Excerpt

The boy glanced up as the door opened and gawked as a massive figure filled the frame, blotting out any view of the sun beyond like a large boulder had just been rolled in front of the entrance. After a frozen instant, the figure lumbered forward, ducking to clear the crossbar, a gust of frigid air sliding into the space ahead of it like a herald clearing the path. The small bell affixed to the door's upper edge tinkled as it slid shut. Now the boy could make out features on the approaching shape: thick white whiskers and shaggy brows under a battered baseball cap, a worn plaid shirt that perhaps had once been red and was now closer to pink as it strained over a broad chest and around thick arms, equally faded jeans tucked into massive work boots, enormous hands each clenched around—a trio of fish.

It was that last detail that brought the boy up short. He blinked, stared again at the strange scene, and rubbed his eyes.

But yes, this giant of a man had entered the small restaurant hauling three fish in each hand.

And what fish they were! Large, thick, and golden, they almost seemed to glow in the foyer's dim light. They had to weigh ten, twenty pounds apiece, yet the stranger had them hoisted up like a cluster of paper lanterns, dangling several feet above the scuffed linoleum floor.

"Wylie!" That sound burst, not from the giant but from the man behind the cash register resting atop the battered counter halfway between the door and the far wall. "What're you doing? Those go round back!"

The massive figure shrugged, the motion like an earthquake rippling across a strangely checked landscape. "Kyra said the door was busted," he mumbled, his voice low and gruff but surprisingly gentle.

"Oh. Yeah." The Roadside Diner's owner, Roy, sighed. "Okay, sure, bring 'em on through. Thanks." Then he turned back to the boy's father, standing before him, the bill in one hand and his wallet already clasped in the other. "I hope everything was good?"

"Fine, fine," the boy's father agreed, never even noticing the towering stranger behind him. But the boy, Jason, barely heard the exchange. He had turned to watch as the big man—Wylie—stomped past. This close, there was a strange smell, musky like something he'd sniffed at a zoo. Or a circus. Nor was it the fish—this was more of an animal smell, he thought, dry and earthy.

"You're really tall," Jason said softly, glancing up and up and up, and the man stopped to peer down at him.

"And you're not," he agreed, and Jason saw teeth flash behind the thick beard. Long, sharp teeth.

"Your teeth are really big," Jason noted next. He glanced down, closer to his own height, where those large hands still held the fish. "And your nails..." Here he trailed off. "They're really long, too," he finished finally. Because they were. Long and sharp-looking. Less like his own nails, or his parents', and more like—claws.

The man stared at him a second. Then he winked. His eyes were oddly yellow, Jason thought. Not like his Aunt Margot that time she'd been sick or his Uncle Don when he'd had too much wine the night before. No, these were really yellow.

Like a wolf's.

Then the giant continued on his way, stepping around the counter and disappearing through a swinging door there. Jason heard noises beyond that, dishes clattering and water running, and people speaking, and he smelled food. The kitchen.

A sudden burst of color before his face interrupted his musings—a lollipop, the disc a vivid green, held out to him by Roy, who was leaning over the counter with the sugary offering. "Thank you," Jason remembered to say, accepting the sweet. He tugged the wrapper off and stuck the treat in his mouth as his parents shepherded him out the door and toward their car to continue on their way to his grandparents.

He glanced back toward the little restaurant once as he hopped into the back seat, looking for that strange man. But the hulking figure did not re-emerge, and Jason soon forgot about him as they drove away.

* * *

"Wow, I think you scared that kid half to death!" Roy said as he stepped into the kitchen and joined Wylie where the enormous man stood off to one side, still clutching those fish. "Good thing I had a lolly handy—a little sugar and all's right with the world again."

"Sorry." Wylie shrugged, glancing down at his big feet. "Kyra said—"

"Hey, no worries, man," Roy told him, slapping Wylie on the arm. He felt bad—he knew how sensitive the big man was. "Okay, show me what you got."

In response, Wylie hefted the fish even higher, their fanned and mottled tails level with his head. In the brighter lights of the kitchen, Roy could see not only the gold of the scales, shading to olive on top, but the five darker bands around each one, the white tipping the bottom of each tail—and the sharp teeth filling each mouth.

"Walleye, huh?" He stroked his chin and the tiny tuft of hair there—being around Wylie always made Roy a little self-conscious about his scruffy little beard and the way his hair was starting to thin up top. Though at least his was still dark! Another strike against the shy, beleaguered fisherman—he couldn't be any older than mid-thirties, yet all his hair was already white! "Nice ones, too." Which they were—each fish had to be at least two feet long and probably weighed in at a good ten pounds or more. Yet the fisherman held them up like they were nothing. "Okay, yeah, I'll give you top dollar for them, of course." Which he would. Both because they were handsome fish and walleye were always tasty, but also because Wylie was one of his best suppliers.

Whatever else could be said about the big man, he knew how to fish!

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Roy shook his head. "Sure you don't wanna stick around?" he asked again. "Kyra's got a real nice chowder going, fresh bread's just come outta the oven, even got a few slices of pie left."

His companion perked up at the sound of that last item but finally shook his head. "I shouldn't," he said softly, his eyes dropping to his boots again. "Don't wanna break anything again."

"Hey, it was one time, man! Coulda happened to anyone!" Which wasn't strictly true, of course—most people couldn't dent one of the heavy steel work tables they used in the kitchen even if they tried. Wylie had practically bent it in half just by leaning on it. That was years ago, but the guy had clearly never gotten over it.

Which was a shame. Because he sure seemed like he could do with a few more friends.

Seeing he wasn't going to talk the fisherman out of leaving, however, Roy sighed and glanced over to Kyra. She was already approaching them, carrying a heavy paper bag, clearly full, the top neatly folded and stapled. Good old Kyra.

"Chowder, bread, and two slices of pie," she said, offering Wylie the bag with a warm smile. "Enjoy it, okay?" She was always taking in strays, and would spend half her time cooing over the kids that came in if she wasn't back here running things, but that was okay. She had a good heart.

"Thanks." Wylie accepted the bag, and for a second, Roy thought he saw a hint of an answering smile beneath that heavy beard. So, the big man could feel joy after all! "I'll stop by again soon as I've got another good catch."

"Sure, sure," Roy told him, tapping the big man on the arm as they headed back toward the dining room and the exit beyond. "No worries, man. Just take care, okay?" Wylie waved as he headed outside, ducking through the door. Roy watched him go, the cold night swallowing even such a giant up without a trace after a few minutes.

He couldn't imagine being alone all the time like that. But apparently, it worked for Wylie, and that was what mattered.

Two long-time regulars, Ginger and Gary, hollered at him, and Roy put those thoughts aside as he wandered over, a smile sprouting on his face as he went to chat.