Life With A Werewolf

New Business Ventures Part 5

          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.”