“All I did was get you here. You did the rest.”
A child’s cry broke through the sound of waves crashing against the shore, catching everyone’s attention.
Roscoe’s head snapped toward the commotion. “Ah shit. Ain’t no lifeguards here?”
Darryl jumped to his feet and ran into the ocean before gliding across the rip current like a fish. It was just as I remembered from our time at the beach when Roscoe and I showed up a fewmonths ago. The way he swam defied his nature, and I almost believed he was a shark in a past life.
It took less than thirty seconds for Darryl to reach the bobbing child. He lifted the boy onto his back and swam parallel to the shore, where the kid’s frantic parents ran to meet up with the werewolf. Before long, they were safely on the beach, and after the mother hugged the child, she threw her arms around Darryl, thanking him.
He walked back to where Roscoe was with a huge smile on his face.
“Damn. Ain’t never seen a werewolf swim like that. I just sort of float on the surface of the water like a buoy.”
“I think that’s the tenth person I’ve pulled out of the water in the last two weeks. This place is getting packed.”
“Where are the lifeguards?” Roscoe asked.
“There aren’t any. They’re all further up the coast near Crooked Palm, but now this place is seeing more action. Maybe they’ll put a station here soon.”
“Maybe you should take the job.”
Darryl snatched the joint out of Roscoe’s hand. “I’d never pass a drug test.”
Roscoe shrugged. “Well, you’ve been lookin’ for another job for extra money, and you seem to be pretty good at it even when yer stoned. Couldn’t hurt to try.”
“Maybe.” The larger werewolf let out a heavy laugh. “Could you imagine me wearing those dorky red shorts with that red dildo strapped to my back?”
“Why not just be naked? Ain’t like people can see nothin’ most of the time.”
“Tried that. Had a run-in with the fuzz because of it. I’m petitioning to have this part of the beach clothing optional… well, for werewolves, anyway.” He looked down at Roscoe’s bare crotch. “How do you get away with it?”
Roscoe shoved his arm into Darryl’s. “Get this. A cop tried to get me for that indecent exposure bullshit, so I went to a thrift store and got the tightest speedo I could get my hands on. You could see every vein and outline, and I technically was following the law. I looked more indecent in that thing than I did wearin’ nothing at all. They eventually told me to just take ‘em off after a lot of people started complaining.”
They laughed, but as that died, a more somber atmosphere took its place.
“What about you?” Darryl asked. “What do you want to do for the rest of your life? Cuz it’s a long one.”
Roscoe stared out at the waves as the sun peeked back out from behind the clouds, seeming to give the question more scrutiny than usual.
“I dunno. Didn’t expect to live this long.”
“Werewolves live for hundreds of years, dude. What did you expect?”
Roscoe shrugged. “I didn’t know that. Just thought all the drugs and booze were pickling me or something. I look damn good for—however the hell old I am now.”
“You don’t know your age?”
“Hell, I don’t even know if Roscoe’s my real name anymore.” He tapped his head. “The ol’ memory’s a little fuzzy when it comes to anything more than a few decades ago.”
“This place is better than the city. Why don’t you look for a job around here and stay with me?”
“A job might interfere with the pickling process.”
“How about you stop with the hard drugs?” Darryl tossed the plastic baggie into Roscoe’s lap. “We’ve got cheap weed and light beer. Don’t need anything more than that.”
Roscoe shuffled the bag around in his hands. “This certainly sweetens the pot. All right. I’ll see if I can find a shitty job.”
“Don’t you have anything you wanna do? Ramón said something about you being able to turn tasteless leftovers and expired food into the most delicious meals he’s ever eaten.”
