Nazi Sharks! by Jared Roberts Read Free Book Online

“But what
does it matter? Isn’t all of life like a shark? Just eating and
eating and eating until there’s nothing left at all but crap?”
    The eye reclaimed his attention
once more. It somehow seemed more real than anything else he’d
encountered that day. Unless you count the egg salad sandwich he’d
had earlier. It was much tastier than it had any right to be.
    “Exactly,” Warren agreed. “And
most fascinating of all, sheriff? They found the sharks.
Hitler-made with the best German engineering and Nationalistic
assholery. Nazi sharks. En route to America they escaped. According
to Coast Guard officials, the ship went down just a few dozen miles
from the shores of Shakatitt Beach. Here’s what I’ve been
thinking—”
    “Could be Nazi sharks,” the
sheriff answered, much to everyone’s astonishment. The medical
examiner even pointed the clipboard to his astonished face. “Could
be gremlins,” the sheriff went on. “Could be a lawn mower in the
wrong place at the wrong time. Facts, Agent Warren! Facts’ll fetch
your slippers and mix you a drink, not the cheap stuff either.
Theories and thinkings’ll cheat on you with your best friend, even
though the man lost his legs and one testicle in the war—the
plumbin’ still works, mind.”
    Warren slammed his fist down
with indignation. As this obsolete Sheriff ground his way through a
series of Baconian criteria on factual analysis, moving slower than
a woolly mammoth with the most aggressively unpleasant
haemorrhoids, girls were dying. Girls who once had lives, hopes,
dreams, and bodacious tatas, long willowy legs, plump, pretty lips
that looked incredible around that lollipop they’d be sucking while
in their sexed-out sailor suits.
    “Dammit, Sheriff!” Warren
shouted. “You can’t live your life waiting for facts to come up and
hump your leg! You gotta go out there, take the risk, hump the
facts out of reality yourself—not like a creepy jogging-trail
rapist, but like Wilt Chamberlain, John Holmes, David Duchovny. And
that’s what Walker and I are gonna do, with or without your help. I
know an expert who might just be able to crack this case.”
    The sheriff’s eyes squinted
into a grin, his old face tautly pulled against that stubborn, cob
pipe. Warren and Walker followed the sheriff’s bemused gaze, hoping
to find a dog in a bee costume. Warren’s furious fist had landed
right in what used to be a stomach and an ear.
     

 
    Chapter 12
More Excerpts from
Researchmeister Sigmund Sigersbaum’s Markedly Unscientific Research
Diary
     
    The Commandant has been paying
excessive attention to my wife lately. I knew I shouldn’t have
married a woman for her holsteins. They attract lots of attention
and sometimes nesting birds. Still, it is me she smothers with them
every night until I pass out with bliss and loss of oxygen.
    It helps my research. As does
the cocaine. I awake bursting with ideas and urine. I come to the
lab and shout to the assistants, “The lasers must be in their eyes!
How else can they aim them? They have no thumbs!” The assistants
wonder why I do not just ask to give the sharks thumbs. Because
that would just be stupid!
    When I ask them why the sharks
can’t cook things with their minds yet, they tell me the sharks’
brains can scarcely handle chewing and swimming at once, let alone
pyrokinetic activity. They then offer me a series of narcotics and
hope I will leave them alone. But I will not.
    They have been injecting the
embryonic fluid of the finest German whores into the sharks’
brains. The assistants say this has shown some effect on mentally
ill children, particularly those with insatiable appetites for
seals. I accused them of trying to make a brothel of sharks rather
than an army of sharks, but I gave the approval anyway, because I
actually like both ideas.
    Initially, the sharks displayed
no great intelligence and would never kiss after coitus. This has
changed. The developmental cells seem to have begun to work