the smuggler’s bible

Marty

Marty hears something in the night and circles through the dark rooms of his house peering through windows. He finds a coyote waiting on the lawn below the second-floor guest bedroom where the grass stretches black and wet out to the edge of the woods.

“Hey,” he says softly, then raises the sash a few inches and shouts. “Hey!”

When the creature looks up, Marty can see there’s a bundle in its mouth—a bird or mole. Something small and struggling. He wraps his fingers tight over the windowsill.

Jesus, he thinks, why can’t a fella just get some sleep?