Albert decided to visit Jack the next day. He had been unable to sleep, and the hives on his back were getting progressively worse. He desperately needed to know that the situation was being taken care of and that the hearing clearing him of purposeful wrongdoing was being scheduled.

When Albert entered the sheriff's office he was sweating and nervous, but strangely confident. He entered the building and walked to Jack's office. There were ten men already in the room. Loud voices were echoing into the hall. Albert could hear Jack's voice above the din.

"I'm not going to tolerate any kind of vigilante action, George!"

"Sheriff, we're not talking vigilante. Shit, this is a wild animal, not a psycho criminal. It's killin' people. All we're  doin' is organizin' a huntin' party to waste this fuckin' bear before he kills any more of our people. What's it gonna' hurt?"

"Jesus, George, you know I can't stop you. You all got licenses, but listen hard, you stupid cracker, we can't be sure it's a bear, no one's seen it and there aren't any bear-tracks, just scratch marks. This is no ordinary predator, all we found at the cabin was Luther's head and half of Lisa Piedmont. What does that? No bear I ever heard of."

"What the hell else could it be?" asked another of George's group.

"Look," answered Jack, "all I know is that when we checked the cabin where Lisa Piermont's ass was found last night, there were scratch marks on the roof with a six-inch span between digits. You know what that means,George?"

"What do I look like, a college professor? I really don't give a shit what it means. All I know is that me and the boys are gonna' blow this murderin' rogue into the next county."

"What it means," Jack said sticking his index finger into George's face, "is that this so-called  rogue bear of yours is almost twenty damn feet tall."

"Right," said Lee Brandt, one of George's yes-men, "twenty-fuckin' feet tall, and I bet it talks French. Get real, Sheriff, we'll waste the bastard and make your job easy."

George motioned Lee to be quiet. He looked closely at the sheriff , "You can't stop us, Jack, got it? This time, day after tomorrow, we'll have a helluva trophy, and you'll have one less problem." George motioned to the men and they left the office en masse.

"Assholes!" Jack yelled at their backs as they left.

The men pushed passed Albert. He found himself upset that not one of them so much as excused themselves for bumping him aside. When the parade had passed, Albert entered the office and faced Jack. The sheriff was still swearing to himself and beating his desk with his fist.

"Those stupid bastards," Jack was saying to himself, not even noticing Albert, who now stood in front of him.

"Jack," Albert said curtly.

Sheriff Tramell looked up, he paused a second and smiled, "Hey Al."

"How's it going?" Albert said, trying to determine how to ask about the shooting, hoping Jack would broach the subject.

"Shit, these inbred redneck assholes I have to deal with give inbred redneck assholes a bad name. It's all a big game to them. They're gonna' run around with loaded guns shootin' each other's fuckin' heads off, and I'm gonna' have to do all the paperwork." Jack looked up at his friend and the anger faded. He smiled, "Hey, I'm sorry. You're here about the 'incident', of course."

"Yeah," Al said meekly, glad that Jack brought up the subject, but a little upset that the other matter seemed more important to the sheriff.

"You know," Jack began, "it's the weirdest thing. I sent the boys to where we were huntin' and . . . nothing, no body, no blood, real weird."

"Jack, you didn't . . ."

"No," Jack said, slightly hurt, "I didn't dump the body. It's just not there anymore. Hell, it was too big to just disappear, but it did. Look Al, I saw it just as well as you did. I know it wasn't our imagination. But I don't want to make a formal report this weird without a body."

"But," Albert interrupted, "we can't just make believe it didn't happen."

"We can and we will. Until a body turns up, I'm not giving anyone a reason to send me to the loony bin, just pretend it was a bad dream. I've got a lot of shit going down right now."

"But the sword," said Al.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It's weird.. I tried putting it in my garage. It went right through the concrete down to the hilt. I think it's some kind of magic."

"Al, Al, Al. I got what looks like a two-story tall grizzly eating citizens in the woods and heading toward town. The last thing I need now is a dead angel and a magic sword. I quit doin' drugs years ago, but if I tell someone all the shit that's goin' on they're gonna' make me go to rehab."

"But Jack!" Al protested.

"Look, I know this is tough for you. You're a good honest guy, but it's just too much for me right now. I give you my word that as soon as this rogue animal is taken care of I'll put every effort into clearing up what happened the other day, OK?"

"I guess you're under a lot of pressure, huh?"

"Shit, 'till a week ago all I did was issue traffic tickets. Now we got people being ripped to shreds."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I guess it'll keep. Listen, good luck with this, if there's anything I can do . . ."

"You're a teacher," Jack finally laughed, "unless you can think of a way of making this thing behave, I think I'll leave you home," he saw by the look on Albert's face that he had hurt his feelings, he continued, "I might ask you for some help later on with research and such, if that's OK with you."

"Sure, Jack," Al said slightly embarrassed, "look, I'll get back when you've got this mess cleared up."

"Great, look I promise first thing after we get this rogue, I'll call."

Albert turned and left, his back continued itching, but he was getting used to it now.