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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack |
| Sometimes we all need a little adult supervision. Whether we’re standing on a rolling chair to reach that item on the top shelf, racing through the house with our birthday suit flapping in the breeze so we can grab that pair of underwear and towel we forgot for the shower, or something else, we need that person there to tell us “Hey! Not smart!” Usually, for me, it’s Crash who fills that roll. I try doing something incredibly dumb, and he’ll place a heavy hand on my shoulder and say ‘dummy, you’re gonna get yourself killed.’ However, this time it wasn’t me, it was Crash. And amazingly he didn’t hurt himself, even though he tried to blow himself up. It started a couple weeks back. Crash was on day shift after the whole Rougarou business. After a major incident like that, you know the kind that normally pulls me in to some crazy adventure that gets blabbed about on here, he’s put on day shifts to handle paperwork, destress, that sort of thing. Apparently, there was some incident that no one ever really talks about but in hushed tones of a werewolf working too long and going feral. Crash had decided, in his infinite wisdom, to burn a brush pile. It had become more brush than pile with weeds growing through the middle, a ring of dead leaves around it, and enough dead limbs and twigs to hide a good portion of the trees from visibility. The first step of course was to kill the weeds that grew in the middle. And naturally, you’d use the old, varnished gasoline to do it. After all, it isn’t like it’s going to blow up now, is it? He doesn’t say exactly how much he used, but will still chuckle and say “don’t worry, it was only a few gallons.” He figured there was rain coming, so in two weeks’ time, he’d just come and burn it. The gas should be gone by then, right? Right…. Unbeknownst to Crash, there was a mole tunnel right beneath the brush pile. The gasoline pooled inside the tunnels, becoming a natural pipe bomb. It stayed through rain and shine, waiting, like a lingering demon, to unleash its hellish might from just one foolish man, or werewolf’s, spark. Crash began transitioning back to nights after a couple weeks. There was only one or two nights left, and he decided that burning that brush pile would be a good way to spend the evening. So, as the sun began to dip, Crash shifted, grabbed a lighter, and went outside. He began his prep work, grabbing a fire extinguisher, a couple of water buckets, the works. He didn’t get a water hose though, cause it wasn’t like it was going to be a big fire. I was inside, working on another story that would be summarily rejected by another magazine, when I heard it: Boom! Zack was asleep by then, and he could sleep through almost anything. Sean was still at work, and Kris beat me outside by about 3 seconds. When we both arrived, we could see a raging fire that reached to the heavens. It looked as if we were giving a Viking funeral to a forgotten king. A very crispy werewolf stood in front of it, an embarrassed grin on his face and ears, holding an empty water bucket. “Well, I got the brush pile lit,” he said and grinned. Now, Crash wasn’t completely stupid. After all, he did have buckets of water and a fire extinguisher nearby. A water hose was soon hooked up as well, and Kris and me spent the better part of the next hour evening wetting down the surrounding area to ensure the fire didn’t spread and become our neighbors problem instead of just ours. The mole hole provided just the right amount of air and compression to make a decent sized fire bomb. It was a miracle none of us were out there with him. A miracle that in the two weeks’ time that gasoline sat, we didn’t have an errant spark from one of our other neighbors, or something else to set it off without us being out there to watch it. A miracle that Crash was alive. His only protection being his very species. It was also a miracle that we didn’t kill him. “You moron,” Kris shouted at him after hearing about the gasoline. The fire in his eyes rivaled the fire at its hottest and highest point. “You could have killed yourself!” “What,” Crash said with a soft smile. “I was protected. I ducked.” I knew better than to interrupt Kris in a rant like this. And did he ever go off. Crash stood there with his soft sheepish smile, taking everything Kris gave him. He called Crash irresponsible, dumb, called the move childish. I never stopped him and Crash took it because we both knew that he was right. What Crash had done was all of those things. “You realize you almost killed yourself?! What do you have to say for yourself, huh? For what you did?!” Kris stood at the edge of the fire that had now burnt itself down, raging as hard as the flames had, heaving, clenching his fists. Crash looked at him, still with that sheepish grin on his werewolf muzzle and ears and said, “I used no more than five gallons! I promise.” Before Kris could literally skin Crash alive, I pulled him back and patted him on the shoulder. “I got this,” I told him, and began to lead him back inside. “You handle him then,” Kris snarled, then walked back inside, still understandably very upset. I stood with Crash for a while, watching the fire, helping him tend to it. After a while, I looked at him, and sighed, “you scared him you know. And me.” “I was being careful,” Crash said, “I lit it like I was lighting a bomb.” I smirked, “Apt phrasing.” He blinked. “I just never figured that would happen.” Which makes sense. We never figure that when we’re grabbing that quick item from the top shelf the rolling chair will shift and spit out from beneath us, leaving only the counter to catch our chin on the way down. That when we’re sprinting back to our bedroom, our neighbors will pick that moment to knock on the door, or that we could slip in water, and hurt ourselves when we’re most vulnerable. That the gasoline we figured would have been gone and killed the weeds would still be around, pooled, ready to explode. But it happens. The counter almost breaks our neck. The neighbors screech, laugh, then snap photos as we blush like a kid at a recital, trying to cover up the goods. The gasoline ignites like a fireball from a movie set. We’re left hurt, bleeding, embarrassed, and usually, none the wiser for our injuries. Everyone needs a little adult supervision at times. Someone to step back, tell them, “No dummy, that’s not going to work. You’re going to kill yourself.” It’s at these moments though you find out just how much people care about you. It’s in relation to how upset they get. If all they do is laugh and ask you to take photos next time, re-evaluate your friendship. I think Zack though summed it up best when he asked “what did you learn,” in a sing song voice later on. Crash laughed and said something like “that varnished gas lingers.” He did apologize though at least. Promised us all that he’d be more careful. But I guess it shows in some ways why we get along so well. We’re both the right level of crazy and stupid. He attempted to blow himself up in a fire. I attempted to get two vicious proven blood thirsty killers mad at me so they’ll chase me. Zack, Sean and Kris? Well, I promised them I’d keep their dumbest moments off of here. And I’ll continue to do so, as long as the payment comes through. The results of all of this is that the house still smells like singed fur almost a week later. Crash laughs every time he talks about it, but promises to be safer. And that I’m analyzing my own actions. I’m not always the safest at times. But I wouldn’t have poured gasoline on weeds to kill them. I’m too paranoid for that. Cause knowing my luck, some hapless soul would have walked by and flicked a cigarette into the brush pile, even though it was piled at the furthest point from anything on our property. Crash promised to be safer. I perhaps should take his lead and try to be safer as well. After all, I only have one life to live, and no one can age backwards. This pain in my joints does wake me up on occasion at nights now. It would be nice to see eighty and not need a wheel chair. But we’ll see. Knowing my luck, I’ll be in a wheel chair, in a nursing home next to Crash, who will be stuck in his werewolf form for some reason, peeing in one bag and drinking from another. All while nurses check our pulses every three hours and tell us things in singsong voices as if we’re mentally handicap instead of just physically. But we’ll see. It’s best not to plan that far ahead in the future. After all, when we make plans, God, the universe, or whoever, sends us fireballs. |
| It had been several days since the entire incident had happened with Marissa and Tarissa, the ‘twin’ rougarous. They had left the county is all I knew. Crash was attempting to track them, but movements outside of his control tend to get shifted to the back burner, so he wasn’t getting a lot of updates. All he knows is that Garrett wasn’t with them. At this point, we’re not sure if that’s better or worse. I hadn’t figured on seeing Elouise again for some time. If I did, I thought it would be pretty much like Gary. See her in the street going for a jog or walk. She’d wave and maybe stop to have a conversation. Instead, she’s been fairly active with Crash and I. We don’t see her every day or anything, but I’ll get a phone call, usually on a weekend or something and she’ll ask if me and Crash wants to hang. It’s strange but nice to have a myth friend who hangs out and doesn’t want anything out of me than friendship. This was one of those weekends. We sat on her property in cheap plastic chairs that looked as if they came from a Dollar General clearance sale. Each one of us had a drink in our hands, though mine was non-alcoholic. The sun dipped low enough to silhouette her neighbors house. We watched the sunlight drift and the chocolate brown furred back of our neighbor as he continued weeding. He gave us a polite wave occasionally, but didn’t seem to mind our staring that much. His cow-like tail hung out in a curl behind him through a homemade hole in his old jeans. “He don’t mind us watching, huh,” Elouise said. I shrugged. “That’s the Henderson’s for ya. They’re friendly enough. Always outside. Don’t mind everyone watching. Well, everything.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “Really?” Crash chuckled. “I had to talk to them a couple times about keeping the drapes closed when they decided to get frisky.” Elouise laughed for a good while. “Is all minotaurs like that? I’ve never lived near one.” I gave a shrug, while Crash answered. “Yes and no. They enjoy sunlight, being outside, and attention. It’s part of their whole religion kind of. They worship the Earth and Gaya, the ‘Mother Spirit’ as they call her. They do so by trying to be outside as much as possible doing things like this.” “Why hadn’t you wrote about’em in your blog,” Elouise asked. “Well,” I said, “that whole shutting the curtains thing is the freakiest thing they’ve ever done. They’re just as normal as anyone. Like our post office, for example. All of them are just humans. No drama or excitement in regular mail delivery by relatively happy people.” “I guess,” Elouise said. “I suppose it’s difficult to get across sometimes that us, ‘mythicals’ as you started calling us are usually just normal people for the most part.” I smiled. “I’ve even had mythicals come up to me who’d never met a vampire before and asked me, ‘are vampires actually meth heads?’” “People are dumb,” Elouise said. I shrugged. “They can be, sometimes. But I think most of us humans have a level of naivete built into us.” Crash rolled his eyes. “Here we go.” “I’m serious,” I said. “Why do you think regular humans don’t ever see Charles’ and Nancy’s tails? Why do they see you running around the woods, Crash, and think ‘deer’ or ‘dog’. Remember the fun you had last year teasing the dog catcher?” That happened when I was posting the letter that I had gotten about Kheid. It was a humorous little anecdote, but felt a little too Loony Tunes for me to actually post it here. If you guys want it though, I’ll get it up. “You know, you slipped under the radar,” Crash said to Elouise, trying to derail my rant. Which I understood. Cause I had developed a whole TED Talk, complete with charts and figures. I suppose the power point presentation I had started was a little bit too far for everyone. “I couldn’t exactly follow protocol,” Elouise said. “Besides, everything worked out, didn’t it?” “Yes,” Crash said. “But we’re dangerously close to a Doveland scenario.” “Doveland,” I asked. Crash nodded. “It was a town in Wisconsin. Very friendly to us types, so a lot of us started moving there. The locals felt safer with us, and even began having discounts to attract weres of any kind. ‘Ten percent off your bill for showing us your ears’, that sort of thing. The town population grew to being half mythicals, even. Then trouble started. Needless to say, the entire thing was covered up, and now the records report the town as not existing.” “Trouble,” I asked. “A small war,” Elouise said. “Ended up being between us and the humans. Everyone lost. But rumor has it, that it wasn’t originally us and humans. It was the werewolves, and those damn cats.” “They started it,” Crash grumbled, but didn’t say more. “So, if we get anymore mythicals, what will happen,” I asked. “If someone tries to come in under the radar, I’ll have to run them out. If anyone else tries coming here legal they’re gonna be denied,” Crash took a pull from his can after that. It was a cheap skunk beer, the kind that has a flavor of piss and vinegar. The one that alcoholics and those of us recovering know the smell of well. “Well,” I said, “it’s got to be better than the dog catcher.” Crash grinned. “What, I was just getting a little revenge for all us dogs out there.” “Crash,” I said, “you tree’d him. You had him on the highest branch on the tree, calling for help.” Elouise blanched. “You didn’t.” “They did talk to me about that,” Crash said. “Crash,” I replied, “your boss laughed for three minutes and told you, and I quote, ‘next time get it on camera.’” “Still counts as talking,” Crash said. Elouise chuckled an agreement. “I would too.” I shook my head, “poor man’s gonna need therapy.” “He already needed therapy,” Crash said, then took another pull from his beer. We sat in her backyard, watching the sun set as our conversation wound around several strange things. Elouise talked about getting a job of some kind. The prelude I guess to her job in the grocery store. That made me feel a little guilty for a bit. After all, I still don’t have a job and don’t have any desire for one after the last fiasco I attempted at working. But still, money is tight, as it is for everyone. Doesn’t help when the price of your staples has tripled and the annual increase on your government stipend doesn’t bother even attempting to touch it. Times are tough all over though, so it wouldn’t do me any good to complain, I suppose. Still, a job of some kind is something that I do kick around the idea of now and again. But about the only thing I’m really good at it seems is working with mythicals and causing trouble. I figure the thing I could be good at is podcasting. My mouth runs on its own at times, much to the detriment of all of my roomies. But, where in our strange eclectic house could I podcast? What would I even talk about? Every podcast has to have a focus of some kind, and I don’t think anyone wants to hear one of my endless ramblings. That night ended with everyone saying goodnight, friendship hugs, and us going our separate ways. The thought of some sort of fulfillment in my life like a job of some kind did come up. But where in the world could I get a job causing trouble? I’ve always been afraid of becoming a Howard Stern type, someone who pisses people off for fun and money. If I piss someone off, it’s because they deserve it. That’s what this past adventure has taught me. That time I hid that speaker in my uncle’s house for example, I did because instead of talking about family and memories over the holidays, they’d rather complain about politics and whine about which side I’m on, and blah, blah, blah. Forgive me for wanting to spend time with loved ones reminiscing and attempting to grow closer, geez! I’m not a perfect person, far from it. But the more of these adventures Crash brings me on, ropes me in with, or I just stick my nose into, the more I’m learning that, although I’m not a nice person, I’m a good person. And there is a distinct difference between being nice and being good. The job thing may never happen for me again. I’ll just keep writing. Keep trying to sell my writing. Keep helping Crash, and keep trying to do the right thing. Even if that right thing means jumping on tables and trying to start fights. |
| You can fight hand to hand with someone larger than you if you have extensive training in it. It’s still very difficult, but it is doable. Your tactics become more about balance, momentum and leverage. The idea is to get them off balance, utilizing their own momentum so you can leverage a weak point, a joint usually to inflict pain and do enough damage that you can get out of the conflict alive and whole. It takes training, dedication, and a touch of grace. I hadn’t had training in quite a while. I am always dedicated to helping my friends, but grace and I have never even been in the same hemisphere, let alone be touched by it. I can make a baby giraffe on stilts look graceful. So, the last leg of my plan really did rely on my friends and none of my grace. It was simple really. Me and Elouise show up to the barbecue place right after closing, begin the scrap, distract them enough so Crash can go crashing in and saves the day. Not elegant, but it’s how literally all of my plans worked it seemed, despite me attempting to do other things. So, why not lean into what I am best at? When it comes to this werewolf, I’m best at being the damsel in distress. But I don’t wear a dress and he doesn’t get a heroic kiss after. Elouise, Crash, and I rolled over to the restaurant afterwards. Of course, me and Elouise went inside while Crash hung around outside doing whatever it is werewolves do during the daytime. We expected to see more of their barbecue, perhaps a few lingering customers, and three Rougarou taken by surprise. None of us was expecting the open house or the gravel parking lot full of cars. On the outside everyone had parked in just about every which way they could fit themselves in, the traditional way people park in lots without lines. Some trucks attempted to take up space of nine vehicles, while some smaller vehicles were bullied off into the corner somewhere, or sandwiched between two larger SUVs. Inside was a crush of people surrounding most of the tables. A soft murmur of conversation had settled in, like a layer of fog across a small New England town at the break of dawn. Across each table lay a display of property lines, a road traveling through it, and of course, the name sitting out front, “Mefferdi Estates”, written in scrolling cursive upon a proposed sign. It was a beautiful digital recreation of a neighborhood I was determined would never exist. Couples that ranged from elderly to newlyweds were all staring down at the pamphlets and displays of the properties. Some of them had already been sold, ‘all but the paperwork is ready’, I’ve heard one yuppy looking guy said as he chatted excitedly to his equally yuppy looking wife. “I spoke to the crew foreman. They can even get us the Kentucky Bluegrass we always wanted,” he beamed with pride. “Shit,” Elouise whispered in my ear, staring down at one of the pamphlets, “what are we going to do?” I shrugged. “What we came do to,” I whispered back. “We can’t start a fight here with all these people,” she hissed. I smirked at her. She really did not know me very well. The one thing I’m honestly good at is starting a fight just about anywhere. So, I did what got me thrown out of one of my uncle’s thanksgiving feasts, and subsequently banned from his property. I leaped onto the table, holding the pamphlet in my hand and shouted. “Boy! These properties sure do look nice. Why, I’d be tempted to commit double homicide myself to sell stuff like this!” You could hear a pin drop as every eye turned towards me. “Excuse me,” one elderly lady asked. I could tell I shocked her. Her mouth was open so long, that I wanted to tell her she was going to catch flies that way, but instead I leaned down and said “try more lean protein and fiber. Should help with the gas.” Then I stood and shouted at everyone else, as I ignored her indignant ‘why I nevers’. “That’s right, double homicide! Murder times two! These two lovely bimbos,” I said pointing at Marissa and Tarissa, “murdered the sweet innocent Gandiffs after holding their family hostage to buy it!” The ‘twins’ turned towards me, death in their eyes. “How dare you,” she snarled, “we did no such thing! You’re gonna hear from our lawyer for makin such baseless accusations and slanderous lies! We’re gonna sue you into the ground. Your grand-children are gonna need lawyers when we’re through!” “That’s right,” I shouted talking over her. “If we peel up these boards right now and dig a bit, we’ll find fresh lye, and two very battered bodies of sweet innocent people beneath our very feet!” Tarissa turned sheet white for a moment. Marissa looked like she expected something like that. “We did no such thing, you can’t prove a damn bit of it, just another ugly carpet bagger trying to fool these fine folks.” “I’m not the one trying sell land without giving anyone actual paperwork. How many of you were able to read a contract tonight before handing over the down payment? How many of you read any paperwork what so ever? Have you asked why this restaurant is in such a cheap, flimsy building? As if they’re ready to flee at any moment?” I looked around the room. Every eye was on me now. It was as if the lightbulbs were going off in their heads all at once. “Why I tell you, you’ve been hoodwinked. Bamboozled. Flim-flamed. Everyone in here is a sucker for the oldest con known to man! Something for nothing! I bet when you come by tomorrow to pick up your ‘paperwork’ not even this building will be standing!” Accusations began to rise as people started asking about the paperwork and titles for the land. I think it was the yuppy Kentucky bluegrass that asked started asking first. That sort of started a snowball effect. Thank God, or the universe or whoever, but everything began happening all at once. Through all the shouting threats and demands, the crowd of people pressing in closer and closer on Marissa and Tarissa, I almost didn’t see Garrett until he was practically on top of me. Even in human form he was massive. And moving at a clip that I knew I couldn’t match. He had come from some room around back, wearing a buttoned-up flannel shirt of some kind. I figured he was playing the “foreman” that yuppy Kentucky Bluegrass had spoken to. Elouise stepped in front of him, and tried to slow him down. Which gave me enough time to jump off the table and run out the front door. Flashing blue and red lights where everywhere at this point. People shouting. Some people trying to leave because they were smart enough to not hand over money yet and wanted no part of what was happening. And then there was me. Running towards the back of the property, muttering “stupidplanstupidplanstupidstupidstupid” as I did a full sprint towards the fence. Then my feet left the ground. I looked down at Elouise, who was at a full sprint, and shifting into her gator form. She had scooped me up and threw me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I didn’t know you could shift and run,” I said, as her snout began to push out from her face. “Me either till now,” she snarled, looking around. “Hurts like a bitch though. Hang on!” We were in the woods now, drifting further from civilization. At least I thought we were until we broke through the tree line and into a commercial lot of some kind. It was a large open space, with no construction a road nearby, and no one else. And then three Rougarou in full gator form surrounding me and Elouise. A lot of the action happened faster than I could see with my own eyes. Two green blurs fought against another green blur in the middle. Elouise was holding her own against Marissa and Tarissa, at least for a while. Then she was on her back, with Marissa and Tarissa pinning her down. While I was watching Elouise, Garret just scooped me up like a child being scolded by a parent. He held in front of his face. He hissed and opened his maw, threateningly. His mouth was ring of glistening razer sharp gator teeth and a tongue that lead into nothingness – an eternal abyss of death and destruction. “I hate the taste of human,” he snarled. “But for someone as special as you, I’ll make an exception.” A lone howl cut through the night. Garret snapped his jaw shut and turned towards the woods that we had just ran through. I looked in the direction he was staring just in time to see two large, furry blurs erupt from the tree-line. The Rougarou never had a chance. The darker of the blurs hit Garrett. I hit the ground and rolled, limping a bit, but not yet feeling the injury. As I looked up towards Garrett, I could see Crash on top of him. Garrett was on his belly, squirming as Crash held his tail in his claws. A quick slash then Garrett’s tail was no longer attached to his body. Marissa and Tarissa would have looked upon him with sympathy had they stuck around, I know. But the brown blur had already chased them both into the woods. Garrett snarled up at Crash, as Crash threw the tail down. “You bastard,” he whimpered, “You flea-bitten bastard! I’ll kill you if it’s the last thing…” His tail lay beside him like a bloody tree limb. In the thin light the blood was black. You could almost convince yourself it was nothing but a movie prop from an old Ed Wood film if you tried. Crash scooped up Garrett in his claws. Red and blue lights had found our little party. A scared rookie cop announced that whoever was in the costume to drop them now and back away. Crash snarled something at him then disappeared through the shadows. Garrett did the same, limping away now in a different direction. The flashing red and blue lights blinded me to most of what happened with the cop car. There was a shout. A conversation. Then the car left in quite a hurry afterwards. When Crash walked back up to me, I asked him what had happened. He just smiled at me and said “We had a small talk about what his job and my job was.” “You made him piss himself, didn’t you,” I asked. A grin appeared on Crash’s muzzle, as his ears tipped backwards a bit. “Not intentionally.” *** The sun was rising again over the small patch of trees that separated our house from the rest of the small town that it resided nearby. It was enough to be a forest I guess, but not quite like the forests I grew up with. Still, it was a nice reminder of home. And would occasionally give me a reminder or two of why I left. Elouise and I leaned against Crash’s front bumper, watching the sunrise. Crash had dumped us off, parked the car, then disappeared into the woods. “He always has to work so late,” she asked. “Paperwork,” I said. “And knowing Crash, he probably returned to where Garett disappeared and is searching for him.” She shuttered. “I hope he finds that bastard,” she said. “Me too,” I agreed. “I’m curious what a tailless Rougarou looks like as a human.” She smirked. “Really,” she asked. “I’m serious! You think he lost a leg or has massive scars on his butt? I mean what little but there was, Garrett had a serious case of noassatall.” Elouise looked at me, in the confused dog look that Crash sometimes gets. “Noassatall?” I nodded. “Yeah! He had no ass at all! Like none! Dude looked like God snatched it off him in the womb or egg or whatever as a cosmic punishment.” She laughed. Which set me off as well, our cares of the past few days cascading into the morning. “You know,” she smiled at me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “If you were only Rougarou and not human.” “Bad idea,” I sighed, sliding subtly away. “Damaged goods. Don’t do that to yourself.” “What about Crash,” she asked. “Crash?” She nodded. “What about him? You think?” I looked over at the sunrise. Golden red rays piercing through the blue skies to promise another glorious day. Suddenly though, I was feeling the chill. She must have seen something on my face, as she looked down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t,” she began. “No,” I said, patting her shoulder. “It’s not like that.” “Then what,” she asked. I paused a moment. “I don’t know exactly. It’s not my place to say even if I did. But what I will tell you is that sometimes someone is so hurt by something, some event, some person, some thing, that a part of them becomes broken. That’s what I think happened with Crash. I’m not saying you can’t try. But I’m saying don’t be surprised if he don’t respond well.” She nodded then turned. “Friendship is probably the better option,” she muttered, then said, “I’ve got to get back. Sleep. Unpack, you know the drill.” I smirked; the smile felt a little hollow. “If you ever want to beat someone at arm wrestling, you know where to find me.” She turned around and took two steps backwards as she spoke. “Oh, come on, that ain’t hard. I can beat half the town!” Then turned back and left, the sunrise leaving long trails of shadows before her. |
| The key to the new plan was getting Crash into the door, legally. It works a bit different with mythicals apparently, than it does with us regular folk. A normal person commits a crime, say like murder, and that person is arrested, put on trial, and then they go to prison. Whether sending them to jail for rehabilitation or holding them for execution is a topic of great debate and one that’s far above my paygrade. But for us normal humans that’s just generally how it goes. Arrest. Prison. And if the crime is bad enough, possible execution. Only after years of sitting in prison and fighting for your life in the court with lawyers and judges. For mythicals, it’s a bit different. They can’t get arrested. Not because of any immunity, but because their natural abilities puts them in a position to wreak A LOT of havoc inside a jail cell. So, someone like a psychopath minotaur for example who murders a family and eats their hearts, can’t go to jail cause there’s literally no way to stop him from doing it again on multiple inmates. Or just goring them for fun. Or whatever else he decides he wants to do. So instead, Crash has a bit of a leeway with execution. Which is also a topic of great debate apparently amongst the mythical side of the law. Crash can execute, he can banish, he can do whatever he is required to do to maintain the safety of normal humans and good order among the mythical citizens. “The trick,” Crash told me on the way to the Gandiff’s house, “Is the paperwork. If I get it wrong and execute the wrong one or the reason isn’t justified in anyway, I get executed instead.” We were taking Crash’s car. Elouise was in the back; a sour look on her face. “This is the last damn time I ever bring you guys anything. You know I had a job interview today that you just messed up?” She wasn’t wearing anything special. A T shirt with her heated sweater and a pair of jeans, the kind with a more elastic waistband so she could slip them off. “Think of it this way, we may be doing you a favor.” She rolled her eyes. “This,” she said, grabbin her vest, “is my thwackin uniform.” We pulled into a house in the nicer part of the county, one where white picket fences were freshly painted and the occasional chain link fence was new. Streets were cracked but repaired frequently, and the fresh lines of tar zigzagged across the asphalt like scars. Most houses looked open, warm and inviting, or as if someone was at work or something and not at home. Only one house had a car in the yard, all windows covered, and wreaked of paranoia. Surprise, surprise, it was the house we pulled up in front of. “Were here,” Crash said. “No kidding,” I replied. “Just a second, where did I put,” Crash grumbled, and began digging through the glove box, and digging around under the seat. “A-ha,” he cried in triumph as he held a badge aloft. “You have a police badge,” I said. “Well, not exactly,” Crash handed me the badge. It didn’t say police dept, but instead said ‘Office of Mythical Affairs’. “Office of Mythical Affairs,” I said. “What,” Crash asked. He checked his mirror then stepped out of the car and peaked his head back in. “It’s not exactly a cop. Think of it like a combined sheriff and U.S. Marshall for Mythicals.” “Huh, I guess I understand why you keep calling the ‘myth office,” I said as I followed him up the drive. We stopped in front of the door, and paused a moment. “So,” I asked him, “why where you so skittish about coming here?” He yawned. “Cause,” he grumbled, “It’s past my bed time, and protocol says wait for their call. Otherwise, there could be accidental exposure.” “I think we’re past that,” Elouise grumbled. I nodded in agreement. Crash just gave a soft growl, and knocked. When ‘who is it’ came through the door, Crash held up his badge and said, “we have just a few questions.” I noted that he had his finger over the name of his department when he held the badge up. The home owner didn’t seem to notice. A click, a sliding lock, then another click and the door was finally open. Behind it was a skinny man who looked as if he had the worst scare of his life. Behind him was a wife named Sarah, a small woman of Asian descent. The man introduced himself as Gordon. He seemed nice. The kind of guy you’d expect who could tell you, in intricate and exacting detail, the reasons why one battery type in an electric vehicle is preferable to another, where it was manufactured, and just why you’re supposed to agree with him. “So,” he said, “I heard nothing, I saw nothing, I know nothing. What else do you need to know?” “Sir,” Crash said, “ma’am. The only reason I’m showing you this is because I’m pretty certain you’ve already seen something similar.” He then unbuttoned his shirt and began to shift. Overalls gives him room to shift when he needs without being too constricting. Buttoned down shirts can easily be rebuttoned. Neither Gordon nor his wife Sarah seemed as surprised as I expected them to be. They jumped into each other’s arms. “Holy shit, they work for the government, I told you this was a government experiment,” Sarah shouted. “It’s not a government experiment,” I snapped. “Tell me what happened,” Crash said. And they answered. And it was exactly as I figured it would be. The Grey’s, Marissa, Tarissa, and Garrett came here, asking about the property. You see, the Gandiffs owned the land. They also didn’t like all of the development that went on around the area. The Gandiff’s appreciate a slower building community. So, they tried to price it at a point where it would encourage a little slower growth. There is ways around this of course. For the Grey’s, one way was for Garett to hold Gordon and Sarah hostage while Marissa and Tarissa get the land for almost nothing, then murder them and bury them on the property for the trouble. You know, reasonable actions. Which of course requires a reasonable reaction. I’m kind of like Newton’s third law of physics. For every reasonable action, there is an equal, yet opposite reaction. Or in this case, consequence. Crash smiled at the couple in his werewolf form, he was trying to be reasonable. Play the cute puppy dog again. I could see it was only partly working on Sarah. “You ever get your parents back?” Gordon shook his head. A tear built up in his eye as he spoke. “No. They disappeared. I know they’re dead, I just wish I knew where they were.” “You will,” Crash promised. “You will.” And with that, we turned around and left. We sat in Crash’s car in the driveway for a moment, while he shifted back. “No one notices,” I asked. He shook his head, “people see what they expect to see, what they want. It’s part of how the whole magic, glimmer, natural camouflage, whatever you want to call it, works. They don’t expect werewolves, so instead they just see a guy in a costume, or a hairy guy with his shirt open, or whatever.” “So,” Elouise asked from the back, “You get what you need? You gonna need statements?” “Well,” Crash said, “I hope your plan works,” he said looking at me. I pulled my phone out and replayed the recording. It seemed to pick up everything. “That work,” I asked. He nodded. “That works. Now for phase two,” he looked back at Elouise. “You ready to do your part?” She shrugged. “Ain’t like I got much a choice,” she said. “Let’s go play the big damn heroes.” |
| Okay I got a rough draft. It needs a re-write and an edit. But I also have a sick dog. So the day I typically do those things I was cleaning up vomit. It will be Sunday before I get the new update out. Sorry. |
| On occasion life, the universe, God, or whoever up there calling the shots tells me my plans are crap. This is usually done in some dramatic fashion, like having something I need explode before I can use it for example, or having something happen to make a slightly dangerous plan turn suicidal to attempt. The revelation of just how much money that Elouise had stolen from them had made my previous plan the latter. The old plan was that I was going to be bait. My entire job in the old plan was to do what I do best: kick the hornet’s nest and stir up trouble which would give Crash a reason to live up to his name’s sake and crash through the front door, thus saving the day and exposing the entire operation. But the revelation of the stolen cash kind of changed everything. People have been murdered over five bucks before. It happens, and more than you think. Ask a cop sometime, they’ll tell you. Life is cheap for some people. But when it comes to that much cash, someone dangerous is more likely to just bury the bodies, take the cash, and move on. So, being bait to someone who is missing that kind of money is like holding raw meat and jumping in a shark tank. My life expectancy in that plan could have been measured in seconds. So, the old plan was out. But at the moment, we didn’t have anything better. We sort of stared at each other for a few moments, each one of us thinking. Elouise, ran her fingers through her hair, and looked up towards the ceiling. Crash grumbled, and looked downward. I just pulled out my phone and began to mindlessly thumb through apps, but not really opening anything. The old plan was out. We needed a new one. Fast. “Why can’t you just go in there, anyway? Say there was an anonymous tip,” Elouise asked. “Because,” Crash said, “There’s no record of a tip, other than yours. Without that kind of evidence, I’d be arrested for whatever I’d legally be able to do, otherwise.” “I guess I can leave another,” she said. “Say I smelt blood or somethin.” “Not sure it would help,” Crash said. “It’s Barbecue. They deal in meat.” “Hang on,” I looked at Elouise. “Didn’t you say they were into drugs or something? Meth?” “Yeah,” she said. “They were pretty big in the biz goin on down there. Part of why I took the cash and left. I wanted to be small time, they kept pushing things bigger and bigger. Had to control everythin.” “So,” I said, tapping a finger against my chin. “Meth makes quite a stench.” Crash nodded. “It sure does. Takes a lot to clean up a house after it’s been used as a lab for that crap. I’ll go do a stalk and check. I can do those without paperwork.” It wasn’t that long before dusk, so me and Elouise hung out around her place while Crash shifted and did his routine. We expected him to be gone for several hours. I helped her unpack a few things and get her television set up so we could stream a TV show or movie or something. I expected to ignore an “office” marathon while I helped sort nick knacks, and to see him around day break. Instead, he was back before the moon had fully risen, holding a sign reading ‘For Sale By Olseni Realty’. “Who the hell is that,” I asked. He tossed it on the coffee table. “I don’t know. Those are up all over around there on fresh parcels around there. A couple of them are already near closing from some of the signs.” “That’s Marissa and Tarissa, I bet. Olseni is a gator species. It’s their little inside joke,” Elouise said. I rolled my eyes, “Like the twin thing.” She nodded, “Yeah, like the twin thing.” “So,” I said, “this whole damn family is funny.” “Regular jokers,” Crash grumbled. “Who don’t seem all that hygienic.” Elouise and Crash both looked at me. “You smelled the blood,” nodded to Crash. “You even identified the area.” “Yeah, believe it’s human blood, too,” he said. “So,” Elouise asked. “So,” I said, “you can always contact the health department. Have them do an inspection.” “I don’t understand,” Elouise asked. “How will that help?” “Cause,” I replied, “They’ll need an escort.” Crash nodded. “I’ll have to be discreet. Health department and my department aren’t exactly neighborly.” I smirked. “Just ask nicely.” This turned into one of those clusters of stupidity that can only happen in government. Whenever you get a large group of people together and give them regulatory power over another, on occasion you get these pockets of intelligent ignorance. Great means, efforts and minds went into making the dumbest things happen. Studies are done. Money is spent. Contractors are contacted and then you get a bridge that is built halfway to nowhere before it ends. This was one of those bridges. The sweet elderly couple that originally owned the land, Mr. and Ms. Gandiff, were the heart of the neighborhood. They drove an aging Lincoln Town Car, meticulously cared for by Mr. Gandiff. They attended church on Sunday and Wednesday. They smiled at children in the street. On Halloween they handed out full-sized candy bars. On Independence day and before Christmas they invite the entire neighborhood over for a get together. When a gay couple moved in three doors down from them, they didn’t judge or say nasty things. Mr. and Ms. Gandiff instead brought over some of her ‘world famous’ home-made fudge and welcomed them to the neighborhood. Then they disappeared. It was like an A&E special. The disappearance ripped through the neighborhood. After two days of witnessing their Town Car not moving, the police were called. Investigations were made. Video footage of Marissa and Tarissa were seen escorting the couple into a bank. They sat in a waiting area playing on their phones while they spoke to a loan officer. When the loan officer asked the couple if they were under duress, the couple were quick to shake their head and say ‘no’, even attempted a faint smile and a bad joke, but felt something was odd. Especially about the price the couple wanted to sell the land for. So, when the complaint was made to the health department, before Crash could get himself in as the escort, the Sheriff’s department beat him to it. They brought in cadaver dogs. Searched, sniffed, and investigated every square inch of the property. And found nothing. They did manage to get a piece of the floor from the restaurant to send to a lab, but results from that wouldn’t be seen for months. The cadaver dogs didn’t detect much of anything themselves and they didn’t pick up much of anything on Ground Penetrating Radar in the premises. So, what should have been an easy in, turned into a Sheriff and police department spinning their wheels, and the ‘myth’ department literally getting the bones. Crash revealed all of this to me a matter-of-factly. He was used to this. After all, ask any cop, sometimes police work is about playing the long game. He knew they were going to mess up one day. It could take a week. A month. A year. Five years. But sooner or later, they’d give him a reason, and he’d be able to finally enact his vengeance. Imagine a slow, simmering rage in a werewolf waiting five years to unleash on a group of murderers. There wouldn’t be enough soap in the world to wash their remains from the walls when he was done. But I didn’t have the patience to wait five years. The day had just broken when he told all of this to me. I’m sure he expected me to blow up. After all, Elouise and I had been waiting about a week now to hear what had happened. Instead of a simmering rage that burned as bright as the sun rising over the darkened landscape, I got cold. The best way to deal with the most horrible things in the world is to laugh at them. That’s why you’ll see EMT, cops, fire fighters and military having the darkest humor. It’s a stress relief valve so you don’t pop and go insane. But sometimes something so messed up happens that it wipes every joke from you. This was one of those times. “Crash,” I asked, “how much do you have left?” He yawned. “I dunno,” he said. “I’m about to shift, shower, then sleep. Why?” “Cause,” I replied. “I think it’s time we pay our respects to the family. Get Elouise, too.” “I’d be overstepping my bounds,” Crash said. “After all, I can’t just,” “They threatened an elderly couple. I’m willing to bet it was the big guy holding someone. Which means, he was probably in gator mode. Whatever line there that exists was crossed a long fucking time ago.” “Your plan is to give some poor guy or girl the scare of their lives,” he poured himself a cup of coffee as he spoke, then took a werewolf sip, his tongue dipping down like a dogs. “No. My plan is to show their family that there is something far scarier out there stalking what goes bump in the night.” “Let me get a shower and breakfast first. At least their kids will be in school.” |
| Much of Elouise’s house was still in boxes. There was furniture, but much of it was Ikea by way of Goodwill. Scratched and water-ringed particle board masterpieces in several shades of mismatched brown surrounded by boxes of clothing and other items. It was as if she had packed and unpacked in a hurry. Like she was running from something. She heard out my plan, with Crash behind me nodding and adding input whenever she needed. All questions were answered to the best of our ability. I could tell she was nervous, not just by how her hand shook when she held her coffee cup, or by the way she kept looking down. It was as if she was trying to hold herself together on that old threadbare torn up couch. Trying to hold herself together and hold out the world. “I just don’t think dat’s a good idea,” she stared down at her shoes as she spoke. “You see, they’s a reason why Marissa and Tarissa are so mad at me.” “Mad enough to kill,” Crash asked. She tapped her mug and stared down at her coffee. It had long since grown cold in her hands. Finally, she nodded. “Then it’s my job,” Crash began. “Your job is to protect them,” she said nodding towards me. “I’ll take care of myself.” “Don’t tell me what my job is Rogarou, I’ve been doing this a long time!” The volume at which Crash screamed that surprised both me and her. The only other time I’ve seen him that upset was with that thing with The Nobility. I looked up at him, expecting to see fur sprouting and a tail, but no. There was the beginnings of it on his face, sprinkled. It thickened his beard a bit, but no major fur. No tail. “Now talk.” Something about our previous encounter at the restaurant grabbed my attention just then. It had been nagging at me the way Marissa had said something like ‘the meth was your idea, not ours.’ I looked to Elouise, with as much concern in my voice and face and said “everyone makes mistakes. If you messed up in Louisiana, that has nothing to do with here. But if they’re dealing meth or murdering people or something, we need to know. Crash’s job isn’t just to protect humans, it’s to protect you as well.” She smiled at that for a moment, then closed her eyes as if she was building up courage. “I need,” she said, then took a long shuddering breath. “I need a moment.” She exhaled everything, staring down at the cold coffee, and set it down finally on a coffee table covered in boxes and packing material. “I…” “Anything from Louisiana, I won’t hold against you,” Crash said. “Even murder.” She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I didn’t mean to kill him. And technically, I didn’t. Not directly. But, Marissa was right. The meth was my idea. I figured a little hillbilly heroin was going to be easy pickins you know? Cops don’t mess with us Rougarou, and guys like you,” she nodded in Crash’s direction, “is hard to come by down in the bayou. So, everyone like us tends to do what we need to as long as you follow the rule. Don’t hurt the little folk, and stay out each other’s way.” She looked back up at me first. “You see, he’d been a longtime user. I had begun using as well. You know meth for us a little don’t do as much as it does for you. I had to kick it up a notch. So, I began to try and figure ways to make it stronger. I found one. Me and this human, the man I had a crush on, sank a few boats. My heart raced, and I got the giggles for a moment. I think I was just so happy I got it right. His heart raced. Then exploded. I panicked.” She sighed, then stared up at the ceiling. “He loved to call me his lizard woman, heh. I’m sorry Beau, I’m sorry.” There was a tear in her eye as she looked back down, staring more at our feet than our faces. “It was my fault. I buried the body out back behind the old trailer where we did those things. Then I ran. Left Marissa, Tarissa and Garett down there with the mess. Finally got this place up here. Been clean ninety days, thank goodness, and I’m staying clean for the rest of my life.” “So, it’s not meth,” I said. Elouise shrugged. “Probably not. I figured they probably want revenge on me for leaving them with a body, a trailer full of drugs, and the cops.” “Cops?” Me and Crash asked in unison, we looked at each other, then back at Elouise. She seemed to shrink into the couch. “I might have made an anonymous tip.” “So,” I said, standing up. I began to pace around the room. “What we have is a trio of Rougarou who are pissed at our poor girl here,” I nodded in her direction, “a body, an old trailer full of meth, and drugs.” “Don’t forget the blood in the restaurant,” Crash said. “And the money.” I looked at Crash. “Money?” He looked at Elouise. “How much?” “I dunno,” she said, “maybe, seven.” I walked over to Elouise. “Can I get some clarity here? Seven what?” “Seven hundred thousand dollars.” Crash said. “I’d say that’s a bit more than a little. I’d say that’s a lot. I’d also say that’s a big reason to have someone pissed at you.” Elouise nodded and held a pillow in her lap. When she shifted, she was honestly larger than Crash. She came close to him in height. But at that moment, Elouise looked tiny, like a scared little girl alone at a train station. “What we got,” I said, “is a whole lot of trouble.” |
| Well, I sincerely had hoped that Blogger would be the permanent home. It's interface was a little old and clunky, but I could deal with it. Then came the Squarespace deal. Squarespace, if you don't know, is a website hosting platform. They build them with their tools, let you buy domains and even can help you set up shops. They do the works. However sometime ago they altered their deal: They also get full rights to the information on your site. With the right to resell it to any AI company now and in the future. In their words "In Pertituity". I never intended to make a billion dollars off of this. But I sure as hell never intended for someone else to do so and make me pay for that right. So, I'm pulling my blog, Life With A Werewolf, off of blogger before it goes fully to Squarespace. I will be moving that blog back to here. This is the site with the easiest interface for me to use, that has the easiest interface for my readers, and I already have some of it here, already. So, starting tomorrow Life With A Werewolf will start moving back home. I'm moving the blog back in. I'll delete the blog on blogger no later than Friday, 23 February, 2024. When that's gone, I'll remove this message. Thank you, everyone. |
| I tried to stay out of Crash’s business. I really did. I kept my head down. I didn’t acknowledge the occasional weirdness that I would sometimes witness. I stayed good, in my lane and only focused on my own life. For my effort I got roped into settling a troll’s family dispute, timing a race for a gator lady that may have been hitting on Crash, and ended up at a restaurant run by former associates of said gator woman. The world, it seems, doesn’t want me out of its business; no matter how much I may want to mind my own. After our restaurant rendezvous Elouise met us in our driveway. She had words for what happened. Words like, irresponsible. Words like reckless. Words like insane. “You’re putting his ass on the line in ways he don’t even understand.” She waved her arms and shouted quite an awful lot. Spoke about me as if I was a kid. I could tell that Crash was getting sick of it, I could hear the growl building up in his throat. “Jesus, I could do your job better than,” she began. Before, Crash could explode, I did. The military has a saying. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. This means you practice to be smooth, you don’t practice to be fast. You get smooth, you’ll be fast. I pulled my pistol out of its holster in one smooth motion and pointed it at her. Since I practiced doing it so much, it was pretty fast. Elouise’s words caught in her throat. I watched her muscular throat work for a few moments, as her brain processed just how fast that was. “I don’t think you understand,” I said. “I’m a veteran. What that means is that I’m a trained killer. This gun isn’t for show. I practice with it. A lot.” I couldn’t see it, but I knew Crash was nodding his head behind me. “I use it a lot too. I’m not helpless.” Then I turned to Crash. “And I’m not stupid. You want my help. Ask.” I turned back to Elouise. “And you. Start talking. Tell me what I’m stepping in the middle of.” She blanched then looked down. “I done said everything that needs being said.” “Maybe I didn’t catch any of that,” I said. “Maybe, we can start with the elderly couple that used to own that property out there who is now probably in the barbecue?” Her face turned red, but she didn’t say anything. “Oh, come on,” I said. “Crash smells a huge blood stain but see’s no blood. I sure as hell didn’t see a blood stain when we came in. I know what dried blood looks like, believe me. So, no visible blood, but to a werewolf it certainly was there. Now we want to pretend that it wasn’t parts of them cooking up out there in the special sauce?” “We don’t do that,” Elouise snarled. “Not usually.” “Let me guess, your guy back there twists their arm for the land? To do what? Meth?” She didn’t answer, and suddenly began to find something interesting in her nails. “That’s it, isn’t it? Fucking meth? Again?! What the actual,” “Jason,” Crash said. I looked over at him. His eyes said a whole lot. “Don’t.” I tucked my pistol back in its holster. “I’m willing to help,” I said to him, then to her. “But, I’m not stupid. I know when I’m being used. Either talk to me and tell me everything, or you don’t get my help.” He held his hands up, “you said you didn’t want to know,” he said. “And you said no more treating me like a pawn,” I snapped back. “Remember?” “You can both include me in when you start treating me like an adult,” I growled, then stomped back into the house, slamming the door for full effect. I admit, it was a little childish. But, I was upset. They didn’t tell me a damn thing, just kept stringing me along as if I was a puppet. If you put up with that, they may as well tie strings to your limbs and drag you around the house. I went to my room, and closed the door, staring out into the mural in my bedroom of the Tuscany coast. My mind though was far away from Italian food and sunny beaches. In these types of things on television, it takes about two minutes, there’s a knock at the door, and some sort of cheesy eighties touchy feely music plays while Bob Saget attempts to give a heartfelt speech without cursing for five minutes. But fortunately, life isn’t like a sitcom and I got a little space to calm down. He played it smart. He waited till morning. Brewed me coffee. Even cooked breakfast. So, with a plate full of crispy bacon, burnt eggs, and a couple slices of toast in front of me, I was a little less growly. Even though there was two pans in the sink, a dirty bowl and a stove covered in werewolf fur, grease and dried egg splatter. “Can we talk,” he asked. He was even in werewolf mode for this, the chair flipped around backwards at the table with his ears down and tail tucked. He looked like the worlds largest dog had just been scolded. “Sure,” I grumbled, then bit into the eggs. And immediately grabbed the hot sauce. “Jason, you never want to be involved, but you always want to help” he said. The morning sun began to rise just a bit, touching the horizon, and began to shine on his dark fur, giving the black fur an almost chocolate look in the early light. “You took off work for this,” I said. He nodded. “Well, yes. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.” He blew air through his nose and out his mouth, wrinkling the lips on his muzzle a bit. “Shit dude, I was trying to fulfil your intentions, but there’s only so much I can do.” I swallowed my food, then paused with a piece of bacon in my hand. “And Charles?” “You’re not the first person Charles has approached with his problems. Why do you think his family was there so long? It was after New Years and they were still there for a Christmas party.” I bit into a slice of bacon. It was cooked to a crisp perfection. Hardly no black on it, either. “So, Charles bothers others for advice?” Crash’s ear tilted a bit in what I interpreted as humor. “He’s asked half the town for help. He’s been bothering people since Christmas day. You’re just the first one to actually do anything.” “Ah.” I finished the piece of bacon. It was pretty good, but I just wish he didn’t burn the eggs. Or destroy the kitchen in the process of cooking them. I let my “ah” hang in the air for a moment while I chewed. Crash waited, his ears down and back, his tail in that small wag dogs get when they’re trying to apologize for doing something bad. I swear, sometimes being a werewolf is a cheat code. “Oh come on, stop it! I forgive you, okay? I forgive you for not including me in your plans, and I forgive you for the bad eggs.” He brightened up for a moment. “Yay!” He said, hopping up. Then it dawned on Crash what I said about his eggs. “Wait a minute, I thought those eggs were pretty good.” “I don’t mind helping,” I said. “But, did I really have to be there?” “They almost attacked with you there,” Crash said, “imagine what would have happened without you being there.” “So,” I said, “rip their heads off. Problem solved.” Crash rolled his eyes. His ears went flat when he did that. I didn’t know a werewolf’s ears to go flat for that before I moved in with Crash. Then again, I didn’t know werewolves existed either. “In front of humans. Plus, technically without a probable cause, I can’t even investigate, much less punish. Right now all I have is a bunch of maybe’s.” “So, the blood?” Crash shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a barbecue restaurant. Maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s bovine and swine.” “The lye and the fertilizer.” “Maybe it’s to cover a grave. Maybe they just planted fresh plants around the property and used the dining area to prep them.” “You smell something though,” I said. “Yes, but there’s no evidence of current distress in any of the local humans or mythicals. All their paperwork is in order with city hall. I don’t like them, but I can’t just kill someone cause I don’t like them.” This was a problem. One that would require finesse and intelligence. A cunning plan to draw them out into the open. Crash’s ears went back as soon as I began to grin. “Oh no,” he said. “No. This is why I didn’t tell you what was going on in the first place. No.” “I didn’t tell you my plan yet,” I said. “The answer is still no,” he growled. “I know your plans. No.” “Come on,” I said. “Just hear me out.” He did. He wasn’t happy when he heard it either. But, without any other choices present, he did accept. Now, I just had to get Elouise to play along. That was going to be difficult. |
| Crash doesn’t do restaurant reviews or ratings. In fact, he doesn’t eat out all that much. He’d prefer to just catch it, he says. Or to just have something here. So, him asking me if I’d like to go out for barbecue was a bit strange. What was stranger was when he told me “Bring your pistol.” “So, this isn’t something you’d like the rest of the gang in on,” I was strapping my shoulder holster on when I spoke. Crash shook his head, still in human form. His beard had been trimmed up for this, making it look like a dark chin strap across his chin. “No, I’d rather they stay home. With you next to me, they should play nice. But we’ll see.” “So, myth owned, then.” “Yes,” Crash shrugged. “Rougarou.” “Rou ragu?” “No, Rougarou. Louisiana. Cajun country shape shifters. They’re weregators kinda, but the locals attribute their legend to us werewolves.” “So, a shapeshifting gator. Like Elouise.” Crash slipped on a jacket as he spoke. “Like, her. Come on. We got a booth to grab.” I followed him out the door and took his cue to wear a jacket. We were taking his Cadillac, and he never drives that thing with the top up. At least the weather was cooperating. It may have been cold, but it also was sunny, which gave us that nice paradox of a beautiful sky with a few fluffy clouds to go with our almost subzero temperatures. Crash never seems to feel this sort of weather, but he wears the jacket like a perfunctory type of thing. Everyone expects him to be cold and wear a jacket so he wears one. I have seen him shiver, but that was usually from pain, not the cold. But what would you expect from someone who will run through the snowy woods at night ‘in the fur’, so to speak. The trip was to the next town over, which was thankfully short. We took backroads the entire way, Crash letting the V-8 sing out a little bit, revving the engine up as if he was mentally preparing himself for something. His unnatural quiet shifted my demeanor, and by the time we pulled up to the shack, I was glad to have my pistol with the silver rounds in it. It was the kind of rundown shack on the edge of town that everyone local knows is trouble. A converted hay barn of sorts that they had purchased from a big box hardware store like a Lowe’s or Home Depot, the interior left little to be desired. The flooring was finished though, the tables were old, and the walls had insulation and cheapest paneling they could get away with. In the back outside was a smoker, and you could smell the sweet scents of meat and fat sweating long hours over hot coals. When we arrived, there was a few people there, but quite a number of tables were empty. It could have been the odd hour we arrived at, the dead zone between lunch and dinner, or it could have been the place just hadn’t caught on yet. Behind the gravel parking lot was more trees that perhaps would one day be bustling businesses, but chances are, would just be more trees for years to come. We took a table near the door, sat and waited. It was a counter service type place, with an old-fashioned eighties style register on it near the back by the smoker. Green LEDs stared out the number 0.00 at me, as if attempting to beckon me to make a sale. Two beautiful women were working the counter, with someone else outside working the smoker. I couldn’t see him but could occasionally hear a gruff Cajun voice mention about serving this or that up. The wait didn’t last for long. The door opened, and a very gruff and disappointed Elouise came, twisted a chair around, and sat down over it, glaring at Crash from across the table. “I’m here,” she growled. “I suppose this is the thanks I get for doing my civic duty.” Crash arched an eyebrow. “No, this is the thanks you get for holding back information.” “I told everything I know,” she snarled. Crash tapped his nose and smirked. “I can smell when you’re lying, you know.” I watched as one of the women from behind the counter walked towards the table. Elouise growled deep in her throat as the woman approached. “Elouise, as I live and breathe, how are you sugah,” the woman said. “Why, I thought you said, ‘I’ll never step foot inside your hellhole again.’ That’s what I remember hearing. Yet hear you are.” “Hello Marissa,” Elouise snarled. “Still pretending you’re a blonde, I see.” It was a pretty bad dye job. You could see her brunette roots. Her eyebrows were still brunette. It looked as if she dyed her hair blonde to look like she dyed her hair blonde. “Blondes have more fun. I keep telling Tarissa that, but she keeps dying her hair brunette. You know how sisters are.” Elouise rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. “Meet my friends. This here’s Jason,” she said nodding towards me. “And that’s Crash,” she said. Marissa looked towards me, “You’re the blogger,” she said, then smiled at Crash, “and you’re the cop,” Marissa threw her hands up, ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t chew, I give up,” she said, then chuckled. “Why’d you bring the popo here, Ellie, you trying to blame us for something? The meth was your idea not ours, and it’s why we had to leave Louisiana in the first place.” “I was younger. Dumber,” Elouise said. “I don’t do that stuff no more. I’m clean.” Marissa looked from Elouise back to Crash. Annoyance began to break through her pleasant ‘how do ya do’ smile. “And I run a respectable establishment. Go ahead dog, sniff around. You won’t find nuthin.” Crash laughed. “You gators are all the same. You look at me and think that I can’t possibly, oh, I don’t know, smell the human blood from the blood stain you bleached out then tried to refinish. Two people, I do believe. Man? Woman, I think? Now, if I shifted and took a big whiff, I’d find out more, but, I mean, why bother? Who needs to scare all these good people here?” Hands on her hip, a glare in her eye, Marissa said “Well, that’s the sorta stuff I’d like to see a warrant for, isn’t it?” It came out all jumbled together, with the words ‘isn’t it’ sounding more like ‘idn’t it’. “Order something, or get out.” “I thought this was a counter service,” I leaned on my fists, resting my elbows on the table. She glared at me like she wanted to bite my head off, looked at Crash, then stomped back to her counter and glared at me from the other side of it. “How much you want to bet they’ll spit in our food,” I asked Crash. He smirked. “You wouldn’t get that lucky. Rougarou spit has been known to have healing properties.” “You’re kidding,” I said. “Spit in my old neighbor’s stew in Louisiana all the time. Helped her with her arthritis,” Elouise said. There wasn’t a hint of a smirk on her face. “You’re kidding,” I said to her. “Am I,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “Are we,” Crash said arching his own. It was right about then that my brain betrayed me. Images of the cook in full gator form began to run through my head. In my head, I could see him spit into a to-go box full of BBQ, then put the dish into the window so both waitresses also in gator form of course, could spit into the dish. In the scene in my mind, Marissa smiled sweetly as she placed the dish on the counter. “That’s a half pound of pulled pork, extra saliva, sugah. Anything else,” she asked, grinning. The elderly woman reached in and grabbed a big handful and took a bite, saying “no deary, that’s perfect,” between bites. Both began to laugh at my full body shiver as I tried to shake the thoughts from my brain. “Alright, I’m out of here,” I grumbled, “let’s go to Micky D’s.” Their laughter followed me out the door. Most of the trip back was made in silence. I didn’t bother asking Crash why he even invited me. I think I know. His office probably doesn’t have a lot of humans in it. But he needed a human near him for this. That exchange between the wait staff, Elouise and Crash was particularly icy. I didn’t have a lot to say or do there. Normally it’s me ramping up the tension with some stupid flex or threat. But this time Crash was the one talking. So, it’s like he wanted me there as a check. To keep them or himself calm. That exchange with Elouise and Marissa too, that was something else. If I hadn’t had been there, would they have started fighting? What does Elouise have to do with them? Obviously, there is some history there. I have no idea what’s going on, but I can tell when things are getting out of hand. This time, I can honestly say I have nothing to do with it. But if I’m going to start going on jobs with Crash like this, I hope I’ll at least start getting paid for it. I could use the money. |
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