Tastes Like Trophies

Thanks for the reviews! I was genuinely surprised and am very grateful.

I'm also very sorry for the difficulties getting the new chapter to show up. Site problems I'm supposing...

Chapter Three

"Can I just say that rich people have way too much money?"

Sam glanced up from his laptop to see Dean looking out the window. It was late afternoon, but Dean was just getting up, still padding around the room in his bare feet.

Sam had woken up earlier, but they'd been up all night with the police and he'd decided to let his brother sleep as long as he could. Dean was tired and if he said he needed a break then he was really several weeks, maybe months, past needing a break. So if Dean slept for two or three days solid, then it was fine by Sam.

Frankly, he was both surprised and puzzled by Dean's choice of hotel. Sam had been around enough pretentious rich kids in college to last him a lifetime. He had nothing against fresh sheets, but didn't really feel the draw.

Dean, however, had latched onto the idea of a ritzy hotel like a leech. He was a no frills kind of guy and he certainly didn't appreciate snobbery, which made the choice all the more surprising to Sam. His brother never spoke about what he wanted. It might be so deeply buried he didn't know it himself. Dean was exhausted. Maybe he thought only rich people got to rest. The only down time any of them had ever had was when one of them was injured.

In any case, while Dean was sleeping, Sam had spent several hours looking into the history of the hotel and the area. His brother may have fallen into a deep sleep after hearing something in the bushes growling at him, but as Sam had promised, he'd been doing some research. He hadn't found anything odd though. It was a respectable business in a respectable area. Not even a whiff of the supernatural. Nothing odd anywhere about the dead man or his family either.

"Way too much money," Dean said again for emphasis.

"I think that's the definition of rich people," Sam said. "They have money."

"No," Dean replied, motioning him over. "I'm talking crazy, stupid money."

Sam walked to the window and looked out. "It's topiary," he said and moved to sit back down.

"Topi-whaty?" Dean frowned. "They're not taupe. They're green."

"Shrubs cut into shapes," Sam said patiently.

"Dude, who has time to make animals out of bushes!"

"Topiary," Sam said again.

"And only rich people have time to come up with a name for shrub statues," Dean shook his head in amazed disbelief.

"They don't have time to trim the shrubs into animal shapes. That's what rich people have gardeners for."

"Like I said… way too much money," Dean replied. "Look at this. Lion, monkey, bear… There's an elephant over there. They're everywhere. It's like a freaking zoo."

"Did you even look at the site for this place before you booked it?" Sam asked, then sighed when Dean just shrugged. Research wasn't high on Dean's list of fun things to do. He'd probably taken one look at the pictures and impulsively decided it fit the bill. "The guy who built the house was a hunter type in the 1800s. He went to Africa and randomly shot things for a living."

"Wonderful," Dean said, still staring out at the lawn. "Crazy, rich and thinks he's Hemingway."

Sam blinked at the reference, but let it pass. Dean liked to play at being illiterate, but he'd paid attention in school. Their dad would have killed him otherwise.

Dean sighed. "So you looked around, I assume. Newspapers and such… You find anything?"

"Nothing," Sam said in some frustration, glaring at the laptop.

Dean finally turned away from the window. "So no leads."

Sam just shook his head, then watched as a faint smile began to spread across his brother's features.

"No leads, nowhere to go, nothing to do…" Dean said nonchalantly. "Rich people have to have a pool table somewhere. I say we go find it and then you can lose gracefully."

Sam had to laugh. "One of us has to be a good loser."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "You. So you feel like eating a little humble pie?" he smiled, all his teeth showing like the predator he was.

Sam grinned. "You're on."

They walked into the Game Room the concierge had directed them to and stopped dead just inside the door.

"That's just… disturbing," Dean stated.

The Game Room had a pool table and several other playing tables, but the décor was something out of a taxidermist's nightmare. Every imaginable surface was covered in stuffed animals. There were animal heads on the walls, animals on tables, rugs on the floor... Deer, antelope, boar, buffalo, things Sam didn't know what they were, but they had antlers or horns or tusks. There were birds mounted with their wings spread as if in flight. African animals, Asian animals, American animals. If it could be shot, it had been stuffed and put in the room.

"Lions, tigers and bears," Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes. "If you're expecting me to say 'oh my' you can forget it. I hate that movie. Those flying monkey things scared the crap out of me when I was little."

He walked up to a bear that had been mounted standing on its back feet, snarling, its claws extended as if ready to attack. Dean stood in front of it, looking up where it rose at least nine feet high and it looked so lifelike Sam had the sudden urge to pull Dean away.

"I think it's watching me," he said and laughed almost sheepishly, stepping back.

He turned and looked around the room again. There were heads of panthers, cougars, tigers, wolves, predators of every sort mixed in with more peaceful animals. Zebra, bison, wildebeest, all looking down at them.

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Normally, I don't mind an audience while I play pool, but this is seriously weird. And the smell…"

Sam had to agree. It smelled of… stale death… That smell you got when you opened an old coffin. There were so many stuffed animals. Sam could almost feel the smell seeping into his skin, into his clothes.

"I see you found Mr. Huntington's little collection." Both brothers jumped as the hotel manager walked into the room. "It took him years to create such an assortment," he added.

"I'm not sure create is the word I'd pick," Dean said, a vague expression of distaste on his face as he looked up at an ibex.

Sam coughed politely, drawing the manager's attention. "Have the police found anything?"

"No," Mr. Smedley said curtly, then said nothing else, just stared at them.

"You must be busy," Sam said. "We don't want to keep you."

"Actually, the owner has cancelled all incoming reservations until things are more settled and everyone else quickly checked out as soon as they heard about the… unpleasantness."

"You mean the dead guy in the parking lot," Dean smiled wickedly.

"Very aptly put… sir," Smedley frowned.

"That's Mr. Shatner to you," Sam heard Dean mutter. Either Smedley didn't hear it or chose to ignore it. Sam suspected the latter.

"We're the only ones left?" he asked and Smedley nodded. "You want us to get our stuff? We can be out of here in only…"

"No," the man said, and Sam caught the barest whiff of panic before the manager's expression smoothed back into complacency. "Actually, Cook was already mid-way through preparations for dinner when the mass exodus started. I came to ask if you had already had dinner."

Sam looked out one of the windows and saw that the sun was setting. Dean really had slept almost the whole day away. "No, we haven't."

"Wonderful," the man smiled subserviently. "Then may I invite you gentlemen to enjoy a meal on the rear verandah? Otherwise the food will go to waste."

Sam started to shake his head, but Dean was already patting his stomach. "Lead the way. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse." He looked up at the walls, eyeing the various creatures warily. "I don't thing there's one of those in here."

They followed Smedley through several rooms and then down a long corridor toward a set of exterior doors.

The manager held one open. "After you," he motioned.

They both stepped out into what looked like a large walled garden, filled with more of Dean's topiary, the closest one a tiger or some other large cat. But there was no table set up for an elegant meal.

"I thought you said there was going to be dinner," Dean said irritably.

"And I thought you said you weren't hunters," Smedley replied, swinging the door closed and locking it, still watching them through the glass panes.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam yelled, yanking on the doorknob to no avail.

Sam and Dean both turned, hearing a distinct growl behind them.

"I think there's something in the bushes," Sam whispered, seeing the leaves start to twitch.

They watched in horror, hearing the plant's roots crack and break as the tiger topiary raised its paws from the ground freeing itself to stalk toward them. It raised its head and Sam had the uncomfortable feeling the 'tiger' was scenting the air. It opened its jaws, limbs cracking at the movement, and snarled, the sound unbelievably loud.

"You think it can hurt us?" Dean asked. "I mean it's only a shrub."

"Uhhh…. You remember the guy without the head?" Sam inquired.

"Point taken."

The tiger stalked closer, moving with a lithe stride no group of leaves could produce.

"What do we do?" Sam hissed.

Dean looked at him. "Run."

I know, I know… I had a tiger in the last story. Bear with me… I'm working up to something. Promise.