sized dog.” Prophet shakes his head again and shudders as he thinks about it.

“I’m sure he’ll cope with it in his usual professional manner.” As I say this, there is a loud feminine scream from somewhere at the rear of the building. We look at each other and then sprint in the direction of the scream.

As we approach the rear doors, they slam open, and all three of us are bowled off our feet as Winger charges through. Ending in a tangled mess on the floor, we extricate our arms and legs from each other before swearing and cussing at Winger. Totally ignoring us and backing away from the door, he’s muttering something.

“What the fuck, Winger?” Zion demands as he’s brushing himself down.

Staring at the doors he just burst through he mumbles, “Not dead. Not fucking dead. Fucking alive. The fucking thing is alive, not fucking dead!” Winger points at the doors and repeats himself.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Prophet asks him, in a loud and ticked-off voice.

“The guy who dropped the snake off. He lied. It’s not fucking dead. It must have been asleep, or he drugged it or something. I don’t know but it’s not…fucking…dead!”

Walking over to the doors, I carefully push one open and peek inside. Seeing nothing, I walk through and toward the prep room which has its door open. As I get closer a big head slithers out slowly and then stops and stares at me. Fuck me, that is one big mother of a snake. Quickly back-pedaling to where those three are still standing on the other side of the doors, I look at Winger.

“You’re right. It’s not dead. It is most certainly alive, it’s also very big and heading this way.” I walk further from the doors, as though the damn thing is going to come barging through just as Winger had. “Anyone here know how to handle a snake?”

The three amigos all shake their heads and look at me expectantly. Taking out my phone, I call Pres.

“Yo, Cannon. Wassup, man?” Whack's voice sounds cheery, but I think that’s all going to change when I tell him why I’ve called.

“Do we have anyone in the MC that can wrangle snakes? We have a large python here at the crem, and we don’t know how to handle it.”

“If it’s dead, what’s the problem with how to handle it? Don’t be a pussy, just get on with it.” Whack laughs as he must imagine the four of us being squeamish around a dead snake.

“We have a slight problem with the dead part, as in it’s not.”

“It’s not what? Stop talking in riddles. I get enough of that shit with Fury, damn him.” Whack’s voice is starting to go from cheery to touchy.

“It’s not dead. Winger thought it was, but then it wasn’t, and now it’s not only not dead but very ticked off. It’s also loose in the building so we need someone to come and catch it.”

“Get in touch with whoever paid for the cremation to come and get their pet back. I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic to have their pet alive and well.” Whack speaks to me like I’m a kid in kindergarten, and so I turn to the guys.

“Whack suggests we get the owner back here and get him to catch the fucking thing. What’s his number, and one of you can get him back here, pronto.”