the smuggler’s bible


Nils jabs the broom handle into the hole and pokes it around a little bit.

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. You have to bait it.”

“What’s it eat?”

“Kids and pets, probably.”

Nils thinks for a moment. “Well, I’m not going to—”

“Shut up, nobobdy expected you to.”

A shock reverberates up the broom handle and Nils’ arm is whipped back and forth, wrenching his shoulder. The broom comes free with the crack of splintering wood.

“JESUS CHRIST,” Nils says. “You told me it was, like, two feet long.”

“No, I said I thought it was.”