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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 My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| It had taken some time and effort, but we finally got Behring's schedule. Behring, being the head of The Nobility here in America, was a bit difficult to nail down. Most of his time was spent in L.A. and New York. He hated coming to 'fly over country' as it's been called and even hated more, having to spend time here. But, due to Roam's activities and whatever he had Crash up to, it pulled Behring away from important meetings with several heads of tech corporations. Meetings that involved a lot of alcohol and time spent on yachts of course. But important meetings, none the less. I do not want to disparage the efforts of Cecily here. She was the silent warrior in all of this. With a pot of overly caffeinated coffee on standby, she spent hours and days weaving her way through forums, blog posts, Reddit postings, and delved into private accounts in chat rooms, further into computer and cloud data, and finally had achieved her goal: collecting, then verifying Verner's schedule for his time locally. There's just no way to describe what she did other than in a couple of sentences. But those sentences do not do her effort justice, and I'm grateful she was able to get that information. But it took time, and while she was chugging coffee, listening to old rock and roll and Electro swing, I had taken Zack, Sean, and Kris out back to rehearse and work on our own part of the plan. Could have I gotten pistols? Yes. It would have been easy for me to use Roam's connections and get a couple more pistols, some silver ammunition, and had a little target practice. But, the thing was, I didn't want there to be shooting. Not if we were able to do what I had hoped we were able to do. So, instead, we practiced working with radios, working with traffic. Following and trailing vehicles without being seen. They wanted a taste of military life, and boy did they get it: repeating the same actions over and over, studying a single plan as many ways as they could until they were ready to vomit the details and started seeing them in my life. No one liked it, but I do appreciate everything the time they gave me for it. What I wanted was simple. I wanted a conversation. You don't exactly schedule a sit down with Behring. The only ones that ever got to his smug, GQ looking face was those in his inner circle. Everyone else was unworthy of his time and couldn't reach the 'alpha' under no circumstances. What's more, The Nobility regularly employs normal humans to work with them and their shell organizations, though none of them know what's going on or the truth about werewolves. That's how I knew this was going to work. Verner didn't care enough about the humans around him to recognize their scent let alone study their face. The day we chose to do it on, Verner had a meeting down town with some of the zoning boards, where he planned to throw his weight around. Then there was going to be a dinner. A limo of course would take him from City Hall to the three blocks in front of the restaurant. After cocktails and steak, he would then travel back to the office. From there would be a private jet flight to Los Angeles to help set up future workings in California. We didn't plan on Verner making the flight out to California. The city street we'd chosen was a quiet one. Standard traffic moved through, that cared more about sitting at Redlights than they did about the going on's around them. Many people get tunnel vision in cars, they see bystanders, but don't pay attention to what's happening to them unless there's a wreck or gunshots. Their tunnel vision would help my plan. Zack and Donte road together in one vehicle. Kris and Sean took another, and as our werewolf friend dined on the finest in rare steak cooked at the finest restaurant in that small city, Donte was dropped off. It was glorious to see an expert at work. The conversation went smooth, a handshake was completed, and the man gave Donte a hat and walked off. When I asked later what had happened, he said, "I just convinced him that I was there to take over his shift. He looked disgruntled and I got the impression he'd been harrassed all morning by that jerk." It did take some 'tools of the trade' to complete the job. I get the impression that 'tool of the trade' was a wad of cash. Donte walked over, opened the door for me and I got in. Easy peasy. Kris climbed in the drivers seat next to Donte. The other two continued circling. The plan was in motion. The limo was this gleaming piece of American machinery. A glorious tribute to excess and notoriety, built out of a German SUV. There was a total of six doors on it, a hatch back that did not open, and plush red carpets and red leather on the inside. The roof was some sort of fancy electrostatic glass, that at the press of a button went clear or turned to a dark gray. A fridge near the end held champagne. There was the obligatory television inside as well, and probably some game station or another if I'd bothered to look. Verner Behring didn't even recognize me at first when he climbed in the back. Just sat back, his good arm resting on the arm rest. When he did recognize me, see me sitting opposite of him, holding the pistol out towards him, he gave me a small smile, then pulled out the champagne bottle, and a couple glasses. Meticulously he began to pour them. "Last time we met," he said, "I was not a good host. For that I do apologize. Would you like champagne?" "I don't drink." He smiled. "That's right. You're pretending you're not an alcoholic. I keep forgetting that." I gave him a dark chuckle. "Alcoholics go to meetings. I'm a recovering drunk. How's your left hand these days?" "It's a good thing I'm right handed," he said. "I guess this is why we did not find you at home." "If you had called ahead, we could have arranged something." He laughed. "Yes, I remember. Trip wire. Paint cans was it? Did you copy everything from Home Alone in that attempt at home defense?" "No," I said. "Some of it was from 'Blank Check'. Did you get your butts kicked again when we weren't even home?" Silence. "Okay, I want to hear about this." He balled up a fist in his good hand and glared at me. "It's a good thing I'm right handed, you know. Though, next time we're in town we'll have to do more than punish your troll friends for all of the trouble they caused." "You what?" "Oh, cat got your tongue? Your troll friends. You took an arm, so I did the same. Don't worry, she'll survive. Probably." We glared at each other for a moment. Red anger flared up in me for a moment. Charles' family did nothing to deserve that kind of treatment. Kris clicked on the intercom. "If you don't shoot his smug ass, I will." "There is more than one way to fight a war," he said. His grin widened. "All of your friends will be punished. All of your family. We will cut you off from everyone and everything you've ever loved." I shook my head. Somewhere, inside, the laughter came. It built up and grew into this glorious loud, long guffaw that must have had everyone who could hear me scratching their heads. "I didn't think you were, but you are. Oh my God, thank you! Thank you for being so, predictably, empirically stupid! Wow!" "I am sorry, I am confused. Why is this humorous to you?" He truly was confused. He did the head-tilt and everything. "Because, you jackass, you're making moves. But, in classic, 'Nobility' fashion, you're making moves too late! Wow! No wonder you're getting your asses kicked everywhere." I had no idea if they were, but his face growing dark when I said that told me I'd gotten close to the mark. "You operate here at the behest of several organizations and politicians. Money talks, everyone knows that. You wanted to fight a war. Did you think my entire plan was to what, sit down with you in the back of some cheesy limo and watch you drink over priced champagne?" I sighed, heavily, and leaned forward. "Crash. His re-acquaintance. His boss. A few friends I have from my old occupation. Well, we've been busy. Meanwhile, you're hacking up innocent neighbors who's only real crime is being way too open about their sex life, we've been working." The full weight of my plan. It wasn't about a sit down with Verner. "You're right. There's many ways to fight a war," I said. "These corporations, you see, they just want to make money as quickly and easily as possible. If you give them a bit of a shove, they will stumble forward for you without you having to do all that much." He glared at me, "you didn't..." I smiled wider, "attack anyone? You're right. Did we talk? Oh, you bet. Don't worry shnookims, you're not the first wannabe warlord defeated with a few phone calls and a couple of afternoon meetings." He gritted his teeth, but he laughed. "If we weren't in traffic, I'd have torn you apart by now. But you are smart. You see, I've been a little distracted assembling my own little dossier, this one on someone you may know." As he passed the file folder over to me, it had a single word across the top of it. "Crash". "I was tempted to tell you his real name," Verner said, "but why spoil the surprise on that." I opened the file. The contents. Well, the contents wasn't anything I hadn't seen before. "Your friend has been a busy puppy," he said. "I'd say his body count is up to thirteen as we speak. If he completed his mission it may very well be at fourteen by now." The images were from Crash's recent escapades. He'd been a very busy werewolf, slaughtering other werewolves, humans, just about anyone that had power and pull in his organization in the area. He had been busy. I wasn't stupid. I knew Crash was capable. Hell, everyone is capable within the right circumstances. But, some of these attacks seemed more than over the top. "He was sending a message like he used to," Verner said. "That was his signature, you know? Mutilation. Shred the body, toss the pieces around. Create a scene so horrifying that even the local police would be terrified of him." I closed the folder. "So," I said, "it seems we're at a cross roads." "What are you going to do about your friend? Not so innocent, is he?" "Look, Verner, you haven't changed anything. You still have the girl." He rolled his eyes. "Oh, that runaway. What a mess." "What do you know about it," I said. "She loves Roam still. We haven't been able to break her of that, yet. She's not certain about living with werewolves anymore, of that we were more successful. But another week, week and a half, and we will have her right where we need her to be." I nodded. "More than one way to fight a war." He smirked. "Yeah. We will have our victory one way or another. The trolls you so callously lived with should be gone by the time you get back. This little girl will piss herself anytime Roam shows fur. And, you, well, we have our plans." I set the pistol down on my knee. "You see? This is growth. This is me growing. Five years ago, I'd have executed you for that. Now? Well, Let's just say I'm learning." "What does that mean?" "That means, you're even dumber than you look if you think I just stopped at harassing a few executives at home." Then I leaned forward. I pressed a button for the intercom. "Okay, Kris. Find a curb." As he pulled the limo over, I said, "this is what I will do. For every single person you injure or kill, we'll kill three. We'll go after them at home. I'll go after them at work. There will be no safe place for you or anyone in your organization. We won't kill the foot soldiers. We'll go after you. Your board. Every. Single. One." I held up the folder he handed me, "and this?" I tossed it back at him. "Will look tame when we're done." Then I opened the door. "More than one way to fight a war. Have Evelyn back in Roam's arms safe and sound by the end of business today. Or we start getting mean." "How much do you trust Crash?" I paused, then turned to look at him. He took a sip of champagne, then set the glass back down. "That's just some of what he's been up to. I know enough about your 'friend' that could chill the blood of even you. You go on pretending that humans and werewolves are just the same. That everyone should love each other and sing and dance together in blissful harmony. But the truth is, he is a monster. Hunting other monsters. What happens when there are no more monsters to hunt?" The champagne bottle was still in the mini-fridge, where he left it at. I shot through the door of the fridge. I believe I hit it, though couldn't tell through the hissing of the freon. Even Verner backed away from that. "He'll get drunk like the rest of us monsters," I said then slammed the door behind me. There's no telling if he ever heard a single word that came out of my mouth after I fired that shot. But, he had it coming. Kris and Donte got out of the front, and all three of us walked to the car following behind us. I let Donte grab the door, and grabbed Kris's shoulder. "No matter what you heard," I said in his ear, "he's still your friend." Kris gave me a look like I'd slapped him. "I know," he said back. Then, he climbed in the car and we left Verner to sit there. With his busted fridge in his limo, in a crappy neighborhood of the small city he was calling a home base. There's more than one way to fight a war. The best way, I've found can many times let you win without sacrificing a single life. On the way home, I was hoping and praying to God, the universe, or anyone listening that I had found that way. We'd never change Verner's mind. His way of thinking has brought him too much excess to ever think different. Hopefully, though, those threats did something. Hopefully he checked to find out that three of those companies had indeed backed off, that his back pocket politician was renegotiating the deal they made. All changes made with phone calls and lots and lots of talking. Most of which wasn't done by me. Would it even work? Time would only tell. What was we going to go back to? Time would only tell for that, as well. |
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