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Chapter 1: Build a Better Monster Trap
Scene 2: Town Hall, the Evening Prior
A Town Hall Meeting has been held biweekly in courtroom 5 for a very long time and generally includes about a hundred Pointsville citizens. Of the six courtrooms, it was the only one with a/c. Otherwise, it was as basic and bare as any courtroom could be.
This meeting was mostly spent discussing rumors of pixie dust being dealt at the high school. The rows of benches throughout the room were randomly filled with clusters of concerned parents and neighbors. I sat alone in the back. As usual, Sheriff Bobby Malone was moderating the forum from behind a podium in full uniform. Malone was a tall, pudgy man in his forties whose prime had come and gone a decade earlier. Even so, he was a damn fine sheriff and a good friend.
"I don't care that it's not technically illegal, Mr. Smith," Malone said through gritted teeth in response to John Smith. Smith was a less than ethical business magnate who was known for pushing legal boundaries. It's also worth mentioning that no one believes his name is really John Smith. "It's more dangerous and addictive than cocaine and we need to address this problem as a community before it becomes an epidemic."
"Don't be melodramatic," Smith said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I'm just saying that as an officer of the law, you can't arrest us for something that is legal." His voice was slick as oil.
"It's affecting our kids for God's sake," shouted a small woman from a group a few rows in front of me. "Have you no decency, Mr. Smith?"
"Not that I'm aware of," he answered smiling. "But that's not illegal either."
Malone pursed his lips and said after a moment, "You're right, John. I can't arrest you. So maybe this isn't a police matter or even a Town Hall matter. Perhaps it's a Round Table concern."
Smith looked as though he was considering his response but ultimately grumbled and sat back down. Sheriff Malone smiled as the room briefly filled with murmurs.
The CIA exists to take care of situations outside D.C.'s jurisdiction, by any means necessary. The Round Table of Pointsville is not so different. And just like the CIA, members are kept secret so someone like Smith wouldn't even know who to threaten. It's a common topic for town gossip as folks like to speculate about who's a member and what acts the Round Table is responsible for.
"Moving on," Malone said when the whispers died down. "Any other motions or comments?" Nobody spoke up. "Very well. If there's no other business, then this meeting is adjourned." He banged the gavel on the podium and everyone began to file out of the room.
I was getting up to leave as well when I was approached by a balding man in a the dye shirt and ripped jeans. He shouldered his way against the foot traffic to reach me and was out of breath by the time he did.
"Geoffrey," he panted. "I need your help, brother."
"What can I do for you, Ray?" I asked and gestured for him to take a seat next to me. I sat down as well and took out my pipe and pouch of Dragon's Breath. After packing a bowl full of the green and red herb, I lit it with a match. The smoke flowed into my lungs, and I listened to Ray's troubles.
"It's my bowling alley, man," Ray said, wringing his hands. "Something's been terrorizing it for two weeks; some kind of monster with dark vibes and lots of teeth. All of my regulars have been scared away. I tried handling it myself, but…" He showed me a roughly bandaged forearm stained red. "And I've got bills to pay. I can't afford to stay closed."
I took a puff on my pipe and asked, "What does the creature look like, Ray? Big? Little? Hairy? Scaly?"
He shrugged, looking uncertain. After considering for a second, he answered. "It looked like a gnarly wolf wrapped in shredded duct tape. It was pretty far out."
I arched my eyebrows. "A Weremummy? Fuck, Ray. Be glad it only maimed you." A Weremummy is exactly as dangerous as it sounds. It's a cursed, mummified werewolf and it bites like one.
"Yeah," he said and raised his bandaged arm up to look at. His tone suggested that he did not feel lucky. "But what do I do, Geoffrey? I mean, I called the cops. But they said it would be at least a week before they could send someone. I can't wait that long."
"Your tax dollars at work," I chuckled. "I'll be out there tomorrow night. Relax, man. We'll get this sorted." I puffed once more on my pipe. The Dragon's Breath sizzled and crackled as I inhaled. The bowl was finished.
His face relaxed at my offer and he took a deep breath. "Thank you, brother," he said and then, after a beat, shyly added, "How much shall I pay you?"
"How much can you afford?" I asked, emptying the ash from my pipe and putting it away.
He looked sheepish and wrung his hands again. "I can offer free bowling for life."
"Sold," I said, smiling, and shook his hand before we each stood up and walked out of the courtroom, going our separate ways.