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Demetrius took down the address before he hung up. The job was in one of the more upscale areas of Parson’s Hollow, the Hollow Hills subdivision, and he wondered if the guy lived with his parents. He texted Cody that he was going to a chipmunk infestation along with the address, and then locked up the office after him.
The Hollow Hills subdivision lay a bit off Route 118 on the way out of town toward Harriettville, a couple of miles from the Critter Catchers office. The high school football field bordered one side of Hollow Hills, but when Demetrius and Cody had been attending, the neighborhood hadn’t been as developed. Now McMansions crowded the sub. Most had tall entryways and three or sometimes four car garages. Their precisely mowed yards supported one or two young trees, so there wasn’t a lot of shade to be found in this neighborhood. Demetrius liked to drive through the area on winter nights close to Christmas, however, because the residents of Hollow Hills went all out decorating for the holidays, electric bills be damned.
His map app directed him to a house near the back of the sub, with an expansive backyard that bordered a field of soybeans. If he’d been asked to list ten differences between his client’s house and any of the others on the block, Demetrius would have struggled. The builders apparently had a favorite template.
After ringing the doorbell, which Demetrius was amused to hear play Darth Vader’s theme, the door was opened by a young guy with a floppy, Bieberesque hair cut which Demetrius was pretty sure was no longer in style, droopy, stoner eyes, and a pair of expensive looking over ear headphones around his neck.
“You the critter dude?” the guy said by way of greeting.
“I am. Demetrius Singleton.”
“Cool. I’m Baron. Come on in.”
Baron led him into an entryway with a vaulted ceiling that allowed room for a hanging chandelier in dire need of dusting, and the distinct odor of pot.
“I had to link the doorbell to my headphones,” Baron said, lifting one of the ear pieces. “I kept missing my food deliveries.”
“Ah,” Demetrius said. “Yeah, that would not be good. Just you here?”
“Just me.”
As Baron led him through the house, he explained that he had created a zombie dragon space alien video game in college that became crazy popular when he released it on his own. It had been bought by a large company, so he’d purchased the house with the, as he put it, “fucking buttload of cash” that had come his way. And he’d chosen Parson’s Hollow because of all the cool monster shit he’d read about online.
“Haven’t seen a monster yet, though,” Baron said with a sigh. “I was hoping it would inspire my next game.”
“Well, you know, that might be for the best. Monsters can be unpredictable.”
“Guess that’s why they’re called monsters and not, like, residents or something, huh?”
“I guess so.”
Demetrius was happy the guy didn’t know about his and Cody’s involvement in the monster cases that seemed to plague their hometown. But he also couldn’t help wondering what their lives might be like if more people knew about and appreciated everything they’d done to protect the town. Like Demetrius offering himself up to Nicolae, the alpha werewolf. Or Cody being bitten by a zombie. Or any of the other injuries and mental trauma they’d endured, either in Parson’s Hollow or some other place.
It all read like exciting stuff online, but when it came time to facing down the things with fangs, everyone else turned and ran. Well, not everyone. But still, it wasn’t like people were showering them with money and gifts of thanks.
Once Demetrius did some investigation of Baron’s house, he discovered the number of chipmunks who had established residence in the closet was a much more manageable three instead of a million as Baron had said on the phone. Demetrius set up live traps in the closet with peanut butter as bait, and was surprised to catch all three of the chipmunks within twenty minutes. He discovered a small hole gnawed through the wood at the top of the foundation and pointed it out to Baron. As a temporary patch, he secured a piece of wood over the entry spot and then wrote up a receipt. Baron handed over a thick stack of cash, which Demetrius counted and then tried to pass back the overage, but the younger guy shook his head, making his hair dance.
“Keep it, critter dude. You earned a healthy tip.”
If only every customer felt that way.
Demetrius thanked Baron, handed over a business card, and, carrying the trap with the squeaking and scuttling chipmunks, headed for his truck. After he’d secured the trap in the bed of the truck and removed his coveralls, Demetrius started the engine and turn the AC up. He plugged in his phone and placed a call to Cody.
“Hey,” Cody answered, then moved the phone from his mouth and called, “There’s one behind you, Jugs!” Demetrius heard Jugs’s cursing in the background before Cody returned. “How’d the chipmunks go?”
“Chipmunks were fine.” Demetrius looked up and down the street at the houses with their great rooms, bonus rooms, en suites in every bedroom, and floor to ceiling windows, and thought about their tiny bungalow. A low grade depression tried to settle over him, and he valiantly fought it back.
“But?” Cody said.
Demetrius sighed—Cody knew him so damn well—then explained about the stoner dude living alone in his big house. He also told him Baron had moved to Parson’s Hollow for the monsters, but no one had ever really thanked them for everything they’d done.
“Your brain’s had a really busy afternoon,” Cody said when Demetrius had finally run out of words.
“Yeah, it sure has.”
A sudden flutter of wings on the other end of the line made Cody shout in surprise, and Demetrius laughed.
“Fuckin’ rats with wings,” Cody muttered.
