Mike Nelson's Death Rat! by Michael J. Nelson Read Free Book Online

killed a moose, and lived inside its body until he was found several weeks later. Grim, thought Ponty, though he admired the cover art, which featured a helicopter shot of a man on a frozen lake surrounded by thick woods. Knowing that he ended up in a moose somehow made it very effective.
    He searched the history section. If he could see only one of his books sitting on a shelf in its natural habitat, he thought, he might mute the failure of the day and place himself, however insignificantly, in the world. But after about five minutes of unsuccessful hunting, he gave up and timidly approached the young woman at the information counter. Despite his inherently charitable nature, he had to suppress the thought that she was the filthiest-looking creature he had ever seen. She had on an array of tank tops, all of slightly varying shapes and sizes, most of them—and he guessed there might be six in total—bleached and frayed; a pair of shockingly dirty jeans cut off at the knees, replete with penned words of an indeterminate, though probably Germanic, language; and studs gracing numerous piercings, most noticeably in her tongue, each nostril, and her bottom lip. Most of her head was shaved to Curly Howard length, though from the right lower half a shock of chartreuse hair hung greasily down.
    â€œHi! Can I help you?” she said in a bright, enthusiastic manner that for some reason made Ponty feel ashamed.
    â€œUm. Yes. Do you have Without an Ore: The Decline of Minnesota’s Mining Industry ?” he asked. “I didn’t see it on the shelves,” he added in a tone that let her know that it was probably his fault.
    â€œDo you know the author?” she asked kindly.
    â€œNo, never met him,” he said guiltily before realizing he had misinterpreted her meaning. “Oh, wait. Um, yeah. Pontius Feeb.”
    â€œFeeb, F-E-E-B?” she asked, already tapping it into the computer.
    â€œYes.”
    She entered a surprising amount of additional keystrokes, staring at the screen with concern.
    She hit a few sharp backspaces and then an emphatic enter. “Hm. Okay, I’m not showing anything. And you didn’t see it on the shelves?”
    â€œNo, that’s okay. Could you maybe look for Better than Great: A Maritime History of Lake Superior ?”
    She looked at him blankly for a moment, then began entering keystrokes. “Okay. I’m not seeing it.”
    â€œHow about Old von Steuben Had a Farm ? Same author,” he said, leaning over the counter slightly to look at the computer’s monitor, as if doing that might somehow help.
    â€œHad a Farm?” she asked.
    â€œ Had a Farm , correct.”
    â€œThe Old Man and the Sea,” she offered weakly while still staring at the screen. “But . . . no. Don’t have Old von Steuben Had a Farm .”
    He had thrown his best at her. These were easily his mostpopular books, and if Old von Steuben was not in stock, And Tyler, Too: In the Shadow of Harrison most certainly would not be. And forget about Czech and Sea: Dvořák’s Voyages to America . There was no more chance of that being in stock than there was the dismal failure You Can Bank on It: Senator Carter Glass and the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation . He bought the latest Bunt Casey and went home, defeated.
    That evening Ponty sat at the small desk in the untidy second-story room he shared with Sags distractedly doodling small, neat cartoons of men with large noses and blank expressions.
    â€œLook Skyward, Missile,” Ponty whispered to himself with deep bitterness, while inking an obscenely large mustache onto one of his creations. He sniffed derisively through his nose and circled his pen over his yellow legal pad, waiting sarcastically for inspiration.
    Ten Thousand Leagues , Ponty wrote mockingly, then sat staring at it for half a minute before adding, of Intrigue . He crossed it out. I Kill for a Fee, he wrote and did not cross it out.