by John Ringo
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “The fucking canals throw me. I think they always will.”
The phone rang. We all looked at it. Katie was the closest.
“They say there’s a…pissed off giant crocodile in the 17th Street canal?” Katie said, nodding as she listened to the caller.
“Oh, not another one,” Trevor said.
“And here we go,” I said, standing up. “Since I’m not directly involved, I don’t have to put on all my crap. I might even be able to stay in air conditioning!”
“Hot damn!” Shelbye said. “Let me roll on this one! Those things are tasty!”
CHAPTER 15
Shoot to Thrill
“That’s a sight you don’t see every day,” Milo said.
“Around here?” I said. “Not every day, but…”
The sobek—so called after the Egyptian deity—was not particularly happy. It was taking serious issue with the Maryland Drive pumping station on the 17th Street canal. It apparently had someplace to be and the pumping station was in its way.
The sobek was about fifty feet in total length but didn’t seem very well designed. Crocodilian, but it kept trying to stand upright, trying to climb up the levee to the pumping station, and failing.
“We need that thing dealt with.” The speaker was the representative from the Army Corps of Engineers. He pointed to where it was tearing at the structure of the levee. “That does much more damage, we’re going to have a major incident.”
“I think we already do,” Ray said, pointing to the crowd of people up on the rail-road bridge. They were pretty far away, but it looked like plenty of people were taking pictures.
“MCB’s problem,” I said. And the witnesses had been here before us, so we weren’t going to get blamed for it. At least the monster was mostly concealed by the canal, so the people on the bridge were the only ones watching. “Trevor told me about this. These things get summoned out of Lake Pontchartrain every few months. You can see the damage from the last one. Some houdoun priest or priestess probably has a case of the ass with someone downstream. Thing is, if it gets to the boat pull-out, it can walk ashore. That will be bad.”
“All it takes is some heavy firepower,” Adam Greer said. “We’ve got a McMillan Tac-50 in the truck.”
“Fifty bounces off the head bone,” I said. Shelbye had got me up to speed on shooting giant crocodile monsters. “Unless you get a shot in the sweet spot on the back of the head. And you’ve got to get it right in the brain, which is surprisingly small. We could get up on the railroad bridge, take the shot from there. Angle’s about right.”
“That works,” Ray said, looking up at the crowd. “Katie?”
“I’m up,” she said.
“I’ll tote,” Greer said.
“Why, such a gentleman,” Katie said, batting her eyes.
Damn. So much for making a run at her.
“I’ll bring a spotting scope,” I said.
I hadn’t dealt with a sobek yet, but I’d had plenty of description from Shelbye. She really did consider them delicious. Of course, she thought you could eat a naga if you got it cooled off fast enough and kept it from deliquescing.
Cajuns.
We all walked up onto the bridge. There were about twenty people up there. Fortunately, school was still in session or there’d have been twice as many.
“It’s hoodoo squad,” one of them said.
“Hey! Hoodoo squad! Can I get your picture?”
“Please don’t,” Ray said, with a pained expression. “The FBI is just going to confiscate the film.”
“And we need to take care of this little issue,” I said. “It’s about to get very loud.”
“Which one are you?” a girl in her twenties asked. Cute. Very cute. Five six, brunette, cheer-leader body, white shorts and an AC/DC tank-top. No bra and didn’t need one. Like the song said
“Points on their own sittin’ way up high.” She looked like she’d done her hair up just to run out to see a giant crocodile. And maybe see the hoodoo squad in action.
“The sword guy,” I said.
“The one who jumped through the window with all those vampires?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Yup,” I said. There had only been one blinded vampire, but she didn’t need to know that.
“These things are a pest,” an older woman said. “This is the third time this year!”
“We find whoever’s calling them up, we’ll take care of it, ma’am,” I said.
“Which one are you?” Points Girl asked Greer, flirting.
“Uh…” Greer said.
“They’re from out of town,” I said. “You’ll probably read about them next few weeks. But if you have any problems, little lady, feel free to give me a call. I’ve got a house on Dauphine.” I handed Points one of my special cards. With my personal number on back.
“I’ll do that,” she said, grinning. She tucked it into her shorts. In the front. Personal like.
In like flint, baby.
“Get your shit together, and point out the sweet spot, Romeo,” Ray said.
“Okay, Mr. Shackleford.” I went prone and looked through the spotting scope. “See the two curved lumps behind the eyes?”
“Got that,” Katie said, looking through the scope of the McMillan. It fired the same heavy round as my Barrett, but since it was a bolt action instead of a semi-auto, was more accurate.
“Right at the base where they flatten out. Directly in the center, but…Wait.” The clumsy monster had fallen down again.
“So when do I make the shot?” Katie said. She was pushed into the Barrett. Calm and comfortable, ready.
“When it gets back up we’ll have the right angle,” I said.
The beast finally regained its footing and…
“Fire,” I said, sticking a finger in my right ear.
The round impacted perfectly. The sobek was down.
“And we’re golden.” I winced as I used my right arm to get to my feet.
“What happened to your arm, Mr. Gardenier?” Points asked, looking at my card.
“I was wounded while battling the forces of evil to protect the good people of New Orleans,” I said. “And please call me Chad.”
“I’d like to hear about it,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Chad.”
“Maybe over dinner? What are you doing this evening?”
“Nothin’ much.”
“Oh, hell,” I said, frowning. “Probably should take a rain-check. My boss is staying at my place.” I nodded back over my shoulder where Ray was explaining to the Corps guy that clean-up was not our job. Agent Higgins had just arrived and was already taking people’s film away.
“I’ve got a couple of friends,” she said, grinning.
“He’s married and the other guy staying with me is seriously religious. Good friends, don’t get me wrong, but…Yeah, come by this evening. Bring a bathing suit. I’ve got a hot tub.”
“Why do I need a bathing suit?” she asked, batting her eyes.
“Lemme get your number as well,” I said, pulling out my notebook.
In. Like. Flint.
* * *
We’d gotten pictures. MCB had shown up and taken them. Including Katie standing on the massive crocodilian with her rifle. Ray had asked about that.
“We’ll put it up in a gun magazine like Guns and Ammo,” Agent Three said. “Do some bad retouching. Maybe do it as an advertisement. When other pictures surface, people will say it’s the same picture doctored. Don’t worry, mon. Be happy. We got this.”
Shelbye had already called and requested at least part of the tail. If MCB could get some freed up, her family was planning something called a “Fais, do-do,” whatever that was.
“Do you really think hitting on girls at an incident is a good idea, Chad?” Ray asked, as we were driving back to the team shack.
“In every other town in the world it’s probably a bad idea.” Not that I wouldn’t anyway. “In this town? Girls in this town freaking love hoodoo squad. Milo could
get laid in this town. Not that he would. And stay that way, buddy. Not meaning to be a jerk.”
“Got it,” Milo said, shaking his head. He thought fornication was a sin.
“I’m Catholic. My Father Confessor gives me real bonus points for fighting the forces of darkness. So I’m covered. She’s coming to dinner tonight. She offered to bring a couple of friends, but I told her one of you was married and the other was religious.”
“Thanks,” Ray said. “I think.”
“Also, this job has kept me so freaking busy I’ve lost all my hobbies. I decided after my first day to pick a strip club and become a regular. Haven’t even seen the inside of one yet. So at incidents is the only time I could meet girls. And you know I hit on any woman not wearing a wedding ring.”
“And flirt with those,” Ray said. “Susan says hey, by the way.”
“Can we stop by the hospital?” I asked. “I’d like to see Ben.”
“We’ll drop you off.”
* * *
Trevor was there too. The doctor said a lot of big words. They boiled down to “Too much damage.”
“It’s still possible he’ll pull through,” the doctor said.
“I understand,” Trevor said. He was still using his cane. He was supposed to be out of the cast in a week, maybe two. Couple more weeks of physical therapy to be fully on his game. Trevor would be back for the next full moon. Ben would not.
Ben Carter, the man who first showed me around New Orleans, died about two weeks later, never having come out of the coma.
* * *
We had the funerals to deal with. Back then they were simple affairs. We had a crematorium we used and it always made time for us.
Greg and Jonathon were on side-by-side pneumatic slides in wooden caskets. Fine ones but unadorned.
The remainder of Team Hoodoo gathered around and Milo had asked to say a few words.
Great guy. Love him like a brother. Sincere. Honest. Godly in a way I’ll never be.
Worst freaking public speaker in history.
Milo finally stumbled to a very sincere, heart-felt, badly delivered, close and stepped aside.
The funeral director hit the button and started the flames. Their caskets rolled in. Doors shut. There were glass windows so you could watch your loved ones burn to ash. It was one of the high-end crematoriums.
We had better things to do. The ashes would be delivered in pre-selected urns.
I made a note in my notebook.
22MAY85 1530: Memorial service, Greg, Jonathan. Ming vase ashes.
Translation: buy a Ming vase for my ashes.
What the hell, I didn’t have much to spend my money on anyway. Speaking of which.
I called Remi on the carphone on the way back to the shack.
“What’s the chance you could throw together a small informal event for about sixteen this evening?” I asked. “Something simple. The boss is not into fancy eats. Over estimate rather than under. Impromptu house warming party.”
“As sir prefers,” Remi said. “Would sir be referring to sir’s team mates and the new team in town?”
“That is what…Yes. And some friends. Be advised, big eaters, heavy drinkers. Simple beer. Budweiser will do.”
“I shall endeavor to provide, sir,” Remi said.
“Sixteen?” Milo said. “Aren’t but twelve if I’m counting right.”
“Alvin’s got a girl-friend,” I said. “But I’m going to ask Points to bring more friends. Having a few cuties around livens up the party.
“Yeah, I think the team would appreciate that,” Milo said.
“I just want to show off my new house.”
* * *
“Hi, uh,” I glanced at my notebook. “Cheryl? Chad from Hoodoo. This evening’s still on, but…”
* * *
Remi had gotten catering from a barbeque place. Tons of it. And help serving. There were iron wash tubs full of a selection of love-in-a-canoe beers.
The girls turned up wearing cocktail dresses which sort of put Katie and Shelbye on the defensive at first. All they had were jeans and T-shirts. Points, along with most of her friends, turned out to be “professional cheerleaders” which is a sub-culture I won’t even try to explain. Professional normally means you get paid. They don’t.
Then most of Points’ friends decided the place to be was the cold tub, given the heat, and, darn, none of them had remembered to bring bathing suits.
Milo withdrew at that point, blushing. Katie sort of faded with him. Shelbye just stripped down and jumped in. Ray was the most loyal husband I’ve ever known, and he just drank a bunch of beers and went to bed. The rest of the team was single. Alvin’s girlfriend was from New Orleans and had no issues with it as long as Alvin stayed on her arm.
The team was in the rare position of being able to tell stories about hunts with people who weren’t hunters or family. The barbeque was excellent, the beer flowed and so did the stories. Trevor and the team told stories about Greg and Jonathan at what was both a house-warming party and a wake. Hell, after we broke out the bourbon even Earl got into the act, telling a story about fighting a houdoun priestess who’d called up a major Old One entity out in the bayou a few years back.
Say what you will about hunters, we know how to party.
Then we got a call.
Zombies at a parade.
Fuckin’ hoodoo.
CHAPTER 16
The Good, The Bad and the Stupid
Parades in New Orleans are like the heat and the bugs and the humidity: They are omnipresent. It seemed like every day, three or four times a day at times, there was a parade. Natives put them into two categories; parades, which are planned events that are advertised, have sponsors and are filed with the city, and “Second Lines” which are sometimes planned events, occasionally nearly spontaneous, frequently but not always advertised, often had sponsors, may or may not include floats and larger exhibits and for which there is never any fucking warning.
Nobody but the natives could really tell the difference. They were both parades. The only thing with Second Lines was you were less likely to see the damned thing coming. Responding to a call, going like a bat out of hell and there’s a fucking marching band in the middle of the street and a bunch of dancers in two bangles and a feather.
And the only thing that did NOT get out of the way for Hoodoo Squad was a parade. I ended up driving on the sidewalk one time to get past one.
But the thing about the parades—or second lines or what-the-fuck-ever—was they were and are the prime area of competition in New Orleans. Sure, they had a football team. In Green Bay it’s all about the Packers. But this was the Big Easy. New Orleans is all about street theater and there was no better street theater than the parades.
Apparently at some parade a couple of months ago, one of the marching bands got a hoodoo man to curse another band’s instruments so they would all be off-key. At least they were pretty sure it was a curse and not being toasted beforehand. Thus they lost the magic ribbon or whatever and were that pissed.
So when Band A was in a parade the next month, Band B went to a hoodoo man for a curse on them.
Said hoodoo man then raised the dead and attacked the whole damned parade.
No magic ribbon for you.
I told the girls to hang out. We’d be right back. Everyone had their gear handy. We did a one-hundred percent call-out.
Half of us were drunk as loons.
* * *
When we pulled up to the parade at Harrison and Fochs, it was total chaos.
Bits and pieces of elaborate costumes were scattered on the street being trampled by a panicked mob. One of the band leaders was valiantly trying to brain a zombie with that big baton thing. Another shambler had a snare drum over his head and was wandering around totally lost. Floats had driven into residences and bars along the street.
Chaos.
“How the hell do you kill a zombie with a drum on its head?” Ray said, laughing.
“Sh
oot it twice,” Alvin yelled.
“Welcome to New Orleans!” I cackled, popping my trunk.
People had spotted my purple light and the word had got around. The crowd was shifting our way.
“HOODOO SQUAD! HOODOO SQUAD!”
And they were in the way of our shots.
“Get out of the way!” Trevor yelled. He’d somehow had managed to crawl up on his Coronado and was laid out with an M14 on a bipod. “God damnit, clear the way!”
“I’m going in,” I said, dropping the sling and hefting Uzi one handed. “Hell, I’ve got this,” I slurred. Ever heard of Dutch courage? Yeah, it was like that.
Trevor, Katie and Shelbye were up on cars for cover, if they could get a clear shot. The rest of us spread out and started walking forward. I started doing the theme song from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.
“Doolooloo, bwah whap, whaaaa…” I shot a shambler thirty yards away through the ear, left handed. “Oorah for Marine Marksmanship!”
“Nahnah nanaanaaaah…” Milo said, dropping another one with his M-16. “Mormon Brigade!”
“I don’t know why you use that Mattel crap, buddy,” I said. Shambler down. This one had been holding down and chewing on a fat, screaming, white lady in a bright pink Chanel gown. Honestly, I probably should have just popped her as well. Badly wounded and going to turn. That was for MCB to take care of.
“That’s coming from a guy shooting a twelve pound pistol,” Milo yelled. Shambler down.
“Mister Hoodoo!” the woman said, grabbing my wounded right arm. Fiftyish, white, middle class Cajun, in town for the party. “Help!”
“Ow, shit!” I snarled. She was panicked and just wanted someone to save her. We were working on it, okay?
“Get off!” I said, slamming her in the face with my elbow. She hit the ground like a sack.
Pro-tip: Hoodoo. People panic. When there’s a crowd, you don’t have time for finesse. You have to get the job done and if it takes shooting someone to get that job done, do it. Try to shoot them somewhere non-vital.
Most of the businesses had shut their doors when the shamblers showed up for the parade. One of the bars still had doors open and there was screaming coming from inside.
“Milo, Hand!” Earl bellowed. “Clear that bar!”
