by John Ringo
“Hold the line,” Higgins said, picking up his glass and downing it. “You called this meeting.”
“Few things,” I said. “First, introductions. Bob Higgins, MCB, former Hollywood Marine, Raymond Shackleford the Fourth and Milo Anderson, MHI, couple of my best friends. Ray, Milo, Bob.”
“Hey,” Higgins said. “Heir apparent at MHI, right?”
“Yes,” Ray said.
“Your people do good work,” Higgins said, shaking Ray’s hand.
That surprised him. Our relationship was usually a lot more adversarial.
“Milo is MHI’s resident mad scientist,” I said, grinning.
“Hey,” Milo said, waving. He was on the other side of Ray.
Bob glanced at Milo’s wispy red beard. It was trying so hard, and someday might be decent. “Is he old enough to drive yet?”
“I got into monster hunting at a young age.”
“Mad science, huh? Hope that doesn’t include hoodoo,” Higgins said.
“He’s the company’s token Mormon,” I said. “So, no. Any luck on the loup garou? Specifically the ones that are biting off moon.”
“No. I will find them and make sure they are repeatedly dissected,” Higgins said. “I know people.”
“We need to find out if there is any pattern,” Ray said.
“Not that we’ve seen or we’d have tracked them down by now,” Higgins said, shrugging.
“Any bars that the victims frequented?” I asked.
“There are a few,” Higgins said. “But…how do you find a loup garou in human guise in a crowded bar? We’ve tried. Also, people rarely go to the hospital for minor bites. We track those. Found a few. Never been able to capture the guys. Both of them seem sort of plain and normal from the few descriptions we’ve had. Then they get into a fight, often not one they’ve started, and someone gets bit. It’s pissing me off.”
“Just get us the list of bars,” Ray said. “We’re pretty good at spotting werewolves. We’ll track them down eventually.”
“I’ll get you the list,” Higgins said.
“Next item of business, we want to advertise for recruits,” I said.
“What?” he asked, choking on his chicken. He took a sip of bourbon. “Okay, you can’t be serious, Hand. No way DC is going to go for that.”
“In the Truth.”
“Oh,” he said then laughed. “Oh, God, I’m going to have to tell Bill this personally. MHI wants to advertise in the Truth.” He gave a full belly laugh. “‘Want to make money killing hoodoo?’” he said in worse Jamaican accent than mine. “‘Join the hoodoo squad!’”
“Recruitment is our number one Achilles heel,” Ray said. “Because, well…”
“Us,” Higgins said, nodding. “Fair cop.”
“And we only recruit people who have had experience of…hoodoo,” Ray said. “Not being practitioners, you understand.”
“Got it. No, I get the point. Makes sense. I just hope you give them some training.”
“We train the shit out of people,” I said. “Marine Basic? No. But good training. And they’ll have to be willing to start somewhere else, first.”
“Unless we absolutely have to, no inexperienced hunter is coming to New Orleans for the foreseeable future,” Ray said. “But once they go to another team, they tend to want to stick there. Team bonding, and they often end up in their own region. Hunters with remaining family tend to want to be around family. We’ll recruit here, train, send them somewhere less dangerous, not that this job doesn’t have casualties other places, then they come back here. Probably be a year before we get them coming back. Assuming we have any recruits.”
“In the meantime?” Higgins said.
“We hold the line,” I said, downing a shot. “Or you guys figure out what is driving this town nuts lately and fix it.”
“Our main team is in town, now,” Ray said. “We’re MHI’s heavy hitters and if someone needs us more, we have to go. But we’re here for now.”
“Good,” Higgins said. “When your team was down to four injured people, I happen to know that Bill was ready to pull the grab bar and call our Special Response Team. Only no SAC wants to call up SRT.”
“It’s a career ender?” Ray asked.
“More like a life ender. SRT does not fuck around when it comes to cover ups. They will burn neighborhoods. Bill…That’s Special Agent in Charge, William Castro to you guys…he loves New Orleans. He gets this city. An outsider isn’t going to be lenient when it comes to our superstitious locals. If SRT realized how much the people in this town believe in hoodoo, they’d be tempted to break a levee and flood the place.”
“Even then, I would have kissed Franks sometime on Thursday,” I said. “I would have been so glad to see his happy and smiling face.”
“You’ve met Agent Franks?” Higgins asked, sounding a little awed.
“Yeah.” Apparently he had a reputation in MCB circles. “I like him.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Milo said.
“About the happy and smiling face. Maybe. I don’t think Franks can smile. But I bet he wouldn’t have blinked at the fact I was carrying a LAW in my trunk.”
“You were carrying a LAW in your trunk?” Higgins said.
“Two,” I said. “How the hell you think we took that flesh golem? Why do people keep being surprised about this? You don’t? I bet Franks carries LAWs in his trunk.”
“I do,” Milo said.
“Next thing you’ll be bitching about the claymores and C4.”
“Wait,” Higgins said. “Claymores and C4? I thought you were joking about that!”
“See? See?”
“Who doesn’t carry a LAW in their trunk?” Milo asked.
* * *
Remi opened the door before I could knock.
“Welcome home, sir,” Remi said. He had donned a pair of tatami slippers. I hadn’t had the heart to ask him to take his shoes off before. He was wearing white silk stockings. I could tell my days of being a slob were numbered. Eh, I’m sort of a clothes horse to be honest.
“Do you mind?” I asked, sitting down on the bench and taking off my boots. “Fine to go with socks.”
“The way my feet feel?” Ray said, sitting down.
“You’re weird, man,” Milo said, but he took off his Birkenstocks for, come to think of it, different sandals.
“Nice place,” Ray said, looking around. He touched the holy water font and just touched his forehead.
Milo frowned at it. Remi had gotten, somewhere, in about three hours, a traditional font of the Virgin Mary holding out a basin. Apparently Milo didn’t like gilded idols or something, but he stuck a finger in the holy water and touched his head to be polite.
“Parlor and study,” I said, pointing to the two rooms. “I can’t wait to get all my books from Seattle. I’ll finally have almost enough book shelves.”
I showed them around the house, pointing out where I was going to put in a gear room and armories. Finally we ended up back in the upstairs living room overlooking Dauphine.
Remi had laid out a selection of pastries along with both coffee and wine as choice.
“Mister Anderson is Mormon, Mister Girard,” I said, clearing my throat.
“I apologize, sir,” Remi said, unflustered. “I believe we have some apple juice. I shall obtain some root beer, if sir prefers.”
“Apple juice is fine, Mister Girard,” Milo said. “Or water. Whatever. I’m easy. Heck, I’ll get it.” He started to get up.
“Please allow me, sir,” Remi said, nodding as he left.
“Don’t want to be a bother,” Milo said, making a face.
“Remi lost his wife and youngest son to werewolves, Milo,” I said. “He’s thrilled as hell to be able to help. There’s two strains in this town, those who support houdoun and those who oppose it. Remi’s on the oppose side. And he more or less crowbarred his way into this job. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Guess you’ve got it all,” Milo said, f
rowning. The servant thing was making him uncomfortable.
“Milo, are we friends?” I asked.
“Sure, Chad,” Milo said. “Always.”
“Then don’t get a burr under your bonnet. I’m a Marine. I’m all about taking care of myself. But you weren’t here for the full moon. When the shit hits the fan in this town we just don’t have time. I got maybe thirty minutes sleep from the morning before the full moon to about two PM the day after. I’m going to get a spare set of everything, because by the time I was done every bit of my gear was trashed from claws and teeth and just getting in the shit. And I did not have one moment to do anything about it. This way if I’m passing by, I can stop and pick up new gear and just keep going. And if it can be repaired, washed, prepared in time, Remi handles it. ’Cause, no time.”
“We’ve got to get away from that,” Ray said, frowning. “I get the point. But the fact that you were mostly fighting solo is insane. Solo hunting is one of the main reasons for the casualty rate. And that tempo is going to burn people out. Burned out people make mistakes.”
“Preaching to the choir, Ray,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. Unsurprisingly, it was great. “All you need to do is get us about three times the personnel.”
“Preaching to the choir,” Ray said.
“Milo, we good?” I asked.
“We’re always good, Chad,” Milo said. “Just sort of threw me is all. I grew up on a farm. Milk in a box is fancy by my standards.”
Remi entered on cat-feet and set down a pitcher of apple juice and a glass.
“Shall I pour, sir?” Remi said.
“Sure,” Milo said. “Sorry to hear about your family, sir. My sincere condolences for your loss.”
“I had another child, sir,” Remi said, calmly. “And Cherie and Jason are with God, sir. But I am pleased to be able to contribute to the hunt for the unnatural and unclean. This is for me a calling, sir.”
“Then I’ll just get over letting you pour, Mister Girard,” Milo said, smiling.
“Please to call me Remi, sir.”
“Only if you call me Milo.”
“I shall endeavor. Will Sir’s guests be staying, sir?”
“Milo, Ray?”
“I really need to stay at the team headquarters,” Ray said, reluctantly.
“Earl’s in charge of the team. Let him stay in the ghetto. Or not. Up to you. Duty is heavier than mountains. Milo, I’ll be hurt if you don’t.”
“Well,” Milo said, looking around at the minimalist splendor. “When you put it that way.”
“Are the gentlemens’ bags available, sir?”
“We’ll get them later,” Ray said. “And we can tote our own gear. And, hell, I’ll stay. Better than a motel or the team barracks.”
“It’s central,” I said. “And we can leave your cars on the street. Will need a permit. I’ll get that fixed. Don’t worry about theft. The local gang watches our stuff.”
“The local gang?” Milo said, boggling.
“Welcome to New Orleans, gentlemen,” Remi said. “I shall endeavor to ensure your stay is as comfortable as possible.”
* * *
Madam Courtney had been willing to make a house call. After listening to Ray’s requirements she snapped her fingers twice and waved her hand.
“Too simple,” she said. “A simple office. Downtown. Saint Charles Avenue is the only place to have such an office! That the recruits understand the majesty of their duties! This will keep away the riff-raff!”
“Some of our best people might be considered riff-raff, Madam Courtney,” Ray pointed out.
“I resemble that remark,” Milo said.
“Do you think? So, you have some people with record, eh? Do you think that did they want to fight the hoodoo, they would be turned away by going to a nice office, Mister Shackleford? But the crazies? The scam artists? The ones who are weak of determination. They see the majesty of the building. They wonder should they enter? Is this the right choice? Would you have those who have such questions, Mister Shackleford? Would not most fail your intense training?”
“She has a point, Ray,” I said.
“Trust Madam Courtney,” she cried, laughing. “Trust the loas. They are not the dark loas,” she said, looking at Milo. “Mister Gardenier would call them Saints, yes? Trust the Saints, Mister Shackleford!”
“Okay,” Ray said. “We’ll trust your loas.”
“Do you have a Standard and Poors grade…?”
* * *
When we got back to the team shack, the rest of Earl’s team had arrived. And the only one I knew was a surprise.
“Franklin?” I said. “Long time.”
Franklin Moore was one of the members of the MHI team dispatched to Elkins, West Virginia to clean up a zombie outbreak only to find it had already been cleared by a badly injured, recently discharged Marine named Oliver Chadwick Gardenier, call me Chad.
“Look at you,” Franklin said, getting up from the couch. He hadn’t changed much. Couple more scars. Five-eight, one eighty, black as the ace of spades. “All growed up and a monster hunter!”
We shook hands left handed and back patted.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Ray said.
“We met in Elkins,” I said. “When I was still all busted up.”
“And you’re walking without a cane and everything,” Moore said.
“Thanks to intense physical therapy and a kappa,” I said.
“Kappa?” Moore asked.
“Story time later,” Earl said. “Introductions then update.”
I didn’t know the others. “Where’s Marty Hood and Dwayne Myers?”
“Marty died in a training accident,” Ray said, quickly.
“Shit. That happens. Too bad. He was a nice guy.”
“It was a little while ago. Dwayne quit. Don’t know what he’s up to now…” Earl didn’t look like he wanted to talk about them. “Hand, you know Moore. Meet Adam Greer, Thomas Steele, Katie Rogers, and Jamie Castillo.”
“No relation to the lieutenant on the TV show,” Castillo said. Castillo was about my height, bit short, Hispanic with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. Really nasty facial scar. Probably a story there.
“You’ve met the rest of the local team,” Earl said. “This is Chad. Goes by Iron Hand.”
“Iron Hand?” Greer asked. Short. Real short. Serious muscles of a body-builder/power-lifter. Blonde hair in a crew-cut. Bit of dip in his cheek.
“Insult from one of a kendo instructor,” I said.
“That custom Uzi Milo built for you, Thomas?” Ray said. “There’s a reason he called it the Iron Hand special.”
“That’s your design?” Steele said. He was tall and angular like a stick insect. I had to wonder he didn’t break in a strong wind. “Nice.”
“So, introductions complete,” Earl said. “Update?”
“We made friendly contact with MCB,” Ray said.
“That’ll be the day,” Greer grumped.
“That’s something to cover, Earl,” Trevor said.
“On the agenda,” Earl said. “Continue.”
“We got an all clear from the local supervisor for open recruiting,” Ray said.
“What?” To this point Katie Rogers hadn’t said a word. Tall, brunette, she had a closed look. Or possibly shy. She didn’t have the sort of confident attitude normal for a member of the main team. Cute, though. Not beautiful like Susan but cute.
“Oh yeah,” Earl said. “New Orleans is different. Trevor?”
Trevor spent most of the next hour giving them the low down on the oddities of New Orleans, like having a significant chunk of our populace not only believing in the supernatural but knowing about monster hunters, a friendly and cooperative local MCB office, and our mysterious recent record breaking activity level.
“Currently the entire Team Hoodoo is pretty much out of commission,” Earl said at the end.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I was fighting this way for most of two days
! I can still shoot one handed and swing leftie.”
“So they’re going to take some time,” Earl said, definitely. Time for a cigarette? “But based on the experience this morning, we will all need guides and help interacting with the locals.”
“How was I supposed to know we were supposed to take extra PUFF from the coroner?” Moore said. “That’s a violation of Federal Law!”
“Smoothed over,” Trevor said.
“What?” Ray asked. “Padding PUFF?”
“The coroner tends to pad the PUFF,” I said. “When we get a receipt from them and when they can. Six zombies instead of five, that sort of thing.”
“Because we have to pay them for prompt response,” Trevor said. “Under the table. And local politicians, including the Sheriff and SIU, to keep our contract. And the Parking department to keep them from towing our cars. It’s a long list.”
“Oh, great,” Ray said, shaking his head.
“Welcome to the Big Easy,” Trevor said.
“All taxes are bribes,” Earl said. “Just roll with it.”
“Got it,” Moore said.
“So we’re going to have one of the locals ride along,” Earl said.
“Leave me out,” I said. “I’m still getting the hang of this place.”
“Thanks for volunteering. You’re up next,” Earl said. “Team will be Ray, Milo, Katie, Adam and you. You’re along to advise, interact and show them how to get there.”
“It took us nearly an hour to get from here to…” Thomas said then paused.
“Metairie,” Katie said.
“We took side streets,” Castillo said. “It looked more direct.”
“And got stuck behind a parade,” Katie said.
“Fucking parades,” I said, shaking my head.
“Hey, we got to have some culture,” Trevor said, grinning.
“And then we ran into this canal…” Thomas said.
