Little Bo Peep | By: Ryan Mayers | | Category: Short Story - Fantasy Bookmark and Share

Little Bo Peep


I was sitting there, minding my own business, thinking about
raspberry filled donuts, when suddenly, out of nowhere, this bike
flies into my car. The lady who had been riding it flew over the
hood of my car and landed on the other side, her back on the
pavement. I threw the door open, missing her face by inches, and
looked deep into the most vacant eyes I have ever seen. The first
thought that went through my head was “oh no, I killed her.” The
second was “how’d she hit my car? I’m parked…”
I stepped out carefully and stood over her, my face, I hoped,
conveying a sense of worry and concern, and was just about to
try and revive her using the age old method of poking her with
a shoe when she started to come around. “Ow.” Her eyes fluttered,
and then there was silence.
“Ma’am? You ok?” Her eyelids slipped closed and she pursed
her lips.
“Yea, I’m great. I love flying over people’s cars.
Makes me feel like a superhero.”
“Yea?”
“No, you idiot. Help me up.” I’ve never been a big fan
of bossy people, and I think that’s mainly because I always seem
to give in to them. I helped her up. “Thanks.” She was brushing
herself off.
“That was… um…”
“Yea, I know. Wasn’t looking where I was going. Have a
lot on my mind.” She turned and saw the car she had flown over.
“You’re a cop?” I nodded. I was indeed a cop. John Monroe,
detective in the Breco police force. Breco, for those of you who
don’t know, is the land that fairy tales come from. What you know
as fairy tales are, in fact, stories and warnings from our fair
country. I worked in the heart of the land, the big city. We have
all the things most big cities have: drugs, prostitution, cops, donut
shops. Actually, those last two might always go hand in hand…
Anyway. I was a cop.
“I’m a cop.”
“Wonderful. I need your help.”
“Excuse me?”
She brought one hand up to her chest and made a half fist
with it. As she spoke she hit herself slowly, miming stupidity.
“I… need… your… help…” She stopped and looked at me. “Got it
there, Einstein, or do I need to go get a translator?”
“I understood you the first time. I’m just not entirely
sure why you would need my help.”
“Someone stole my sheep.”
“Your sheep?”
“Yes, my sheep. Is that so weird? A woman can’t own
sheep anymore?”
“Well, I never said that, it’s just…”
“I mean, it’s not like they were regular sheep.”
“No?”
“No. They were Japanese Fighting Sheep.”
"Japanese what?"
“Japanese Fighting Sheep. They’re like ferocious little
ninjas, only with wool coats.”
“So they’re warm?”
“What?”
“Warm?”
“Ahh.” She cocked her head. “Why?”
“Never mind.”
“Anyway. They’re gone.”
“The mini-hairy ninjas?”
“Wooly.”
“What?”
“Mini-wooly ninjas.”
“Right. They’re missing?”
“Yea.” She then proceeded to tell me one of the most
amazing stories I’ve ever heard. I don’t actually remember most of
it, but it had everything. Humor, action, violence, one sex scene
(which was integral to the plot and not overly gratuitous)… It had
everything. Unfortunately, I don’t remember most of it. I do know
the basic gist, though. Her name was Bo Peep Jr., aka Little Bo
Peep. She was an animal trainer and had recently purchased several
Japanese Fighting Sheep in a slightly misguided attempt to learn
the secrets of their trainers. They were not cheap sheep, and so
she was very protective of them.
Her method of determining how the sheep were trained to
fight was to interrogate them mercilessly. She had begun by yelling
mean things at them (“Dirty sheep! Your mom was a sheep!”), and
when that didn’t work she moved on to frying lamb chops and wafting
the smell towards them. That didn’t do anything but make them
hungry (apparently sheep aren’t all that discriminating when it
comes to what they eat). Finally, she decided to really scare the
crap out of them and went to buy a bunch of wool. She was going to
knit a sweater and tell stories of “the good old days”, partly
because she thought it would make them nervous to see their body
covering being made into something to keep humans warm, and partly
because she really couldn’t think of anything scarier.
She swore up and down (and left and right) that she had
locked the door before she left, and for some reason I believed her.
The store was a few blocks over, and so she was only gone for a
little while, but when she returned the door was wide open, the sheep
gone. The apartment had been ransacked and there was a note on the
counter, stuck in with a dagger about the size of a large metallic
toothpick. It was the note that drew her attention first. “We have
the sheep. If you ever want to see them alive again, go out and buy
one hundred thousand dollars worth of roasted walnuts and we will be
in contact.” It was scrawled in a meticulously neat script, almost
as if someone with tiny hands was trying to make it seem as though
he were bigger than he really was. I immediately thought of
squirrels. There were two reasons for this. The first was that we
had been having trouble with the Suicide Squirrels recently (a band
of kamikaze squirrels bent on the destruction of mankind, or at
least Manny’s Convenience Mart, which they claimed had ripped them
off considerably). Apparently they were making threats toward a
bunch of people, threats of bodily harm (for some reason a squirrel
nibbling through someone’s arm made me want to laugh) and threats of
damage. The second reason was that below the illegible signature
were the words “I am not a squirrel… Ok, I am a squirrel, but I’m
not a Suicide Squirrel…”
Bo had then lost herself, rushing out of the apartment and
down to the street, where she hopped on her bike (one of those olden
style ones with one gear, no real brakes, and a big black handled
horn) and pedaled off at a furious pace. She hadn’t been paying
attention, apparently, which is why she ran into my car and landed
on her back. I nodded. “I understand.” Her eyes followed me as I
leaned into the car and grabbed the radio. “Unit one to base, unit
one to base.” There was static and then the officer on duty came
back.
“Unit one, this is base.”
“Base, I am investigating a 68092-A.” This was the standard
code for a Japanese Fighting Sheep kidnapping.
“Another gerbil-napping?”
“Ooops. I meant 68093-A.”
“Ahh. 10-4.”
“Be back soon.” I hung the mic back on the hook and
extricated myself from the car. “Let’s do it.” We weren’t all that
far from her apartment, and so we reached it in almost no time. She
was talking, saying something about how she didn’t believe in the
supremacy of man (I had kinda drifted off and only heard the word
supreme, which made me think of hamburgers) when it happened.
“Yo, man. Whatchoo think you doin?” I looked around and
couldn’t see anyone. “What, that supposed to be funny?” Again, no
one. “Down here, Stilts.” I looked down and there he was, Karl,
one of the Suicide Squirrels. “You’re steppin’ on my tail, there,
Stilts.” I quickly moved my foot and he fluffed his tail out behind
him. “Thanks.” He turned to head off and I called him back.
“Wait. I need to talk to you.”
He turned, slowly, and faced me. “Say what?”
“What do you know about Japanese Fighting Sheep?”
“Japa-who?” He glanced nervously to the left, towards a
small alleyway, and I took off. As soon as my feet began to move,
he was yelling. “Go!” I reached the alley in mere seconds and was
able to catch a glimpse of something disappearing from the other end.
By the time I reached the end, whatever (whoever) it had been was
gone. I looked back the way I had come and saw Bo looking at me with
worry in her eyes. The squirrel was gone. “He got away.”
“What?”
I yelled it. “He got away.” She frowned, and I started
back. I was about halfway down the alley when I heard a noise from
my right, near the ground. There, at the base of the wall, was what
looked like the entrance to a storm cellar, painted dark green, a
bright silver (obviously new) lock in place. I stood over it and
stuck my right foot out, tapping on the door. Immediately the noise
repeated. It sounded like… like…
“That’s a baa.” Bo had come up and was now standing behind
me. She didn’t say anything. “Did you hear me?” I started to turn.
“That was a…” That’s when I heard the cocking of a gun.
“Why couldn’t you have just caught the freakin squirrel?”
“What?”
“The squirrel. Do you know how hard it was to set that up?”
“Wait, what’s this about?”
“Idiot. Look, I bought the sheep to try and learn how to
train them, but there’s no way I can do it. So, I set it up to look
like they’d been stolen. Planted evidence and everything. All you
had to do was catch the squirrel and blame it on them. They’re off
the streets, I get my insurance money… Everything works out perfectly.
Now I’m gonna have to kill you.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Well, I’ve never actually seen a Japanese Fighting Sheep.”
“So?”
“If I’m gonna die anyway, then what’s the harm in letting me
see one? Maybe it’ll beat me up.” I was trying to stall, hoping for
the best. She seemed to think it over, and in the end the animal
trainer side of her won out.
“Alright.” She came up to my side, the gun held to my head
and she gave me the key. I bent over, slowly, and unlocked the lock,
throwing it to the side. I grabbed hold of the door lever and unlatched
it. Immediately, the doors flew open and four of the ugliest white
sheep I have ever seen came flying out, two executing nearly flawless
roundhouse kicks, one diving headfirst, and the other striking some
sort of flying dragon pose. The two kickers hit Bo in the chest and
her body flew backward. The one that had come out in a dive landed
and rolled, coming away just as Bo’s body landed where he had been.
Her gun went flying out of reach, and Bo was at the mercy of the sheep.
The kickers started punching, the diver started doing
wrestling moves (dropping onto her head with an elbow), but the
dragon pose sheep was just standing there. I watched as the other
three all stepped back in unison and Bo tilted her head up. The
sheep growled like some crack addicted poodle and then darted forward
faster than anything I have ever seen. It reached her chest and
flipped backwards, kicking out with his feet and catching the
underside of her chin. Her head flew back and struck the cement so
hard I heard it thud from where I was standing. That’s when I pulled
my gun. The sheep all backed off and Bo Peep lay there, much as she
had lain there when I first met her.
After that it’s all the same. The sheep went back to their
rightful owner (turns out Bo had stolen them from a butcher up the
street… he was planning a Japanese delicacy day and thought that
Japanese Fighting Sheep cutlets would go excellently) and Bo went to
jail. Attempted insurance fraud and theft. Also threatening a
police officer. I went back to the office and had my donut. When
that didn’t seem to do it, I went and got a supreme hamburger meal
at the burger stand down the street. Mmmm. Beef.
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