The oldest looking guy knelt in front of the netting. He pulled out a tazer and tazed the raccoon over and over again. The little animal twitched and made weird shrieking hissing sounds and started smoking.
“Yee fucking haw,” the rookie whooped.
It was only when the smoldering raccoon stopped twitching that one of them noticed me.
“Damn,” I said. “Criminal animal?”
The oldest guy—I’d guess he was the seasoned veteran—stood and holstered his tazer. He kicked the dead raccoon. “You got no idea.”
“Shoplifter,” the rookie sneered. He flipped off the dead, netted animal.
“How does an animal shoplift?” I asked.
The veteran answered. “They got very agile hands, these guys. They’re grabby as hell. Open garbage cans and what not.” He kicked the raccoon again. “Garbage is still property of the US of A.”
Oh man, this is great! I'm a little ashamed at how mundane my story is going...
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