The results were sobering, if not depressing. My main campaign on FundstarterGoGo had four backers for a total of fifty bucks. My Matreon, the monthly funding campaign, had two backers who had pledged $5 a month. I barely had enough pledged for beer, much less living and hunting expenses. I couldn't use the video with the exploding head since it was incriminating, so I needed some way to drum up interest. More business cards? Or a better video?
My depressed brainstorming session was interrupted by the arrival of Mikkel, who showed up just about the same time as Dickie. Outside of Mikkel, Dickie was my best friend. He's a black dude with a short orange mohawk who plays punk music, is good at getting with women, and even better at not staying with them. He's always had an easy smile and a fluid charisma which covered over the fact he could be a bit of an ego maniac. Nothing strange in that, as it's an occupational hazard in the music industry. I noticed his mohawk was freshly dyed orange again; normally he switches up colors, but he's been orange for most of the year, so I guess he liked it.
"Whassamatter Szandor?" said Dickie with his winning smile as he slid into the booth next to me.
"Girl trouble," said Mikkel as he sat down across from us.
"What, again?" said Dickie, signaling to Maybell for a drink.
"No, it's not," I said. "Well, I mean, I have girl trouble, but that's not what I was frowning about."
"You always have something to frown about," said Dickie. "A scowl is just part of the Szandor charm."
"Ha ha," I said sarcastically. "Being a Dick as always."
"Naturally," said Dickie with a smile. "You know of course that I am on hand for advice in all styles of girl problems."
"Except the ones that involve a relationship," noted Mikkel.
"And so I am wounded by the family man!" said Dickie, mockingly clutching his heart. "So are you two tying the knot, birthing some spawn, and moving out to Glenntown to have picket fences?"
"I'd rather have the right one than a new one every night," said Mikkel.
"How about we not talk about relationships at all?" I said. "I think I've had enough for one day. Or week. Enough for a whole week."
"Fine with me," said Dickie. "So how long is it since you sung?"
Way back in the day, Dickie and I were in a band. But then I found the pressure of doing both that and hunting was too much, since I was bailing on practice sessions. So I dropped out. For Dickie, music was his life and still was. He played guitar and nowadays was the front man of Avalon X, his own punk band for the last year or so. I still envied that life when I heard his stories.
"You know it's been a dog's life since then," I said.
"That's a shame," said Dickie. "But all is not lost! What if I told you that I had a golden opportunity?"
"I'd say that it sounds like you're trying to sell me something," I said. "You have the tone you use when you're talking up girls at a club."
Dickie laughed. "Maybe so. It's my convincing tone. Don't I sound convincing?"
"Completely fake," said Mikkel.
"Absolutely," I agreed.
Dickie laughed again. "Maybe I am. But what I have to say is true. What would you say if I told you that Avalon X was looking for a new singer?"
"No shit?" I said. "What happened to Johnny-whatshisface?"
"You mean the illustrious Johnny Ass?" said Dickie. I knew from past conversations that the guy's stage name was actually something like Johnny Flash. "Last I heard, he had disappeared up his own ass in a feat of pure narcissism. He's out of the band. He spent too long trying to do his thing in my band, and the only other people he'd listen to besides himself were the groupie girls he ran through like toilet paper until they didn't want to come to the shows anymore. I'm the front man, so I don't need a damn narcissist. Not one besides myself, at least."
"Yet you're asking Szandor?" said Mikkel with a grin as he sipped his beer. I elbowed him.
Dickie smiled and shrugged. "I believe in taking chances."
"Why not a different direction?" I said. "I dunno, a chick singer or something. What about Marilyn Dust? She's been making a name for herself, and unlike me, she can actually sing."
"That's the problem, she's made a name for herself," said Dickie. "Marilyn and the Dustwalkers are doing well. And she's also trying an avant feminist folk solo side project as Dusty Vahjeen. Sure, she could be in more than one band, like most musicians in this town, but then Avalon X would be number two or probably number three for her, and I really need to be the number one band with my people."
"You know that I have other obligations," I said. "Hunting and stuff."
"Sometimes, but not much," said Mikkel. "You always overstate that."
"But I do have some!" I said. "I don't want to cancel on practice or even a gig."
"I'm willing to have you serve two masters if it's not another band," said Dickie. "Maybe it adds some flavor of you being the dangerous type. We can put the monster hunting in your bio, and people can believe it or not believe it."
"Great, I'm a marketing tool," I said.
"Maybe just a tool," said Mikkel with a smile.
"When my brother is scoring easy points off me, maybe it's time to pack it in," I said, finishing my drink.
"Just consider it, man, I'd really like to have you on board," said Dickie.
I shook my head. "You still seem like you're selling something."
A cutting riff of one of my favorite songs coming from my pocket indicated I had just received a text message. I read it and put my phone back into my pocket with a tired shake of my head.
"Girl trouble again?" said Mikkel.
I nodded. "She was asking if I was here. Her and some of her friends are coming down here. 'Slumming', she said, but I think there's an ulterior motive in choosing Twin Eagles."
"Twin Eagles is good for romance," said Dickie. "Many an Egan couple has solidified their relationship here. I believe Lem was conceived on one of the pool tables in the back."
"Yeah, no," I said. "Right now, I just don't have the peace of mind to deal with her. I'm gonna say something stupid and it's going to go to shit."
"Sounds like Szandor As Usual," said Dickie.
I frowned. "See? I don't even have a good comeback. That's why I need to go. Besides, maybe I need a good night's sleep, got some work tomorrow."
"Odd jobs? Or..." Dickie made gun firing motions with both his hands like a cowboy, even though he knew we almost never used guns.
"Yeah, hunting," I said. "I get to go up to beautiful Cobalt County again."
"Ugh," said Dickie. "I wouldn't get caught dead up there."
"In some parts of Cobalt County, if they caught you, you would end up dead," I said.
"Because I'm black or 'cause I'm punk?" said Dickie.
"Either? Both? Take your pick, really," I said. "Rednecks and stuff."
"And bullshit," said Mikkel. "Seriously, how much time have you spent in Cobalt County? Have you even heard them say something racist?"
"They seem the type," I said defensively.
"And you seem the type to be a major asshole, but they don't hold it against you," said Mikkel. "You don't know any of that for sure. You're just using your paranoia of small towns as an excuse to judge people."
"Man, Mikkel gets into a committed relationship with a college girl and he goes all intellectual," said Dickie, taking a drink.
"I figured you'd enjoy open mindedness," said Mikkel. "That's in your music, isn't it?"
"I do," said Dickie. "But fuck Cobalt County."
Mikkel shook his head dismissively. To me: "Who are you going up there with? Meat?"
"Yep, I get to head up with him to check out a warehouse. So I'll listen to him go on about how great it is about being marine before he then shoots something."
"Hey, it's better than being benched," said Mikkel.
I nodded. "We can only hope."
No Brakes
"You always want to police your brass. I can't stress this enough. First off, if you're on the wron
g side of the law, a LEO can tie you to the bullets. They can often connect the brass to the gun and even get your fingerprints off them. But it's also proper firearm maintenance. You police your brass, you respect your weapon, and you make sure there's no evidence you were ever there."
If, like me, you had never heard the phrase "police your brass" before, know that it has nothing to technically do with law enforcement nor the quirky substance known as Avalon Brass. When you fire a round out of a gun, generally a casing for the bullet is ejected. You don't see that often on television unless they're getting real into the visuals on an automatic weapon, and then they overdo it, so there's shells flying everywhere in slow motion. But in real life, casing are flung out of your gun every time you fire[8]. I was being advised to pick them up by Meat, who was definitely the biggest firearm enthusiast I knew.
On first glance, you might think Meat was a heavy drinker, part of a militia group, or even a redneck. He was a husky guy in probably his fifties, his reddish brown hair often under a cap. I don't know if his neck was red or not, since he often seemed like he didn't have a neck, as his beard and collar seemed to hide all evidence of it. He was often dressed in army surplus clothing, though thankfully never in tacky camouflage. At any given time, he was typically carrying at least two handguns, and that was when he wasn't hunting. Like us, he was a monster hunter and had been one for a long time. He had also been a marine, and like Meat would tell you, "Once a marine, always a marine." He ran his jobs like military missions, and if you were with him, you were expected to treat it the same way.
I was his newest recruit.
We were driving in his SUV back up into Cobalt County. I hadn't yet gotten the uncomfortableness of my last trip up there out of my system, but I had already been scheduled to go up with Meat before the other nonsense had happened. Part of Mikkel's plan was to get me back into things slowly and I guess learn from others. He said it was just like the movie Repo Man, but I hadn't seen it, so that reference was lost on me yet again. He said I would love the movie, but I haven't had time for movies lately.
I've discovered that when you ride along with hunters, they all want to share their golden nuggets of wisdom. Doesn't matter how much I've hunted myself, I'm in school as soon as I get in their cars. They'll tell me everything from how to approach a building, what boots to wear, how best to imitate a ghoul screech, and why I should have a safe house even my brother doesn't know about. It's like they've been waiting years to tell you this. The wisdom of a hunter needs to be shared, at great length, and even to those that don't give a damn. If there's even a vague chance you might be called "rookie", you're going to get an earful.
"In a way, being a monster hunter is being a marine," said Meat, repeating a far too common analogy of his. "We're here because nobody else is going to do it. We're the best of the best and the only ones equipped to deal with it all. Sure, we want to go in well-armed and ready. But the perfect moment is never going to come. You go to war with the army you have, not the army you want. So sometimes you just need to plow in and get some."
"Wait, that's your advice?" I said. "Just plow in and get some? That's how you're dealing with dangerous situations?"
"First in, last out, nobody left behind," said Meat. "It's gotta get done, so we'll get it done."
"So just go ahead and hope it works out?" I said. "Everyone tells me that's the wrong way to go about things."
"I take the time for research," said Meat. "I try to be as prepared as I can. Well-armed, well-geared, the right approach, and such. But we deal with creatures that kill people. We need to do something, even if we're not hundred percent about things. We do this for people. We don't have the luxury of cowardice."
"Call it whatever you want, cowardice or carefulness, but it's the right call," had said Paulie, just a few days before. He was smoking a cigarette and driving. "Reckless danger is a dead man's game. Being unprepared gets you killed. You take the time to make everything perfect, then you do the job. Not ready? Take the time. Be ready."
"But what about the people who might die in the mean time because you didn't kill the monsters?" I had suggested.
"It's unfortunate, but people die. We know this. People die before we even get on the job. People are always going to die. But you need to look at the big picture. We hunters are a very small group. There are not new hunters getting into the business every day, and when we die, we might not be replaced. So okay, you are not 100% on this job, but you know two people are going to die if you don't go today. You decide to be reckless to save those two lives. Guess what, you made a bad call, the odds were against you due to poor prep, or your reflexes were one second too slow. You die. How many people would you have saved over your full life? Fifty, a hundred, a thousand? Those people don't get saved because you died taking a risk on two. Who saves the rest? Who picks up the slack for your shitty reckless decision?"
"Yeah, but don't you have any compassion?" I retorted. "What about the two people who died? You know they'll die, but you don't know how many you're going to save over your life. But these people right now are real, not theoretical."
"I'm pretty sure I'm gonna save more than two in my remaining years," said Paulie, blowing out smoke. "Am I lacking in compassion, or are you just focusing too much on the person right in front of you? Are the unknown and unnamed people I save later on any less real than these two right here now? Why do these two get special status? Fuck, they could be assholes or future murderers. We don't know."
"Are we judging who gets saved now?" I said.
"Just the amounts, not the people," said Paulie. "The point is being prepared. Don't get yourself killed stupidly. You need to be ready for what you'll deal with. Buy the right gear - $50 bucks on Amazon and a two day wait is better than being dead tonight. And fight dirty."
"Fight dirty?"
"Absolutely. Monsters will - they're not human, they don't have any honor. And your fellow hunters aren't going to call you dishonorable - this is shit work, we do what we can to succeed. And nobody else is going to call you dishonorable. Ask a dead hunter's loved ones what they think of his honor. They'd trade all that damn honor to have him back for just a single day." He took another drag of his cigarette. "The longer you live, the more you can do to help. Remember that next time you go chasing danger, kid. Sometimes you gotta be a coward to save lives."
"I'm no coward," Mikkel had said previously. He had been tired that night after a long job. He used the wheel of the van as much to keep himself sitting up as to steer the car. "But maybe we don't need to jump into danger."
"It's the Nowak way," I said with a smile.
"Yeah, well, maybe I'm looking for something a little safer than that," he said.
"Are you starting to get soft, brother?"
"I'm starting to feel like it doesn't always have to be so dangerous," said Mikkel. "Maybe sometimes we need to work a little smarter than harder."
"But how?" I said.
Mikkel ran his hand through his hair. He definitely needed rest. He shook his head. "I don't know. Play it by ear. We need to do our best to protect people, but I don't know, sometimes I feel like we do things the stupid way."
"But I like the stupid way." I felt silly immediately after I said it. I knew what he meant, and agreed with that, but the way he said it had me agreeing to something else. Or maybe he really did mean what he said.
"I know, brother," he said tiredly. "I know."
Meat was in the middle of favoring me with his oft repeated maxim of, "You can never be too well armed" when we pulled into our destination. It was an old factory in Cobalt County, not just a warehouse as I had thought. Not nearly as far out as Unglegore Park, this was far closer to New Avalon, but still wasn't in the Avalon basin. This was a part of Cobalt where the woods had given way to at least some brush. Someone had built a factory here, not far away from the highway. There was currently no sign or company logo, and the windows looked dusty and disused, though not broken. However, ours weren't the only recent
tire tracks in the dirt.
Meat had been trying to get a handle on disappearances in this part of Cobalt County. He had a friend with a dairy in the area who had heard of some missing person cases and who himself had one employee disappear. Meat had a printed out list of five locations we were going to hit in the area. This factory had been picked because someone had reported to the police some strange men on the road toward the factory, but the blotter said the officers saw nothing and had no probable cause to go into the factory. It could be nothing, but we likely had four or five cases of finding nothing lined up for the day.
The sky was gray and overcast. The day was kind of bleak and I wondered if it would actually rain. We crunched on the gray gravel as we got closer to the factory. Meat had parked far back and out of the way, to not only avoid advertising our presence too soon but also to keep the vehicle out of any possible action.
Meat pulled out one of his pistols and nodded to me. "Time to show me what you got."
I pulled out the pistol he had given me. Among other hunters, I had a reputation of being a poor shot, so nobody trusted me with any kind of gun. That was both fair and unfair. Sure, I was a poor shot, but nobody ever got better at something by not doing it! Meat at least gave me the pistol and said we'd go to the shooting range at some point. I didn't relish the idea of spending more time with him, but if he was going to help improve my skills and pay for the ammunition, I didn't mind.
I was using a Ruger 22LR, which isn't that big a pistol. Most notable about it was that it looked like the pistols Nazis use in WW2 movies. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but it was the only gun I had. Despite his general advice - "Always have a backup weapon - gun jams kill", Meat had only give me this one pistol. In his opinion, if I was riding shotgun with him, I had to have a gun (but not a shotgun), but he wasn't trusting me with anything more than this pistol. Honestly, the pistol was probably fine. I was in no hurry to actually use it and I had a lead pipe with me on the inside of my jacket, so I could always fall back on to my favorite hobby of bludgeoning. I also had my camera clipped to me, but I didn't call attention to it and Meat didn't mention it. He might not have wanted footage when we were firing our pistols or trespassing.
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