I’m looking for a partner. Someone who gets things fixed. Ask yourself this question: do you want to be rich?

Didi Collins does not sound like an Ojibwe name.

There are two types of native features you come across in the Northland. First Nations people of Chippewa descent tend to be either extremely round or whip thin. This is more prominent in the women than it is in the men, resulting in either a very curvy, shading into plump figure or caramel colored legs that go on for miles. Ms. Collins fell into the second category with sharp defined features, her long dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail which only served to further accentuate her high cheekbones. Her charcoal grey business suit cut an imposing image that was given lie to by the septum piercing that decorated her exquisitely aquiline nose. Shockingly full lips that brought to mind fantasies of what they’d look like with my dick between them parted and she nervously poked her tongue out to drag across them; an act which only made not acting like a complete creep all the more difficult.

So I let Anwyn talk. Honestly, let’s be real, Anwyn was going to do all the talking anyway. I was still the newbie and had zero idea of what to ask.

“What can we do for you, Ms. Collin’s?” Business as usual.

“This is way outta my comfort zone, so I’m just going to try to explain this the way my Grandpa did to me. And for the record I don’t buy into this shit, but the Council believes it, so here’s the sitch.” Her voice had that scratchy young Jodi Foster quality that basically dances out of a woman’s lips and tickles your balls. “We’ve had eight people go missing in the last month. Two or three per quarter is more like par for the course… I know that sounds cold, but it’s a sad truth that we have a **** problem on the res. So a couple idiots drown in the lake or OD or Old Man Wannamaker’s meth lab blows up. I won’t say that those are acceptable losses, but they’re… expected. What’s not expected is when it’s little kids or a high school gym teacher or my goddamned ex boyfriend who happens to be a member of the tribal police.”

I made sympathetic noises, but Anwyn wasn’t about to wait. “So where do we come in?”

“Well… the Council thinks it’s a Wendigo.”

Now I know what you’re thinking… aww who am I kidding. I have no idea what you’re thinking, but I was thinking that either a) We were in way over our heads. Or 2) we were being fucked with. That was before she told us the story.

We think that it all started at the beginning of the month when Fred Johansson didn’t come back from his fishing trip. Fred was a capable outdoorsman, but had something of a reputation as the town drunk. Seriously, the guy would start every morning with a fresh bottle of Wild Irish Rose and end each night cuddling the empty; he was the kinda guy who gave truth to the “drunken Indian” stereotype. So while it was a surprise that he never came home it wasn’t a shock of any sort.

It raised an eyebrow when a couple days later Franklin Ostrander took his little girlfriend out for a walk in the woods. Everyone knew he was way too old for her, hell the guy had grandchildren and she was just barely eighteen. Both of his daughters were older than her. But the heart wants what the heart wants and in this case little Lily Montrose’ heart wanted that big ugly fucker. To be fair he was a painfully nice guy, but that didn’t stop Bull Montrose from threatening to rip his heart out and piss on it for stepping out with his babygirl. We all assumed that they’d just run away together.

Cybil and Charity Langhorne were next. Twelve years old, twins and not the creepy Shining type either. They disappeared right out of their backyard which really threw the town into fits, real paroxysms of anguish. That’s when Charlie, my ex, went; during the search for the girls. And we’re not talking just him out there by himself. The whole town turned up to comb the woods. They found Charlie’s uniform hanging from a tree branch.

Two days ago Woody Wilson Anderson never made it home from school where he’d stayed late grading papers. And that brings us up to the present…

“… that’s when the Council decided to call you.”

Way over our heads it was then.

(Title: “Opportunities” by The Pet Shop Boys)