The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove by Christopher Moore Read Free Book Online Page B

out to Estelle. “Here, you wanna borrow this?”
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    They found a niche in the rocks that sheltered them from the wind. Catfish dumped sand from his wing tips and shook his socks out before laying them out to dry.
    â€œThat was a sneaky old wave.”
    â€œI told you to take off your shoes,” Estelle said. She was more amused than she felt she had a right to be. A few sips from Catfish’s pint had kept the cheap white wine from going sour in her stomach. She was warm, despite the chill wind. Catfish, on the other hand, looked miserable.
    â€œNever did like the ocean much,” Catfish said. “Too many sneaky things down there. Give a man the creeps, that’s what it does.”
    â€œIf you don’t like the ocean, then why did you ask me to come to the beach?”
    â€œThe tall man said you like to paint pictures of the beach.”
    â€œLately, the ocean’s been giving me a bit of the creeps too. My paintings have gone dark.”
    Catfish wiped sand from between his toes with a long finger. “You think you can paint the Blues?”
    â€œYou ever seen Van Gogh?”
    Catfish looked out to sea. A three-quarter moon was pooling like mercury out there. “Van Gogh…Van Gogh…fiddle player outta St. Louis?”
    â€œThat’s him,” Estelle said.
    Catfish snatched the pint out of her hand and grinned. “Girl, you drink a man’s liquor and lie to him too. I know who Vincent Van Gogh is.”
    Estelle couldn’t remember the last time she’d been called a girl, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t liked hearing it as much as she did now. She said, “Who’s lying now? Girl?”
    â€œYou know, under that big sweater and them overalls, they might be a girl. Then again, I could be wrong.”
    â€œYou’ll never know.”
    â€œI won’t? Now that is some sad stuff there.” He picked up his guitar, which had been leaning on a rock, and began playing softly, using the surf as a backbeat. He sang about wet shoes, running low on liquor, and a wind that chilled right to the bone. Estelle closed her eyes and swayed to the music. She realized that this was the first time she’d felt good in weeks.
    He stopped abruptly. “I’ll be damned. Look at that.”
    Estelle opened her eyes and looked toward the waterline where Catfish was pointing. Some fish had run up on the beach and were flopping around in the sand.
    â€œYou ever see anything like that?”
    Estelle shook her head. More fish were coming out of the surf. Beyond the breakers, the water was boiling with fish jumping and thrashing. A wave rose up as if being pushed from underneath. “There’s something moving out there.”
    Catfish picked up his shoes. “We gots to go.”
    Estelle didn’t even think of protesting. “Yes. Now.”She thought about the huge shadows that kept appearing under the waves in her paintings. She grabbed Catfish’s shoes, jumped off the rock, and started down the beach to the stairs that led up to a bluff where Catfish’s station wagon waited. “Come on.”
    â€œI’m comin’.” Catfish spidered down the rock and stepped after her.
    At the car, both of them winded and leaning on the fenders, Catfish was digging in his pocket for the keys when they heard the roar. The roar of a thousand phlegmy lions—equal amounts of wetness, fury, and volume. Estelle felt her ribs vibrate with the noise.
    â€œJesus! What was that?”
    â€œGet in the car, girl.”
    Estelle climbed into the station wagon. Catfish was already fumbling the key into the ignition. The car fired up and he threw it into drive, kicking up gravel as he pulled away.
    â€œWait, your shoes are on the roof.”
    â€œHe can have them,” Catfish said. “They better than the ones he ate last time.”
    â€œHe? What the hell was that? You know what that was?”
    â€œI’ll tell