Sean got to work that morning early. More than an hour early; which was strange for the man who never wished to give more than one minute extra to the slave owners, as he mentally referred to them. It was late October which meant it was still dark. He immediately went to his computer to check something out.

Armadillos are small placental mammals, known for having a leathery armor shell. The Dasypodidae are the only surviving family in the order Cingulata, part of the superorder Xenarthra along with the anteaters and sloths. The word armadillo is Spanish for "little armored one".

There are approximately 10 extant genera and around 20 extant species of armadillo, some of which are distinguished by the number of bands on their armor. Their average length is about 75 centimeters (30 in), including tail; the Giant Armadillo grows up to 1.5 m (5 ft) and weighs 59 kg (130 lbs), while the Pink Fairy Armadillos are diminutive species with an overall length of 12-15 cm (4-5 in). All species are native to the Americas, where they inhabit a variety of environments.

In the United States, the sole resident armadillo is the Nine-banded Armadillo (Dasypus novemcinctus), which is most common in the central southernmost states, particularly Texas. Their range is as far east as South Carolina and Florida and as far north as Nebraska; they have been consistently expanding their range over the last century due to a lack of natural predators and have been found as far north as Illinois and Indiana.

Jesus. Nebraska and Illinois. Then its true. I did see a herd of armadillos this morning on the way to work. They were just on the edge of the forest across from my house. This might be the first sighting of these strange creatures in this state. Ha. What the hell are they moving up here for? I mean is it global warming? I mean it has not been that brutally hot up here and according to Wiki they like heat and even like to swim a little.

There was one other thing that really got to Sean. All the pictures show grey as a primary color of the little buggers. There are not supposed to be any orange armadillos. And are they really supposed to be six feet or more long?  And he could have sworn one of them stood up on its hind legs. After this, Sean would go nowhere without his nifty new camera. The one Bernice from accounting bought him.

He has not come in yet Sean.

Did he call in?

No. And I have left three messages for him.

Tell you what. I finished all my paperwork early. I am going to take an early lunch and drop by his place.

Sean packed up, got into his car and made the fifteen minute journey to Frank's abode.

It was one of those kind of rainy days in the fall. The fear was that the temp would go down to something under 30 and then there was hell to pay.  That road condition is one you do not wish to face sober, let alone party cloudy as they say. Sean grabbed a dooby from the luxury ashtray and played some WHO.

Who are you?  Who are you? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l_FZVD5lsAw

As soon as he got in Frank's driveway, Sean knew something was amiss. He could not put his finger on it, but something was not quite right.  He got out and walked up to the garage door. First the door of the garage was not completely closed. There was kind of a three inch gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. He peeked through the window and saw Frank's car. But the tarp--the cover Frank always used for his old Ferrari--as in shreds on the floor. 

He knew that Frank had got the car back after the highway patrol found it on the old road a couple days before.  He knew because Frank told him the day he it was returned.

He went to the front door and knocked and rang the bell. No response.

He tried the knob, the door opened right up.

Frank!  Frank!!

Sean called several times as he went further and further into the house. There was Frank, on the floor by his desk and his magic PC. He got down and felt his neck. Blood was pumping and he was breathing. He grabbed his cell and called 9-11. Sean pushed the secret button to close up the computer. As he did so he noticed an envelope labeled 'top secret'. He took it back to his car. Then he went back inside to wait for the EMT's.

Meanwhile, back on the old road....

Frank could barely see a thing and he could only move inches at a time, attempting to drag himself...to where. Ahhhhhhh forget it. Come and get me.

The sound was not exactly thumping. It was more like skipping on the cement/asphalt freeway. Louder and louder...THEY WERE GETTING CLOSER.

He felt breathing, heavy breathing on his neck.  His fear increased to the point where he was having trouble breathing again.

TEEN AGE MUTANT NINJAS?

His sight was sooooooooooo bad. These creatures just mulled around him. All of a sudden he felt himself being dragged into the woods, he would guess. But why? I mean if THEY are just wild animals of some kind why should they care where they have their dinner?

He found himself in the forest, almost totally blind and he was filthy and totally wiped out. As exhausted as he ever felt. He was almost totally paralyzed. All that he kept thinking was helpless.

Helpless, helpless, helpless, helpless.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gKwjxF7ilI

Suddenly, he felt as if he were being dragged into a hole.

Frank suddenly awoke in a hospital bed at the NORTHCO Medical Center.

Back at Eastern Headquarters, Langdon was getting more confused as each day passed.  He had a board filled with notes and pictures and other odds and ends. The attempt was to get the full picture as it were. And all he had so far was a Picasso; just a twisted jumbo of nothing. Yet there were messages in all this muck.

Langdon started a list.

Algernon Flowers, a gay part-time transvestite invites his lover Thomas Corkland over for din din.

They both work at NORTHCO.

Thomas definitely enters Algernon's abode and the party begins.

Animals arrive in a wagon of some kind through the front door. At least one of these animals was a raccoon. The domestic feline had nothing to do with the entire affair and probably was in hiding at some point during the proceedings.

Besides nibbling by raccoons, there were other indications of a much larger animal as far as damage to the corpse. And  Sam figured the nibblings by the raccoons took place following the death of Thomas. It was most probably an alligator that took the head off,  according to forensics.  At least that was the best guess. The DNA testing would be accomplished in Pierre and would take a month. I mean they have to narrow down the species responsible for this heinous crime.

My aim has to be to discover who the human perps are in this mess.

Algernon is nuts but he probably was not able to carry out anything close to this. That file is not closed, but...come on.

But there is one place that he needs to investigate and that is NORTHCO. NORTHCO has to have something to do with this...

Langdon began to review the files discovered at Thomas Corkland's home. After meeting Mrs. Corkland, he had no inclination to go back there.  Thomas' mom was nuts. He needed some more information but Sherry can go back and glean more from that psycho.

But some of Corkland's notes read like they were written in some sort of code. I mean, what the hell is this conspiracy crap claiming NORTHCO and Obama were somehow conspiring to bring down America?

And yet, here was a guy who had been with NORTHCO for six years and cannot figure out what NORTHCO actually does. And even Langdon himself never got a straight answer as to what this corporate dictator manufactured or produced.  So the detective now had made this mystery his prime concern. He would certainly have enough information to gather regarding Corkland's pension, life insurance, pay, etc to present probable cause to delve further into this.

I must set up an appointment to speak with that Spincter guy. I hope he is less anal than his moniker but somehow I know that hope is not going to be fulfilled.

SALLY, GET YOUR FANNY IN HERE.

If I did not absolutely love the guy, I would file a civil rights complaint tomorrow, sighed Sally.

Sean was beside himself. By the time he got back to work he had about an hour and a half left of his work day. And he had to spend it with Spincter.

What the hell was he doing on the floor anyway? Did you find drugs or paraphernalia. AND WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING IN FRANK'S HOUSE IN THE FIRST PLACE?

Mr. Spincter, please. I am in as much a quandary over all this as you are. More actually, I know the guy. He is my friend. He has been to my place, I have been to his place. Our wives use to socialize together, before they both left us to the single life.

I mean, I have to watch my demeanor here Mr. Spincter. I was at Frank's home because just last week he missed three days of work due to illness and he was not at our scheduled meeting a half hour before noon today. I was concerned when I was told that calls had been made to his house and those calles received no response. It was my duty, as floor manager to find out what, if anything, went wrong.

Okay, okay Sean. I stepped over a line here. I should not blame all my troubles on you or Frank. But I have to know...did you find any evidence of drug use.

Just when we share a reefer from time to time on Frank's porch, Sean thought.

No, of course not. The only drugs available around here are caffeine and alcohol available at our local Castle.

You better not be lying....okay, okay. That is not fair. He is at the medical center now, right?

Yes. I will visit him tomorrow on my way to work. And you have all the authorizations, hell its NORTHCO's center. My cousin was an epileptic and I have an inkling that that is what we are dealing with now. I am sure there will be an MRI along with an EEG. Hell probably an EKG also. Blood tests, etc. etc. etc. Mr. Spincter, you will be getting the answers to all your questions in the next couple of days.

All right. That is more than fair. Thank you Sean. You are dismissed.

Thank you Sir, Sean said as he turned to leave. God I hate that guy. YOU ARE DISMISSED. And you are a hairy asshole, he thought.

Friday already. Oh, he was going to meet with Bernice from accounting at the Castle.

You know, I really do miss that ale when I have been away too long, Sean thought.

(all my previous chapters are available at:

http://forestroot125.blogspot.com/2009_10_01_archive.html )