The pterodactyl shape flowed, to be replaced by that of a nude boy-perhaps thirteen years of age-with light eyes and unruly brown hair, a small birthmark on his forehead.
"Got it for you, Croyd," he announced. "Sure stinks, though. "
"Yeah, Kid," Croyd said. "Excuse me. Now I've got to go put it back together."
He turned and hurried in the direction from which he had come. Behind him he heard rapid footfalls.
"What you want it for?" the boy asked.
"It's a long, complicated, boring story, and it's better you don't know," he answered.
"Aw, c'mon. You can tell me."
"No time. I'm in a hurry."
"You going to fight Devil John again?"
"I don't plan on it. I think we can come to a meeting of minds without resorting to violence."
"But if you do fight, what's your power this time?" Croyd reached the corner, cut across to the island. Ahead, he saw where another dog now worried the remains. Devil John was nowhere in sight.
"Damn it!" he yelled. "Get away from there!"
The dog paid him no heed, but stripped a furry layer from the chitinous carapace. Croyd noticed that the torn tissue was dripping some colorless liquid. The remains looked moist now, and Croyd realized that fluids were oozing from the breathing holes in the thorax.
"Get away from there!" he repeated.
The dog growled at him. Suddenly, though, the growl turned to a whimper and the animal's tail vanished between its legs. A meter-high tyrannosaurus hopped past Croyd, hissing fiercely. The dog turned and fled. A moment later, the Kid stood in its place.
"It's getting away with that piece," the boy said. Croyd repeated Darlingfoot's comment on the hand as he tossed the leg down beside the dismembered body. He withdrew the folded trash bag from the inner pocket of his jacket and shook it out.
"You want to help, Kid, you hold the bag while I toss in what's left."
"Okay. It sure is gross."
"It's a dirty job," Croyd agreed. "Then, why you doing it?"
"It's what growing up is all about, Kid."
"How do you mean?"
"You spend more and more of your time cleaning up after mistakes."
A rapid thumping noise approached, a shadow passed overhead, and Devil John crashed to the earth beside them. "Damn dog got away," he announced. "You get the leg?"
"Yeah," Croyd answered. "It's already in the bag."
"Good idea-a plastic bag. Who's the naked kid?"
"You don't know Kid Dinosaur?" Croyd answered. "I thought he knew everybody. He's the pterodactyl was following you."
"Why?"
"I like to be where the action is," the Kid said.
"Hey, how come you're not in school?" Croyd asked. "School sucks."
"Now, wait a minute. I had to quit school in ninth grade and I never got to go back. I always regretted it."
"Why? You're doing okay."
"There's all that stuff I missed. I wish I hadn't."
"Like what?"
"Well… Algebra. I never learned algebra."
"What the fuck good's algebra?"
"I don't know and I never will, because I didn't learn it. I sometimes look at people on the street and say, `Gee, I'll bet they all know algebra,' and it makes me feel kind of inferior."
"Well, I don't know algebra and it doesn't make feel a damn bit inferior."
"Give it time," Croyd said.
The Kid suddenly became aware that Croyd was looking at him strangely.
"You're going back to school right now," Croyd told him, "and you're going to study your ass off for the rest of the day, and you're going to do your homework tonight, and you're going to like it."
"I'll make better time if I fly," the Kid said, and he transformed into a pterodactyl, hopped several times, and glided away.
"Pick up some clothes on the way!" Croyd shouted after him.
"Just what the hell is going on here?"
Croyd turned and beheld a uniformed officer who had just crossed to their island.
"Go fuck yourself!" he snarled.
The man began unbuckling his belt.
"Stop! Cancel that," Croyd said. "Buckle up. Forget you saw us and go walk up another street."
Devil John stared as the man obeyed.
"Croyd, how are you doing those things?" he asked. "That's my power, this time around."
"Then, you could just make me give you the body, couldn't you?"
Croyd shook the bag down and fastened it. When he finished gagging, he nodded.
"Yeah. And I'll get it one way or another, too. But I don't feel like cheating a fellow working stiff today. My offer's still good."
"Seven grand?"
"Six."
"You said seven."
"Yeah, but it's not all here now."
"That's your fault, not mine. You stopped me."
"But you put the thing down where the dogs could get it."
"Yes, but how was I supposed to- Hey, that's a bar and grill on the corner."
"You're right."
"Care to discuss this over lunch and a couple of brews?"
"Now that you mention it, I've a bit of an appetite," Croyd said.
They took the table by the window and set the bag on the empty chair. Croyd visited the men's room and washed his hands several times while Devil John procured a pair of beers.
When he returned he ordered a half-dozen sandwiches. Darlingfoot did the same.
"Who're you working for?" he asked.
"I don't know," Croyd answered. "I'm doing it through a third party."
"Complicated. I wonder what they all want the thing for?" Croyd shook his head.
"Beats me. I hope there's enough of him left to collect on."
"That's one of the reasons I'm willing to deal. I think my guys wanted him in better shape than this. They might try to welsh on me. Better a bird in the hand, you know? I don't trust them all that much. Bunch of kooks."
"Say, did he have any possessions?"
"Nope. No belongings at all."
The sandwiches arrived and they began eating. After a while, Darlingfoot glanced several times at the bag, then remarked, "You know, that thing looks bigger."
Croyd studied it a moment.
"It's just settling and shifting," he said.
They finished, then ordered two more beers. "No, damn it! It is bigger!" Darlingfoot insisted. Croyd looked again. It seemed to swell even as he watched.
"You're right," he acknowledged. "It must be gases from the-uh-decomposition."
He extended a finger as if to poke it, thought better of it and lowered his hand.
"So what do you say? Seven grand?"
"I think six is fair-the shape he's in."
"But they knew what they were asking for. You've got to expect this sort of thing with stiffs."
"A certain amount, yes. But you've got to admit you bounced him around a hell of a lot, too."
"That's true, but a regular one could take it better. How was I to know this guy was a special case?"
"By looking at him. He was little and fragile."
"He felt pretty sturdy when I snatched him. What say we split the difference? Sixty-five hundred?"
"I don't know…"
Other diners began glancing in their direction as the bag continued to swell. They finished their beers.
"Another round?"
"Why not?"
"Waiter!"
Their waiter, who had been clearing a recently vacated table, ambled over, a stack of dishes and utensils in his hands. "What can I get-" he began, when the edge of a steak knife, protruding from the pile of crockery, brushed against the swollen bag. "My God!" he finished, as a whooshing sound, accompanied by an odor that might have been compounded of sewer gas and slaughterhouse effluvia filled the immediate vicinity and spread like an escaped experiment in chemical warfare throughout the room.
"Excuse me," the waiter said, and he turned and hurried off.
There followed a series of gasps from other diners, moments later.
"Use your power, Croyd!" Devil John whispered.
"Hurry!"
"I don't know if I can do a whole roomful…"
"Try!"
Croyd concentrated on the others:
There was a small accident. Nothing important. Now you will forget it. You smell nothing unusual. Return to your meals and do not look in this direction again. You will not notice anything that we do. There is nothing to be seen here. Or smelled.