Life With A Werewolf

New Business Ventures Part 4

          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.”