A Crying Shame (30 page)

Jon smiled, cutting his hunter's eyes to the sheriff.
Because the human—or, as is more likely the case—humans are related to them.”

Jesus! No. I can't believe that, Jon. Won't believe it, I suppose. All this is ... impossible.”

Not according to Paul's studies, and they are extensive... you'll see. The ... shall we say, make-up of the Links, over the years, a hundred or so, probably more than that, since this area was populated by Indians for hundreds, maybe thousands of years before the white man arrived, has been altered ... diluted, literally bastardized by their breeding with humans. So it's entirely possible that a human baby was birthed. One might lead to another. Probably has. So you have, in this parish, and probably in the surrounding parishes as well, a family—or families as is the case—who are the offspring of Links. Human in appearance, human in their thinking, behavior, but who are genetically related to the Links.” He glanced at Mike and smiled.
You are perspiring quite heavily, Sheriff.”

Really?” he said sarcastically.
No kidding! How the hell can you sit there so fucking calmly and spout all that ... crap? Jesus God, man! What do you have in your veins, ice water?”

Jon's reply was delivered unruffled.
Sheriff? May I call you Mike?”

Lord, man! I don't care what you call me!”

Mike, I've seen most of what this world has to offer: the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, the indifferent, the dedicated—the entire spectrum. It has been said, and I agree with the personal analysis, that I have been disillusioned by ninety-five percent of what I've seen. What is happening in this parish, or parishes, is really no big deal—nothing of monumental proportions. It doesn't fill me with outrage. Most of the people around here probably aren't worth a bucket of puke to begin with.

The Links have been here for hundreds of years—thousands, probably—making no attempt to leave. They have bred with ... perhaps two hundred human females in the past one hundred and fifty years. I'm guessing at that. If this genetic malfunction had not occurred—if that is what really happened—in another 75-100 years they would probably have bred themselves right into the human race. And, when they had accomplished that dubious distinction, they would probably have looked back with great longing toward the swamps, wishing to God they were back in there, picking fleas off one another in a ritual of grooming.”

Mike was shocked at the mercenary's blunt statement.

You can't be that unfeeling toward the human race.”

Only toward the adults. And I assure you, I am.”